The Wings of Ruksh (4 page)

The wall-to-wall heat hit Mrs MacLean in a comfortable wave as she stepped through the mirror and opened her eyes to a magical scene of blue skies, blazing sun, green palm trees and the sweeping curve of white marble pillars that encircled the high terrace of the Sultan's palace.

“Mum!” Neil and Clara, who had turned at the sudden arrival of the Sultan, were amazed to see their mother step through the magic mirror after him, still clutching Lord Rothlan's hand. Sir James and the Ranger, who had been lounging idly on
gaudily
-covered silk divans, jumped to their feet and advanced on Rothlan and Mrs MacLean in some relief. Amgarad, however, flew immediately to Clara and perched on her shoulder making delighted shrieking noises.

“Amgarad!” exclaimed Clara happily, “it's so nice to see you again. I've really missed you!”

“I've missed you, too, Clara,” the bird said in his deep, croaky voice, rubbing his head against her cheek. “It's a long time since you last visited Jarishan.”

Although they had tried, neither Neil nor Clara had ever been able to work out how they managed to understand Amgarad, for he certainly wasn't speaking English as such, but somehow his eagle noises seemed to form words that they could hear in their heads.

With the eagle still on her shoulder, Clara ran to her mother and took her hand. Words tumbled out of her. “Mum, I'm so happy you're here! This is a fabulous place and the Sultan has been so kind to us. And this,” she said excitedly, “
this
is Amgarad!”

She broke off as the Sultan clapped his hands and ushered
them all, politely but firmly, towards the divans. At his signal, servants dressed in flowing white robes appeared from arched doorways, carrying trays of sliced fruit, cakes and pastries and jugs of fruit juice, tinkling with ice. Mrs MacLean sat bemused as they passed the food around and watched in horror as her husband piled his plate with a selection of sticky pastries.

“How can you, John?” she questioned. “You've just eaten the most enormous meal!”

“I've what?” he looked startled.

“The meal at the restaurant. Aren't you still full?”

“But,” the Ranger looked at her oddly, “that was last week …”

“Last week!” she repeated incredulously. “But … you only finished eating about ten minutes ago!”

“I think,” interrupted Lord Rothlan soothingly, “you will find that time is different here. I wouldn't worry about it; just relax and enjoy yourselves. The Sultan is a wonderful host.”

“Do you know him, Lord Rothlan?” whispered Mrs MacLean. “He seemed to know you.”

“I've known him for a long time,” Rothlan said seriously, “although this is the first time I've seen him in years. In the old days, you know, Turkey made the best magic carpets in the world. Everyone came here to buy them.”

“Before Prince Kalman's father stole the crown,” Neil observed quietly.

Rothlan nodded. “Prince Casimir! Yes, the Sultan was so furious at losing the crown, and most of his power with it, that he hasn't spoken to anyone in Scotland since!”

“How did Kalman's father, this Prince Casimir, manage to steal the crown?” Mrs MacLean asked curiously.

Rothlan pursed his lips and frowned. “Casimir,” he sighed, “was always proud and could be a bit arrogant, but underneath it all he was a pleasant enough chap really. Perhaps some strange magic influenced him, I don't know — but the fact remains that while he was visiting Turkey one summer, he seemed to change completely and become totally and utterly
obsessed by the crown.”

“Wasn't that a bit crazy?” queried Neil. “After all, it wasn't any old crown, was it? It was the Sultan's crown.”

Rothlan smiled in agreement. “Exactly, Neil. He couldn't buy it, for it wasn't for sale and he couldn't steal it as it was too well guarded, so he tricked the Sultan into staging a contest with the crown as the prize. No one expected the Sultan to lose, of course, but lose he did and he had to hand the crown over of his own free will. It was only when Casimir was on his way back to Scotland on his magic carpet that the Sultan realized that he'd cheated. Needless to say, he was furious and sent the storm carriers after him to get the crown back.”

