For every child who has fought a battle that wasn’t theirs to fight.

‘You see, children know such a lot now, they soon won’t believe in fairies, and every time a child says, “I don’t believe in fairies,” there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead.’

Peter Pan and Wendy

J. M. Barrie

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Part I New Beginnings

Chapter One A Town Reclaimed

Chapter Two A Sighting in the Valley

Chapter Three Mrs Klompet Caves In

Chapter Four Under the Big Top

Part II Turbulent Times

Chapter Five Oslo the Gladiator

Chapter Six A Soldier’s Life

Chapter Seven The Exploding Boils

Chapter Eight Nonna Luna’s Apprentice

Chapter Nine The Magic Broth

Chapter Ten A Soft Landing

Part III Exploits and Expeditions

Chapter Eleven The City of Runis

Chapter Twelve The Drunken Admiral

Chapter Thirteen The Wood of Tartar

Chapter Fourteen Do Not Pass Go

Chapter Fifteen The Game Decides

Chapter Sixteen The Magic Word

Part IV Revelations

Chapter Seventeen An Audience with the Queen

Chapter Eighteen A Fairy Parliament

Chapter Nineteen Gummy’s Secret Weapon

Chapter Twenty Bloodthirsty Preparations

Chapter Twenty-One The Final Fray

Chapter Twenty-Two Playing for Victory

Chapter Twenty-Three Just Desserts

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Praise

Copyright

About the Publisher

Part I
New Beginnings

CHAPTER ONE
A Town Reclaimed

How many children have experienced the stomach-sinking sensation felt seconds before disaster strikes? Surely you yourself are no stranger to the hammering heart, goggling eyes and rigid back as you watch raspberry lemonade soaring from your glass in an arc towards your mother’s brand new rug. It all happens as if in slow motion and you are helpless in the face of the powers working against you. But there is another feeling, which I sincerely hope you are more familiar with, and that is the flooding relief when disaster is narrowly averted. The head-spinning joy that comes upon the realisation that providence is your friend. Fortunately, it is a Persian rug and the raspberry lemonade has blended so naturally with its pink and crimson swirls that your mother will be none the wiser. You are so thankful to have escaped punishment and the need to compose an apology speech that a period of calm follows in which you lie low and revel in your good fortune. Gratitude overwhelms you and for a short time your behaviour even verges on the angelic. Your mother ends up concluding you are unwell, takes your temperature and suggests a day off school!

It was just this kind of quietude that had now descended upon the little town of Drabville and its inhabitants. Since the liberation of the shadows from the fiendish Lord Aldor, Drabville had been forging its way towards a new identity. It would not be an exaggeration to say the town was almost unrecognisable. Having felt the repression of living in a colourless world, the townsfolk now wanted to explore what had once been off limits and rediscover the meaning of fun. Citizens delighted in staying awake till the wee hours brewing coffee and conversation if the fancy took them. Children indulged in a whole range of previously prohibited distractions, including building treehouses, making prank calls and borrowing freely from the library tales of danger, elopement and rebellion. People strolled the streets wearing sombreros, ate boysenberry tarts, wore their hair in pigtails and threw copies of the town’s former Code of Conduct onto a great bonfire. Even the statue of Mr Mayor in Poxxley Gardens had undergone a transformation: it now wore a nappy wrapped around its beaming head and had been reclassified as modern art.

Where grey had once been the norm, everything had suddenly become vivid. With colours available in abundance, people had repainted their monotone houses in startling individual shades like Mint Infusion, Sahara Sands and Paprika Symphony, so that no two looked alike. It seemed as if a different sun shone upon the streets, and even the soil appeared a richer shade of brown. It could even be described as ‘cocoa’ or ‘russet’, for such words were no longer out of place.

Drabville had been revived; life breathed into its dead streets. Although the people of the town had previously lived without putting a foot wrong they had also lived without vigour and nobody wished things back the way they were. The townsfolk made many a blunder while celebrating their new independence, but they were so exhilarated by their freedom to do so that it rarely led to conflict. In spite of the awkwardness that sometimes accompanies adjustment, a spirit of tolerance and cooperation prevailed. The good cheer now evident in the streets was genuine and not compulsory.

In Peppercorn Place, Millipop Klompet also basked in her newly acquired freedom. The most important addition to her life was undoubtedly the regaining of a mother. Those of you with sound memories will recall that Rosie, the former prisoner of Hog House who had been both advisor and friend to the children during their incarceration there, was none other than Milli’s own mother. Milli had been aware of a strong bond developing between Rosie and herself as she and Ernest devised rescue missions and protested against the callous treatment of small and prickly animals forced to double as decorative hedges. But the truth had only registered (she was now abashed to admit) when Rosie had called her by her pet name, Little Millipede, just as their gondola set off into the unknown on the night of the Hocus Pocus Ball. So preoccupied had Milli been then with foiling the plans of an ancient magician with an insatiable desire for power that there had barely been the time to think about the impact this would have on her life.

Milli could now say with complete confidence that life with a mother was entirely different. Mothers, she now recognised, were indispensable to one’s wellbeing. They could come in all shapes and sizes and you did not even need to be biologically related. What mattered most was that they functioned like an anchor in your life: you could not stray too far into uncharted waters before being tugged gently back to shore. It was the most secure feeling imaginable.

Things in the Klompet household had improved a great deal since Rosie’s return. Her utmost priority was the rebuilding of her family. There was even a schedule on the refrigerator designating times during the week that were set aside for Family Capers. Even though on any given afternoon Mr Klompet could still be found dabbling in the much less cluttered kitchen, he now engaged in meaningful banter with his wife and children. Rosie had seen enough madness at Hog House to put up with it from members of her own family and it was largely due to her efforts that Milli’s sister, Dorkus, had been enticed out of her room. Dorkus had even ventured as far as the kitchen in recent times, where she could often be found stroking and speaking in soothing tones to the white goods in order to improve her relations with them. However, convinced still that some household appliances had designs on her food, she insisted on taking all meals under the table. As for Stench, the family dog, his company was more bearable now that he was forced to endure the occasional bath. Milli, enjoying a calm she had not previously known, often entertained herself by passing samples of her father’s latest culinary creations to Dorkus under the table whilst delighting in listening to her parents debating Drabville politics. Although life was not perfect, nobody could dispute that things had changed for the better. The family had settled into a messy, quirky and charming domestic life—Klompet-style.

Rosie’s responsibilities were not confined to keeping her family in check. She was also kept busy fulfilling her role as one of Drabville’s new Custodians of Concord. In order to ensure that peace and justice were maintained, the town had appointed a circle of custodians to advise its citizens on all matters of dispute. These persons were esteemed in the community and regularly consulted in times of difficulty. Rosie was often found seated at the kitchen table poring over documents and chewing the end of her pen whilst she sipped tea and her glasses slipped down her nose.

You and I both know that life as part of a family is rarely conflict free and the Klompets were no different from anyone else. But, aware of the years lost, they felt so fortunate at being reunited that their disputes often ended in laughter. Milli and her mother shared a predisposition to stubbornness and did not always see eye to eye. But another trait they shared was an inability to harbour a grudge for very long. Any flare-ups were momentary and passed as quickly as Sunday evening does before the school week resumes.

But Milli’s contentment with her new life did not lead to neglect of old comrades. She still spent much of her time with her best friend and fellow adventurer, Ernest Perriclof. Since their defeat of Lord Aldor and their return to Drabville, the children had been treated as heroes. Tiles bearing their names and commemorating their courage had been added to the library’s mosaic walk. In the first weeks following their homecoming, there had been festivals and brunches in their honour and they had barely been able to walk down the street without having to shake hands with someone or pose for a photograph. But the festivities and congratulations had eventually petered out and the citizens had settled down to enjoy a life with fewer limits.

Although they rarely spoke of them, Milli and Ernest had not forgotten their unorthodox guardians, Mr and Mrs Mayor. Once or twice they had returned to Hog House, even though their families did not approve, fearing it might trigger a hankering for past indulgences. The pair had found the windows boarded up and the manicured gardens allowed to grow untamed. They could not help but feel a hint of sadness when they saw that not even a wisp of tinted smoke now puffed from the four chimneys of their short-lived home. In Mr Mayor’s office, the flamingo’s desk sat abandoned and the ceiling ended not in frothy clouds, but solid plaster. The lion paws on the dining chairs’ curved arms no longer twitched, possessing as much life as the solid oak they were carved from. In the vast and airy kitchens, the only smells that wafted to greet them were mould and damp. In the room that had been the children’s nursery, the carousel was jammed and refused to turn even when they climbed onto the horses and urged them forward.

Without the magicians, Hog House was simply a derelict old mansion. Its numberless rooms had vanished, and where there was once a rabbit warren of mirrored corridors, a single oak-panelled passageway now stood. Mrs Mayor’s chambers were as quiet as a museum on a sunny afternoon and nothing floated in the air but dust motes. The children tried to use the elevator to descend to the dungeons where they had once been imprisoned, but no matter how many buttons they pressed, the elevator remained stuck fast.

The children did not miss the manic Mr and Mrs Mayor or their cruel ways, any more than they missed the floating Lord Aldor and his menacing presence. What they longed for was magic and adventure, for every child enjoys playing dress-ups once in while and there had always been a new and astonishing corner of Hog House to explore when boredom overtook them. But the house and its previous grandeur had become dusty and deserted. The magic had already left it by the time a victorious Milli and Ernest returned to Drabville. As for the Mayors, they were never seen or heard of again, although rumour reached Drabville of a bejewelled and velvet-clad couple who had been spotted working as janitors in a fast food outlet several towns away.

The wistfulness the children felt for their old home did not last long for there was plenty to keep their minds occupied in the new Drabville. At the Perriclof dinner table, for example, general knowledge quizzes had replaced the silence games. Occasionally, as a special treat, a slab of velvety cheesecake or a hunk of Rocky Road rewarded the winner. And Ernest found, to his surprise, that his younger siblings had personalities of their own. They took great delight in playing practical jokes on him, such as hiding his treasured rocks in his socks or under his sheets. He was most distressed on one occasion to find that the icing on a bun he was about to eat was actually glittering with fragments of his precious amethysts.

Milli and Ernest also made every effort to remain in regular contact with their old friends Nettle and Leo. Having discovered a talent for the creative arts, Nettle was happily designing and producing her own line of jewellery, Nettleart, nothing of which even remotely resembled safety pins. She had a thriving stall at the Sunday Craft Market, which had earned her the respect of all the street traders. Nettle had inherited her parents’ gift for business, although her sales were honest and hypnosis did not feature in her techniques for attracting shoppers. Leo, meanwhile, had been reunited with his parents and happily helped with the care of his new baby sister, Spatula (pronounced Spat-chew-la), as well as completing his studies in both Horticulture and Heroics. Although Leo was in an older form at school, he was not ashamed to play marbles with Milli and Ernest, and preferred spending his lunchtimes with them reminiscing about sea perils and gondolas.

The children, who had been dreading the return to school bells and dour-faced masters, were surprised to find that Drabville Elementary offered a prime example of how dramatically things had changed. If you listened carefully, you could almost hear top buttons popping open all over the school, followed by sighs of relief. Schools as you and I know them are dark and dismal institutions of torture that are resistant to change. Perhaps in some future golden age things will be different and they will become bright and bubbly places full of laughing children and regular nap times. But at present, our schools have strict codes, stifling uniforms and crabby teachers who often walk around with the mouldering remnants of last week’s lunch spotting their ties. They will tell you they cannot afford dry-cleaning on their meagre salaries. As students—or perhaps the word ‘victims’ would be more appropriate—we sit stiffly at our desks, eyes slowly rotating with the hands of the clock. We listen with heavy hearts to the droning of whichever autocrat stands at the blackboard screeching instructions and demanding answers to impossible questions. I, myself, once made the foolhardy mistake of saying to a teacher, ‘But, Miss Steelbosom, I am sure Caravaggio isn’t an Italian cheese,’ and found myself staring at the back of a very dusty broom cupboard and balancing an encyclopaedia on my head for the duration of the lesson.

But this kind of torment was no more at Drabville Elementary. The teachers had done away with every blackboard, mathematics chart and grammar book in the building. Instead, the children gathered in the grounds for Socratic-style lessons where questions were not only invited, they were positively encouraged. Perhaps in your eyes this mightn’t sound much of an improvement, but make no mistake: the curriculum had altered along with the formalities. Tedious lessons had been replaced with a curriculum that followed the theory: Learning must be fun to be effective.

Not only had the lessons at Drabville Elementary suddenly become engaging but the relationship between the teachers and students had also changed. In the interests of equality, everyone operated on a first-name basis. Can you imagine what would happen if you addressed your teachers by their first names? The whole system would crumble as the prime motivation for teachers is the wielding of power.

Ernest’s idea of heaven was realised in science one day when each student was asked to prepare a one-minute monologue in the persona of a metamorphic rock. Milli’s favourite addition to school life was the introduction of a new subject entitled Hiccups in History, which Miss Linear (now known as Prima) had been appointed to run on a part-time basis. In these lessons, discussions abounded about epochs in time when wickedness had triumphed over kindness, deceit over truth and cunning over compassion. The time of the lost shadows was a topic explored with much animation. Lord Aldor’s ashen face and a list of the evils he had perpetrated appeared in the new history books, and an official biography was under way with the express purpose of reminding the townsfolk of characteristics to be wary of in upcoming politicians. These included the ability to mesmerise, walk without touching solid ground, twitching pinkie fingers and eyes of shifting colour. Lord Aldor’s reign (as some referred to it) was thought of not dissimilarly to the way we remember the Dark Ages. Already sprinkled throughout conversations the terms BGG and AGG could be heard. The first abbreviation referred to the grim time period before the Great Guzzle and the second to the liberating time after.

In this new spirit of euphoria, no one in Drabville stopped to consider the well-known reality that perfection rarely lasts for long. When it does, one should pinch oneself in order to be reminded that, alas, endless good fortune is nothing more than an agreeable illusion. It brings me great sorrow to inform you that the folk of Drabville had no intention of pinching themselves. The dream, in which they had all come permanently to reside, was simply far too enjoyable. Would you wish to awake from a dream in which your siblings welcomed you into their bedrooms with open arms instead of putting KEEP OUT and ENTER ON PAIN OF DEATH stickers on the door; where the town baker offered you a Bumbly-Currant Strudel on your way home from school every afternoon and where the milkman whistled as he drove his van from door to door? I know that I should be in no hurry to leave my cosy bed, but might be more inclined to snuggle deeper under the covers, shut out the light and prolong such a delicious dream. Therefore we can hardly blame the townsfolk for being blind to the warning signs when they did finally appear. For appear they did, and Drabville was caught off guard. Little did the town suspect that it would soon be woken from its reverie by the most unpleasant of jolts.

CHAPTER TWO
A Sighting in the Valley

Milli and Ernest lay in a striped hammock suspended between a fig and a plum tree in the Klompets’back garden. Pencils, books and jotters were scattered between their tangled limbs. They had been brainstorming town names all morning, in between their game of being at sea and under pirate attack (for which stakes pulled from the vegetable garden served nicely as cutlasses). The Custodians of Concord had recently launched a competition to rename the town, as Drabville, everyone agreed, now seemed such a misnomer. Fired by the challenge, Milli and Ernest had spent entire afternoons in animated discussion over possibilities for the town’s new name and what it ought to suggest. It was not an easy task trying to encapsulate all that Drabville had become in a single word and, being competitive as well as creative children, they had no intention of rushing the process. Their ideas so far included names like Jollyvale, Perkytown and Happy-Chappie, none of which were suitable to be shared with anyone else let alone submitted formally.

This competition was only one of many innovations instigated by the Custodians of Concord. They had also decided on a new and inspiring town motto, Découvrez L’enfant (funny how mottos always sound more motto-ish in a foreign language), which had already found its way into everyday speech. For those with a negligible knowledge of French, Découvrez L’enfant means Discover the Child and was entirely appropriate for a town that liked to describe itself as ‘child-centred’. It was hoped that this motto would ensure that no individual talent or gift was ever overlooked or wasted again. In order to implement this noble objective the dons and scholars of Drabville had set to work pinpointing areas of uniqueness in each child. Schoolmasters were trained to identify talents and then nurture and give them scope to flourish until their owners became dexterous in their particular gift.

One poor girl, Harrietta Hapless, didn’t seem to have a natural ability for anything, let alone something that might be described as a gift. Harrietta had tried and given up pottery, snorkelling, rose pruning and even skirting-board cleaning, until one day the professors observed her remarkable aptitude for speedily tying shoelaces. From that day on, every child at Drabville Elementary whose laces came undone sought out Harrietta so that she might showcase her skill. Harrietta Hapless soon excelled beyond the average standard of lace tying and moved on to tying (and sometimes even untying) more complicated items. Her reputation grew and she quickly established herself as unrivalled champion of this art. She was once even seconded to the Department of Town Planning when they ran into a knotty problem involving scaffolding and ropes.

In the Klompet garden, Milli and Ernest were distracted from their efforts by the arrival of Mr Klompet bearing a tray of Crispy Clouds, which just happened to be Ernest’s favourite afternoon snack. Crispy Clouds were balls of dough that puffed up into irregular cloud shapes when lightly fried and were then dusted with sugar and cinnamon. The best bit was their surprise centre, which could contain either a blob of tangerine custard, black-cherry jam or hazelnut praline. The amazing thing about Crispy Clouds was that the dough was so aerated you could eat a dozen of them and still have room for more, but it required a master baker such as Mr Klompet to get them just right. Coming from what was usually a confectionery-deprived household (Mrs Perriclof’s idea of a treat was throwing a handful of raisins in with the carrot sticks) Ernest found the Klompet kitchen a veritable paradise.

Tired of warding off another pirate invasion, Milli’s thoughts strayed into more dangerous territory.

‘Do you ever wish we could have another adventure?’ she began tentatively. Her question, apropos of nothing, made Ernest immediately wary. After all, the last time she had said something like that he had ended up as a yodelling goatherd.

‘Not really,’ he replied casually, hoping to discourage further discussion.

‘But don’t you miss having a problem to solve?’ Milli persisted.

‘Not so long as you’re here.’

‘Very funny.’ Milli scowled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not proposing anything. I just feel idle sometimes, that’s all.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ said Ernest firmly. ‘I am very busy compiling my new lexicon.’

He took such an enthusiastic bite into a Crispy Cloud that a spurt of custard was jettisoned onto Milli’s shirt front. She responded with surprisingly good grace.

‘But you don’t know any Mexicans, Grotty.’

‘A lexicon, dunderhead, is a type of dictionary containing words pertaining to a particular field or subject.’

‘And what, may one ask, is your subject?’

‘Piffle, mostly,’ Ernest replied. ‘You see, the English language often falls so short of conveying exact meaning that I have decided to do something about it.’

‘But isn’t piffle just nonsense?’

‘Mine shall be meaningful piffle.’

Milli was sceptical. ‘What happened to geology?’

‘I have been forced to pursue a more secure hobby,’ Ernest said bitterly, thinking of the havoc wreaked on his rock collection by his insensitive younger siblings.

Milli patted his arm sympathetically. ‘I think we need a break,’ she said.

Ernest looked crestfallen at the idea of leaving behind the uneaten mound of Crispy Clouds, but cheered up considerably when Milli took the tray with them into the kitchen and tipped its contents into Dorkus’s floppy-brimmed sunhat. She then had to wait patiently for Ernest to apply a liberal coating of sunscreen before they could venture outside again.

‘Hurry up, Ernest, it’s not even sunny,’ Milli nagged.

‘Just because you can’t see the sun doesn’t mean it isn’t there,’ Ernest replied. ‘We’ll see who’s laughing when you start peeling like an onion.’

Milli examined the tube. ‘This looks suspiciously like moisturiser to me,’ she teased.

‘It most certainly is not moisturiser,’ Ernest said. ‘It is a specially imported aloe vera protection gel.’ With that, he marched out the front door and down Peppercorn Place just as Dorkus wandered in asking if anybody had seen her sunhat.

Eventually their jaunt through town led the children to the familiar gates of Poxxley Gardens. Inside, they headed directly for the old oak tree they had come to affectionately refer to as their Headquarters. Weeks ago, bored with children ceaselessly begging for stories about magicians and the Hocus Pocus Ball, Milli and Ernest had decided a sanctuary was in order. They had secretly constructed a treehouse in the uppermost branches of the oak; a place they could retreat to when the pressure of having been catapulted to stardom proved too much.

Despite the fuzzy rug and the spotty curtains framing the window, the best thing about the treehouse was definitely its lookout. This was where Milli and Ernest kept an eye out for approaching enemies and ensured that Drabville remained protected and villain-free. Although such enemies existed mostly in their combined imaginations, occasionally they included a stray child or dog who came dangerously close to discovering the hideaway. Their vigil was assisted by the use of a telescope—an Ernest construction made of cardboard tubes and a series of magnifying glasses fastened together with masking tape. The children were convinced it was as effective as any professional astronomer’s tool.

This afternoon, Ernest busied himself jotting ideas for his lexicon in a pocket notebook while Milli commandeered the telescope. The day was cloudless and she enjoyed looking out over the undulating landscape. The telescope faced away from the ruins of Hog House and looked east to the mountains that separated Drabville from adjoining boroughs. The main road meandered like a white ribbon through fields and hills as green and lush as those seen on postcards. She scoured the horizon for signs of anything amiss, but saw only the occasional horse-drawn cart laden with market produce, and then a rollicking yellow bus carrying a group of Drabville’s octogenarians back from a sky-diving excursion. Milli shifted the telescope’s focus away from the road and scanned the skies for suspicious-looking clouds. She found one that looked uncannily like the face of a bearded scholar and was busy waiting for his expression to change when something altogether different caught her eye. At first she thought it was a bird, but no bird she had ever seen was this size or colour. It was moving too fast to be a hot air balloon, and it was far too early for the sun to be setting. But a flash was streaking across the sky and staining the surrounding hills a blood red. The streak of colour spiralled downward towards an open field, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. But by the time she convinced Ernest to come and look, whatever it was had gone. Milli had been so determined to spot something that she wondered whether she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

When Milli and Ernest wandered home some hours later, the sound of jubilant shrieks reached them well before they entered Drabville’s main square. There they found young children tugging at their mothers’sleeves and demanding answers, their faces upturned in anticipation, whilst older children jumped around in a flurry of excitement. Adults gathered in clusters, having abandoned their usual posts, and there was a good deal of gesturing, shaking of heads in incredulity and clasping of hands. What could have caused this degree of animation in the normally decorous town? Was it a good or a bad thing that had occurred? Did the authorities need to be notified?

Milli and Ernest tried to pick up fragments of the conversations taking place around them but could only glean single words or disjointed phrases because people were speaking so quickly. Some of these words included: spectacular, unexpected, surprise and world-renowned. Whilst this did not clarify anything much, it did at least reassure them that there was no cause for alarm. The traffic had stopped but no one seemed to mind. Vendors had stepped out of their shops and workers were leaning perilously out of office windows and ignoring their ringing phones. The children managed to get the attention of Mr Percival Bow, who was standing outside his violin shop, and asked him what was going on.

‘Where have you two been hiding?’ he chided gently. ‘Haven’t you heard the news? The whole town’s in an uproar. This is a historic event. My oh my, are we in for a treat!’

Milli and Ernest turned in the direction Mr Bow was pointing and saw a gangly figure on stilts parading up and down the main street. The children did not recognise the man with his long dreadlocks and spider web tattooed across his face. He was clearly an outsider. Every inch of him was hung with bells and with each step he created a racket that was impossible to ignore. He had the same effect as one hundred town criers all working together. (Town criers, as everyone knows, date back to the Middle Ages and existed to deliver important announcements and proclamations to the people. Unfortunately, they have long since been replaced by technology, which is undoubtedly more efficient but sadly less dramatic.)

Suddenly the man stopped and the curious crowd closed in around him. Balancing effortlessly on his stilts, he drew something from his ear and popped it into his mouth. Throwing back his head, he inhaled deeply and breathed out a column of fire above his head. There was a collective gasp and the crowd took a step back. The fire hovered a moment before scattering. It twisted and danced until the blazing image of a circus tent hung in the air. Above it, the fire scrawled the message: The Lampo Circus Awaits.

The burning letters gradually faded and began to fall. The onlookers ducked and shielded their children from the embers, but there was no need as they transformed midair into circus flyers that fluttered their way downwards. The crowd scrambled to collect them before they were snatched away by the wind. The fire breather’s feat was met with thunderous applause and cheering. His painted face remained surprisingly blank despite the thrill he had generated and, with a brief bow, he continued on his way.

