Aurelius and I (14 page)

Then, just as the dragnor was assessing how quickly he would be able to run to Aurelius’s house from his position on the riverbank, his thoughts were interrupted by a second enormous splash. Then another. And another.

My goodness!
He thought to himself.
How many of them are there? They’re jumping in like lemmings!

It was only then that his eyes were met with the source of the splashing, and its source, as it turned out, was not human after all...it was far worse than that.

There, in the river, over by the rapids, leaping gleefully betwixt and between the jagged rocks as if they were some sort of inflatable, children’s water-park obstacle course, were two mermaids.

“I thought mermaids only swam in the sea,” I blurted out, shocked by the twist in the dragnor’s tale.

The scaly little creature gave me a stern look to show that he was unhappy with the interruption before remembering that he was my prisoner and that I was more than big enough to crush him under my trainer. He quickly moved on with his story, agreeing that he too had believed mermaids to be salt water bound until that evening, but could not deny his own eyes, which were particularly well adapted to night vision, just as is the case with all dragnors.

I tried to ascertain more details about the mermaids – what did they look like, what they were doing et cetera, but my captive was unable to answer my queries, explaining that – given his dislike of ordinary fish, let alone mermaids, whom everybody knew to be troublesome – the idea of getting a closer look at the terrifying had been far from his mind. Rather, he had lain perfectly still within the reeds, avoiding detection until he was certain that the mysteriously mislocated creatures had disappeared.

“And what did you do next?” I asked.

“I went straight to, Mr Jones, of course,” he replied as if to suggest that he was always one for doing the right thing. The sense of pride in his voice, however, hinted that this occasion had, in reality, been something of an exception.

“And what did Aurelius, I mean Mr Jones, say?”

“He seemed decidedly unconcerned to be honest with you. He promised to look into the situation, but his response by far failed to mirror my own sense of urgency at the situation. He even went as far as reminding me that I should not judge the character of all mermaids upon the actions of a few, as if he somehow considered me to be in the wrong for being concerned at their presence. If you ask me, that bloke’s a nut-nut. I mean, everybody knows that mermaids are seriously bad news, and seeing them this far inland is unheard of; it was obvious that something was going on. He must have been crazy to be so calm about it all.”

Either that or he was expecting them,
I thought to myself. I decided it would best to keep my suspicions to myself however, and encouraged the dragnor to continue with his story. How had the brief presence of a couple of mermaids led to him being forced to vacate his home and bully helpless fairies in order to feed himself? Had he really been so scared that he had had refused ever to return to his dwelling for fear of being... I didn’t know what, I mean what could a mermaid do anyway?

He seemed offended at such a suggestion and explained that dragnors were brave and noble creatures who were very proud of their homes and would never give them up without a fight. I decided not to raise the question of how brave or noble it was to enslave smaller creatures rather than go to the effort of feeding oneself, but said nothing.

Over the following nights Grahndel had been on high alert, vigorously checking the river and its banks for any further sign of mermaid-based activity, but finding nothing. Indeed, nothing out of ordinary had happened at all. After three days, still anxious and finding sleep difficult, he had been to see Aurelius again to see if he had heard anything more about the forest’s unusual and unwelcome visitors. The fernator had assured him that the matter had been investigated most thoroughly, but that none of the forest’s other inhabitants had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary, and suggested that the dragnor had once again been drinking the dregs from the discarded fizzy drinks that littered the edge of the forest (apparently cola holds a strong hallucinogenic quality among dragnors).

Grahndel was indignant at the suggestion and stomped back toward his home, angered that he was not being taken seriously. He knew what he had seen. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He knew something strange was going on. And, as his home cave came into view, everything he knew was proven to be correct.

The network of caves that bordered the river was, on a normal evening, as close to abandoned as you were ever likely to see. Their dark, damp, and decidedly smelly nature meant that the only creatures who would voluntarily spend any amount of time in one were bats, rats, and dragnors. Even the various creepy-crawlies which could be found in every inch of the forest tended to find the caves to be too full of mould and bat droppings to be considered habitable. Grahndel then, had been highly surprised upon reaching the river bank, to see an infestation of trolls, goblins and various other unsavoury-looking characters carrying large crates from a boat moored nearby into the entrance to the caves, an entrance guarded by two rockalusses.

***

I, as I’m sure you will be, dear reader, was mystified as to what a rockaluss might have been, but was far too interested in hearing the rest of Grahndel’s story to risk further interruption. I later discovered that rockalusses were once ordinary magical creatures who had been captured by the professor and had their bodies encased in stone in order that they could be used in the evil armies of the Tundrala without risk of their escape, for, though immensely strong, rock demons were also immensely slow and could easily be beaten in a race by the average pensioner.

***

More frightening than any of these terrifying creatures though, had been the boat upon which they had arrived, a miniature pirate ship that had been moored against the caves. It was not the type of boat that had caused the dragnor’s blood to run hot with fear though, nor was it the immense cannon mounted on it front, or even the enormous metal spikes that lined its sides. No, what was so terrifying about this particular boat was the flag that flew from its mast - the flag of Roobatzi. The flag of The Professor.

By the time the dragnor had reached this point in his tale I had already realised - as I am sure you will have too, dear reader - that he, like all bullies, was a coward at heart. It therefore came as no surprise to me that his reaction upon discovering the presence of the forces of The Professor within his own woodland home was not to attempt to glean more information by sneaking closer to the danger, or even staying where he was, but to turn and flee. And flee he had, as fast as his short, bowed legs would carry him, until he had once again arrived at the small, round cottage of Aurelius-Octavius Jumbleberry-Jones.