“But they didn't get it back, Mum,” Neil said, turning to his mother. “Casimir threw it off the carpet and that's when it fell into Lord Rothlan's loch at Jarishan.”

Overhearing his words, Clara felt a creeping sense of unease. She looked anxiously at the Sultan who no longer seemed the kindly host she knew. Now frowningly stern and abrupt, his eyes were angry and his lips set in a tight, thin line.

It wasn't until they'd finished eating and the food had been removed that the conversation took a serious turn. Clara
listened
with a sinking heart as the Sultan brought up the subject of the stolen crown.

“You made a big mistake in calling up the storm carriers to defend Jarishan last year, Rothlan! They sensed the crown was in your loch from the minute they arrived. Did you think that they wouldn't?”

Lord Rothlan looked at him quizzically. “So you think
I
have it, your majesty?”

“Now that we've met, Rothlan,” the Sultan retorted sourly, “I know that you
don't
. But I've good reason to believe that the MacArthur might, for the storm carriers saw him and his army in the hills round Jarishan last year. That's why I sent my people to Edinburgh. To search for it.”

Rothlan frowned. “The storm carriers weren't mistaken,
but you must believe me, your majesty, when I say that the MacArthur doesn't have the crown.”

“Then why did he put a protective shield round Arthur's Seat, the minute he found out we were in Edinburgh?”

“Your majesty, you must forgive him, but surely under the circumstances it was understandable?” Rothlan's glance was almost indignant. “After all, you haven't spoken to any of us in years!”

The Sultan glowered threateningly. “If what you say is true and the MacArthur
doesn't
have the crown, then who has?” he demanded. “Tell me!”

Rothlan looked at him consideringly for a moment and sat back, stifling a sigh. “You're not going to like this,” he said evenly, “but I rather think Prince Kalman has it!”

The Sultan, his face pale with fury, leapt to his feet and strode up and down in anger. “
Kalman!
” he hissed venomously. “Kalman Meriden! Casimir's son! When I get my hands on him I'll tear him to pieces!”

Rothlan gave a wry smile. “If he has the crown that will be
difficult
, your majesty, for its magic will guard him.”

The Sultan grunted in annoyance at the truth of this and, in a swirl of silken robes, flung himself down on a divan. Adjusting a few cushions, he pulled up his feet and sat cross-legged. “You'd better tell me the story from the beginning, Rothlan,” he snapped. “And don't miss
anything
out!”

Alasdair Rothlan smiled wryly and, choosing his words carefully, told the Sultan what he knew. “Rumour,” he began, “has always had it that the crown fell from the carpet before the storm carriers killed Casimir,” he said. “Needless to say, Kalman scoured the area but although the remains of his carpet were found, his father's body was never recovered. Nor, of course, was the crown.” He shrugged. “It was only recently, when he had the idea of having his father's carpet sewn back together, that he started searching again. You see, he made it tell him everything that happened that night.”

“Did he, indeed,” muttered the Sultan, looking at Rothlan searchingly.

Rothlan nodded. “Before he died, Casimir apparently turned the crown's magic in on itself and tied it to the Meriden family forever. It must have fought against the hex, though, for when he threw the crown off the carpet, it didn't land in Ardray as he'd planned, but fell into my loch instead.” He looked
thoughtful
. “But the fact remains,” he said slowly, a shade of
puzzlement
crossing his face, “that although it must have lain there for many years, it still hid itself from me.”

“That's a good point” the Sultan said, meeting his eyes. “I also wonder why that was.”

Rothlan shrugged and continued his tale. As the story progressed and he outlined everything that had happened in Jarishan the previous year, the Sultan, to Clara's relief, seemed to relax and by the end of the story, looked more concerned than angry.

“So the children were never directly involved with the crown?” he said. “They weren't in the loch with you?”

Rothlan shook his head. “Neil was still suffering from
dragonsleep
and we wouldn't let either Ellan or Clara in the loch. It was too dangerous.”