Now, you may be thinking that all this fuss by the Drabvillians about the arrival of a circus was just a touch disproportionate. But that is because you and I have been spoilt by access to a variety of events, each one more exhilarating than the last. I, myself, recently attended a birthday party hosted in a video-game parlour where the guests were invited to divide into armies, slip into bulletproof vests and do battle using laser guns. At home, we are able to visit virtual realities via our computer screens and help our favourite heroes save the world simply by pressing buttons and manoeuvring little levers. But this story is about the technologically naive citizens of Drabville who were about to get their first taste of something you and I engage in as routinely as brushing our teeth: entertainment. The truth is, if someone had walked down the streets of Drabville juggling a few old oranges, the citizens would have been impressed. The arrival of a world-renowned circus could not help but send them into a spin.

Milli made her way back to Peppercorn Place with one of the flyers in her pocket. A flustered Dorkus, still in pelican-print pyjamas (despite it being late afternoon), greeted her at the door. This was the furthest distance Milli had ever seen her sister venture from her bedroom. Even Dorkus had heard the news and was full of questions. Had Milli seen anything of the actual circus? What had she heard? What went on at a circus?

Seeking answers to similar questions herself, Milli made her way to the kitchen. Given the excitement she had just witnessed in the square, it was disconcerting to find her parents seated at the table, deep in conversation and looking decidedly ill at ease.

‘The town’s gone mad,’ Milli blurted. ‘Everybody’s talking about this Lampo Circus.’

‘It’s been a long time since anything like a circus has come to Drabville,’ Rosie said. ‘I suppose the reaction is understandable.’

‘Why do you look so worried, then?’ Milli wanted to know.

Rosie did not quite understand her own trepidation, but suspected it came from a vague awareness of her family’s, and indeed the town’s, vulnerability.

They had only recently recovered from the upheaval of conquering Lord Aldor and restoring the townsfolk’s shadows. She did not feel prepared for another disruption so soon. Unable to articulate this to her exuberant daughter, however, she opted for a conservative response.

‘There are more important things to think about,’ she said, and reverted to reading the newspaper.

‘But I can go, can’t I?’ Milli said. ‘They’re only here for a week.’

Mr Klompet rose to put the kettle on, which he always did at the first sign of discord.

‘Milli has to go!’ put in Dorkus, quite prepared to live vicariously through her sister. ‘Who else is going to tell me all about it?’

Rosie remained noncommittal. ‘We’ll see,’ she replied, smoothing her younger daughter’s dark curls.

And despite her persistence, this was the only answer Milli was able to elicit from her mother all evening.

CHAPTER THREE
Mrs Klompet Caves In

Still thinking,’ Rosie repeated calmly for possibly the sixth time that morning. This was in response to her daughter’s incessant questioning as to whether she had arrived at a decision regarding the Lampo Circus. ‘Just bear in mind that I think better when I’m not being badgered,’ Rosie added.

The circus was putting on its opening performance that very morning and Milli had not yet been permitted to go! What had got into her usually liberal parents? Mrs Perriclof had not expressed reservations of any sort and she was the type of mother who diarised daily sugar intake! But Mrs Klompet suddenly wanted answers to all sorts of things. How long had the Lampo Circus been operating? Were they a licensed company? What had made them decide to come to a small and out-of-the-way town like Drabville? What was Mr Lampo’s personal history? Milli could neither answer nor see the relevance of any of these questions, but with Mr Klompet siding categorically with his wife, the decision appeared to be final.

When Ernest arrived at the house in his best trousers and a bow tie, the news that Milli would not be accompanying him left him thoroughly downcast. Milli was his best friend and going to the circus without her would be no fun at all. As a display of solidarity, Ernest decided on a noble course of action. If Milli was prohibited from going, then he would make the ultimate sacrifice of abstaining and share with her the deprivation. If this heartless decision was going to cause psychological damage in the long run, then they would be damaged together. He couldn’t allow Milli to go through something like that alone. Milli tried to talk sense into him but Ernest remained steadfast in his decision.

Touched by this loyalty, Milli resolved to spend every waking hour of the following week with Ernest. After all, they didn’t need the Lampo Circus. They had never had any trouble entertaining themselves before. To keep their minds off what they might be missing, they decided to invent a new and outlandish game that would go down in Klompet and Perriclof history.

But invention was no easy task with their concentration regularly interrupted by reports of the circus and its wonders. In the days that followed, Drabville came to resemble a ghost town. Usually responsible people packed picnic baskets and spent entire days idling on the village green. The news of the circus spread like wildfire and it seemed as if an invisible Out of Order sign had been plastered over everything. Theatre performances were cancelled until further notice, birthday celebrations were rescheduled, wedding ceremonies postponed, and even the Drabville Bank’s annual Invest and Jest party, which had taken place on the same date for ninety-five years, was shifted on the calendar!

There wasn’t a single shop that still welcomed customers through its doors. Every retailer, traffic warden and postman in town had been granted a holiday. People were forced to bake their own bread as the bakery staff had taken immediate leave, citing ‘family reasons’ for their absence. For the week that Lampo and his circus were in town, the children were only required to attend half-days at school. If any parents were disgruntled about this, there wasn’t much they could do as all school staff had absconded to the village green where the circus had set up camp. The only living organism to be found in the classrooms each afternoon was the mould growing on rejected bananas that had been buried behind pot plants and lockers. Milli and Ernest could not even seek refuge in the library because Miss Linear had taped a Closed Until Further Notice sign to the entrance. This was unheard of, as it was her personal philosophy to keep the library doors open through ‘hail, sleet and snow’ as she liked to put it.

The circus arrived on Monday, and by Wednesday there was not a single soul who had not seen the show. In fact, most had seen it more than once because the acts varied from day to day. Milli and Ernest heard painstakingly detailed accounts of the incredible feats performed inside the tent and the magical treats that could be purchased there. The more they heard, the more tormented they became. They found they did not have the enthusiasm to slip into one of their games, and even visiting the ruins of Hog House had lost its appeal. Their thoughts drifted inevitably towards the circus during every conversation. It really could not be helped when there was nothing (not even school) to fill the long hours of the day and serve as a distraction.

According to reports, Ringmaster Lampo was an instant success with the town’s children. He kept all manner of tricks and treats in the oversized pockets of his waistcoat which he gave away readily to those lucky enough to be in closest proximity. As for the grown-ups, Lampo regaled them with tales of circus history dating back to ancient times. And he never failed to inquire with interest after their own town affairs, which they were more than happy to gabble endlessly about. Although Milli and Ernest had never laid eyes on the ringmaster, they were already beginning to dislike him and his blasted circus which had excluded them so wholly from their own community.

The week stretched on interminably, rather like sitting in an algebra lesson when the teacher is talking about quadratic trinomials. But still Mrs Klompet remained unyielding. She tried to make up for it by setting aside extra time for Family Capers, but Milli refused to participate. The tension in the household mounted. As more tales of the circus reached them with each new day, Milli became more and more resentful until she could think of nothing else. Even Stench sensed her mood and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible for fear of being accidentally trodden on or banished outside.

In Bauble Lane, Ernest was faring no better. He was being teased (more than usual) by his younger siblings, who, unable to comprehend his decision to stay away from the circus, ridiculed it. When he wasn’t with Milli, Ernest spent most of his time holed up in his bedroom brainstorming synonyms for ‘injustice’ to add to his lexicon. He even took to having his meals in his room as listening to the family’s excited chatter about the marvels of the Lampo Circus had begun to interfere with his digestion.

On the morning of the circus’s last day in town, Milli and Ernest decided to go for a stroll at an abnormally early hour to avoid running into what they had dismissively dubbed ‘circus fanatics’. They were looking forward to the Lampo Circus packing up and moving on so they could put the whole beastly experience behind them and recover some of the popularity they had now come to miss. Quite by chance they ran into two unexpected people. A pair of young circus performers in green tights and spangled capes were back-flipping their way down Drabville’s main street, looking as flexible as if their bones were made of rubber. They stopped every now and then to paste flyers on lampposts and shopfronts.

When the two reached Milli and Ernest, they came to a halt. They were a girl and boy who seemed to be about the children’s own age, with burnished red hair, freckled noses and startlingly blue eyes. They gazed at Milli and Ernest as if they did not often meet other children and were unsure how to behave. The boy smiled awkwardly while the girl shuffled her feet.

As usual, Milli took the initiative.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Milli and this is my friend, Ernest. What are you doing out so early?’

‘I could ask the same of you,’ the boy retorted spiritedly, before formally introducing himself. ‘I’m Finn and this is my twin sister, Fennel. We’re Lampo acrobats.’

His sister smiled shyly, then did an impressive double somersault before shaking their hands. The children could not help liking the twins immediately. How providential to run into a couple of Lampo’s actual stars. It was the closest to the circus the children could expect to get thanks to Milli’s intractable mother.

‘Have you seen the show?’ Finn asked.

‘Not as yet, but we’re hoping to,’ Milli fibbed. ‘You both seem very talented.’

The twins beamed at the compliment.

‘Well, we have to practise every day,’ Finn said.

‘Are your parents in the circus too?’ Ernest wanted to know.

‘They were,’ Fennel said softly. ‘We’re orphans.’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Ernest, conscious that he had made a faux pas.

‘It’s okay. The circus is our family now,’ said Fennel.

‘Is Ringmaster Lampo as wonderful as everyone says he is?’ Milli asked.

The pause that followed this question was a touch too long. The girl seemed to pale a little and stole a sidelong glance at her brother.

‘Federico Lampo looks after us all,’ said Finn. ‘Please excuse us now, but we must finish this task.’ They both bowed politely before spinning on the balls of their feet and cartwheeling their way down the street.

Milli frowned as she watched Finn and Fennel go. There was something odd about their behaviour. She had not missed their sudden downcast eyes when Lampo’s name was mentioned. Milli knew from experience that you could deduce a great deal by what people did with their eyes when asked a simple question. The twins had been unsure where to look. Perhaps this meant there would be repercussions if they were late in completing their assignment. Of course, Milli could not be sure of this, and she hoped she was wrong as they seemed such gentle and unassuming children.

Not wishing to delay them further, Milli did not call after them but instead detached one of their notices from a nearby lamppost.

FREE CHILDREN’S MATINEE!

Thank you Drabville for your hospitality and warm welcome! In recognition of this,
Federico Lampo and his Travelling Circus are proud to issue an open invitation to all children to attend our final matinee today at 2 pm sharp.

If you meet the following requirements then you are most welcome!

1. You want to see a show you will one day tell your grandchildren about.

2. You are ten years of age or over.

3. You’re not averse to participating in magical feats.

4. You are of sound mind and body.

5. The idea of mortal combat appeals to you.

Light refreshments will be provided. Unhealthy confectionery available in abundance. Children may be collected from the exits at 4 pm.

Charges for lateness will apply.

NB: No identification required. Parental supervision unnecessary. (Parents—take a little you time!)

Milli could barely contain her excitement. A matinee performance exclusively for children! How could her parents possibly object to that? Seizing Ernest by his jacket, she pelted back to Peppercorn Place and burst in the door gasping for breath. Thrusting the flyer at her mother, Milli folded her arms in indignation.

Rosie let out a weary sigh and closed the wallet of papers she had been working her way through. Straightening her glasses she began to read. When she had finished, she put down the flyer and looked thoughtfully at her daughter.

Milli and Ernest were not without a plan. This was their final chance to campaign for their cause and they had several strategies to put in place. The conversation went something like this:

Milli: Nothing has gone wrong all week and now it’s their last performance.

Ernest: (hanging his head sadly) We’re the only children in town who haven’t seen the show. We’ve heard there are going to be presentations about it at school…I guess we’ll just have to talk about the history of the steam engine instead.

Milli: It must be worth seeing if it’s being incorporated into the curriculum.

Ernest: No parent would willingly rob their child of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Milli: It’s Lampo’s way of expressing gratitude for the town’s support.

Ernest: (ruefully) One is a child for such a short time…

They could not be sure if it was guilt or exhaustion or a combination of both that finally caused Mrs Klompet to crack. I suspect she was thinking about the everlasting stream of tears and recriminations that would follow should she prevent Milli from attending. As children, you and I know just how malleable parents can become given the right game plan.

‘Enough!’ Rosie raised her hands in protest. ‘You two should consider running for politics. If you really want to see the show that badly, then go. Just try not to be late home for dinner—your father is making his famous chunky starfish stew with lima bean purée.’

Milli grinned at her mother. ‘Thanks for the warning.’

It was well before the matinee was due to begin and the village green was already awash with children waving their parents off. Milli and Ernest were jostled and elbowed but were too awed by the sights around them to be bothered by bad manners.

Brightly decorated caravans in rows served as the performers’ homes. In the centre of the open field a mammoth tent had been erected. It looked to Milli like an alien spaceship that had landed in Drabville by mistake. Images shimmered across its canvas surface. On one panel, daring equestrians rode upside down on galloping horses; on another, elephants in pastel tutus pirouetted daintily whilst behind them kangaroos boxed in satin shorts.

It was no surprise to see the ticket stall with its fringed canopy was unattended, as no tickets were required for today’s matinee.

Milli and Ernest, who had eagerly anticipated this moment all week, could hardly wait to get inside. The crashing of cymbals caught everybody’s attention. The entrance to the tent furled open to reveal uniformed ushers ready to escort the children to their seats. Inside did not resemble a circus tent as you or I know it. They entered a sumptuous interior with tiered seats and silk cushions to sit on. Instead of sawdust on the floor there was a fine white sand that gave off a cosy heat in case your feet got chilly during the performance. Special box seats at the front offered an uninterrupted view of the ring. Ernest, who was interested in engineering, was intrigued to discover that he could see no evidence of rigging keeping everything in place. Giant gold tassels instead of pegs pinned the tent to the ground.

On every child’s seat was a hessian drawstring bag containing edible delights such as sour sherbet canes, a jug of caramel shake (the creamy contents miraculously did not spill until you were ready to take a sip) and butterflies made entirely of coloured marzipan that fluttered around your mouth for a moment before dissolving. There were also keepsakes, including a miniature horn that roared out different animals sounds each time you blew it. (It had educational merit as well because you had to correctly guess the animal before the horn would move on to the next sound.) There was also a tin of tiny toy soldiers that leapt from the confines of their container and used the heads of audience members as trampolines, pulling hair, knocking off glasses and thieving confectionery as they went. Their antics were met with shrieks of glee from the children. Just as the last soldier was recovered and returned to his drawstring bag, a hush of anticipation fell over the audience. The lights dimmed and a drum roll signalled that the show was about to begin.

CHAPTER FOUR
Under the Big Top

A stodgy man strutted into the ring cracking a whip. He had the toothiest grin the children had ever seen and would have been wonderful in a toothpaste advert. He wore a gold earring that twinkled when it caught the light, an embroidered waistcoat and a large top hat that glittered with horseshoes and centipedes. Every few moments his enormous buttons exploded with shimmering silver dust that fell from his clothes as he moved, giving him the appearance of being incandescent. Ringmaster Lampo’s apple cheeks shone so brightly that he appeared to be made of wax, and the beads of perspiration beginning to gather on his forehead made him look as though he were melting. He gave an exaggerated bow and opened his arms to the audience in a sweeping gesture.

‘My dear children, I welcome you to the Lampo Circus where extraordinary things happen at every turn.’

His voice was ridiculously high-pitched and had a grating, falsetto ring. If you have ever heard the squeals of a pig stuck in a fence, then you will recognise the noise Ringmaster Lampo produced every time he opened his mouth.

‘Are you ready to witness a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle?’ he teased his audience, raising wild eyebrows. ‘I promise you an extravaganza so spectacular you will not want to blink for fear of missing a moment of it. I promise you a matinee to remember!’

He paused mid-breath to pull a snail from his pocket, which morphed into a rainbow-coloured lollipop that he bestowed upon the closest child. Lampo gave a girlish giggle of satisfaction and from another pocket produced a dragonfly, which he swallowed whole only to have it reappear sitting on his head, which was revealed to be as bald as an egg when he lifted his top hat. He smiled graciously in response to the sighs of wonder that followed.

‘There is much more in store for you this afternoon, so you had better hold on to your seats. But before we begin, I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge a very special guest gracing us with her presence today. I am speaking, of course, about the one and only Contessa Augusta Bombasta, Patroness of the Arts, without whose largesse the survival of this circus would not be possible. Please show her your appreciation.’

He inclined his head reverently in the direction of one of the specially reserved box seats.

The children broke into hesitant applause, not entirely sure what ‘largesse’ meant but hoping it did not refer to size. (In actual fact, it is just a word snooty people like to say in place of ‘generosity’.) The children craned their necks to take in the personage upon whom Lampo lavished such praise. When the Contessa stood to acknowledge their applause, the children might have been forgiven their confusion as to the meaning of ‘largesse’ for there was an awful lot of her to take in.

Contessa Bombasta was a rhinoceros of a woman. From her great height she looked down her aquiline nose at the children and raised one pencilled eyebrow almost vertically in disdain. She had heavy, pendulous jowls, and beady eyes. Across her shoulders was draped a stole of black ermine. Indeed, all of her garments appeared to be made from assorted animal pelts. The jewellery around her neck had the creamy sheen only ivory possesses and was so heavy she seemed to sag a little under its weight. On her feet she wore pumps decorated with glazed lizards’ eyes. One hand clutched a crocodile leather handbag, and the other cradled a shorn miniature poodle. On her head was perched a hat plumed with feathers from the rare and endangered Congo Bongo Bird.

Two female assistants in heavy-framed glasses and matching suits flanked the Contessa and ministered to her needs like automatons. With their hair pulled back so tightly their eyes slanted upwards, they looked like executive Barbies. When Bombasta’s nose twitched, both knelt on the ground, whipped open a briefcase, unfolded a crisp linen handkerchief and lunged to catch her sneeze, just missing it by seconds. Contessa Bombasta rolled her eyes at their ineptitude and roughly pushed them aside. She gave a regal nod to the crowd before resuming her seat. This appeared to be the ringmaster’s signal to proceed.

‘To start off the show with a whiz and a bang,’ Lampo squealed, ‘it is my great pleasure to introduce to you our first act for this afternoon. Please make welcome the world’s most incredible contortionist. All the way from Mongolia, I give you…Bling-Bling!’

The hypnotic chords of a mandolin filled the tent and a nimble and svelte girl no more than sixteen materialised in the ring. Bling-Bling wore silk pantaloons and an Oriental blouse buttoned up to her neck. Her long black hair hung in a thick rope down her back. Pressing her hands together as if in prayer, she bowed and performed some graceful stretching exercises. Then, as calmly as if this were an everyday occurrence, she began to fold up like a napkin. She sat cross-legged and began snaking her limbs together as though her entire body were made of play-dough. Soon she had halved in size with her chin touching the floor parallel with her feet. The children expected her to stop there, but an assistant hurried into the ring carrying a lacquered hatbox. He placed it in front of Bling-Bling, who waddled towards it on hands and feet. With a few deftly executed movements she manoeuvred her entire body into the box’s cramped interior. The assistant snapped the lid shut and walked out of the ring carrying Bling-Bling under his arm.

As the audience erupted into applause, Bling-Bling bounced her way back for the second instalment of her act. This time the assistant arrived bearing a largish porcelain teapot on a silver tray. Spinning on the balls of her feet, Bling-Bling built up enough speed to appear a blur. She then shrank down in size until she was able to dive into the teapot leaving only a pair of dainty feet protruding from its rim. The assistant picked up the teapot and made as if to pour from it, whereupon Bling-Bling spilled out and unravelled to her normal size.

No one knew what to expect when Federico Lampo introduced the next act as The Croakers. They turned out to be a troupe of break-dancing toads wearing caps at an angle and enormous white runners. They accompanied their routine (involving head-spins and moonwalks) with toad song, a type of synchronised croaking so rhythmic that the audience could not help tapping their feet along in time. At one stage, the toads climbed up on one another’s backs until they had formed themselves into a toad pyramid. They peeled off their hooded jackets to reveal iridescent skin glowing as bright as fairy lights. The entire pyramid twinkled like a Christmas tree.

Next, The Croakers arranged themselves to resemble famous structures such as the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum and the Sydney Opera House. When their final song ended, the toads dispersed to resounding cheers. A couple of megalomaniacs amongst them could not resist crowd-surfing, but were safely caught and petted by delighted children.

The next act involved four acrobats on a tightrope. As they balanced on the wire, hooded black figures appeared below them and hurled beach balls, cricket bats and even the occasional toaster in order to topple them. The audience held its breath and hoped ambulances were at hand, but the acrobats dodged every missile and did not even falter. They skipped, hopped and tumbled along the wire effortlessly, even waltzing with each other at times. When one momentarily lost his footing it was clearly intentional, as he caught one of the beach balls in midair and threw it out to the audience before vaulting back up to the tightrope, where he landed as lightly as a cat.

Other acts followed, each more riveting than the last. Fireworks exploded from the ears of the tattooed fire breather they had seen in the town square, and an escape artist known as Moolini hacked and wriggled his way out of a sticky web before ravenous spiders a hand’s breadth in size made a meal of him.

Before the children knew it, Lampo was announcing that interval had arrived. He invited them to partake of the refreshments provided and reminded them to pay a visit to the fortune-teller’s booth, which had been set up just outside the big tent.

‘Our fortune-teller hails all the way from the Po Valley and is none other than my own little grandmother. Nonna Luna would be more than happy to look into the seeds of time for you. She keeps no secrets, so find out who will prosper and who will perish…if you have the nerve.’

Milli and Ernest spilled outside with all the other children to stretch their legs, but could not speak so overwhelmed were they by what they had seen. Suddenly, two nimble figures whisked by and pulled them into the shadows.

‘What are you doing?’ Milli began crossly, but stopped when she recognised the faces of the twins, Finn and Fennel. This time they were dressed in flared aqua-blue jumpsuits and covered in sequins from ankle to collar. They were an eye-catching sight.

‘We need a favour,’ Finn gabbled. ‘Urgently!’

‘Well, it’s not for us,’ elaborated Fennel. ‘It’s Nonna Luna—she can’t read without Wild Butterbean Thistle and she’s run out.’

‘What in heaven’s name is Wild Butterbean Thistle?’ demanded Ernest.

‘A herb, of course,’ said Finn. ‘Puts her into a trance so she can activate her second sight. She’s in a terrible state and Lampo won’t be happy if he finds out.’

‘We would get it for her ourselves,’ Fennel hastened to add, ‘only we’re on next. Can you help?’

Milli and Ernest exchanged puzzled looks. The last thing they needed just before the second half of the show (which, if Lampo was to be believed, would prove even more exhilarating than the first) was to be sent off on a tedious errand. Especially one to help somebody’s grandmother they hadn’t even met. They turned longingly back to the tent, but Finn and Fennel looked so desperate that neither Milli nor Ernest had the heart to refuse them. Perhaps if they hurried they could be back before the second act began.

‘Where do we find it?’ asked Milli.

She watched instant relief spread across the freckled faces of the twins, who shook their hands and thanked them repeatedly before turning and hurrying away.

‘Wait!’ Milli called after them. ‘You haven’t told us where to find Wild Butterbean Thistle!’

But Finn and Fennel were already disappearing inside the circus tent.

‘Wonderful!’ Ernest threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘This is a perfect example of why it’s a bad idea to make new friends. They can be such work. How will we ever find this hallucinogenic herb in time?’

‘We’re going to have to try,’ said Milli, a hint of half-heartedness detectable in her voice. She wanted to help Finn and Fennel but she found it hard to believe that the twins could make such an impossible request and then leave without giving them instructions.

Wasting no time, Milli and Ernest embarked on a quest through the town. They wandered aimlessly for a few minutes before realising there was only one person who could really help them. Ernest’s Aunt Bulb had recently set up her own herbal pharmacy in a cobbled lane off Drabville’s main square. She used her knowledge of botany to make her own brand of herbal remedies she called Bulb-Aids. When they arrived, the children found Aunt Bulb consulting with a customer who was describing the behaviour of a persistent verruca.

‘We’re going to have to call in the big guns,’ Aunt Bulb was saying. ‘You will need a mixture of cat’s urine and sea salt—a tricky combination but guaranteed to dissolve the most persistent of fungal growths.’

She removed the stopper from a bottle and poured its contents into a jar, then added a generous spoonful of white grains from a mortar and pestle. She gave the mixture a few good shakes and handed it to the patient whose expression suggested that living with the ugly growth did not seem such a bad option after all.

‘Morning and night for a week,’ Aunt Bulb instructed firmly.

‘Hello, dears,’ she greeted the children once the verruca victim was on his way.

‘What brings you here on the last day of the circus?’