Once there he had stopped at the front door to catch his breath for a few moments before knocking, when he had heard voices coming from inside. One of the voices was clearly that of Mr Jones, but the other – which he described as being reminiscent of “the echo of steel being sandpapered within a deep cavern” - he was quite sure he had never heard before.

Both voices were too muffled by the thick wooden door to be able to follow the conversation properly, and so, intrigued by the few brief fragments he was able to make out, Grahndel had slid around the cottage’s curved wall and peered in through one of its tiny, porthole windows. What he saw when he did so had astounded him.

The stranger had been the last man he had expected to see. Indeed, he was not a man at all, but an enormous Gravlier – a giant, orc-like creature with skin the colour of coal and one piercing, unfeeling, snake-like yellow eye. Where the other eyes should have been there was merely an empty, scarred socket. There, in the middle of Hanselwood forest, in the middle of Mr Jones’s living room no less, standing with his enormous body hunched over and his head scraping the ceiling, stood the formidable, fully-armoured figure of Captain Blackheart.

Whether due to a sudden increase in bravery, or merely the paralysation of fear I couldn’t tell you, but, rather than once again turning and fleeing as would have been his normal reaction to being confronted by any situation involving the slightest scent of danger, Grahndel had stood his ground and waited to see how events would unfold.

“I just need more time,” Aurelius was saying, sounding far from his usual, calm, composed self.

“YOUR TIME IS UP!” Blackheart’s voice bellowed loudly enough to rattle the pans hanging above Aurelius’s stove. “You made a deal with The Professor, and he kept his part of the bargain, now it’s time for you to keep yours.”

“But, you don’t understand...”

“I don’t have time for buts, and I don’t need to understand. A deal is a deal and you made this one of your own free will, you’re one of us now whether you like it or not.”

At that point the dragnor’s tiny, spindly fingers had lost their fragile grip on wooden frame and he had fallen to the floor with a crash.

Eager not to miss out on what was being said, he had quickly scrambled back up to his previous position in order to regain his view of the disussion. But when he reached the windowsill his view had changed, rather than being faced with a view of Blackheart’s back from across the room he was now presented with the Gravlier’s angry, snarling face, separated from his own by only a thin pane of glass.

This time the little demon had, understandably, fled and had spent the days since hiding out, laying low, and forcing others to prepare his meals.

The end of Grahndel’s tale was met by silence as I sat contemplating what I had just heard.

Once again my supposed friend’s character had been called into question, and yet, even in the face of such damning testimony, I couldn’t bring myself to believe him to be evil...but was that simply because I didn’t want to believe it? While Aurelius’s bizarre and eccentric character had always led me to be somewhat suspicious of him, my instincts had always told me that he was not, at heart, an evil man, and my instincts were usually very trustworthy. Nevertheless, the evidence against the flamboyant fernator was mounting fast. Was it really possible that he had simply befriended me in order to try to recruit me for the tundrala? Or, worse, to kill me before my powers could come into bloom and pose a threat to them?

No, I thought, shaking myself, I knew Aurelius, and I knew he wouldn’t do something like that. Why would he have gone to the trouble of seeking me out in the first place if that was the case? After all, as impressive as it may have seemed to me as an eight year old boy, it wasn’t as if my power was earth-shatteringly important or ever likely to be the deciding factor in the battle between the tendrala and the tundrala. It simply didn’t make sense.

Why on earth should I take the word of an eighteen inch arsonist over that of a man who had treated me with nothing but kindness and had, in many ways, been the only adult who had ever been totally honest with me, opening my eyes to the lies of the world around me? For all I knew everything that had just come out of the dragnor’s mouth could have been part of an elaborate web of deceit aimed at staying his potential execution in the hope that he may yet find a means of escape.

“YOU’RE LYING!” I yelled in a voice that boomed around the forest, stopping the fairy’s party in its tracks. Suddenly I was aware of a thousand tiny pairs of eyes, all fixed on me - a realisation that did nothing to calm my mood.

“YOU’RE A LIAR,” I boomed at the cowering dragnor once more. “A bully and a liar! Aurelius would never be friends with people like that!”

“I didn’t say he was,” begged the miniscule demon. “I only know what I saw.”

“And what exactly did you see?” The calm voice of the king came from behind us, instantly draining the heat out of the situation as he seemed to hold a strange ability for doing. It was easy to tell, even for a stranger like me, that he was a good king, and that the respect for him that emanated from each of his subjects so vibrantly, was earned through action as opposed to being commanded through fear.

The king listened intently as I repeated Grahndel’s tale to him, a tale which the irritating little beast frequently punctuated with unnecessary expansions and corrections.

When we had finished the king sat silently for a moment, contemplating what he had heard. Then, finally, he said;

“There seems to me to be a simple solution to the problem of ascertaining the truth of this matter. Charlie, if you have Grahndel show you the way to the caves and help you to locate a place where the two of you are able to observe them without fear of detection, you will quickly discover whether or not they truly are inhabited by The Professor’s forces. If you find that Grahndel has spoken the truth on this matter, it would seem reasonable to assume that he has done the same throughout his story.”

I had to admit that the plan made good sense and, seeing as how I was never going to find Baskerville sitting around here anyway, I decided that I would go along with it. Grahndel, however, was less convinced.

“Are you crazy?” he demanded. “Not a chance! There’s no way I’m going back there!”

“I’m afraid this is not a request, Mr Grahndel. In case you have forgotten, you remain a prisoner of the Ramooly fairy tribe, and as such the decision over what you do and do not do no longer lies with yourself, but with me, and I say that you will accompany this brave young man to the caves and do whatever he asks of you along the way, for our very future may depend on him.”