Neil and Clara blinked as the Sultan turned towards them, his look suddenly becoming searching and penetrating. For an instant, they felt a power stronger than anything they had ever experienced, surge through their minds. “Wow,” Clara gasped, looking at the Sultan in astonishment, “how did you do that?”

But he only smiled in answer and, to her relief, was once more the kind Sultan that she knew and liked. Nevertheless, the memory of his anger stayed with her and she shivered as she thought of Prince Kalman's fate should he ever be at his mercy.

“If what you say is true, Rothlan, and he does have the crown, then he's very powerful and an enemy to be feared. Make no mistake, he's every bit as cunning as his father was before him! We, therefore, must be clever, too. Clever
and
cunning.”

No one dared to speak as, lounging back against the
cushions
, he stroked his beard.

“There may be a way, though,” he said, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “As you know, we, the Osmanli, have always owned the crown and know many of its secrets. Without it my magic, as you know, has been severely weakened over the years but you, Alasdair, are a powerful magician. If you speak truly and are willing to help me, then it is possible that together we could take the crown from the prince.”

“I am more than willing to help you, your majesty,” Rothlan answered immediately, “and I'm sure the MacArthur will, too, once he knows the situation. He's been helping me look for the prince for some time now and he knows just as well as I do that in Kalman's hands, the crown is a threat to us all.”

“Then,” the Sultan announced, rising to his feet, “I suggest that tomorrow we go to Scotland to visit the MacArthur. He has mirrors, does he not?”

“Arthur! Arthur! Wake up!”

At the sound of Archie’s voice, the great dragon rolled over on his bed of treasure, settled himself comfortably and covered both ears with his wings.

“Arthur,
will
you wake up!”

Arthur rolled over again in the hope that Archie would go away. He hadn’t finished his afternoon nap and was in the middle of a particularly exciting dream involving deep, dark forests, knights and castles.

“Wake – up – Arthur!” shouted Archie. “Come on, I know you’re awake!”

Irritably, the dragon slowly opened his wonderful eyes and looked at the small, sheepskin-clad figure that was shaking him out of his dream.

“Go away, Archie. I want to sleep!” he muttered and made to close his eyes again when Archie gave him a tremendous thump that although it didn’t hurt him, was enough to tell Arthur that something really was up.

“Arthur! For goodness sake, wake up! Something dreadful’s happened!” Archie spoke rapidly as he shinned up on his back. “The Turks we’ve been watching in the High Street have somehow managed to get hold of Sir James and the MacLeans! It’s awful! Jaikie’s going frantic!”

“Not Neil and Clara as well?” Arthur sounded shocked.

“That’s what he said! How they managed to get tangled up in all this, heaven alone knows,” Archie gasped, getting a firm grip on Arthur’s scales.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. Now wide awake, he slithered his ungainly way down the huge pile of treasure, scattering gold
and jewels as he went, and sped through the tunnels that led to the Great Hall at a speed that left Archie clinging to his neck for dear life. When they reached the huge cavern, they found it full of little people, clustered anxiously round a raised dais where a wizened old man sat on a large, carved chair. Dressed in boots, breeches and a long, somewhat tattered, sheepskin jacket draped haphazardly over a dull-red tunic, this was the MacArthur, chieftain of the magic people who live in the hill.

From his perch on the dragon’s back, Archie stared across the hall for in front of the MacArthur glowed a delicate
crystal
ball that was, at that moment, pulsing with vibrant light. Archie promptly dug his heels into Arthur’s flank and urged him forward.

The MacArthurs, who had been standing transfixed at the sight of the shining crystal, now scattered frantically as the dragon more or less screeched its way through them and came to a jarring halt. Miraculously, Archie managed to keep his seat and scrambling off the dragon’s back, ran to Hamish and Jaikie who, with the MacArthur and his daughter, Lady Ellan, were gazing into the depths of the crystal.