She bustled about in her white lab coat and safety goggles, carefully arranging rows of glass bottles with handwritten labels on the shelves. When the children explained the purpose of their unexpected visit, Aunt Bulb’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Wild Butterbean Thistle, you say?’ she mused. ‘Do you mean the herb famous for warding off boggarts and swamp monkeys?’

‘That’s the one!’ the children cried. Of course, they had no idea what other things Wild Butterbean Thistle could do but they were in a hurry to get back to the circus and willing to accept anything with stalks.

‘You can’t mean the plant herbalists mix with Edelweiss and Catnip to induce invisibility?’ Bulb continued in her own frenzy of excitement.

‘Exactly!’

‘The plant that restores youth if you stuff your pillow full of it and sleep face down on it for a month?’

‘That’s the one!’

‘You can’t be referring to the same Wild Butterbean Thistle that in the wrong hands can be used to summon the dead?’

‘Yes, yes—have you got some?’

‘Wild Butterbean Thistle hasn’t been seen in these parts for over a hundred years. I’ve only read about it myself, but I don’t think you’ll find anyone within a thousand miles who has actually seen it, let alone used it.’ Bulb folded her arms. ‘Sorry, dears, but I can’t help.’

Milli looked at Ernest. ‘Is it just me or do you get the feeling that we’ve been sent on a wild goose chase?’

Feeling both angry and foolish, the children sprinted back to the village green. Checking the Town Hall clock, they realised the matinee performance would be close to over by the time they got back. They could not believe they had been tricked like this. Wild Butterbean Thistle was virtually extinct. Surely Finn and Fennel must have known that? And if they did, what was the purpose of their ruse? What did they hope to gain by it?

The children were mere metres from the red tent, hoping there would be at least one more act left before the show ended, when something extraordinary happened. A buzzing like electricity filled the air. A sharp wind blew up, stinging their eyes and slapping their faces. Before they could gather their thoughts, Federico Lampo’s circus tent began to collapse and fold like an umbrella before their very eyes. Was this the final act? But where were all the children? They must still be inside.

When sparks began to shoot out Milli knew something was amiss. She gave a cry and tried to move towards the tent which now bobbed in the field like a bottle at sea, but the wind drove her back. She could hardly see for the dust that was kicked up. In the middle of it all, the tent gave an enormous shudder, wobbled slightly and launched like a zeppelin straight into the air.

For a moment, the children simply stood riveted. Then Milli came to her senses. ‘Quick!’ she shouted, forcing her way towards the rapidly rising tent. The thick golden tassels that had worked as pegs were now being tossed about in the wind. Milli looked up at them. They were just close enough to grab if she jumped. Another few seconds and they would be out of her reach.

‘Get hold of a tassel,’ she shouted to Ernest. Bracing herself, Milli leapt with as much strength as she could muster. She felt the silky fringe of the tassel beneath her fingers and held tight, the muscles in her arms straining.

‘Jump!’ she yelled to Ernest below.

Ernest tried a couple of times and missed. He landed in a heap on the ground.

‘Get up!’ Milli urged. ‘Try again!’

Ernest bent his knees before making a final lunge and this time the tassel did not slip through his fingers. He felt his hand close around it just in time.

With a judder and a jolt the tent was propelled high above the treetops. The tassels blistered their hands and the wind flung their small bodies from side to side like kites, but the children clung on like death, so determined were they not to be left behind. The tent burst through cloud, dampening them so that they shivered all over. They closed their eyes and tried to remain calm as they followed Federico Lampo and his Travelling Circus on their furthest journey yet…into the sky.

Part II
Turbulent Times

CHAPTER FIVE
Oslo the Gladiator

Milli and Ernest woke in a sun-bleached wheat field. They recalled nothing of how they got there and there was no sign of the tent or anything remotely connected to the circus. Rubbing their eyes, they sat up, as did the other children all around them, and gazed at the washed-out world they now found themselves in. For some time nobody spoke, for fear words might break the fragile barrier between reality and make-believe. As long as the unnatural silence remained, they could still trust in the idea that this was an illusion executed by the Lampo Circus. Any moment now they would blink and find themselves back in the tent. Ringmaster Lampo would commend them on their participation and their parents would be waiting outside to collect them.

But more minutes passed and nothing changed. Presently, some of the younger children began to whimper while the older ones took a few tentative, directionless steps in search of some sort of explanation.

The heavy silence was interrupted by the sound of galloping hooves. Several hundred small faces turned to stare at the black charger rapidly approaching. The horse’s muscles flexed and rippled in its powerful body and Ernest held his breath as it drew so near he feared they might be trampled.

But it reared at the last moment, grinding its hooves into the ground and sending clods of earth flying. The animal (which they would later learn was named Fiend) towered above them. On its back sat a rider whose face was hidden behind a helmet.

Any hope the children had that this was a circus official come to explain what had gone wrong with the stunt and guide them safely home evaporated once the rider dismounted. He was dressed in what Ernest recognised from lessons on ancient civilisations as full gladiatorial armour. He wore a pleated tunic, leather sandals and across his shoulder was slung a shield engraved with the image of a griffin. A scabbard hung from his waist, housing a long sword. He had greasy black hair tied back samurai-style and his scowl looked so permanent it might have been a feature in its own right. Muscles bulged in his thighs and biceps and his neck was as thick as a bull’s.

The man’s eyes narrowed menacingly as he surveyed the children, his expression similar to that of a hawk about to swoop on its prey. He raised a bronzed arm into the air and Ernest saw a wide copper band circling his forearm, glinting in the sunlight. Unexpectedly he made them jump by letting out a roar that was not recognisably human. The children watched as he tightened his fingers into a powerful fist. The muscles in his arm swelled so alarmingly that the copper band burst apart and fell in fragments to the ground. The man did not have to utter a single syllable for the children to understand the meaning behind this action. The look he gave them spoke volumes: any child who crossed him would end up wrapped around his forearm until they too exploded.

The man remounted his horse and cantered around the group, driving them closer together like a herd of sheep.

‘Move!’ was the first word he uttered and, seeing there was no other alternative, the children complied with this directive and broke en masse into a run. Soon the wheat field was a pale blur behind them.

As they tired, the children were permitted to slow to a jog, and eventually instructed to ‘Halt!’ before a pair of towering gates. An inscription above them read: Veni, Vidi, Vici. Milli wondered if this might be the name of the place, but Ernest’s forays into Latin told him it had something to do with a famous historical emperor who had been preoccupied with the idea of claiming everything he set eyes upon.

Inside the gates, the children found themselves in an enclosure dotted with a scattering of thatched huts. An impenetrable-looking fence made of sharpened palings surrounded the entire camp and obscured any view of what lay beyond. But there was one edifice too lofty to be completely concealed. A majestic jade citadel rose from amid the western hills, its chilly green spires seeming to pierce the sky like blades. Milli’s gaze lingered on this distant vision for a moment and she tried to imagine its residents. She was recalled sharply to the present by the snarling voice that addressed them.

‘Welcome, weaklings, to Battalion Minor, which you will hereafter regard as your new home,’ the man said sternly. ‘I am Oslo, retired gladiator, master of the fighting arts and your new personal trainer. It would be wise to pay attention and follow my instructions at all times. In fact, I would go so far as to say your very survival depends on it. Many of you would not be aware that a war is raving for which we must all be prepared.’

‘A raving war?’ whispered Ernest. ‘Doesn’t he mean “raging”?’

Milli elbowed him into silence but Ernest had already drawn Oslo’s attention.

‘Silence in the ranks!’ he roared. ‘Your training begins immediately and, I warn you, it will not prove easy. Here at Battalion Minor you will learn to live by the three S’s: sacrifice, stoicism, submission. You should count yourselves lucky. It is an unmistigated honour to be accepted into this school.’

Oslo’s speech, which he had obviously prepared without the help of a dictionary, was interrupted when a moon-faced boy, reminded of being at school, piped up. ‘Excuse me, sir.’

Oslo reeled as if he had been hit by a tonne of bricks. His head swivelled in all directions and he almost lost his footing from disbelief at being interrupted.

‘Which of you spoke?’ he barked.

The boy’s hand rose tentatively and all eyes turned towards him.

The speaker’s name was Gummy Grumbleguts. His passion was guzzling, which gave him as much pleasure as lexicons gave Ernest or adventures gave Milli. In fact, he was still clutching an empty packet of peppermints he had been munching at the circus and lolly wrappers were stuck to the seat of his pants.

‘There must be some mistake,’ Gummy frowned innocently. ‘None of us here actually applied.’

For a moment the gladiator called Oslo looked as though he might be tempted to knock the boy’s head off like a melon using his riding crop, which was already twitching in his hand. But at the last minute he seemed to reconsider whether the boy was worthy of the effort decapitation would require. Instead, he satisfied himself with looking Gummy up and down from his well-padded ankles to his mop of sandy hair and potato-dumpling nose. Gummy shifted uneasily under the scrutiny, but could not quite manage to bring his feet together to achieve a more military stance on account of the chubbiness of his thighs. He scratched absently at an insect bite on his neck that he must have acquired on the journey for he certainly could not recall having it that morning. Along with the heat, it was really starting to bother him.

Looking at this clumsy new recruit, Oslo could not control a chuckle of derision. ‘If you didn’t apply, then you must be just lucky.’

He turned his attention back to the group and tried to resume where he had left off. ‘Allow me to briefly acquit you with the geography of our facility.’ (Ernest had difficulty repressing a smirk at Oslo’s misuse of language.) ‘To the left, the ablutions block.’

The children turned to see a row of rusty troughs filled with murky water. Wooden cups and ladles floated on the scummy surface. Behind the troughs were cubicles of corrugated iron which they surmised must be toilets. Oslo kicked a door open to reveal a metal bucket buzzing with blowflies and a stack of newspapers on the floor.

‘To the left are the barracks, where you will sleep, and directly behind you is the mess hall, where you will parboil of your meals. Lastly,’ he gestured to an open expanse near the perimeter of the compound, ‘the training ground.’

‘When can we go home?’ a little girl with the face of a cherub cried out.

Oslo was not so much outraged as impatient this time. Children were not something he had been required to manage in his previous positions of responsibility. They were proving to be quite trying.

‘Questions are only permitted between the hours of midnight and 5 am,’ he snarled.

‘But we’ll be asleep then,’ the girl said with disappointment.

‘Precisely,’ Oslo replied.

Milli opened her mouth to object to this lack of logic but Oslo cut her off.

‘It was curiosity that killed the cat—remember that, weaklings, and it is certainly not recommended here. Not if you want to survive, that is! Don’t expect anyone to make allowances for your age. You are soldiers of the Realm now. Soldiers do not ask questions; they follow instructions. Before you know it, I will turn you into warriors, unstoppable fighting machines, whoremongers ravenous for victory!’

‘I think you mean “warmongers”,’ Ernest quietly corrected, unable to let this latest slip pass.

‘I mean what I say, and what I say is exactly what I do not mean,’ Oslo bellowed. ‘Now, before we begin, I have a test to conduct.’

The children waited in horror, wondering what kind of test Oslo had in mind.

‘Who can tell me,’ he began, pacing up and down like a general, ‘what to do if a man slights you?’

Encouraged by her recent successes, it was Harrietta Hapless’s hand that went up. ‘You ignore him and walk away?’ she suggested.

‘Wrong!’ Oslo roared. ‘You disembowel him. What do you do if a thief thieves from you?’

‘You report him to the nearest authority?’ Ernest proposed, starting to enjoy himself a little now.

‘Incorrect!’ Oslo snorted. ‘You cut off his hands. What means of action is appropriate if someone blows their nose in your direction?’

‘Offer them a hanky,’ someone called out.

‘Excellent!’ Oslo yelled. ‘Then smother them to death with it!’

‘Are you saying that no matter what a person does, they deserve to be punished by death or dismemberment?’ Milli challenged.

‘Did I mention that inquisitiveness is also punishable by death?’ Oslo said, glaring at her.

‘This is preposterous. We need to speak to someone in charge.’

If Gummy’s attempts at military behaviour had previously amused Oslo, Milli’s snappish demand nearly made him split his sides with laughter. After recovering his breath he was finally able to speak.

‘Dinner is in exactly half an hour,’ he said in between renewed fits of laughter. ‘You may use the time between now and then to settle in.’

He stumbled off, still holding his sides and repeating Milli’s last words to himself.

Murmurs of dismay broke out immediately after Oslo’s departure and the children scattered in various directions. Milli and Ernest headed for the huts. They entered a long rectangular building that was lined with rows of bunk beds, each with a straw mattress and a grey army blanket. A paper bag at the end of each bunk contained some meagre personal items: a metal comb, a rough tunic, a pair of army boots and a jar of hair-removal cream, which caused some bafflement.

‘I think ancient gladiators preferred their bodies hairless,’ a voice behind them stated. Milli and Ernest turned to find Finn and Fennel standing there. Still in their circus costumes, the twins looked conspicuous in the grim surroundings of the camp. Finn wore his usual hard and ‘prepared for anything’ expression while Fennel’s face was crumpled with worry. Milli’s apprehension swelled to anger. ‘You tricked us!’ she accused the twins. ‘You knew this was going to happen and you didn’t warn us!’

‘We were trying to help,’ Finn responded in an injured tone.

‘It was all we could think to do,’ Fennel added, her blue eyes swimming with tears. ‘We knew we couldn’t stop Lampo, but we thought we might save you.’

Milli found her anger somewhat dissipated by Fennel’s distress, which seemed quite genuine, and the four of them slumped onto the floor to discuss their predicament.

‘Can you at least tell us what’s going on and where we are?’ Ernest asked with an imploring look.

‘Well, you’re a long way from Drabville,’ Finn said. ‘Have you ever heard speak of the Conjurors’ Realm? That’s where we are.’

Milli and Ernest froze in horror. They needed no further explanation. Immediately their thoughts raced back to their imprisonment in Hog House and everything they had learnt there about the Conjurors’ Realm. How naive of them to have believed they could be free of Lord Aldor and his accomplices so easily. And this time they had travelled right into the heart of his domain. Escape might not just be tricky, but impossible.

‘You don’t mean to say that you live here?’ asked an incredulous Milli. The twins’ silence indicated an affirmative reply.

‘It wasn’t always such a terrible place,’ Fennel said. ‘Not originally anyway. We were very young when things started to go bad.’

Finn sighed and exchanged a glance with his sister.

‘I suppose you’d better hear it from the beginning,’ he said. ‘There’s plenty we don’t know, mind you, but maybe our story will help you to understand things a bit better.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Fennel and I used to live with our parents in the hills outside Runis, the main town in the province of Rune. We were a proper family and did everything together. The only thing our parents refused to include us in was their weekly meeting with our neighbours where they discussed the leader of the Realm who was greedy and wanted everything for himself. We listened at the door once and heard them talk about the horrible things he’d done and how they intended to try and stop him.’

Finn’s voice caught suddenly. He bit his lower lip and looked at his feet. Fennel patted his arm and continued.

‘Soon after we came home to find our house in ruins and our parents gone,’ she whispered. ‘There were two cloaked men waiting for us who called themselves members of the Inquisition. They took us to Lampo and we’ve been with him ever since.’

‘It’s my job to look after Fennel,’ Finn told them. ‘We haven’t got anyone else to rely on. You don’t find many friendly faces in the Realm these days.’

‘I’m sorry about your parents,’ Milli said quietly, ‘and that things have been so hard for you.’

Fennel nodded gratefully and went on with the story. ‘We worked as servants for Lampo and Bombasta, until they cooked up this awful scheme of tricking the town of Drabville. We couldn’t think how to stop them.’

‘But why would they do that?’ Ernest asked. ‘Surely you must know something.’

There was a desperate edge to his voice but Finn and Fennel just shook their heads.

‘We know only that a war is coming and we must prepare for it,’ Finn said.

‘Whose war? What does any of that have to do with us?’

The twins, distressed at their inability to elucidate further, looked at the children helplessly.

‘This is making no sense at all,’ Ernest said. ‘I thought you two were acrobats in the Lampo Circus.’

‘Don’t you see?’ wailed Fennel. ‘The circus was just a front.’

‘A front for what?’

‘We’re not sure. All we know is that trouble is brewing, and something tells me we’re right in the middle of it,’ Finn said.

‘Lampo wouldn’t kidnap hundreds of children just for fun,’ Milli muttered.

‘We’re as much in the dark as you are,’ said Finn. ‘No one is allowed to ask questions, remember? But Lampo and Oslo are part of whatever is happening.’

‘Please don’t put Oslo off side or we’ll all pay for it,’ Fennel pleaded.

‘Who is this Oslo, anyway?’ Milli retorted hotly. ‘Seems like nothing but a big bully to me.’

‘He’s a trained gladiator hired by Lampo,’ said Finn.

‘Why isn’t he fighting hungry lions or doing gladiator things then?’

‘Apparently he gets light-headed at the sight ofblood,’ Finn explained,’ so he’s been reassigned to other duties.’

Milli scowled. ‘Gladiators don’t even really exist any more.’

‘Do us all a favour—don’t tell him that,’ was Finn’s advice.

(What Finn proposed was good advice indeed. In my experience, people generally, whatever their profession, do not appreciate being reminded of their shortcomings. But this is especially true in the case of unsuccessful gladiators. Those who prosper in this industry—which is fiercely competitive and very hard to break into—usually find it a short-lived career. Those who do not prosper often turn to child or aged care as an alternative source of income whilst they wait for their talents to be discovered or their fears to disappear through expensive and protracted therapy. Oslo, as it happened, was extremely thin-skinned about his sensitivity to butchery and did his utmost to make up for it by being the most barbaric disciplinarian possible.)

Any further conversation was cut short by a speaker on the wall suddenly crackling to life.

‘All recruits are required in the mess hall for dinner. That is, all weaklings to the mess hall immediately,’ instructed an expressionless voice a little like the one you might hear in the supermarket when the cashier scanning your items calls for assistance.

Feeling even more unnerved than before, Milli and Ernest joined the other children as they made their way to dinner. The mess hall was a long room that smelled of boiled cabbage and school camp. Spider webs hung from the beams of the ceiling. The only furniture was medieval-looking trestle tables with rough benches to sit on. At the servery were stacked wooden bowls and cups, which the children were required to collect on trays before lining up at the counter. Here the food was doled out in sloppy and shapeless portions by the kitchen staff. They were elderly matrons with scabby scalps and dirty fingernails, and Ernest’s first instinct was to report them to the Department of Sanitation before he remembered where he was.

Think of the most nauseating things your parents have expected you to eat in the name of good health: steamed Brussels sprouts, slimy salmon steaks or the brown pulp they call lentil soup? Well, the food the children were about to be served made these things look scrumptious. We all know the components of a healthy diet are vegetables (however green and smelly they may be), legumes (although they are generally brown and look like rat droppings), carbohydrates (despite being boring and plain) and protein. Alas for the children of Battalion Minor, protein was the only element Oslo considered important, as it built muscle. First came a thick and purplish slab of undercooked meat which the kitchen staff called Rhino Rump. It arrived swimming in its own juice and was as chewy as old octopus. It was accompanied by a serve of baked potatoes so ancient they had sprouted tentacles. Then came a plate of what looked like pancakes rolled into cylinders, although the children had never seen grey pancakes before. They looked coarse and rubbery in texture and had a peculiar smell like the plains of Africa, if anyone knew what these smelled like.

‘Excuse me,’ Ernest asked of one of the kitchen ladies, ‘what is this?’

‘Crepes au Elephant Ear,’ she replied as she scratched a sweaty armpit and slapped down another serving.

Lastly, and quite possibly the most horrendous of all the dishes, was a circular fillet of python in what Gummy Grumbleguts identified as tartare sauce. Some of the scales were still attached and stuck between the children’s teeth as they ate, for eat they must as it was the sensible thing to do under the circumstances. Who knew what strength they might need to deal with tomorrow’s challenges? Gruesome as the meals appeared, everyone agreed that starvation was far worse a prospect.

Their only beverage was a frothy protein-enriched drink called Yolk Wine, which combined egg yolk with the juice of muscat grapes.

When the repulsive repast came to an end, Oslo immediately ordered the troops to bed. Ernest begged for some toothpicks from the kitchen ladies, as the idea of going to sleep without flossing was absolutely abhorrent to him. The barracks were as cold as igloos when the children returned to them. They gathered their blankets and mattresses and decided to huddle together on the floor to keep warm. Finn and Fennel curled up together like two little peas in a pod. So chilly was the night that Ernest, much to his horror, found himself snuggling up to Gummy Grumbleguts. Gummy had much the same effect as sitting on a radiator, his body gave off so much heat. He wrapped an arm comfortingly around Ernest.

There on the floor of the barracks, the children lay and waited for morning. Sleep was fitful and many remained awake well after midnight. But the human mind, as we know, is a complex organism. There are only so many hours it will allow you to contemplate the unfathomable before switching off like a mobile phone when the battery has run low. When this happens, there is not much you can do about it. Eventually, the children stopped both thinking and crying and fell into an exhausted sleep.

CHAPTER SIX
A Soldier’s Life

Milli woke to a snuffling in her hair and something like a moist sponge nudging her cheek. She opened one eye to see the face of a large Alsatian looking down at her. In her state of semi-wakefulness Milli mistook the dog for Stench, rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. But the dog whipped her blanket off, pawing and barking at her until she had no choice but to get up.

She looked around to see other dogs bounding on beds and shaking the rest of the children awake. It wasn’t long before they had roused the whole barracks. When everybody had struggled to their feet, the deadpan voice crackled through the speaker again.

‘Rise and shine! It is currently one minute past five and just after Question Time. All new recruits are to report immediately to the mess hall. I repeat, all recruits to the mess hall immediately.’

A ghastly serving of Kransky sausages and watery gruel awaited them at breakfast. For those of you who do not know, Kranskies are a type of Russian sausage the width of a baseball bat and dotted with lumps of fat the size of golf balls. Kranskies are stodgy food at the best of times, let alone first thing in the morning. When the children emerged from the mess hall after picking at their breakfast, a fired-up Oslo was waiting for them on horseback.

‘Today’s program,’ he began, projecting his voice as if the children were miles away instead of standing right in front of him, ‘will start with a morning drill. Camp duties will follow and I have put a rostrum up in the hall.’

‘What’s a rostrum?’ Milli muttered under her breath.

‘He means roster,’ Ernest said.

Oslo looked down at his palm a few times while speaking, and some of the more alert children saw he had jotted down key points he wanted to make in case they slipped his mind. Oslo’s speech was made funnier by his emphatic pause each time he used a word intended to impress.

‘You have been aligned [assigned]…teams that will be responsible for the upheave [upkeep]…of different areas. Kitchen staff will issue you with sandy [sundry]…cleaning equipment. At precisely ten o’clock there will be an inspection of the troops. I expect you to make a favourable impression. When the officious [official]…party arrives, be sure to stand to attention and do not speak unless spoken to. Your real training will begin after this. Now, displace [disperse]!’

The children cleared tables, swept floors and washed undergarments by pounding them with a stone in one of the troughs. Then came a disorderly session of formal marching. Oslo put them through a series of routines that required them to straighten their shoulders and lift their knees until they were almost level with their chests. They were required to lie on their backs and kick their legs from side to side as an exercise for developing ‘burly buttocks’. Eighty star jumps were performed for ‘steely sinews’; sixty push-ups for ‘formidable forearms’; and one hundred and twenty sit-ups for ‘murderous midriffs’. They were then required to spin around in circles for apparently no purpose at all until Oslo made some reference to the importance of balance on the battlefield.

Oslo himself spent the entire time on horseback, hurling invectives rather than incentives at them. It is not easy to achieve optimum performance with your trainer addressing you as: puny slugs, puking midgets, bumbling sparrows, cream puffs, prissy princesses, candy-sucking ballerinas, mollycoddled measles or dimwits in diapers.

It was close to ten when the warm-up and abuse were finally over. Most of the children collapsed to the ground, only to be ordered up again by an unsympathetic Oslo and made to assemble in rows for the formal inspection.

‘Feet together, shoulders back, tidy that hair, straighten your tunics!’

If Milli wasn’t mistaken, Oslo seemed a little agitated. Obviously his reputation rested on the impression they created.

When the official party arrived, the children recognised two figures they now knew to completely mistrust. Federico Lampo, in full ringmaster uniform and still holding his whip, strode past them accompanied by a huge woman at least a foot taller than him and possibly ten years his senior. Her detestation of children was so palpable in her expression that it made their skin prickle just to lay eyes on her. This woman, I am sorry to inform you, was the sort of female who if you were a Nubian goat would make you want to chomp your way through an entire fence in order to avoid her, if you were a panther to climb the highest tree to literally save your skin, and if you were a caterpillar to do your darndest to transform prematurely into a butterfly so as to flutter as far away from her as possible. Alas, she was the Contessa Augusta Bombasta, the personage Lampo had introduced at the start of the ill-fated matinee performance.

The Contessa sneered down at the children. The miniature dog in the crook of her arm gnashed its tiny teeth and the little fur that was left on its shorn body stood on end. Bombasta’s pooch was as pink as a piglet except for the bits of fur left as booties on its feet and the pom-pom on its tail. With its narrow snout and spindly legs, it looked more like an oversized rat than any canine species. Its toenails had been French manicured and the name Muffy-Boo was spelt out in diamantes on a purple collar around its neck. The Contessa sang to the pooch in sugary tones:

Muffy-Boo, don’t feel blue

Mama will find you things to chew.

Muffy-Boo, where are you?

Fancy a game of peekaboo?

Perhaps it was as a result of this kind of pampering that Muffy-Boo had become delusional about both his size and ferocity. He seemed to think he possessed the same capabilities as a guard dog and instead of scolding him when he growled (as any responsible pet owner would do) Bombasta did everything to encourage and incite hostility in the creature.

‘That’s the way, mash them to a pulp, Muffy-Boo,’ she cooed. ‘Go for the jugular.’

With Lampo trotting effeminately beside her, Bombasta conducted an inspection of the troops. She walked importantly down the rows, chatting casually with Oslo as she went. When Bombasta spoke she had a habit of drawling out syllables so that her sentences took twice as long to say. It was as though she believed she had all the time in the world to while away as she chose.

‘I imagine you children cannot believe your luck, having a genius like Federico Lampo take you under his wing,’ she said. ‘As Patroness of the Arts, I know all about his company. If it weren’t for this wonderful little man, the artistic world would be as dead as my pet ermine and I should have nothing to be patroness of!’

The loose skin of the Contessa’s neck swung when she was impassioned so that she resembled a frill-necked lizard. Her smugness was too much for Milli who could not curb her outburst.

‘The Lampo Circus was nothing but a sham! Nothing but a bunch of kidnappers!’

Bombasta clapped her hands over Lampo’s ears, as if to shield him from the pain of such hurtful remarks, and sucked her lips in prunelike with disapproval.

‘Silence, you beastly juvenile! Such impertinence! One more word and I shall have you wrapped in pond weed and fed to the piranhas in my lake! What would be the expense of that, Ledger?’

To everyone’s surprise, a weedy man in a grey suit appeared as if from beneath the bustle of Bombasta’s skirts. He was so diminutive he had been completely concealed behind the Contessa’s expansive haunches. But it was not Mr Ledger’s lack of stature I wish to draw your attention to. The important thing to tell you is that Mr Ledger was Bombasta’s accountant.

Like many accountants who do not spend sufficient time in the sun, he was gingery all over, with pasty skin the colour and texture of lumpy porridge. He had sharp, ferret teeth, mottled ears and even his eyes glowed an unsightly orange. He had no mouth but simply a coin slot through which he now answered his employer.

‘There are the transportation costs of getting the child to the venue,’ he said, pushing buttons on his calculator and talking more to himself than anyone else.

‘The pond weed is, of course, complimentary but there is the problem of having to replace the offending child to compensate Mr Lampo’s loss. That should prove trifling, however. All in all, I think it would be very doable.’

‘And well worth the trouble if it means one less parasite in the world!’ Bombasta cried, clapping her hands. ‘Why anyone would refer to children as a blessing is a complete mystery to me.’

The children could not help but shuffle a few feet backwards; firstly because the Contessa seemed quite genuine in her suggestion about the piranhas, and secondly because the amount of perfume she had doused herself with was so overpowering they feared they might keel over.

Fortunately, it was in Federico Lampo’s interest to preserve them from piranhas for the time being.

‘Come now, Augusta,’ he placated her. ‘It may be prudent to wait until after the battle before disposing of the army. Then you may turn them into wall hangings for all I care.’

‘Well, that would be most appropriate.’ Bombasta snorted with delight. ‘I am, after all, Patroness of the Arts and one can never have too many wall hangings. Ledger, how sound an investment are wall hangings in the current climate?’

Bored with their inspection, the Contessa and Lampo moved a few paces aside and became engrossed in their own private conversation whilst Ledger made frantic calculations. Oslo was left at a loss as to what was required of him next, so he stared fixedly into the distance.

As the adults made no attempt to lower their voices, Milli and Ernest found themselves able to eavesdrop with minimal effort.

‘I am most put out. You have been neglecting me, Lampo,’ Bombasta said with a pout. ‘I shouldn’t like to set Muffy-Boo on you.’

A snap of her fingers brought Mr Ledger back to her side.

‘Fifty-five pounds to have the carpet steam-cleaned once Muffy-Boo has finished,’ the accountant responded promptly.

‘I’ve been very busy, Your Grace,’ Lampo confessed. ‘The Master keeps me on my toes.’

‘Sixty-five pounds to clean up after the Master has been devoured,’ shrilled Mr Ledger, who was on a roll.

Lampo yelped as though he had been stung by a jellyfish. ‘Jipperty-jippers, don’t talk about the Master like that! You never know where his spies may be.’

Four ravens that had been perched on the camp gates flew off in unison and headed in the direction of the jade citadel. Lampo shuddered as he watched them.

‘Calm yourself, Feddy,’ Bombasta said. ‘The Master will be much pleased. Battalion Minor is well under way and the gladiator is training the brats off their feet.’

Lampo took a deep breath and exhaled in relief. ‘I hope you are right.’

‘Of course I am right!’ Bombasta declared. ‘I am always right! I do so love it when we agree.’

Just then an elderly woman shuffled out of the kitchens bearing a tray of refreshments for the visitors. It was Nonna Luna, Federico Lampo’s grandmother. Milli and Ernest watched her shake her head sadly at Lampo and Bombasta, put the tray down and make the sign of the cross behind their backs.

Lampo did not acknowledge his grandmother, so engrossed was he in listening to Bombasta’s advice.

When she could stand being ignored no longer, Nonna Luna became emboldened enough to draw a tub of homemade meatballs from her apron and placed it in her grandson’s hand. She tucked a bib into his shirtfront and presented him with a fork.

‘Not now, Nonna!’ Lampo hissed as he tried to shake her off. ‘You are embarrassing me in front of my friends.’ He pushed the container back at her and made light of the intrusion by feigning amusement.

Contessa Bombasta wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Haven’t you had that old crone committed yet?’ she demanded loudly.

Nonna Luna shuffled away wearing a martyred expression and Lampo shrugged apologetically at Bombasta.

‘Save them for later,’ he called after his grandmother, not so much to make amends for his rudeness, but to ensure his meatballs did not fall into the wrong hands.

Nonna Luna’s appearance had allowed the children a brief opportunity to confer. Finn and Fennel chewed absently on stalks of wheat, looking too detached for Milli’s liking.

‘Bombasta and Lampo are up to no good,’ she said. ‘It’s what they want with us that I can’t figure out.’

‘They’re always plotting something,’ the twins said lamely.

‘What about the authorities? Why don’t they investigate? You can’t kidnap children and keep them against their will without someone noticing.’

‘In the Conjurors’ Realm,’ Fennel explained, ‘those with power make the rules.’

‘But who ensures the rules are not abused?’ Ernest asked.

‘Oh, we have a police force but they’re under strict instructions to patrol only the Clover Fields.’

‘Why on earth are they doing that?’ said Ernest.

‘Because that is the most important job of all,’ replied Fennel matter-of-factly. ‘To protect the four-leafed clovers from being stolen.’

‘They hardly ever go near the city,’ her brother added. ‘If you report a robbery or a mysterious disappearance, they’ll more than likely tell you to buzz off. But a clover theft report…’

‘They’d be releasing the hounds,’ Fennel finished.

‘But that makes no sense!’ Milli objected.

‘No,’ Fennel agreed. ‘But we didn’t say it did.’

Ernest was forced to reach a grim conclusion. ‘It means that if Bombasta chooses to feed the lot of us to her piranhas, there’s not a thing anyone can do about it.’

Milli felt a tugging at her sleeve and, looking down, saw that a group of younger children had gathered anxiously around her. Milli knew several of them were under ten years of age and had been smuggled into the matinee by well-intentioned older siblings. From their tear-streaked faces and looks of confusion Milli saw that they did not have the resources to deal with what was happening. Finn and Fennel stepped back awkwardly as if unsure what to do with such small and vulnerable people.

‘When are we going home, Milli?’ one of them asked.

‘We don’t like it here,’ another stated firmly in case there was any misunderstanding about their feelings.

Their questions then erupted like a flow of lava and Milli could barely keep up with them. ‘Why do we have to stay here? Where are our parents? Won’t they expect us home by now? There isn’t really going to be a war, is there?’

Milli looked despairingly at the others. She could no more answer these questions than fly to the moon. Besides, she was equally as afraid as the little ones—but it would do no good to show it. Milli tried to imagine herself in their shoes and decided that the best thing to offer was reassurance. To explain their situation would take time and patience and there was little of either at Battalion Minor.

The children needed someone to tell them that things were on course and would right themselves soon. Milli half-wished there was someone to comfort and reassure her, but she was acutely aware of her responsibility and knelt down before the children and mustered whatever remnants of courage and determination she could find.

‘Of course there isn’t going to be a war,’ she said comfortingly. ‘And there’s absolutely no reason to be frightened. This is all a game, you see. A game that Lampo, the Contessa and Oslo have decided to play with us. They present us with challenges and we have to overcome them. Sometimes it seems uncomfortable, but that’s just part of the challenge. All we need to do is follow what Oslo says and at the end there will be a big party with balloons and ice-cream cake to celebrate.’

The children brightened at the prospect of a game that ended in a party.

‘Will there be prizes for the winners?’ they now wanted to know.

‘Certainly,’ Ernest contributed, deciding to help out his friend. ‘Prizes so wonderful that no one actually knows what they are!’

Bombasta’s voice rising above its usual volume interrupted the children’s whispered discussion.

‘Well, I suppose we had better be off! There is no time to lose and patience is not one of my virtues. It isn’t the carefree life it’s cracked up to be, being Patroness of the Arts, you know.’

‘You heard the Contessa.’ Oslo snapped to attention and glared at his troops. ‘Back to work.’

This was the part of the day that many had been dreading: what Oslo referred to as ‘real training’. But when Milli stole a glance around the rows of children, she did not see the worried faces she had expected. The children, it seemed, were waiting attentively for Oslo to announce the first challenge and their expressions were eager. They had privately made up their minds to try their very best.

Milli hoped that if they could get caught up in the game at least for the days that followed, they might be able to put aside their longing for home. In the meantime, the older children would work on a plan to escape Battalion Minor and this new life of deprivation. Although Milli and Ernest were heartened by the children’s new enthusiasm, they could not extinguish their own apprehension as they made their way to the training ground where, no doubt, some new ordeal had been set up for them. Milli and Ernest had not been at Battalion Minor long but they could already see that it was wise to expect the unexpected.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Exploding Boils

Ahuge catapult dominated the desiccated plain where Oslo led the children. The area around was dotted with wine barrels. These were filled with peculiar balls about the size of grapefruits and the colour of autumn leaves that have been quietly decomposing in the gutter for a while. The children were not able to determine exactly what the balls were made of, but the few that had spilled over from their containers squelched underfoot and made the ground slippery and pungent.

The children hardly had time to wonder at all this before Oslo leapt from Fiend’s back and manned the catapult. At a signal from him, the pack of dogs that had accompanied the group formed a circle around them to prevent escape. The children soon learned that the globes were not Christmas decorations or equipment for the sport of shot put as they had secretly hoped, but in fact ammunition made up of compost. Oslo soon decided to discard the catapult altogether and, seizing armfuls of the smelly spheres, repeatedly pelted his stunned troops.

Imagine being caught in a thunderstorm where hailstones have been substituted by mouldy tomatoes, decaying apple cores and scraps of last night’s pork belly meal. I know I’d take the hailstones every time.

The children did their best to dodge the flying missiles and, being quick on their feet and familiar with ball games, initially did not do too badly. It was only when they accidentally tripped over one another and landed on their backsides that they found themselves in trouble. Oslo then rained the balls down on them so fast it was not easy to get back on their feet. Even Finn and Fennel with their acrobatic skills had trouble navigating their way around the slushy, slippery mess. If at any time a child strayed out of Oslo’s range, the dogs, mouths foaming, sprang up and forced them back into the fray.

Some of the younger children ran to Milli. ‘Is this part of the game?’ they asked.

Milli hastily assured them that it was while trying to dodge a ball heading straight for her head. Off they went, filled with renewed determination at the thought of prizes.

It was Ernest who surprised everyone by his behaviour when a fishtail slipped down his tunic and he abandoned all dignity, leaping around and squealing at the top of his lungs. The little ones giggled with the satisfaction of having already eliminated one competitor.

When the blitz ended, as Oslo was finally out of breath, no child had been spared. They removed sausage casings from their tunics, which were snaffled up by the dogs, and quietly picked eggshells from their hair. Oslo shook his head and made no attempt to conceal his scorn.

‘Welcome to rock-dodging class, weaklings, which, by the way, you have just failed. I can see we have work to do.’

The rest of the morning passed with Oslo demonstrating how he could fight off an onslaught of compost balls by twisting his body, performing back flips and even catching some between his teeth. He explained that being struck by one in battle meant being reared [rendered] unconscious for a good twenty minutes due to the overpowering odour. For, he assured them, the ammunition employed in warfare would not be vegetable-based.

After Oslo had completed his demonstration, it was the children’s turn to pair off and try it for themselves. They practised aiming between their partner’s eyes, as instructed by Oslo. He informed them that this was known as the ‘bull’s-eye’, made famous by a young man who had managed to defeat a giant armed only with a slingshot and a small rock. Oslo also boasted that he and this young man shared the same gene pool as he happened to be an ancestor on his mother’s side.

During rock-dodging class, the gladiator trumpeted useless directions such as:’ somersault’, ‘duck’, ‘split’ and ‘dislocate shoulder’. His expectation was that they could learn something new simply by being told once how to do it. Failure frustrated him and he became increasingly fractious.

‘We’re only beginners,’ Milli reminded him.

‘Beginners are winners!’ Oslo boomed. ‘Except you beginners are bunny rabbits and I will not tolerate rabbits in my school! Now pull yourselves together and be lions!’

Eventually, the children learned to accept Oslo’s unconventional teaching methods and tried to aggravate him as little as possible. Relief was only offered when a child grazed a knee or developed a headache. Oslo was incapable of offering comfort but also could not afford for anyone to be rendered useless due to medical reasons. He would brusquely direct patients to Nonna Luna, who was sitting crocheting doilies in the first-aid tent that had been erected nearby. The children soon discovered that much of the equipment from the first-aid kit had long gone missing. All that was left was an ice pack, cotton swabs, some iodine, a bottle of antacid so old the contents refused to move and boxes of assorted bandages. You could go to Nonna Luna with any number of complaints and emerge streaked in iodine and wearing a plaster.

Despite her efficacy as a nurse being severely limited due to lack of resources, Nonna was the closest thing the children had to an ally. Her speciality was homeopathic remedies (she and Aunt Bulb would have had much to talk about) but these could only be administered from the privacy of her kitchen. Nonna Luna also carried in her apron pocket a little tin of pea-sized sweets she called caramelle. These were rock hard (which meant your taste buds could enjoy them for a while) and came in various tangy berry flavours. One of these sweets worked wonders in raising a child’s spirit and ending a flow of complaints. A teary Gummy Grumbleguts visited Nonna’s tent halfway through the rock-dodging class complaining of a bellyache. He emerged with a bandaid plastered across his stomach as well as the smile of gratification that two caramelle dissolving on his tongue managed to produce.

Milli noticed that Finn and Fennel were different to the other children. The latter complained readily at the smallest of mishaps; a bump to the head, a blistered finger. But when Fennel found a splinter the size of a toothpick lodged in the palm of her hand, she just grimaced and plucked it out calmly with her teeth before carrying on with the task.

The children had worked up quite an appetite when lunchtime finally rolled around. Despite their hunger, however, they felt miraculously full once lunch appeared. The main meal prepared by the camp cooks was a dish that in classy Italian restaurants goes by the name of Carpaccio. Although I have never been foolish enough to try it, I am told that Carpaccio is a delicacy usually prepared by slicing raw beef into paper-thin slices. You arrange them on a platter and drizzle them with a dressing made from lemon juice, olive oil and crushed herbs according to preference. As far as I am concerned, you could not pay me enough to try such a thing. But that’s probably because I am privileged enough to choose from other items on menus that are usually extensive. I am not so sure any of us could say with certainty what our decision would be if we were faint from hunger after a gruelling training session and it did not look as if anything else was going to appear on the table.

To make the decision even more difficult for the children, their Carpaccio had not been prepared in the customary manner. As a rule, one would use quality beef for such a dish (perhaps fillet or sirloin steak) that was devoid of any sinew or gristle. Unluckily for the children, Battalion Minor operated on a budget and the herb and olive oil dressing was about the only part of the recipe that resembled the original. The raw beef served up to them was sliced as thick as bricks, marbled with fat and clumped with roughly chopped herbs.

‘How are we going to swallow that?’ wailed the younger children. ‘It’s horrid and not even dead.’

‘I have an idea,’ Milli said brightly. ‘Why don’t we chop it into the tiniest of pieces, think of what we like to eat best and imagine that’s in front of us now?’ One child looked dubiously at her. ‘That’s not going to work.’

‘How do you know if you haven’t given it a try?’ a staunch Milli supporter argued.

So the children thought wistfully about Sweet Nothings, which was the name of Mrs Jube’s confectionery shop back in Drabville, picturing its rainbow awning and rows of lolly jars.

‘I’d give my big toe for a Coconut Wand right now,’ sighed Gummy.

There was a respectful silence as everyone reminisced about the thin tubes of light vanilla biscuit dipped in velvety chocolate and rolled in coconut. The thrill of this treat was the surprise rush of coconut cream that could occur at any stage. Admittedly, it was always disappointing if it came within the first three bites as then the suspense was over too quickly, delicious as the rest of the wand might be.

‘I’d eat up all my lunch for just one Tongue Tickler,’ cried someone else.

Tongue Ticklers were small hard lollies that wreaked havoc on your taste buds by going from sweet to sour within minutes. Most children couldn’t eat the lolly in one sitting and had to take it out to give their tastebuds a breather. Sometimes it had to be wrapped in tissue and finished later, if it hadn’t become too furry by then. At school there were sometimes competitions to see who could keep a Tongue Tickler in their mouth the longest. Milli and Gummy were currently equal best and each privately wondered if there would be another opportunity to continue the friendly contest.

Everybody’s mouth watered as they closed their eyes and pictured the shelves of Ugly Goodies, Scrummy Lumps, Boiled Shells, Gingerbread Bowties and all the other delicious treats that filled Mrs Jube’s shop. But when they opened their eyes there were no lollies, only Oslo glaring at them.

‘There’ll be no games here,’ he commanded. ‘Now, shovel in that protein.’

As they ate, Milli and Ernest tried to keep their minds off the food by speculating about the real objective behind Battalion Minor.

‘What kind of battle could a weasel like Federico Lampo possibly have any involvement in?’ Milli pondered.

‘What kind of army could possibly be made up of us?’ Ernest asked, eating a hunk of bread he had softened by dipping it into the Carpaccio dressing.

The answers obviously lay somewhere outside the gates of Battalion Minor. But what if there was nothing beyond those hills? What if this was the sum total of their new world and there was no one outside to help them and nowhere to go even if they did get out? It was a distressing thought.

The trouble with being at Battalion Minor was that there was barely any time to think. No sooner did one activity end than the children found themselves bustled off to the next.

The gruesome lunch behind them, they were taken to another part of the camp behind the huts, where there was a pond so muddy you would not have been tempted to go paddling in it even in blistering heat.

‘In combat,’ Oslo informed them, ‘a situation may arise when you need to find your opponent in surroundings where obstinates [obstacles] are in your way. You must learn to overcome them. Today your obstinate will be this pond.’

‘Can’t obstacles sometimes help you hide?’ somebody asked, hoping to sound clever, and then cowered immediately behind Ernest.

‘Nooooo!’ yelled Oslo, so furious the veins on his neck bulged. ‘To hide is the worst possible thing a soldier can do! It is worse than surrender! Anyone caught hiding here will be hung up on those trees for the vultures to peck. Do I make myself clear? Is there anyone else wishing to voice an opinion? You’ve no doubt been taught in school that all opinions should be valued. Well, not if they come from imbeciles.’

He paused a moment as if to invite dissent. As none was forthcoming, Oslo made them line up single file and issued the child at the head of the line with a large butterfly net and goggles. To their dismay, he then produced a sack and drew from it a squealing, writhing rat. He tossed it with a plonk into the pond.

Milli glared at Oslo, trying to convey her disgust at his conduct, but Ernest looked seriously worried.

‘I can’t swim,’ he said to Milli’s back. ‘Especially not in rat-infested waters.’

‘Anyone care to pick up the scent before the hunt?’ Oslo asked, offering around the sack the animal had been imprisoned in.

The children recoiled and shook their heads.

Oslo pointed commandingly. ‘Dive and find!’

Had you been strolling nearby at this very point, you would have heard a splash as the first child dived reluctantly into the filthy pond and then surfaced empty-handed.

‘Fail,’ observed Oslo and made a mental note of the child’s name.

Ernest turned in distress to Milli, but he needn’t have worried because she had cooked up a plan that she was about to put into action.

‘You don’t look well, Ernest,’ she said, loudly enough to draw their trainer’s attention. She felt Ernest’s forehead with the back of her hand as she had seen parents do. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with something really infectious.’

Ernest looked panicked, thinking he could feel the infection attacking his immune system, before he caught Milli’s eye and realised she was up to something.

‘Now that I think about it, I do feel quite faint,’ he said joining in.

‘Excuse me,’ Milli called to Oslo, who had been watching them with mounting irritation. ‘I’m afraid my friend will have to sit this class out. He’s allergic.’

Oslo looked sceptical. ‘To what?’ he sneered.

‘Most things,’ replied Milli.

Oslo strode up to Ernest, picked him up by the waist and held him coiled in one arm as if he were a puppy. The dizziness Ernest experienced now from the blood rushing to his head was quite real.

‘Let’s see how allergic he is,’ Oslo said, holding Ernest over the sludgy water.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you—it might cause an outbreak.’ Milli’s voice was chillingly calm.

‘Break out?’ Oslo repeated, hesitation flickering across his face. It lasted only seconds but Milli saw her chance and was not going to waste it.

‘Show him, Ernest,’ she instructed.

Now, it was times like these that the minds of Millipop Klompet and Ernest Perriclof began to work as one. It was almost as if they could read each other’s thoughts. As Oslo put him down, Ernest pointed out a patch of eczema on the inside of his elbow.

‘It’s starting to really itch,’ he said, rubbing it vigorously with his fist.

‘You know you’re not meant to scratch!’ begged Milli. ‘You know what could happen.’

‘I think it’s started already,’ said Ernest, holding out his reddened arm for all to witness.

‘What’s started?’ Oslo asked. ‘Explain yourself!’

‘Well, sir, I break out in terrible boils if I come in contact with anything contaminated.’

‘And what makes you think this interests me?’ Oslo was losing patience.

‘That’s just the thing,’ Milli told him. ‘It’s not Ernest I’m worried about, it’s the rest of us. The boils don’t just make Ernest uncomfortable—they fester and sometimes explode, and the pus flies in all directions. The boils are highly contagious. Could wipe out an army.’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of Boilexplodoitis?’ Ernest challenged. ‘How do you think the plague started? I’ll tell you how—with someone scratching a bothersome boil.’

Oslo’s medical knowledge did not extend far enough for him to know whether or not there was a condition called Boilexplodoitis. One thing he did know, however, was that he was not prepared to take any chances. Not with so much at stake. He backed right away from Ernest, guiding Fiend out of firing range.

‘Oh dear,’ said Milli, peering closely at Ernest’s inner arm. ‘I think this one is gonna blow.’

CHAPTER EIGHT
Nonna Luna’s Apprentice

Due to his potential to spark an epidemic, Ernest was immediately quarantined to Nonna Luna’s kitchen where he spent the ensuing weeks. Oslo’s instructions were explicit: Ernest was not permitted to leave the kitchen, which doubled as the infirmary, until more information regarding his condition came to hand. He was put to use assisting Nonna Luna in simple culinary tasks such as shelling peas and mashing herbs to a paste using a mortar and pestle. Ernest was grateful to be indoors and away from the gruelling pace of Oslo’s training. It was cool and fragrant in the kitchen, and there were no expectations of him that might prove hazardous to his health.