The MacArthur smiled as Archie and Arthur joined them and repeated some instructions to Hamish, who was taking careful notes on a piece of paper. Archie sighed with relief as he heard Lord Rothlan assure the MacArthur that Sir James and the MacLeans were perfectly all right. However, even as he leant forward to get a better view, Rothlan bade them farewell and the light faded.

Hamish, totally absorbed, scanned the piece of paper he’d been writing on, made a few alterations to his notes and handed the sheet to the MacArthur, who took it carefully and bent over it, frowning short-sightedly as he fished in his pocket for his glasses.

“What on earth’s going on?” Archie asked in amazement. “That was Rothlan’s voice, wasn’t it?”

Ignoring his question, Hamish turned to him with a sigh of
relief. “Thank goodness you’re here, Archie,” he muttered,
grasping
his arm anxiously as he spoke. “Do you remember how to set the magic mirrors? It’s really important as it’s been ages since anyone’s used them. Rothlan’s given us instructions but they have to be absolutely spot-on accurate. It won’t do to send the Sultan to Inner Mongolia or Mandarin China for that matter!”

“The what? To where?” Archie looked absolutely blank.

“Don’t confuse Archie any more than you have to,” Lady Ellan admonished, flapping an exasperated hand at Hamish. “Things are complicated enough without you rabbiting on about China!”

“Listen,” she explained to Archie, who was looking more bewildered by the minute, “Alasdair … Lord Rothlan … has just contacted us from Turkey.”

“Not China?” queried Archie.

“Forget China!” she said, “China has nothing to do with it!”

“But, Hamish … “

“Listen to me, will you,” her voice became impatient, “Sir James and the others are safe in Turkey and Alasdair wants to bring them back here through the mirrors and,” she said,
running
her hands distractedly through her long, fair hair, “you’re never going to believe this! The Sultan of Turkey is coming as well — with his entourage!”

“The Sultan of Turkey!” Archie and Arthur looked at one another in amazement. “You mean,” Archie gulped, “that …that Sulaiman the Red is coming here? To the hill?”

“Through the mirrors,” she nodded, “and how we are going to cope with them all, I don’t know. I doubt if we have enough bedrooms for a start; even in the old days he never travelled with less than fifty people!” She looked harassed and turning towards him, touched her father’s arm. “Excuse me, won’t you, father. I’ve a good bit of organizing to do if we are going to show our guests some good, Scottish hospitality!”

The MacArthur, who had finished reading the sheet Hamish had given him, took his glasses off and absently nodded his
head. As his daughter headed purposefully for the kitchens, he turned to them in relief and patted Arthur absent-mindedly as the dragon, curled excitedly beside his great chair, puffed clouds of smoke that set them all coughing.

“Well, I don’t know how Rothlan’s done it,” the MacArthur said, waving his hands around to disperse the haze, “but he certainly seems to have worked miracles! He’s not only managed to mend fences with Sulaiman the Red but has rescued Sir James and the MacLeans as well. I don’t mind telling you that Jaikie had me seriously worried when he told me the restaurant had disintegrated!”

“That’s nothing to how
I
felt,” Jaikie said, feelingly. He shook his head in disbelief. “How they ever found out about the Turks is a mystery! We’d barely found out about them ourselves!”

“We’ll doubtless hear their side of the story when they arrive,” soothed the MacArthur. “To tell you the truth, I still can’t quite believe it! Sulaiman the Red — coming here in person! After all these years!”

“It’s just as well he
is
coming, MacArthur,” interrupted Archie. “Especially now that we know Prince Kalman is in town. In fact, the sooner we start getting things organized the better.”

The MacArthur nodded. “All the mirrors will have to be taken out of storage and set accurately for a start. Arthur will give you a hand with them.”

“And another thing,” Hamish added as Arthur flapped his wings, “what are we going to do about the shield we have in place round the hill? We can’t afford to leave ourselves open and unprotected for very long, not with the prince around — and if Kitor, that crow of his, has been snooping about the place, well …”

The MacArthur nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed, “it’ll all have to be done pretty quickly. Otherwise you never know who might end up stepping through the mirrors.”