Amidst the gloominess that was Battalion Minor, Nonna Luna’s kitchen was a haven of interesting smells and sights. Copper pots and pans bubbled on the cast-iron stove and there were bunches of aromatic herbs growing in pots on the windowsill. Something looking like salt-encrusted strips of tree bark hung from hooks, which Nonna identified for Ernest as dried cod.

Woven baskets arranged on a rustic dresser bulged with heads of garlic and clusters of onions. The oven, which radiated constant heat, was large enough to stand up in, and there was a giant slab of marble on a bench for the express purpose of kneading dough. Legs of cured meat, protected from flies by netting, and wheels of cheese as large as footstools were stored in the cool room.

Ernest noticed something else that was kept in the cool room. Something that, unlike the meats, seemed to be alive. Hanging from a hook on the cool-room door was a tapestry knapsack. Ernest barely gave it a second glance when he went in to collect a string of chubby pork sausages, until he realised that it was squirming and wriggling, as if whatever lived inside was eager to get out. When Ernest looked more closely he saw that the knapsack was drawn together not by cords but by a pair of black asps coiled around each other. They appeared to be sleeping, but, being sensitive to body heat, awoke with a hiss when he approached. Ernest leapt back in alarm.

Nonna Luna, who had followed him in, patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry. No toucha da sack and nutting happen,’ she said.

‘They must be guarding something very valuable,’ Ernest probed, curious now the danger had passed.

‘Some tings are betta for little ones not to know,’ Nonna Luna answered mysteriously.

The kitchen window looked onto a well-tended vegetable garden, where there were glossy oblong tomatoes growing on stakes, bright horn-shaped chillies in terracotta pots, and plants weighed down by beans in speckled red casings. Clusters of purple grapes hung from a vine twisting its way around a pergola. Arranged on trays were rows of tomatoes drying in the sun.

As for Nonna Luna herself, she was as creased as a walnut. When she grinned you could see she was almost toothless, but that didn’t stop her from grinning as she was a lively soul and easily entertained. Her hands were gnarled like the branches of an old tree, but her eyes still twinkled with girlish mischief. Dark hairs sprouted from a mole on her chin the size of a coffee bean. She wore only black, apart from thick coloured socks, a silk kerchief she wound around her head to keep her hair out of the way, and a red and white novelty apron. The apron read Domestic Goddess and depicted Venus wielding a wooden spoon. It was a treasured gift from Lampo during his more attentive days, and Nonna Luna never took it off, not even to wash it.

Nonna Luna’s attachment to Ernest was instant, heartfelt and unabashed. The undernourished, pale-skinned boy who turned up at her kitchen door forlornly scratching his eczema bore an uncanny resemblance to her own grandson when he was a boy. If she fattened him up a little, he would surely be the spitting image of Federico. Unlike Lampo, Ernest showed himself to be a quick learner, a courteous listener and engaging company. His fastidiousness in particular was a ceaseless source of entertainment for the old woman. She would double over with laughter watching him inspecting cutlery before using it or eating only the iceberg leaves in a mixed salad.

‘We must toughen you up,’ she would comment jokingly.

As Nonna Luna’s apprentice, Ernest picked up much more than culinary tips. As well as being a renowned fortune-teller and a crafty cook, Nonna Luna was first and foremost a storyteller. The hoard of tales she regaled Ernest with had been passed down through generations and were steeped in magic and folklore. Nonna was also highly superstitious and the victims of her stories were invariably foolhardy characters who threw caution to the wind and failed to heed the advice of wiser and older relatives. Almost everything in her tales was either a symbol, an omen or a forewarning of some kind.

It was from Nonna Luna that Ernest learned that if you crossed paths with a priest or a nun wearing black, you must immediately touch something made of iron to reverse the bad luck. Tugging the sleeve of a dwarf, on the other hand, could bring years of prosperity. If someone complimented the baby in your perambulator, you must spit three times on the child to protect it from ill intentions, subconscious or otherwise. Nonna Luna taught Ernest that a ladybird landing on the tip of your finger was a sure sign you would be lucky in love, whilst the sighting of a white cat meant an encounter with death. The spilling of red wine foretold the imminence of good fortune, whilst the spilling of oil would result in hardship only an entire rosary of Hail Marys could revoke.

Some of Nonna Luna’s recommendations extended to health issues. For example, crossing your legs for too long would cut off your blood supply and promote the appearance of varicose veins. Bathing in the sea was unbeaten as a treatment for acne—a remedy Ernest seriously doubted when one considered what ended up in the oceans. Dousing a cut finger in your own urine was the best antiseptic, and the consumption of too much marzipan could result in deformed ear lobes. Red peppers consumed after three o’clock in the afternoon would invariably bring on a night of indigestion. Sleeping on one’s back encouraged nightmares of the worst kind and a thimble of brandy in the morning ensured healthy circulation. Eating from the same plate as a stranger was very ‘dangerose’ because it could inflame the wildest of passions.

The rational Ernest found these anecdotes both mystifying and irresistible. The downside was that Nonna Luna was not content with relating her beliefs; she insisted upon practical demonstrations in order to prove her theories.

One afternoon Ernest made the rash mistake of complaining to Nonna of a mild headache. How was poor Ernest to know that complaining of a headache to an Italian grandmother was tantamount to saying he had come home to find his name scrawled in blood on the walls and the severed head of his favourite goose in the bed? It meant only one thing—someone was out to get him.

Perhaps you have learned in school about the ancient cure for a headache, which involved a surgeon drilling a hole in the sufferer’s head to allow evil spirits to escape. Nonna Luna had similar views on the cause of headaches, but fortunately for Ernest, a drill did not feature in her remedy.

‘Malocchio!’ chanted the old woman, her eyes glazing over. Malocchio, for those of you who have not come across the term, literally translates to ‘evil eye’ and belief in it dates back to medieval times.

Nonna Luna seized Ernest and propelled him into the nearest chair. ‘Lettuce see whether you have been cursed,’ she said. ‘Mebbe someone is thinking bad thoughts on you.’

She proceeded to drizzle into a bowl of water a few drops of the best cold-pressed olive oil, which she poured from a ceramic decanter.

‘If da oil dissolve, you hava the Malocchio sure as I hava corns.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Ernest objected.

‘No, I do hava corns. You want to see?’

‘No, I mean that oil and water are immiscible substances. That means they are incapable of being mixed and oil therefore cannot possibly dissolve in water without defying the laws of science.’

‘What doesa science know?’ Nonna Luna scoffed. ‘Scientists still hava not found a cure for the common cold. Quiet now and watch!’

Before Ernest could object, her coarse thumb began to trace the sign of the cross on his forehead while she mumbled some words in her broken English which he thought went like this:

Evil Eye, Evil Eye,

Three pairs of eyes have watched you

Three Judas’s have betrayed you

Evil Eye, Evil Eye,

Don’t batter at my door

Find yourself another target

Evil Eye, Evil Eye

Now begone forever!

When the oil dissolved upon contact with the water, Nonna Luna let out a high-pitched wail.

‘Cursed,’ she muttered. ‘My Ernesto has been touched by the Malocchio!’

Taking up the bowl, Nonna Luna hurried outside, threw the water onto the earth and stomped fervently on it with both feet. When Ernest looked puzzled, she explained, ‘To stampa da evil into da ground. Now we must repeat.’ She hobbled back inside and grasped Ernest by the arm. He tried to squirm away but his strength was no match for Nonna Luna who had built up biceps of steel from years of kneading dough. The ritual was repeated until the oil floated in globules on the water’s surface.

‘Now Ernesto is free!’ she declared in triumph.

Not wanting any repeats of this performance, Ernest devised a way for Milli to accompany him on kitchen duty the next day. This was not as difficult as they had imagined. Milli only needed to feign dizziness, the first symptom of Boilexplodoitis, for Oslo to exempt her from the day’s training.

When the children arrived at Nonna Luna’s kitchen, the first thing she did was to pin a red ribbon to one of Ernest’s undergarments.

‘Justa for extra protection,’ she said, and winked.

She then proceeded to attach more red accessories to various parts of Ernest. His shoelaces were now red, there was a red clip in his hair and Nonna Luna even had the nerve to expect him to wear a red chilli threaded onto a leather cord around his neck. She only allowed him to remove it when his eyes watered so profusely that he couldn’t see what he was doing and added a handful of coffee beans instead of borlotti beans to a pot of soup.

At one point, an owl, earthy brown in colour, flew in through the open window and settled on the back of a kitchen chair. Ernest made to chase it out but Nonna Luna stretched out an arm and made a gentle clucking sound with her tongue. The owl spread its wings, which were flecked with delicate patterns underneath, and flew towards her. The flurry of wings was enough to cause Ernest to duck under the kitchen table. The owl settled comfortably on Nonna Luna’s shoulder. Up close, the children could see that the creature’s eyes were without pupils or irises. They were simply two opaque marbles that rolled back into its head whenever the animal was annoyed.

‘Dis is Olive,’ Nonna Luna said, stroking the bird affectionately.

‘Is she blind?’ Milli asked.

‘Olive issa blessed with inner vision. She is very good companion.’

‘I thought fortune-tellers had cats as companions,’ Milli said.

‘Olive is more cleva dan any lazy cat.’ As if to demonstrate this, Nonna Luna issued an instruction. ‘Olive, bringa me some rosemary for tonight’s offal pie.’

Olive immediately swooped out of the open window and returned carrying a sprig of the requested herb in her beak.

The following days spent in Nonna Luna’s kitchen were a welcome reprieve for the children, especially as Nonna produced all sorts of delicacies for them to sample. Having been nourished by nothing but meat, they relished any departure from protein and Nonna Luna seemed to draw immense satisfaction from feeding them a wide variety of dishes. To the children’s surprise, she became quite agitated (going so far as to lament and pull at her hair) if they ever declined an item from her never-ending stream of treats.

‘Thank you, but we’re ready to burst!’ Milli explained, but Nonna Luna simply began hitting herself over the head with a bread stick and they did not like to argue any further.

In one day alone with Nonna Luna they consumed creamy gnocchi with a six-cheese sauce that simply melted in their mouths, home-made canolli (which are crunchy tubes of pastry filled with custard and dusted with icing sugar) and a dish containing olives, cold meats and crusty bread which Ernest thought was named after someone called Auntie Pastie until Nonna Luna told him otherwise.

‘How lucky Federico is to have a grandmother like you,’ Milli commented, her mouth full of a mascarpone-stuffed fig.

A shadow came over Nonna Luna’s face at the mention of her wayward grandson and she was forced to blink back tears. Not wanting to aggravate the situation further (Lampo was clearly a sensitive topic), the children waited patiently for her to recover.

‘My Federico not always this way,’ Nonna Luna began, blowing her nose like a trumpet. ‘He was once a good boy, top of his class. He study music and hope to be a concert pianist.’ She lowered her voice and looked around furtively in case she might be overheard. ‘Then Federico began to mixa with the wrong crowd. He was so young [a mere boy of thirty-three]. He starta to eat hamburgers, sleep tilla lunchtime and disown his Nonna. What canna I do? It happen in da best of families.’

‘That’s a very sad story,’ Ernest agreed kindly, but Nonna Luna hardly seemed to hear him, so preoccupied was she with recalling past disappointments.

‘Of course, I hava only myself to blame,’ she continued, wringing her hands and swaying in distress. ‘I shoulda pay more attention to him when he try to read me his poems. But they so long and with such difficult words!’

‘Of course it isn’t your fault!’ Milli countered, but Nonna Luna was beyond consolation.

‘I offer him everything: endless supply of home-made pasta, a roof over his head, a respectable wife! But he no lissen to me and now looka how he turn out.’

‘How?’ Milli asked.

‘The toya boya of that witch! He thinka he so important now working for a Contessa. Contessa, my warts! I beta no one seen any papers to prove her ancestry.’

‘Do you know what they’re up to?’ Milli said.

‘I don’t even know what he has for brekafest! Federico has no time for his old Nonna now.’

The outburst seemed to have a cathartic effect on Nonna Luna. She took a deep breath before vigourously chopping some parsley she hoped would make the hideous flavour of offal pie more palatable. The children, however, were disappointed with the meagre information gleaned from this exchange. They had hoped Nonna Luna would prove a goldmine of information.

‘There must be something more you can tell us about why we’re here,’ Milli pleaded.

But Nonna Luna had done enough confiding for one day. She turned her attention to the dinner she was about to serve up and would not be drawn into further discussion. Food preparation simply took all of her concentration.

Despite their impatience, Milli and Ernest were forced to resign themselves to learning nothing further from Nonna Luna that night.

CHAPTER NINE
The Magic Broth

One morning reporting for kitchen duty, Milli and Ernest found Nonna Luna sitting at the scrubbed table with her palms upturned and her eyes shut. For the first time, there were no snacks in sight. Instead, on the table sat the prohibited knapsack from the cool room, but in place of the asps were brown cords. In front of Nonna Luna steamed a mug of a pungent-smelling brew which Milli and Ernest both thought must be the elusive Wild Butterbean Thistle.

Olive the Owl was restless. Unlike her usual composed self, she kept flying around the room and circling the children protectively before returning to her perch. She seemed to be on the alert, watching for the appearance of something or someone. As if to confirm the secret nature of what they were about to witness, the windows were shut and the curtains drawn to block out any prying eyes. Milli could have sworn she saw the silhouettes of two large ravens gliding past.

Nonna Luna wore a grave expression and was engaged in a mumbled conversation with herself.

‘What’s happening?’ the children asked in unison.

As an oracle, Nonna Luna sounded very different from the kindly grandmother they had come to know. Her accent seemed to have disappeared and she was surprisingly articulate.

‘It isn’t what has happened but what will happen that we must concern ourselves with,’ Nonna Luna said. ‘It was no coincidence that you two chanced to land in my kitchen.’

‘It wasn’t?’ In response, Nonna Luna’s eyes flew open and she looked at the children prophetically.

‘Everything happens for a reason,’ Nonna intoned. ‘I know it is my destiny to help stop Bombasta and free poor Federico from her spell. In my opinion, that clumsy ox in her feathered hat needs to be taken down a peg or two.’

The children struggled to make sense of these ramblings and wondered whether it was advisable for Nonna Luna to continue consuming the brew.

On the stove bubbled a pot of aromatic amber broth flecked with parsley. Ernest, who had skipped breakfast (ox tongue on toast), inhaled deeply.

‘That smells delicious,’ he moaned.

‘Organic chicken carcasses,’ Nonna confided. ‘Makes all the difference.’

Ernest was to be disappointed if he hoped to be offered a bowl. Instead, Nonna Luna retrieved a cat-shaped canister from a shelf, drew from it two fistfuls of alphabet noodles and tossed them rather dramatically into the pot. After a few minutes she broke an egg into a bowl, whisked it and poured it quickly into the broth. Immediately the liquid lost its clarity and turned cloudy. As she stirred, Nonna recited a powerful invocation:

Pot of Fortune

Pot of Fate

Pot with many powers great

Shed light on the future

The past let us see

Let this alphabet noodle

Your loyal scribe be

Speak to us, oh magic broth!

The liquid on the stove began to bubble more violently and the alphabet noodles rose to the surface arranging themselves into a wobbly sentence. What is it you seek to know?

The children looked at one another in confusion. What question should they ask first? But Nonna Luna, who was clearly confident about what she was dealing with, answered on their behalf.

‘Show us what lurks within the jade citadel.’

The letters instantly sank to the bottom of the pot and something even more unfathomable occurred. The broth that had looked so appetising only a few moments ago started to spin like water being sucked down a plughole.

Before Milli and Ernest had a chance to marvel at this, they found themselves staring at an image of the jade citadel glowing ethereally against a black sky. The children realised that the entire building must be carved from the precious stone. There was even a jade drawbridge lowered over a solid jade moat. The citadel itself was elongated and spindly, reminding them of a long and bony man. Its one window was gothic in design and filled with tiny panels of stained glass like you might find in a church. They could see that the glass formed a picture—it was of a hand, a skeletal hand with fingers like tentacles reaching for the sky. If they were not mistaken, it seemed the hand sought to hold the entire world within its grasp.

Abruptly, the image of the citadel faded. Now the children were unseen guests inside a lavish drawing room. Contessa Bombasta was standing in front of a large map mounted on one wall and tracing a route with a plump finger. When she reached her target (a mushroom icon), she savagely speared the image with a thumbtack and gave a maniacal laugh. This was more puzzling than ever. What could it mean, other than the Contessa’s determination to avoid vegetables of the fungi variety?

‘Just as I suspected,’ Nonna Luna murmured. ‘Federico has been lured into great danger. We have just witnessed the hatching of a terrible plot.’

‘What is the use of that unless we know what’s being plotted?’ Milli cried, but Ernest shushed her excitedly. Another image was forming in the pot.

The children now saw a vast field of sunflowers turning their heads to the sun and waving in the breeze. The sight was so calming that Milli and Ernest sighed with relief and almost felt the weight of the past few days lift from their minds. But a shadow was creeping across the field, a black and angry mass of clouds like bruises on the sky, and soon the entire expanse was in shade. All at once the sunflowers burst into flame. A fire swept through the field with devastating speed, consuming everything in its path and leaving only mounds of ashes in its wake.

The vision shocked the children but they had no choice other than to watch with mounting trepidation as a final image began to take shape.

This time it was of a narrow room with a low ceiling. Something told them it must be the apex of the jade citadel as a small window looked directly onto a sliver of sky. The room had the coldness of a crypt as everything was made of polished black stone. The walls were covered with swirling inscriptions in an ancient tongue that Ernest thought might be Latin, although he couldn’t make out enough of the letters to be absolutely sure. There was no furniture, only a stone font like the ones used in christening ceremonies. A figure was bent over it. He had his back to them so they could not see his face but he wore crimson robes that spilled onto the floor like a wine stain. His hands and neck were startlingly white in the dimly lit surroundings. His milky blue hair was twisted into dozens of tiny braids, each one fastened with a silver bell and pulled away from his head. His skin was crinkly like tissue paper after you have eagerly unwrapped a present, and equally translucent.

When the man turned from his work and drifted across the room, the children jumped back in alarm. They had caught a glimpse of his eyes—distinctive eyes that even in the watery image before them did not stop shifting colour. The face of Lord Aldor seemed to be moving towards them. The veins in his forehead throbbed with the effort of concentration and the sharpness of his features reminded them of a locust.

The broth began to give off the cloying odour of decomposition such as one might smell on a forest floor, and the scene shifted to show Lord Aldor glaring at Federico Lampo who was kneeling on the stone floor beside him.

‘Everything is progressing as Your Lordship planned,’ Lampo said in an obvious state of agitation.

Lord Aldor arched a thin eyebrow. ‘And the brats?’

‘Shaping up into fine young warriors,’ Lampo bragged.

A depraved smile crept over Lord Aldor’s face. His eyes were as bright as candles and he licked his lips.

‘Victory is within reach. We must prepare.’

The image faded and Milli and Ernest reeled backwards and collapsed into chairs to recover. The sight of Lord Aldor, the villain who haunted their dreams to that day, brought back a rush of memories so chilling it was like diving into an ice-cold lake. Milli recalled the tiny body of a singed hedgehog lying on a gravel path. She saw the shadow of her father about to disappear into the hollow, gaping pit that was Lord Aldor’s mouth. She remembered her mother a prisoner in rags and chains, labouring to the point of exhaustion.

Ernest’s memories turned to the tormented flamingo and Nettle, her eyes rolling back in her head and her body going limp as Lord Aldor towered over her. Visions of Christmas beetles run through with wire and writhing larvae danced through his head.

Both children had trouble catching their breath and gripped one other for support. The cold-blooded criminal who had caused so much misery was but a short distance away! For weeks after their last escape from Aldor, the children had felt yoked by his presence wherever they went. The feeling had faded slowly as their parents and teachers ensured their time was taken up with more convivial activities. How could they not have sensed evil when it was so near? The children suddenly felt very vulnerable. What did Lord Aldor have in store for them this time? Had they the nerve to outsmart him now that they knew what he was truly capable of?

‘Recognise someone?’ Nonna Luna asked when she saw their white faces.

Milli looked up at her. ‘We know who Lord Aldor is. We’ve met before.’

‘Though not in his world,’ added Ernest anxiously.

‘Can you make sense of what we just saw?’ Milli asked Nonna Luna.

‘I think it’s time you two were given a brief history of the Realm,’ Nonna sighed.

She prepared two mugs of cocoa laced with a thimbleful of brandy because they had had a shock and settled the two children by the fire. She lugged the pot outside, poured its contents—which had turned to a black sludge—onto a patch of earth away from the vegetables and performed the stomping routine Ernest had witnessed before.

It was the old Nonna who returned and sat on a low stool to begin her story. Before she did, she picked up the lace antimacassar she was working on for the new sofa she had on order. (Both Nonna Luna and my own grandmother happened to share a preoccupation with ensuring that costly items outlived them. In order to achieve this, the items must be well protected. My grandmother had a habit of leaving furniture in the plastic wrapping it was delivered in, and liked to keep a plastic runner on the carpeted hallway to avoid soiling. Visitors tended to stick to the furniture in summer and nearly broke a limb tripping over the runner, but both items remained in mint condition—even if they were embarrassingly outdated by half a century. Nonna Luna would have traded her remaining teeth to get her hands on something as useful as plastic.)

When Nonna spoke again, the children were relieved to hear her familiar voice.

‘You bambini have cumma here by magic,’ she began. ‘Thisa place, everyting you see, is ruled by Lord Aldor.’ When she made mention of Lord Aldor, Nonna shuddered and then crossed herself as if he were the devil incarnate and might suddenly materialise. ‘It has been dissa way for a very longa time.’

It would be strenuous to reproduce here Nonna Luna’s unique intonation as she spun her story, so let me make both our lives easier by offering a summary using conventional diction.

From Nonna Luna the children learned that the Conjurors’ Realm was not one territory as they had first supposed, but instead made up of five provinces. All save one had bowed to the might of Lord Aldor. It was rumoured that he would not rest until he had overcome the last.

The closest province to Battalion Minor was Gobbo, the domain of the goblins who lived in burrows underground. Their passageways wound for miles right beneath the children’s feet. Goblins (perhaps because they were so unprepossessing themselves) valued beautiful things above all else. Were you to venture into their tunnels you would find rock ledges cluttered with priceless antiquities: marble busts of famous composers, French mantel clocks, Grecian urns and Ming vases.

Goblins spent most of their time mining for diamonds and hardly ever saw the light of day. Fresh air smelled like fumes to them so they preferred to scuttle about in their underground world. In the event of extreme boredom, they might be tempted to the surface to play mischievous tricks on passers-by. Their sense of humour was known to be twisted and what they found amusing might prove fatal to an inexperienced traveller. For this reason alone it was best to turn and run the other way should you ever come face to face with a goblin. Nonna said they could be recognised by the tufts of blue fur sprouting from their ears. Their fingers were webbed and rubbery from climbing rocks and they hated clothing so wore as little as they could get away with and remain within the bounds of decency. They would most likely be dressed in sacks and would under no circumstances be wearing shoes. Lord Aldor and the goblins had been striking bargains for as long as Nonna Luna could remember. She believed that in return for their allegiance and stockpiles of diamonds, Aldor had promised the goblins Fada brides. How he planned to procure them was anyone’s guess.

‘Who are the Fada?’ Milli interrupted, but Nonna Luna made a clicking sound.

‘Aspetta,’ she admonished in her native tongue. ‘Donta kill da story.’

The next province Nonna spoke of was known as Hagdad. Hagdad as it turned out was the province of the witches, and a more flat or desolate wasteland you would never see. There wasn’t a single living bush or plant to be found there. The only thing you might see was a clump of dead trees under which the witches convened their fortnightly meetings. Here they swapped gruesome recipes and lodged complaints about one another. The hags were friendless and shunned. They lived alone in caves with their pet boulders with which they conversed at length. Were you to walk past, you might hear them screeching and cackling to themselves for they were sometimes not of sound mind. At night, the Hagdad sky was thick with broomsticks, each rider going off to hunt for her dinner or seek out some rare item for her brew. If the witches were ever fortunate enough to ensnare a human, they kept it as a domestic servant. According to Nonna these were lonely women rather than monsters but bad press over time had led to them being misunderstood. Lord Aldor had offered the hags an unlimited supply of magical ingredients as well as a lifetime’s worth of depilatory creams in return for their allegiance. This meant that if a witch needed the fingertip of a goblin for a potion, nobody was going to stop her taking it.

‘How did Lord Aldor get the goblins to agree to that?’ Ernest asked, for he liked stories to add up.

‘He didn’t. He keepa that deal secret from them,’ Nonna Luna explained. ‘And that bringa me to the province of Fumpalot.’

Thumpalot (Nonna had difficulty reproducing ‘th’ sounds), as perspicacious readers may have guessed, was the home of the giants. Before continuing, Nonna Luna clarified that by ‘home’ she really meant a wide open space. The witches and the giants often feuded over where the borders should be drawn between their respective provinces. The giants claimed the narrow stretch of desert between the two was theirs, as its weather conditions were designed for their survival. The witches argued that it had been given to them in a treaty made after The Great Sandy Battle of 1022, but everyone suspected they just wanted it for flight practice. The giants didn’t need roofs over their heads as they were unaffected by the vagaries of weather. Giants, unless they were recluses, almost always travelled in pairs. Each lady giant found herself a male and they formed a sort of partnership. Pairs were always wrestling each other for power as strength was all that mattered in Thumpalot. The strongest couple ruled the province. The giants didn’t use language as we know it, but communicated via a series of grunts, which eliminated the need for romantic courtship rituals and saved a good deal of time. They were routinely employed by Lord Aldor as labourers to erect statues and monuments commemorating his latest deeds. They were generally too dimwitted, not to mention too tired to ask for anything in return.

The fourth province was Rune, which Nonna Luna described as a melting pot of odd bods who didn’t really fit in anywhere else. The province included the city centre of Runis, where folks from all over the Realm flocked to sell goods, seek work or be entertained. It was the city of the conjurors, said Nonna, and conjurors were known for being greedy and self-serving as well as having a superiority complex. From their experience of conjurors, Milli and Ernest had to agree. The conjurors were Aldor’s closest allies. They had the power to create wonderful things, but more often than not used their talents for less than noble purposes. Conjurors, according to Nonna, were the least trustworthy of all the inhabitants of the Realm as they would lie, cheat or steal to get what they wanted. At least the witches, giants and goblins made no effort to conceal their vicious natures, but the conjurors of Runis hid behind sweet smiles and veneers of courtesy. Lord Aldor had played on their weaknesses and promised each one their heart’s desire. Needless to say, he was a popular leader.

The final and most mysterious province was called Mirth. This was home to the Fada but no one knew much about it as access was barred. The Fada were a race evolved from encounters between men and fairies. Though this interbreeding had left the Fada wingless, they retained great wisdom and many other gifts. Unlike the rest of the Realm, the Fada could not abide the idea of violence. The daisy was their national emblem. The people were self-governing and presided over by a queen who was said to be the gentlest soul that ever lived. Her people loved to sing and dance and they celebrated the smallest occasions, such as the rising of the sun or the harvesting of the biggest pumpkin. Ugliness did not exist in the province of Mirth. The Fada did not know the meaning of hate or unkindness. Their province was protected by a primeval magic so powerful that entry was by invitation only.

How a place like Mirth could continue to exist, Nonna Luna explained, was simply due to the fact that Lord Aldor’s influence had not managed to infiltrate it. But, Nonna concluded her narrative by reminding them, that the magic broth had given them a warning it was advisable not to ignore. Mirth was at risk.

Entertained though they had been by the stories, Milli and Ernest felt overloaded with information, as if they had eaten too much birthday cake at a party. They sat silent for some moments as they tried to absorb all they had been told.

‘I can’t understand how Lord Aldor can still be up to his old tricks,’ Milli said finally.

‘Donta try to understand a monster like Aldor,’ Nonna said. ‘Just avoid him. Many of dem who disagree wit him have disappeared.’ She made a gesture to indicate something going up in a puff of smoke.

Lord Aldor was assisted by a cabinet of nine ministers, she explained, who spent their days seeking out dissidents. The Realm was not without its rebels—but they did not last long. The ministers regularly held what they called purges, where they hunted down any who spoke an ill word against their master. This was how Lord Aldor had remained in power for so long. Many did not agree with his polices but they were too afraid to voice their opinions lest they be overheard by one of his many spies—who were not all in human form and difficult to detect.

Ernest brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. ‘If the pot is issuing a warning, what does it suggest we do?’

‘Dis I can not say.’

‘Perhaps,’ Milli said thoughtfully, ‘the Fada need to be warned. Could we not get word to them?’

‘Good idea,’ Ernest agreed. ‘When can Olive leave?’

‘Thissa no job for Olive,’ Nonna said. ‘She is too weak and too old and would neva find her way back.’

‘Then it’s up to us,’ said Milli with conviction.

‘Up to us?’ repeated a dumbfounded Ernest. ‘How are we going to get out of here, let alone get in there?’

‘Perhaps the pot will tell us?’ Milli suggested, as she could think of nothing else.

Nonna shook her head regretfully. ‘The magic broth tell only what we needa to do, notta how to do it.’

CHAPTER TEN
A Soft Landing

According to Nonna, Mirch was a three-day journey travelling east. If the children were to reach it they would have to venture through the city of Rune, brave the Wood of Tartar, and succeed in passing Queen Fidelis’s challenge at the gates of Mirth. But first Milli and Ernest had a bigger problem to solve: how to escape from Battalion Minor. Nonna Luna’s broth had warned them of imminent peril and chosen them as messengers, but it had not given the slightest clue as to how they might execute this mission. At midnight, the children were still awake discussing their plan—or lack of one.

‘There must be a way out,’ Milli murmured.

‘The dogs would need to be distracted for a start,’ Ernest observed.

‘That’s easily arranged,’ Milli said. ‘The dogs are not the problem. Now let’s think logically. As far as I can see, there are two ways to get past a locked gate.’

‘Dig our way out with spoons?’ Ernest offered, half-jesting.

‘Yes, going under is one way, but I was thinking of something else.’

‘There’s always the ordinary method of going through if we could locate the keys,’ Ernest said.

‘That’s not an option, is it?’ Milli replied briskly.

‘What do you propose then?’

‘Really, Ernest Perriclof, what happened to that scheming little mind you once possessed?’ Ernest shrugged in exasperation but Milli persisted. ‘I say we fly.’

Ernest goggled at her. ‘We what?’

‘How hard can it be? We don’t need wings, just a bit of a lift. Don’t you remember what Oslo used in rock-dodging class?’ Milli’s voice grew in volume as she became more convinced about her idea. ‘We’re going to be catapulted over the gates!’

Aided by the light of a full moon, Milli and Ernest found the catapult exactly where Oslo had left it. The compost balls had been cleared away but the smell of rotten cabbage and rancid cheese still lingered in the air. The catapult did not look like the sort of thing that could be of much assistance in an escape plan. It was a large wooden construction on wheels with a wicker basket suspended on a pole. It was held together by rusty bolts and looked as though it was about to collapse. Ernest was sceptical while Milli proposed moving it immediately. This turned out to be easier than expected because of the castors Oslo had fitted to its base so he could target his victims with greater ease.

They inched it along, careful not to make a sound as it was imperative that they avoid detection. Only when the catapult was in place some metres from the looming gates of Battalion Minor did the dogs rouse. The children heard Oslo growl at them and the barking subsided.

‘Now all we need is someone strong enough to send us flying,’ Milli whispered as they made their way back to the barracks.

‘Yes,’ Ernest mused, ‘someone strong enough to send us flying to our deaths. Have you not considered that such a landing may cause multiple fractures, extensive bruising and, more than likely, a broken neck?’

‘In that case, we need to ensure a soft landing.’

The children were silent as they considered this. Coming up with brilliant ideas in the dead of night is not always easy and they made the judicious decision of conferring with Nonna Luna, hoping she would not be too put out at being called upon at this irregular hour.

Nonna Luna slept in a sloping room just off her kitchen. As she was hard of hearing, she did not respond to the children’s frantic tapping at the door and they were compelled to lift the latch and tiptoe inside. Their entrance triggered wild flapping from Olive, which in turn woke Nonna. She leapt out of bed brandishing a rolling pin before realising the trespassers were Milli and Ernest.

Nonna Luna was barely recognisable in her stiff nightdress (from under which poked a pair of knobbly feet) and hairnet. Her face was smeared with an ointment that made her glow in the dark and gave off a faint odour of seaweed. When Nonna had recovered sufficiently from the shock of having her sleep interrupted, she ushered the children into the kitchen and busied herself putting on the kettle whilst they outlined their rudimentary plan. They still hadn’t found anything that would adequately serve as a landing mat and the few items they came up with were simply too tricky to transport.

‘There must be something,’ Ernest thought aloud. ‘It’s all about being resourceful.’ When Nonna Luna looked at him blankly, he elaborated. ‘It means being inventive with what you have at hand.’

‘You very cleva children,’ Nonna Luna said proudly, as if she had no doubt that a solution would soon present itself. ‘You can use anyting you find in my kitchen. There is natink in da cool room except for a few legs of ham and da hundred or so crates of bananas dat arrive by special delivery justa yesterday.’

‘Bananas?’ Ernest queried.

‘Very high in potassium,’ Nonna replied with an eagerness that only talk of food and its properties could elicit from her.

‘Bananas are perfect!’ Ernest exclaimed.

‘Now is not the time to be thinking of your stomach,’ Milli reprimanded.

‘I’m not thinking stomach…I’m thinking LANDING PAD!’

‘Brilliant!’ squeaked Milli, finally on the same wavelength. ‘What we need is a Bananafest! I’ll wake the others and you start dragging out the crates. Nonna, can you take care of the dogs?’

Soon Nonna Luna’s kitchen was teeming with drowsy children, as well as salivating dogs gnawing noisily on ox tails under the kitchen table. Someone tapped Milli on the shoulder and she turned to find a troubled Finn and Fennel.

‘You can’t do it,’ Finn said. ‘You have no idea what’s out there.’

Milli looked at him calmly before replying: ‘We have to go.’

‘Please listen to us,’ Fennel begged. ‘You don’t understand—things are different in the Conjurors’ Realm.’

‘Trust me,’ Milli said, more gently now, realising that the twins were afraid for her and Ernest’s safety. ‘Something terrible is brewing and we can’t just stand by and watch it happen.’

‘But at least in here you know what you’re dealing with. Isn’t it better just to wait and see?’ Finn persisted.

‘If we do that, it may be too late…for us all.’

‘Then at least let us come with you,’ Finn said. ‘Fennel and I know our way around the realm. We can help you.’

Milli’s first instinct was to refuse this request outright. There was no point in endangering the twins unnecessarily. But the more she thought about it the more sense it made. Finn and Fennel had grown up in the Realm. They knew things Milli and Ernest could never know and perhaps it was time they learned to accept help when it was offered. It was hard to argue against the logic of this and when the children turned to Nonna Luna for her to input, she nodded her approval.

Milli paused before deciding how to explain the plan to the others. Experience had taught her that insufficient information could lead to a host of pointless questions that they did not have the time to deal with, whilst too much information could result in confusion amongst the young and impressionable. She opened her mouth to say that they were in grave danger and help was needed, but caught herself when her gaze fell upon the youngest children, who still believed their imprisonment at Battalion Minor to be an exciting game at which they must triumph. Their faces were full of trust and they seemed eager to make a contribution. Milli knew at once that she must choose her words very carefully.

‘Ernest and I must leave you for a short time,’ she began. ‘In order to gather information that will assist us in our mission, we must embark on a journey outside Battalion Minor. Our job is to make our way to a group of people who will advise and direct us so that we may get home as soon as possible. We won’t be away long, but while we’re gone it’s vital that our absence remain unnoticed. We will return with important clues to help us win the game. In the meantime, you must cover for us if questions are asked. Nonna Luna will tell you what to say.’

A boy called Ronald Tottenham raised his hand. ‘Can I come?’ he asked. ‘I’m strong and I can carry all your luggage.’

At this, a chorus of voices piped up begging to be taken along, each calling out their abilities like vendors at the Sunday market cry their wares.

Milli whistled for attention (a trick Rosie had taught her).

‘I’m sorry but nobody can come with us. We can’t risk being discovered. The best way for you to help us is to stay here and behave as if nothing has changed.’

Milli felt a stab of guilt as she saw the hopeful faces crumple with disappointment. She did her best to console them by pointing at the mounds of bananas. ‘Don’t feel bad. You have the most important job of all. Ernest and I need your help getting out of here. Together we have to eat our way through this mountain of bananas in order to escape safely. There’s no time to explain further—Oslo will be awake in a few hours. Now, please queue up quickly and quietly.’

Gummy Grumbleguts was the first to step forward, smacking his lips noisily. ‘I’ll take a dozen,’ he said with heroic aplomb, ‘and that’s just for starters.’

Nonna Luna’s eyes shone as she handed out bananas. She was shone every minute of this real-life adventure; it far outstripped talking to soup for excitement value.

Milli was pleased to note that everyone seemed heartened by the project and their new-found feelings of participation. At least now they would all be able to tell their parents they had actively contributed to the great escape. Besides, the children were grateful for a bite of anything that did not come from a dead animal. Milli had a suspicion that the butcher’s shops in Drabville would go out of business when they all got back.

The consumption of the crescent-shaped fruit known as a banana is not something we generally think too much about. Try working your way through enough bananas to feed a small army with a view to saving your life and see how different it feels. The children displayed great fortitude as they nibbled, chomped and mashed their way through the bunches of fruit, happy in the knowledge that they were contributing in some small way to preserving life as they knew it. A Drabvillian with a purpose is like a dog with a bone. I really should apologise for this simile as it is making a generalisation about dogs and their attachment to bones that is not necessarily true. It is quite possible that some dogs would prefer pavlova or crêpes suzettes if anyone bothered to ask them. All I am trying to say is that the children were determined and not easily discouraged. They ate until they swore they could feel themselves swelling into banana muffins and sprouting monkey tails, until their very brains were banana-logged and all they could see was a mirage of banana soldiers marching down a banana-skin footpath. Then, suddenly, there were none left. Not a single banana was in sight. The children looked around hardly daring to believe it, but it was true! They had consumed the lot.

The next task was stacking the banana skins in every receptacle available. Nonna Luna donated two wheelbarrows from the vegetable garden, while the others filled their pockets, a pair of old boots by the fireplace, and every pot and pan that could be found. Even Olive helped by ferrying skins over the gates. Sometimes she miscalculated and nearly knocked herself out flying into the gateposts.

When they were finished, the children purposefully strode outside each bearing their contributions to the landing pad. Ernest felt compelled to utter a few words to mark the historic moment. He did not even feel at all ridiculous as he waved a banana skin in the air and proclaimed: ‘For Drabville!’

A slithery, slushy landing mat formed quickly on the other side of the gates. Gummy Grumbleguts was given the honour of manning the catapult, but before Milli and Ernest could climb into the basket to be launched, Nonna Luna drew them aside for some parting words of wisdom. She took their chins affectionately in her hands.

‘Trust no one, keepa to da path and remember dat da heart know more than da head. Buona Fortuna!’ She kissed their foreheads and handed them a lantern along with a tea towel wrapped in a tight bundle. ‘Open dis packet wheneva you feel lost. The zucbeacon will help you.’

The children looked at her with puzzled faces.

‘No worry. You willa know whata to do.’

There were some mutters and grumbles when the children saw Finn and Fennel join Milli and Ernest in climbing into the catapult’s basket. Before Milli scrambled in, she turned to the expectant faces, all looking a little green around the gills by now and rubbing distended bellies.

‘Look after one another,’ she said. ‘If you need help or advice, go to Nonna Luna. We’ll be back before you know it, I promise.’

The next thing she knew, the wind was roaring past her ears as the basket swung into the air. The few moments she was airborne were exhilarating. She spread her arms wide, imagining they were wings. Ernest, being more practical, travelled in a foetal position. Milli landed face first in the banana peels, whilst Ernest bounced off and rolled neatly to the ground. Finn and Fennel, who were familiar with tumbling about on various surfaces, managed quite well.

The four children picked off any stubborn skins clinging to their hair and clothes and looked around them. The gates were solid and they could neither hear nor see the others now. Milli glanced at the hills to the west and felt a cold breath of wind sting her cheeks. A light was burning in the window of the jade citadel—like an eye, peeled and ever-watchful.

‘Put out the lantern!’ she hissed at Finn, who was holding it up to illuminate the path before them.

Upon spotting what Milli had seen, Finn threw the lantern to the ground and smothered it with leaves to extinguish the light. The children felt a little safer blanketed by the cover of darkness.

Ahead, dirt roads diverged like the prongs of a fork and in the pre-dawn light they had no way of telling which one led east. Just then, something twitched inside the tea towel package suspended on a stick over Ernest’s shoulder. He quickly rested the bundle on the ground and untied it. They were all completely bewildered to find three apparently useless objects amongst the snacks Nonna had packed for the journey: a hairnet, a zucchini with its yellow flower still attached, and a flask of Nonna Luna’s extra virgin olive oil.

It was the zucchini that had been moving, and it now spun around, drawing attention to itself. Ernest held it at arm’s length and pointed it directly ahead. The flower sprang open and glowed like a torch. Intrigued, Ernest pointed it in another direction, at which point the flower snapped shut and began to wilt.

‘The zucbeacon has spoken,’ he announced, and started off down the middle path.

They soon fell into a steady pace and had walked barely half an hour when they were hailed by the driver of a horse-drawn wagon that had seemed to spring out of nowhere. It pulled up alongside them and they saw that the driver was covered from head to foot in feather boas. The wagon was also chock-full of them in assorted brilliant colours.

‘Where you headed?’ he asked.

‘The city of Runis,’ Fennel responded. ‘Have we far to go?’

‘Couple more hours on foot,’ said the driver. ‘Headed there meself. Give you a lift if you like, if you’re not allergic to feathers.’

While Ernest stopped to think about this, the others were already thanking the driver and climbing in.

The wagon rattled on and, ear deep in feather boas, the children watched the landscape unfold before them. Pale light leached into the sky as night turned to day. The dirt track was soon framed by fields of vibrant wildflowers that swayed in the breeze as if to some lullaby only they could hear. There was a strange whispering in the air and the children felt suddenly very drowsy but did not dare succumb to sleep.

The fields were soon replaced by rows of neat cottages like dolls’ houses all painted in gelato colours. It began to drizzle with rain and the children watched in fascination as the little chimneys sprouted umbrellas to keep themselves dry. At another point, they came to a picnic pavilion crowded with garden gnomes. The gnomes had glinting eyes and merry painted faces that did not move even when their gruff little voices shouted rude things after the wagon. A couple of the bolder ones came right up to them and tried to snatch some feather boas, but their size prevented them leaping high enough. Eventually, the rhythmic rocking of the wagon coupled with the soft bedding sent the four children drifting into a shallow sleep. They were awoken by the voice of the driver announcing their arrival. Dismounting, they shook themselves free of any feathers that had caught in their hair and clothing and took a hesitant look around. Each made a mental note to be alert and guarded at all times, for now they were in Runis, the heart of the Conjurors’ Realm.

Part III
Exploits and Expeditions

CHAPTER ELEVEN
The City of Runis

Honkingmelon?’ hollered a pedlar nearby. More cries followed from others hawking their wares.

‘Salted warts?’

‘Pumpkin coaches?’

‘Pelican pen pals?’

‘A lovely cube of goat testicle pâté?’

The children had climbed out of the wagon right into the middle of a bustling marketplace. A man wearing a pineapple for a hat and safety glasses made of coconut shells was busy stuffing round purple fruits into a sack.

‘How does twelve dozen honkingmelons sound?’ he bellowed. ‘Last you for a year! Pickle ’em, poach ’em, bottle ’em, boil ’em, grate ’em, eat ’em any way you like! They’ll even honk for you if you ask ’em nice enough.’

It took a while for the children to realise the man was directing this at them.

‘Er…it’s nice of you to offer,’ Milli said politely, ‘but we don’t want any, thank you.’

The man turned as purple as his honkingmelons with rage. The children decided now would be a good time to make a discreet getaway. They slipped through the crowd only to be caught by two elderly women who trapped them in fishing nets as they hurried past.

‘Fancy a giant?’ one of the ladies asked. She grinned, revealing stubs of greying teeth. ‘Everybody needs a giant. Keep ’em as pets, you can. House-broken and all.’

The children wriggled out of the nets. In front of them was a large stand buckling under the weight of jar upon jar of tiny men. The men appeared to be bellowing at the tops of their lungs and thumped the sides of their glass enclosures with hairy fists, which nearly sent the jars toppling to the ground. The second old lady, whose hair was pinned up with laundry pegs, noticed the children’s confused faces.

‘They are giants,’ she promised. ‘We’ve just shrunk ’em.’

‘Then technically they aren’t giants any more,’ Ernest said.

‘Course they is,’ the woman cried. ‘They’re miniature giants!’

The twins grabbed Milli and Ernest and pulled them to the safety of a shop doorway.

‘It’s not safe to argue with people here,’ Finn warned. ‘Who knows what they might do.’

From their out-of-the-way position the group was able to watch the traffic going by—and what a head-spinning sight it was! The marketplace was bursting with life. They saw hags and elves, enchanters, she-wizards, trolls, merchants, hobgoblins, dryads, sirens, griffins, sprites, centaurs and a very intoxicated cyclops. Milli even thought she saw the Abominable Snowman waddling around slurping a sundae. The children spotted a huddle of robed figures who appeared to be conferring and discreetly swapping items in jars. They wore hats, hoods and some even had masks to conceal their identities. Milli did not like the fact that one of them had a black raven perched on his shoulder. The glassy-eyed bird seemed to absorb everything. Its owner looked like death itself, and when the sleeve of his voluminous cloak fell back, Milli saw a stretch of very white skin patterned with red veins. Inspecting his cohorts, she caught glimpses of various nightmarish features: a pair of hollow eyes, dagger-like teeth and a mane of hair surrounded by buzzing flies. Needless to say, she was very relieved when the ghastly party shuffled away.

Eventually, Finn decided it would be safe for them to explore further, but he warned Milli and Ernest to stay quiet and be alert. The four of them ventured out of their doorway and back into the marketplace. Stalls offering the most eclectic of items crowded the square. A stand made of jellyfish was wobbling like marmalade whilst the leprechaun who sat behind it offered pots of luck to passers-by. You could purchase clarinets that released a shimmering navy mist into the air when played, causing the closest person to instantly offer the player a pouch of gold. There were shoes with little silver wings, lollies to induce invisibility, and hats that gave you ears as large as an elephant’s to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.

Little ramshackle shops and cafés lined the narrow alleyways that wormed off the marketplace, some only large enough for two or three people to sit down. Everywhere the children looked there was barely space to move so thick was the crowd. People zoomed around on garden furniture or simply squeezed out from gaps in the mortar of stone walls. Gophers, clearly employed as messengers, scuttled underfoot, some chattering to themselves and others clutching scrolls of parchment between their teeth. Troubadours set themselves up to busk at strategic corners and sang heart-rending ballads about unrequited love. Velvet-lined instrument cases lay open at their feet to collect offerings. A group of passing monks rummaged in their brown pockets for coins.

A wooden stage had been erected in the centre of the square and people were beginning to gather around it. To the children’s left was a large fountain with green marble statues spouting water at one another. Ernest nearly fainted when he saw the eyes of one statue begin to move. Others shifted their entire bodies as they tried to find the most comfortable position where they would have an uninterrupted view of the stage. As if there wasn’t enough to look at on the ground, the sky continually changed colour while the clouds staged plays of their own for the amusement of anybody who happened to look up. They got a touch miffed when they did not have a large enough audience and showered people with light rain to gain their attention. Milli and Ernest were shocked when they saw faces appear in the cobblestones underfoot that engaged in a tête-à-tête with one another. Finn told them they were cobble sprites, imprisoned in the stones for committing dangerously mischievous deeds. Regular jails were ineffective centres of detention where sprites were concerned.

The sights around her were so giddying that, in search of breathing space, Milli turned the handle of the nearest door and stumbled into a conical shop full of bric-a-brac. The room was dim, cool and a welcome relief from the hurly-burly of the market. A little gentleman with pointed ears and a long lumpy nose sat behind the counter polishing a magnifying glass with a felt cloth. Milli thought he must be a pixie and so immediately ventured to trust him. She did not know that pixies are the cheekiest of fairy folk and behind their wide grins are as devilish a creature as can be found.

‘Lost are we, little ones?’ the pixie said with a grin.

Ernest thought this a very silly remark as the pixie was clearly far littler than they were.

‘We are,’ Milli answered. ‘We thought you might be able to help us.’

‘Ah.’ The pixie pushed his spectacles up his nose and stared at them with wide golden eyes. ‘I believe I may be of some assistance. You are in a jape shop.’ He clapped his hands and hooted. ‘There you go, problem solved. You aren’t lost any more!’

‘Thank you,’ Milli said courteously, ‘but we were actually hoping for more specific directions. We’ve only just arrived here and we’re trying to make our way to the province of Mirth to speak with Queen Fidelis. Do you know how to get there?’

The pixie stopped what he was doing and inspected the four of them thoughtfully. ‘The province of Mirth, you say? Of course, I can help you!’

He passed the children his magnifying glass. ‘Look into the glass and tell it who you wish to see.’

Obediently, Ernest took the glass and did as he was told.

‘Why…’ he said after a while, ‘I can see a room and there’s a fairy in it! She’s an awfully funny shape for a fairy though, and she’s got almost no hair at all. Oh look, she’s turning around!’

The pixie’s eyes twinkled gleefully.

‘Wait a minute,’ Ernest said, ‘that’s not a fairy, that’s me…in a dress…wearing a crown of daisies!’

‘Of course it is!’ shrieked the pixie.

‘But I’m not Queen Fidelis,’ Ernest objected.

‘Indeed, you are far too ugly to be a fairy,’ the pixie agreed. ‘But you told the glass you wanted to see the fairy queen. Obviously you had not quite made up your mind on the matter. You are a very vain little boy and wanted to look at yourself as well. Now you are looking at the both of you!’

Ernest slammed the magnifying glass on the countertop and turned to the others. ‘Let’s go,’ he said with great indignation, ‘before I do something I’ll regret.’

‘Oh, don’t leave,’ implored the pixie, assuming a more obliging expression.

He produced a scroll and quill from a drawer. ‘I know exactly how you can find Fidelis. I am being quite serious this time, but first I will need your names.’

Milli looked hesitantly at the others. What if the pixie was in cahoots with Oslo and waiting to capture runaway trainees from Battalion Minor? Finn and Fennel shrugged as if to say they hardly had much choice. Milli had to agree. She nodded, picked up the quill and awkwardly scratched out her name as she had never had to write using such an implement before. But when she lifted her hand to look at the parchment, Gorgonzola Beak was all that was written there. Ernest gave Milli a sharp glance to indicate that he was unimpressed with her attempt to be humorous even if they were in a jape shop. Milli tried again. This time Beaky Gorgonzola was all that appeared. No matter how hard she tried, the quill simply refused to write her proper name.

‘Sorry,’ the pixie smirked, ‘I don’t think Queen Fidelis knows anyone by that name.’ He handed her a new quill with a peacock feather. ‘Try this one.’

Milli passed the quill to Finn, hoping he might have better luck. He did in some respects. He managed to write Milli’s name on the parchment, and then his own, which came out perfectly except for one minor detail—it was written on his forehead.

‘On the parchment, if you please,’ the pixie instructed.

‘What’s going on?’ Milli said angrily. ‘Why are you tricking us?’

‘April Fools!’ squealed the pixie, leaping into the air as if he had a rocket in his pants. ‘I got you! I got you!’

‘Don’t be so absurd,’ Fennel told him. ‘It’s not even April.’

‘Every day is April Fool’s Day in my shop!’ the pixie cried, pointing to a dusty calendar that indeed verified the date to be 1 April. ‘It has been for a hundred years.’

Milli threw the shopkeeper a reproachful glance as Finn and Fennel steered them all back into the street.

‘Never trust a pixie,’ the twins advised.

Back in the marketplace, Milli and Ernest looked around cautiously. Who in this peculiar city could they turn to for help? Milli eyed the wooden stage where a theatre troupe were changing into costumes behind a sheet. Amongst them was a rosy-cheeked, plump woman in a bonnet. She looked exactly the type of person you or I would go to if we lost our parents in a busy street. The children elbowed their way through the crowd towards her.

‘Excuse me,’ Milli said to the woman’s back. Before she could continue, the woman swung around, very red in the face, and began babbling at top speed.

‘Oh my, oh my,’ she cried. ‘Oh my nose, my legs, my whiskers and bellybutton too! Why does Fortune despise us so?’

‘Well, whatever it is, I don’t think it could be that bad,’ Milli said, trying to sound reassuring.

‘Is that so?’ the woman demanded. ‘My lead actor has just been struck down with Fog-Ear. It’s the worse case of Fog-Ear I have ever seen. I can’t possibly send him on stage with his ears puffing and smoking away like that. And what’s more, he can’t hear a thing! He won’t be able to hear his cues. He’ll be the laughing stock of the theatrical world. The news will spread like wildfire and my theatre will be out of business before anyone can say “Break a leg”!’

Dame Trumps (for that was her name) threw herself at Milli, sobbing wildly. Awkwardly, Milli patted her curly head. Then a brilliant idea struck her.

‘What would you say if I told you I have an actor?’ she asked.

Dame Trumps looked up hopefully and dabbed her eyes. ‘I would be forever in your debt and your servant till the end of your days. I would be your chimney sweep, your cook, your maid, your mother and whatever else you want me to be.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Milli impatiently, ‘but would you give us directions?’

‘Would I ever!’ the woman cried, and the two shook hands on the matter.

‘To where?’ she added as an afterthought.

‘We need to get to the province of Mirth,’ Milli explained.

‘Dangerous path, but yes, I can show you, if you’re foolish enough to want to go.’

Ernest interrupted with a polite cough. ‘Milli, where exactly do you plan to find this actor?’

Milli turned towards him with an open smile. ‘You’ll thank me for this later,’ she said, and before Ernest knew what was happening she had propelled him forwards into the arms of the jubilant Dame Trumps.

‘He’s perfect!’ she crowed. ‘How much do you want for him?’

‘He’s not for sale,’ Milli told her, ‘but his talents—of which there are too many to mention—are yours for the next hour if we have a deal.’

‘We do indeed, my dear, and now on with the show!’

Poor Ernest was not quite strong enough to escape the determined grasp of the entrepreneurial dame as she steered him backstage where he was dressed in silk breeches and a crown.

‘Don’t you make a dashing prince, lad?’ she said. ‘Show’s about to start. I’ll signal when you’re to go on.’

‘Hang on a sec! Where are my lines?’ Ernest asked.

‘That’s the good news—you ain’t got any. All you got to do is prance about looking princely. That expression you’re wearing right now is just the ticket.’

From the wings, Ernest listened to the narrator telling the story of Princess Salt from the far-away land of Cholesterol who was unable to find a suitor until she met the enchantingly smooth Prince Margarine. It was the worst story he had ever heard. Luckily, he was not required until the end of the show when the prince and princess finally meet and fall ardently in love. When his moment arrived, Ernest was shoved onto the stage only to be leapt upon by a girl in a blonde wig and frilly frock.

‘How handsome you are,’ the princess crooned in a deep voice. ‘And how much healthier I feel with you by my side.’

Having not the slightest clue what to do, Ernest grinned broadly and tried to flex the muscles in his arms, imagining this was what was expected of princes without dialogue. The audience laughed rumbustiously, much to his discomfort.

‘A kiss, my fetching prince?’ Princess Salt said.

This was certainly more forward than Ernest remembered princesses to be. A little more coyness from Salt wouldn’t go astray, he thought as she advanced towards him, rouged lips puckered. The audience made loud hooting sounds. As the princess drew closer, Ernest noticed that she had unusually hairy knuckles for a girl. He also saw a prominent Adam’s apple bobbling around her throat. When she was almost on top of him, Ernest could see Princess Salt had a little black goatee and thick eyebrows. He suddenly remembered learning about a period in history when female roles in the theatre were assigned to young men before their voices broke as acting was considered far too unseemly for a well-bred young woman. Just his luck to have landed in such an unenlightened time!

Ernest backed away in disgust. Dame Trumps hadn’t mentioned anything about physical contact. Why had Milli gone and contracted him to the theatre company before checking out such details? The princess was now proffering her bristly chin and fluttering her eyelashes in a parody of girlish flirtatiousness. Ernest looked to Finn and Fennel in the audience for assistance, but they just waved him on encouragingly.

‘Err…’ he stammered, ‘perhaps we should ask your father’s permission before taking this any further.’

‘My father has given us his blessing,’ the princess said in a breathy voice.

‘As a mark of my devotion,’ Ernest said, having just glimpsed a means of escape which would not require anyone to lose face, ‘I request permission to kiss your worthy and rather broad hand.’

‘Nonsense! No time for modesty!’ Princess Salt cried and lunged at him…

When Ernest regained consciousness, he was lying on his back in the wings.

‘What a beautiful touch!’ the bouncy Dame Trumps was saying. ‘The kiss literally took his breath away. The audience loved it—loved it, I say!’

Ernest opened his eyes. ‘You mean I was a success?’ he mumbled blearily.

‘An absolute triumph, dear boy!’ Dame Trumps gushed, patting her chest in an effort to calm down. ‘We’d love to take you on a more permanent basis. You’re a natural!’

‘Okay,’ Ernest said, temporarily blinded by his success. ‘Where do I sign?’

‘What he means is, he would love to work for your esteemed theatre company but can’t,’ Milli jumped in quickly. ‘We’re just passing through, you see. Could we have those directions now?’

‘Anything for the star of the show,’ Dame Trumps replied. ‘Reaching Mirth is a tough challenge, little prince. The realm of the Fada is the hardest to infiltrate. No one I know has ever managed it.’

‘We know it won’t be easy,’ Milli answered, ‘but the prince is prepared for any eventuality.’

‘That’s good to know,’ sighed Dame Trumps.

Ernest, who had propped himself onto his elbows, did not like the sound of this and muttered that he thought he’d rather try his hand at acting. Milli ignored him.

‘Where do we start?’ she persisted. ‘Someone jot this down!’

‘Well,’ began Dame Trumps, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, ‘the first thing you have to do is get to the gates of the Toadstool Palace. That’s where the trials begin.’

She pointed to an alleyway called Cat’s Cradle, so named because it had become a refuge for the city’s homeless felines.

‘Follow the alley until you can go no further. Take the path on the right and walk until you find you have come to a dense mass of white trees. This is the Wood of Tartar. You must pass through it—and try not to smile too much in there—in order to get to Mirth. Oh, and here…’

She threw Ernest a pouch that rattled with what they presumed to be payment. ‘I’ve thrown in a little extra for the improvisation. If you ever need work, you know where to find me.’

The children thanked the dame for her kindness and set off in the direction of Cat’s Cradle. As soon as they entered the dingy alleyway, they sensed dozens of eyes watching them from dark corners. A few wasted cats wandered out and rubbed against their legs in the hope of hand-outs. Ernest drew from the bundle he was carrying Nonna Luna’s idea of a sandwich: an entire loaf of bread jammed with inch-thick slices of salami and cheese. He pulled out the cold meat slices and placed them on the cobbles for the cats to feast on.

Finn was surprised by such a display of soft-heartedness. ‘We might have needed that,’ he grumbled.

‘We need all the good karma we can get,’ said Ernest.

CHAPTER TWELVE
The Drunken Admiral

The children soon realised that Cat’s Cradle was home to more than just the city’s stray felines. A ragged boy with a dirt-streaked face and flaxen hair emerged from the shadows and reached, whimpering, for Milli’s hand. She was on the verge of taking it when Finn roared and pushed her roughly aside.

‘Don’t touch him, he’s an Urchin!’

‘Well, I can see that,’ Milli retorted in her most schoolmarmish voice. The little boy threw Finn a hostile look then turned pleading blue eyes back to Milli.

‘Urchins in Rune are different,’ Finn explained. ‘They befriend strangers and then steal their vital organs to sell to wizards at the markets. Organs fetch a handsome sum if they are fresh and unmarked.’

Milli and Ernest looked at their companion in horror. ‘He hasn’t got any eyebrows, see?’ Finn continued now that he had their full attention.

‘That’s the telltale sign,’ Fennel added hurriedly, for the boy was inching closer, undeterred by the bad publicity he was receiving. ‘Urchins always present as hungry children but they’re skilled hunters. Soon as one has earned your trust, its fingers turn to scalpels and they just reach right inside you to take whatever happens to be most in demand. It’s usually livers around here.’

Finn gave them a knowing look and made an imbibing gesture with his thumb, the meaning of which was lost on our young protagonists. Milli had just enough time to step away from the Urchin, who spat viciously at the twins before shrinking back into the gloom.

‘Thank you,’ said Milli, and for the first time, she felt glad of their decision to allow Finn and Fennel to accompany them on their journey.

As they continued down Cat’s Cradle, they passed an austere sandstone building with large pillars and arched doors through which people hurried clutching purses or lugging heavy sacks.

‘The Pebble Bank,’ a perplexed Ernest read aloud. ‘Is Pebble the manager’s name?’

The twins giggled.

‘Why don’t you try opening the pouch Dame Trumps gave you?’ Fennel said.

Ernest dipped a hand into the pouch and was surprised to find himself withdrawing a handful of pebbles instead of coins. From his geological studies, he immediately recognised them as the polished stones you find on the shoreline, tossed up by the sea. Their colours ranged from dull grey to vibrant shades of red and yellow, as well as some pieces of sea glass rubbed smooth by the corrosive action of sand and water.

Finn picked each piece up in turn. ‘Pinkies, ambers, whittles, soots and swirls,’ he rattled off knowledgeably. ‘You’ve done well for yourself.’

Fennel saw the children’s puzzled looks and proceeded to give them a lecture on Rune’s unique currency system. Swirls were the highest in value because they contained veins of several different minerals and were very hard to come by. Only the wealthiest and most powerful people had them in abundance. They were closely followed by pinkies and ambers with their earthy tones, whilst soots and whittles had the lowest value. These smooth charcoal-coloured pebbles were easily found, and were used to purchase most of one’s daily sundries, such as milk, apples or perhaps a glazed currant bun.

The narrow alleyway seemed to snake on forever, parts of it so steep it was almost vertical. After a while, the wayfarers felt their steps grow heavy. So focused were they on reaching the end that they barely noticed when the shutters of a window above flew open and a bucket of greasy suds was tipped out, missing them by inches.

By now the sun had set and it was growing dark. A wailing wind blew up and moved through the alleyway. By this I mean that instead of whooshing like ordinary winds do, this one was moaning as if in grief. We all know what a terribly miserable element the wind can be. But who can blame it? Would you be cheerful if you blustered about cities all day, sweeping off hats, turning umbrellas inside out, tearing down washing, toppling chimneys and being cursed by irate people simply for doing your duty? After all, destructive behaviour is only diverting for the first five minutes before becoming just plain sad.

Folks are rarely flattering about the wind. They bask in the sun, dance in the rain and delight in the snow, but the wind is nothing more than a nuisance. A close relative of mine who was employed for many years trying to impart knowledge to children (before adopting the more profitable enterprise of chocolate-making) claimed his charges were always more restless and lacking in focus on windy days. And then there is the well-known proverb, It is an ill wind that blows no good, which inextricably links windiness with bad fortune. Little wonder the wind in Cat’s Cradle was wailing.

‘Bothersome wind! I can barely see where I’m going,’ complained Ernest. He suggested they may need to consider seeking shelter overnight. No sooner had he finished voicing his suggestion than they spied what looked like a tavern ahead. A chipped sign that read The Drunken Admiral creaked in the wind. Ernest assessed the feasibility of staying overnight at the establishment by trying to peer through its murky windows.

Milli shivered and drew her jacket tighter around her. Something told her that wandering the streets of an unknown city with only a temperamental zucchini to help them was not a wise idea.

‘We’d better go in,’ she decided on everyone’s behalf and promptly pushed open the door.

Inside the Drunken Admiral, weather-beaten, shaggy-haired seamen sat in groups over foamy tankards. At one end of the room was a long counter that served as the bar, and a fire crackled warmly in a hearth. Above it was a shelf holding a row of earthenware jugs. This was obviously the place where the ordinary populace of Rune gathered to discuss news, swap gossip and escape the daily grind for a few hours. The dimly lit tavern assured anonymity, which is always advantageous for those who do not wish to be recognised or identified whilst drowning their sorrows. Ruddy-faced men and waitresses in frilly petticoats exchanged playful banter. Ernest was sure his mother would not approve of him spending time in such a place—rescue mission or otherwise.

Milli ducked out of the way as a lanky, bearded gentleman, limbs flailing like a beetle in his inebriated state, swiped at her thinking she was someone who owed him money. The man’s words were slurred and his breath smelled of ale.

‘Cough it up, Edgar. I only want what is mine. A lifetime’s service will suffice if you don’t have forty thousand swirls.’

Quickly, Finn grasped Milli’s shoulder and they pushed their way towards the counter.

‘What’s your poison?’ the barman drawled. He looked Milli up and down then said, ‘You look like a Turbulent Tonic lass to me.’ He turned his attention to the twins. ‘And you two look like you need some Wet Dog Rum.’

Finally he glanced at Ernest. ‘I don’t think we have anything strong enough for you.’

(The world in which you and I reside has strong restrictions regarding minors and the consumption of alcohol, but in the Conjurors’ Realm they believed that age should not impinge upon the pleasures of life.)

‘We actually just wanted some supper,’ Milli said to him. She thought it wise to wait a while before deciding if this would be a safe place to stay the night.

‘Never! Not even a Centipede Whisky? Scallops in Scotch, Foot Ale, Sparkling Port, Lancelot’s Liqueur—’

‘No, thank you,’ Milli answered as firmly as she could manage.

The barman shrugged and handed them a tattered and stained menu. The entire page was taken up by beverages but in tiny print at the bottom was a box containing the meals offered by the Drunken Admiral. There were three in total—Admiral’s Log, Admiral’s Hat and Admiral’s Beard—and it was impossible to differentiate between them. They ordered one of each and hoped for the best.

‘Fine choices!’ the barman declared. ‘That’ll be three pinkies.’

Milli instinctively put her hands behind her back, but the astute Ernest withdrew three of the required coral pebbles from his pouch and laid them on the counter.

When the meals arrived, it turned out that Admiral’s Log was meatloaf peppered with chunks of carrot—the careful removal of which tested Ernest’s patience. Milli’s choice of Admiral’s Hat was baked cod in the shape of a canoe, while the twins shared an Admiral’s Beard—fine angel’s-hair noodles tossed with chewy mussels.

The children found a secluded corner at the back of the tavern from which they could observe their surroundings. As they ate, their attention could not help but be drawn to a truculent pair sitting to their right, a well-built woman and a short, muscular sailor with a sunburnt face.

‘You stole my lucky ketchup!’ the woman said accusingly.

The sailor drew himself up to his full height and snorted indignantly. ‘And you have eaten my second cousins!’ he retorted.

‘I never!’ cried the woman. ‘I never ate a human being except for once in desperate circumstances, but that was thirty years ago. Now give me back my ketchup.’

‘Do you like squid?’ the sailor demanded. ‘Particularly when they are char-grilled and served with a squeeze of lime?’

‘My favourite since I was just a tot,’ the woman answered, her mouth watering at the memory. ‘What do you think gave me the whopping great brains I have today?’

‘Then you are a murderer!’ shouted the sailor. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself, guzzling my helpless cousins. My own wife is a charming trout and we’ve lived quite happily together since I caught her five years ago. Do you mean to tell me you plan to gobble her up as well?’

‘Well,’ said the woman huffily, ‘I believe we are even. I ate your distant relatives and you stole my ketchup.’

The two decided this was a fair agreement and reparation was deemed unnecessary. Shaking hands, they parted quite amicably.

Milli and Ernest looked at Finn and Fennel for an explanation, but the twins just shook their heads helplessly.

Their hunger satisfied, the children were about to ask the barman about taking a room for the night when two gentlemen collapsed into armchairs by the hearth and began to prepare pipes by stuffing them with shredded celery. A jug of the best rum sat between them. The children did not recognise the black beard and gold earring of the first man, but the second fellow they knew immediately by his lumpy skin and carroty hair growing as blunt as a hedge.

‘What on earth is Mr Ledger doing here?’ Milli hissed. ‘Doesn’t he have accounts to finalise or the cost of abductions to calculate?’

The others shushed her as they tried to eavesdrop, burying their faces in their mugs of cider to avoid recognition.

‘Tell me,’ the bearded man said in a guttural voice, ‘how is the world treating you these days, Ledger? Still working for that barge, Bombasta?’

Mr Ledger blinked his orange eyes as he offered a cagey reply. ‘We all have to put bread on the table.’

‘I hear there are plans afoot; plans that will unite the provinces once and for all. Any truth in the rumours?’

Ledger’s gingery whiskers twitched nervously. ‘I don’t know anything about plans,’ he answered. ‘What I do know is that I need another drink.’

The bearded man was not ready to let the matter drop. He leaned in closer. ‘They say an onslaught is on the cards, planned for just after Black Harvest. Word is Lord Aldor has finally cracked the code to overcoming the Fada. But I expect he will fail as he has before.’

A mottle-faced Ledger almost choked on his rum. ‘Don’t be too sure of that!’ he spluttered with unexpected venom. ‘The Illustrious One cannot be defeated this time, and anyone with half a brain should pledge their allegiance to him or suffer the consequences.’

Mr Ledger’s eyes glittered in the firelight and he bared sharp little razor teeth. His friend gave a throaty laugh, pleased with the response his tactic had elicited.

‘Things are going to get a lot better around here once the Master controls all five provinces.’

‘All in good time,’ Mr Ledger answered as he gulped down his last drink.

‘There are some who hold themselves too superior to mix with the likes of us,’ his drinking companion added.

‘Not for much longer, my friend,’ said Ledger, raising his glass. ‘Let us drink to the new Realm. Soon may it be upon us.’

The children stared at one another in dismay as they realised there was a very important question they had neglected to ask. They had assumed that time was on their side and that they would find and warn Queen Fidelis well before the day of any battle arrived. After all, Battalion Minor was in its infancy and could hardly be relied upon as a formidable force. But what if the battle was already upon them?

Milli looked around the crowded tavern. She saw a group sitting beside a fountain of rum, tossing in pebbles to wish misfortune on their enemies and rivals. She looked at a cluster of rowdy men who were using each other’s toughened chests as dartboards. She took in a pair of warty women sticking pins into the effigy of a fairy. Milli did not need Olive’s inner sight to tell her these people were not on their side.

Finn nudged her and nodded to the posters displayed on the walls around them. They showed inflammatory messages holding the Fada responsible for the current ruinous times. One depicted citizens of the realm with empty purses whilst the Fada cavorted in the moonlight around piles of precious stones that arrived by the cartful. It carried the slogan: Unite the Realm—share in its bounty. Another poster showed a dim landscape drained of colour. In the foreground hungry children foraged for potatoes. Above them fairies flew in chariots of gold feasting on delicacies. Below the image was the grim statement in red ink: Our hopes are fading—thank the Fada.

Another poster showed a map of the Realm balanced on one crooked pinkie finger; its slogan read: One Realm—one leader. The messages were clear. The Fada were selfish, capricious beings totally oblivious to the plight of those around them.

‘Too superior to mix with the likes of us,’ Mr Ledger’s companion had said.

The barman informed the children that Black Harvest was a night of feasting for the folks of the Realm. It celebrated the alliance between nature and magic made at the beginning of time. It would take place in exactly three days.

Three ambers and a whittle bought the children a place to sleep for the night. A flight of rickety wooden steps led them to their room, which was long, narrow and lit by oil lamps. It was sparsely furnished with two beds, a bassinet and an armchair. Too exhausted for further discussion, the children fell into bed. Milli and Ernest topped and tailed in one and the twins took the other. Although the mattresses were lumpy and draughts blew under the door, the room was luxurious compared to the barracks at Battalion Minor and their prickly bedding. It was wonderful to feel the touch of real linen against their skin, even if it was not as crisp as it should have been given the rates the innkeeper charged. The twins, accustomed to cramped sleeping arrangements from their time with the Lampo Circus, were soon snoring away. Milli and Ernest thrashed about for some time, trying to accommodate one another’s limbs. After much grumbling and shifting of positions, they too drifted into a fitful sleep.

When morning came, the children were stiff and had dark shadows beneath their eyes, the reason being that experts recommend a minimum of ten hours of sleep per night for young people (a fact not worth mentioning to parents) and they had certainly not attained that quota. A simple breakfast of milky tea and gritty oat cakes helped them to gather their thoughts. After consulting the zucbeacon, which instructed them to continue east, they departed the Drunken Admiral.

This time as they walked they decided they would not allow themselves to be distracted by anything happening around them. Time passed a lot faster in this manner and soon the close-set tenements of the alleyway known as Cat’s Cradle fell away to reveal cottages with shingled roofs and smoking chimneys dotting the landscape. The cottages in turn became more and more sparse until they disappeared altogether. Now the city was far behind them. The children did not stop until they came to a dense wood.

‘And here, folks, we have the Wood of Tartar,’ Finn announced.

All sound was extinguished amongst the trees, as if the place had been smothered by silence. For a moment, returning to Runis to deal with obnoxious goblins and organ-hungry Urchins seemed more appealing, but all four children knew they could not turn back. Each taking a deep breath, they faced the gloomy and ominous forest.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Wood of Tartar

Had the children held even the remotest doubt that this was the Wood of Tartar, it was quickly dispelled when they saw the trees close up. They were completely naked. By this I am in no way accusing them of indecency for failure to wear clothing, but rather explaining that they were minus leaves or foliage of any sort. Not only were the trees bare, their polished white limbs were fashioned like giant teeth. There were canines spearing their way skywards (the sharp, pointy teeth that give some unfortunate people a Count Dracula look), squat, crater-like molars (which in humans are designed for crunching) and some that were as square as tombstones. The only thing that identified them as trees was the white bark peeling from them like sunburned skin. The tooth-trees loomed over the children and grew so close together that they blocked out most of the sunlight. The atmosphere was one of pearly greyness and the minty aroma of mouthwash hung in the air. The spongy ground from which the strange vegetation grew bore an unsettling resemblance to gums, both in colour and consistency. It made the bacteria-conscious Ernest quite queasy.

Feeling as though they were walking into an enormous mouth badly in need of orthodontic assistance, they began a hesitant trek that they hoped might bring them to Mirth before too much more valuable time elapsed. Their shoes sank a little into the gumground with every step but it was the deep silence that sent pinpricks shooting up Milli’s spine. Not only could they not hear birds roosting, nor wind moving through leaves, nor any other signs of life ordinarily associated with a wood, they could not even hear their own footsteps.

‘Creepy, isn’t it?’ Milli said, feeling those pinpricks turn into rippling waves that coursed through her entire body.

Finn, eager to dismiss any hesitation that might hamper their progress, replied matter-of-factly, ‘There’s no other way through.’

Before long they came to a clearing where they thought to rest, but changed their minds on seeing ahead of them a whitewashed building no larger than a cottage. A fence had been erected around it, not made from pickets or palings, but from interlocking tracks of metal that resembled dental braces.

‘Nonna Luna didn’t mention the Wood of Tartar being inhabited,’ Milli commented.

‘I wonder who lives there?’ said Fennel.

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Milli answered. ‘Whoever it is might be able to help us.’

‘Thankfully we are not all optimists,’ said Ernest. ‘I suggest we stick to our plan and take another path through this wood. From my experience, unexpected surprises are anything but helpful.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Milli said, cheerfully taking his arm. ‘As far as I can tell it’s not made of gingerbread.’

‘Well, if we are going to investigate, only one of us should go,’ Finn said. ‘The rest of us should hide in case of danger.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Ernest.

Further discussion was curtailedbymovement at the window of the white cottage. Unexpectedly its front door was flung open and out shuffled four figures with long gangly limbs and white-painted faces. They had bulbous noses the size of golf balls and mouths like great strips of bacon. They wore puffy patchwork suits and ridiculously oversized shoes.Two of the creatures were completely bald whilst the third had tufts of hair sprouting from beneath a bowler hat. They moved through the gate and watched the children out of flat black eyes—the kind you might see on a fish. Their loose bodies flopped like puppets and their frozen expressions, as they cavorted in front of the hut, did not alter. Worst of all, their mouths were stretched into enormous grins. With gloved hands they beckoned the children to come closer.

‘Good morning!’ said Milli, stepping forward nervously. She knew that good manners were always a useful starting point when dealing with strangers, especially madly grinning ones.

Upon hearing her speak, the clowns stood stock-still and raised their hands robotically in greeting. Encouraged, Milli decided to give them an abridged version of their projected mission.

‘So sorry to have disturbed you but we’re just passing through. We’re in rather a hurry and on a very important errand, so we won’t hold you up any further and just be on our way.’

But when Milli attempted to walk past, the tallest clown lurched forward and spread his arms to block her way. He cocked his head to one side in amusement at the antics of the little girl.

This made the children anxious and the jolliness of the clowns suddenly took on a more sinister slant.

‘Who are you?’ asked Ernest carefully, thinking that what are you would be a more appropriate question. ‘What do you want with us?’

‘We…are…the…Grin…Bandits,’ one clown replied in a mechanical voice. ‘And…we…want…what…you…want…not…to…give.’

‘I see,’ said Ernest, feeling more confused than ever. Hoping that showing an interest in their affairs might bluff the clowns into letting them pass, he prattled on: ‘Are Grin Bandits a performing troupe of some kind? I must say, your costumes are truly spectacular. We are rather pressed for time or we’d happily stay and watch the show. Perhaps we could take a business card?’

‘We…are…not…performers. We…are…collectors,’ the clown replied. His expression remained unchanged, not a flicker of emotion crossing his mask-like face.

‘Is that so?’ Ernest asked, a little too casually. ‘And might I ask what brings you to the Wood of Tartar? There can’t be much business here for clowns.’

‘We…are…here…to…put…our…skills…to…good…use.’

Upon seeing a vein throb on Ernest’s forehead, which always indicated an increase in tension that not even his flippant tone could conceal, Milli decided to intervene.

‘Will you accept some payment to let us pass?’ she said, trying a new approach and hoping she sounded businesslike. ‘We have pebbles aplenty.’

‘Pebbles…are…of…no…use…to…us. We…never…leave…these…woods.’

‘I’m afraid we have nothing else to offer,’ said Milli, frowning.

The eyes of the clowns glittered even more dangerously as they answered in unison, ‘We…believe…you…do.’

Before the children could move, the Grin Bandits had surrounded them and turned out to be a lot stronger than they looked. Despite a fair bit of resistance in the form of kicking and struggling, the four were dragged into the white hut where a baffling plaque at the door read: Theatre. They hoped it referred to the kind of theatre involving costumes and actors full of their own importance, but the room they entered was clearly designed for procedures of a surgical nature.

In its centre, illuminated by a single light bulb, sat a black dentist’s chair, the kind that can be swivel and recline to all sorts of unnatural angles. It was covered in shiny plastic. Adjacent to the chair was a basin and a trolley holding a single metal tray containing a giant pair of rusty-looking pliers. Judging by their size it would be safe to conclude they had been designed for extracting the teeth of a Tyrannosaurus rex. There was also some green liquid, looking very like dishwashing detergent, in a little transparent cup. The room emitted an unpleasant antiseptic smell and enormous sets of dentures hung like trophies on every wall.

The children shrank back with a horrible numbness as the realisation dawned as to exactly what sort of practitioners the Grin Bandits were. They were the kind children all over the world feared most. A visit to such a person is worse than taking grandma to the podiatrist, or being sent with a plate of brownies to the old lady next door who you know is a witch. To avoid encounters with these individuals it is worth swearing off sugar for a whole year. If you happen to pass one such establishment you would surely hurry on or else be deafened by the screams coming from within. The children exchanged glances and instinctively clamped their mouths tight shut. Who could blame them, for nobody in their right mind welcomes a visit to the dentist.

‘You…children…have…a…terrible…case…of…tartar…buildup,’ said one of the Grin Bandits. ‘The…teeth…must…be…extracted…immediately. We…humbly…offer…our…services.’

‘No, sir-ee,’ said Finn angrily. ‘We’ll keep the tartar. You’re not even qualified. Now let us out of here.’

The tallest Grin Bandit chuckled nastily. ‘We…Grin…Bandits…collect…teeth. We…are…passionate…about…them. The…only…thing…that…will…keep…us…from…adding…yours…to…our…collection…is…if…you…can…solve…our…riddle. You…have…three…guesses.’

Milli was just about to object to the unreasonableness of such a pact when Ernest, who could rarely resist such a challenge, boldly cried out, ‘Let’s hear it then.’

The clowns chuckled and rubbed their hands together with glee before reciting their riddle.

‘I…am…a…gum…that…cannot…be…chewed…yet…without…me…you…can…never…chew…in…peace. What…am…I?’

‘Are you out of your minds?’ Milli demanded. ‘That is complete nonsense. I doubt it even has a solution.’

The chief Grin Bandit smiled with a grim satisfaction and wagged a finger at her.

‘That…answer…is…incorrect.’

Two of the clowns charged with lightning speed and seized Fennel, wrapping their arms around her like a coil. With a shout, Finn tried to dart forward but his path was blocked by the head Bandit. Finn threw a punch at him, but it bounced off the creature’s padded suit. Milli wondered if there was actually a body beneath the fabric. The children watched in helpless dismay as Fennel’s mouth was stuffed with cotton wool so that her cheeks bulged. She couldn’t speak other than to utter a few strangled sounds.

‘Two…more…guesses,’ the chief Grin Bandit informed them.

‘That’s not fair! You’re trying to trick us. We haven’t had a first guess yet!’ Finn shouted, his face turning beetroot with rage.

Milli and Ernest could see that reasoning clearly was not going to be an option, so they steered Finn into a corner where they could confer privately.

‘They have no right to take Fennel’s teeth,’ Finn hissed, clenching his fists. ‘I’ll knock the stuffing out of them!’

‘They’re twice our height,’ Milli said, ‘and much stronger.’

‘Besides,’ Ernest added, ‘it seems that they make the rules in the Wood of Tartar.’

‘So what do we do?’ Finn urged, conscious of his sister’s growing discomfort.

Milli glanced at Ernest, thinking that now would be a good time for him to reveal superhero powers, bowl over the clowns and claim their freedom. When nothing happened, she turned back to Finn.

‘We’re going to have to try and solve their riddle,’ she said.

The next few minutes were spent in desperate deliberation…to no avail. The best the children could come up with under duress was ‘gumboots’. After all, they were definitely something you would not want to chew, and wet feet might well interfere with digestion.

The toneless response rang out even before they had finished elaborating on their second guess.

‘That…answer…is…incorrect.’

The Grin Bandits now felt confident enough to pick up the pliers and test their effectiveness by passing them around to one another. They held them threateningly above Fennel’s mouth and pranced around her chair discussing their strategy for the extractions. The children saw Fennel’s body tense and heard her breathing become rapid. Looking around the room, they could not see the slightest hint of anaesthetic or even an alcohol swab to numb the pain.

Finn began to imagine having a toothless sister who would need to be fed mush and never laugh openly again, whilst Milli wondered how the clown-dentists might be distracted long enough for them to grab Fennel and make a getaway. Ernest, proud of his proficiency with language, was downright bothered by the idea of being outsmarted by creatures whose skills were usually limited to juggling balls and tumbling. Solving a riddle ought to be a trifling matter. You just had to shift your thinking to a level beyond the obvious—like taking an underwater dive with your brain. It is not that easy to do under normal circumstances but nigh impossible when under threat of being turned into geriatrics before your time.

‘I need to think,’ Ernest announced and began pacing the room, ruminating on the problem aloud as the Grin Bandits slipped on surgical masks.

‘No pressure,’ said Milli, ‘but the fate of all our grins depends on this answer.’

‘Gumberumph!’ said Fennel through a mouthful of cotton, which most likely meant, ‘Fifty per cent of a girl’s beauty lies in her smile. Please don’t mess this up!’

Ernest buried his face in his hands and tried to think logically. Solutions whirred though his mind but they were all too risky. They could not afford another mistake. The others would never speak to him again if they lost their grins, for he was sure the Grin Bandits would not stop at Fennel. He repeated the riddle in his head. Could there be a hidden meaning in it somewhere? When at last he could think of nothing else, Ernest fell back on an old trick hoping it would provide some clues. If as part of some inane school project you have ever been asked to find rhyming words, you have probably tried mentally going through the alphabet, hoping a systematic approach might yield more than random thinking. Well, that is just what Ernest decided. Rhyme had nothing to do with his task but he was desperate. A to G yielded little. J to K was not too promising either. He was running out of inspiration. Ernest paced faster and tried to pluck the answer from the air, as if it were hanging there like an imaginary apple.

‘Umm…L…gum,’ he muttered aloud.

The pliers dropped with a clang as all three clown-dentists turned with astounded faces.

‘Amalgam,’ they chorused reluctantly. ‘That…answer…is…correct.’

‘How can that be right?’ Ernest scoffed. ‘Why, it’s not even spelled with a—’

Milli launched herself at Ernest and tackled him to the floor. Ernest was stunned but mercifully silenced.

‘Now would not be the time for a spelling bee,’ she hissed in his ear. With shouts of ‘We’ve won!’ Milli hauled Ernest up and they performed a triumphant jig around the room, their smiles now bigger than those of their assailants.

By contrast, the Grin Bandits’ mouths now began to droop until they had melted into scowls, and tears streamed down their gaudy faces. The straps binding Fennel’s arms and feet loosened and she scrambled out of the dentist’s chair to join the others.

‘Goo wob,’ she mumbled, as she had not yet finished extracting the cotton rolls tucked under her tongue. But the praise and relief in her tone as she patted Ernest’s back heartily were an unmistakable indication of her gratitude.

‘You…have…solved…our…riddle…and…defeated…us,’ the clowns said in between sobs. ‘You…are…free…to…go.’

The four children edged their way carefully out of the cottage until they were standing in the clearing again. They half-expected more Grin Bandits to leap from the trees in an ambush, but no one came after them. They took a moment to congratulate each other.

‘That was close,’ Finn said, hugging his sister.

‘You were brilliant,’ Fennel declared, looking at Ernest with unadulterated admiration.

‘All in a day’s work for an etymologist,’ he replied humbly.

Even Milli had to admit she was impressed.

‘That was definitely not piffle,’ she declared.

The children’s relief dissipated as they heard the robotic tones of the Grin Bandits behind them.

‘Unfortunately…we…are…not…gracious…in…defeat,’ the voices echoed around them. This announcement was followed by loud, sharp snapping sounds.

The children looked back to discover that the Grin Bandits had waited until the last moment to unleash their most deadly weapon. An enormous set of dentures that hung on the surgery wall had come to life and was crashing through the doorway towards them. All four fled, pursued by the snapping jaws with teeth that had taken on a blade-like sharpness. It caught hold of Fennel’s dress as she ran and ripped the hem clean away.

The only advantage for the children was their ability to dart nimbly between trees while the teeth were forced to crunch their way through. Boughs splintered around them and rained down like hail. They ran like they never had before, but despite their efforts the teeth were gaining on them. Unlike the children, the dentures did not tire. When his breath came in shallow gasps and he could hardly run another step, Ernest was reminded of Nonna Luna’s advice about the parcel she’d wrapped for them.

‘Milli,’ he panted, ‘the hairnet in the bundle!’

‘What about it?’

‘I think we need it now!’

Skidding to a stop, Ernest wrenched open the tea towel and drew out the flimsy hairnet. The dentures galloped and snapped towards them even faster. With all his remaining energy, Ernest hurled the item at the approaching jaws. It felt like a pathetically insignificant gesture of retaliation and Ernest could not think why the idea had even popped into his head. But it worked. No sooner had he thrown the net down than something magical happened.

It began to stretch and unravel in size so that the fast-approaching jaws became caught and tangled. The net wrapped itself around the teeth, forcing them together and bringing them to an abrupt halt.

The children did not linger to see if the dentures would chomp themselves free but bolted out of the wood with renewed vigour. Silently thanking Nonna Luna and her magic charms, they stumbled through the trees until they were free of the Wood of Tartar at last.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Do Not Pass Go

Only when the wood was a blur behind them did the children feel safe enough to stop and rest. They lay on the ground laughing and panting in turn; the kind of laughter that verges on the hysterical and usually accompanies the relief that follows dodging a near-fatal encounter. With visions of deadly dentures still uppermost in their minds, the children did not notice how thick and lush the grass was beneath them or that the sky was as blue as a baby boy’s blanket and the happy chirping of swallows filled the air. It was only when they felt a peculiar lifting sensation swell in their chests and looked around properly that they realised they had come to the end of their journey.

Nestled amidst the greenery ahead was a colossal toadstool. Despite being a member of the fungi family (Fungus horribilis) and generally mistrusted by children for its slimy texture and questionable flavour, the toadstool was the most beautiful sight they had set eyes on thus far in their journey. How was it possible for something to look as strong as a fortress and yet as delicate as a flower? Beams of sunlight danced across its freckled top like golden fingers. The children worried that if they moved too close the lovely vision might fade, leaving nothing more than a pale memory. But the toadstool remained fixed, and closer inspection revealed little windows with yellow shutters carved into its rubbery base. Ornate balconies made of silver lattice curved up the stalk and chimneys smoked in its raspberry roof. Unlike the chaos of Rune, serenity lay over the province of Mirth like a mantle. In contrast to the looming form of the jade citadel, the toadstool palace seemed to beckon the children and they quickened their step so that they might reach it faster.

So this was Mirth, the home of the legendary Fada, Milli thought. It looked as enticing as an iced cupcake. Quaint acorn cottages were dotted about the place like speckles on an egg. Despite its size, the toadstool did not cast a shadow across these little homes or any other fairy abodes. It simply curved over them as protectively as a wing.

Milli and Ernest stood in silence, not daring to believe they had finally reached their destination while the twins let out a combined whoop and turned a series of quick back flips in joy. Resisting the urge to celebrate on the spot, the group contented themselves with a few congratulatory pats on the back before walking on.

The gates to the city were guarded by two white bulls wearing military uniform with the outline of a daisy (the emblem of the province) embroidered on their lapels. Wings sprouted from their sturdy shoulders, heavy and feathered like those of angels and flecked with colours like lilac and rose. Their hoofs and horns were solid gold. The bulls, whose muscular haunches left no doubt as to how fierce they would be in battle, inclined their heads formally in greeting.

‘You have come to see the Queen,’ one of them said. The words were solemn and more of an announcement than a question. The bull’s voice was not harsh, as you might expect, but sounded like the patter of rain against a windowpane. If you have ever heard such a sound you will know it has the same soothing effect as a lullaby. The children were so calmed by the bull-sentinel’s voice that they almost neglected to answer.

‘We have,’ Milli said, remembering herself. ‘And our message is an urgent one.’

‘Follow me,’ the bull replied.

Once inside the white gates, the children were disappointed to find that the toadstool palace was not as close as it had first appeared. It was positioned at the highest point of an incline, its top almost in cloud due to its great height. A winding path stretched all the way to the toadstool’s entrance.

To the children’s left, a flight of steps descended into a ravine. As you might imagine, it came as quite a shock when the bull led them in that direction rather than towards the toadstool that looked and smelled like it was made of marshmallow.

‘Are you ready to play?’ the bull asked gravely.

‘Play?’ Milli said. ‘We don’t have time to play. We must see Queen Fidelis right away!’

‘I am afraid everyone who wishes to see the Queen must attempt the game,’ the bull replied in a voice that was both firm and patient. ‘Only those who succeed are granted an audience.’

‘We insist on seeing the Queen immediately. Please inform her of our arrival,’ Ernest said in what he hoped was his most commanding tone.

The bull looked at him with limpid eyes.

‘You do not know our history,’ he said. ‘The Fada have many enemies in the Realm. A great many of them have attempted to enter our peaceful land. We cannot afford to trust anyone. The game is the only way we are able to differentiate between friend and foe.’

‘We mean no harm,’ Fennel said.

‘I believe you,’ the winged beast answered quietly. ‘But the game must make the final decision. If what you speak is true, you will be safe and nothing will harm you. Good luck.’

A rush of air hit them as his wings, humming as if with electricity, spread out and lifted him high into the air. Miserably, the children watched the bull return gracefully to his post. They peered down the steep steps and were met by only silence. With no other option before them, Milli took the lead and the four tiptoed apprehensively down into the unknown.

‘New players, new players!’ a mysterious voice boomed enthusiastically as the children emerged into a square which, despite being underground, was as bright as day. They found themselves standing on a surface so highly waxed it was difficult to keep their footing. The shiny floor was the colour of pistachio nuts and covered in markings in the shape of arrows, coloured grids and lines not dissimilar to those on a road map. Around the perimeter of the square were street signs pointing in multiple directions and various cardboard edifices that looked like they had been borrowed from a movie set. It all seemed strangely familiar to Milli and Ernest. Was it a location they knew from a story, they wondered.

In one corner of the square was an enormous, antiquated birdcage. Inside stood an unshaven, shaggy-haired man in what appeared to be striped pyjamas. He rattled the bars and shook his uncombed locks but the children thought he looked more comical than frightening. In another corner stood a uniformed officer frozen in the position of blowing a whistle and pointing a finger as if directing unseen traffic. In the centre of the square were some giant letters in a curly script that spelled a word they could not immediately make out. On a rectangular-shaped mat on the ground, questions marks squirmed and wriggled like a gaggle of geese as they tried to find a comfortable position, then settled down together like spoons in a drawer. Metallic bells began to sound and a pair of boom gates were lowered to allow a cardboard cut-out steam train to pass. A wooden chest painted brightly in blue and white sat with its lid open, its contents—sacks of gold—invitingly displayed.

The letter O in the word on the ground turned out to be a man-hole. They knew this when a tubby man in a top hat and tuxedo popped out of it and raised his cane in salutation. With his appearance the penny finally dropped for Milli and Ernest. How could they not have recognised the board game that had consumed so many rainy afternoons and at which Ernest prided himself on being unrivalled champion? For reasons obscure, they had stepped straight into a life-sized game of Monopoly.

Milli and Ernest navigated their way across the board, trying not to slip, until they were face to face with the chubby man who was still half-stuck in the hole like a jack-in-the-box. Never having played Monopoly in their lives, Finn and Fennel followed cautiously, looking completely baffled.

With a heave and a grunt, the pint-sized man extricated himself from the hole and brushed himself down before speaking.

‘Welcome, children. You are just in time to join the game. I am Mr Banker.’

He threw down a handful of trinkets which Milli and Ernest recognised immediately: an iron that had seen better days, a top hat, an old boot and a tiny silver car.

‘If you would be so kind as to choose a token, we can begin.’

Finn, eyes shining, pointed to the car the size of his thumbnail. The man waved his cane and the token expanded to a sleek convertible just the right size for four small children.

‘It probably goes at a snail’s pace,’ Milli observed as she beat the others into the driver’s seat.

When they were comfortably installed, and Ernest was deliberating whether to mention recent statistics on motorcar fatalities, Mr Banker raised his cane and the car did a lap of the board at breakneck speed to warm up. When it screeched to a halt and the children waited for their pulses to return to normal, they found Mr Banker propped behind a marble counter such as one might see in an old-fashioned bank. Money in the form of crisp bills was stacked around him in columns according to value.

For those of you who have never played Monopoly, the aim is to buy up expensive locations and develop them by erecting as many homes and hotels as possible. This allows you to charge exorbitant rent each time a player is unlucky enough to land on one of your properties. The objective is to monopolise the game and force your opponents into humiliating bankruptcy. I’m sorry to say that it is each player for him- or herself in Monopoly. It is most certainly not conducive to teamwork.

There were two other players waiting in the wings, easily distinguished by the cut-throat looks they were casting in the children’s direction. The first was an angry-looking goblin in green tights with assorted tools strapped to his belt, including daggers and hammers. He sat astride a shaggy dog, and a wad of bills bulged from a bum-bag. The dog snarled at the children, foam spraying from its jaws. He seemed especially ferocious (for a terrier). The second opponent was a fluffy cat in a bonnet carrying a parasol. She stood in an upside-down thimble as if it were a chariot and she an Egyptian queen.

A polite cough from Mr Banker quickly brought the children’s observations to a halt.

‘Concentration is essential for success,’ he advised. ‘Before we begin, I would like to remind you of the main rules of this game in case we have any first-timers. Dishonesty is actively encouraged if not essential, and bankruptcy is synonymous with extinction. Any questions?’

He winked at the openly confused children.

‘The player who rolls the highest number on the dice will move first. On the count of three: one…’

The children looked around for dice but could not find any.

‘Two…’

Ernest opened the car’s glove compartment in search of a rule book while Milli waved a hand in the air as if in a classroom.

‘Yes?’ Mr Banker snapped.

‘Sorry to be a bother, but we don’t seem to have any dice.’

Mr Banker looked at her as though she were a time-wasting ninny. ‘Have you got a head?’ he asked.

‘Well, obviously,’ she retorted.

‘Then you have dice! Close your eyes and let your mind roll a number.’

‘I rolled ten,’ piped the fluffy cat with a cunning look. She had really visualised two but was determined to move first.

‘And I,’ shouted the goblin, his ears flapping (always an indication that a goblin is telling a fib), ‘have eight.’

Milli, who did not like to be untruthful unless someone’s life depended upon it, closed her eyes and waited for a number to pop into her head.

‘We rolled four,’ she said, ignoring the goblin’s sniggers and the cat’s arched eyebrows.

‘Very well,’ Mr Banker announced. ‘Miss Pawpaw will move first, then Goblin Grouse and lastly you four. Let the game begin!’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Game Decides

When the children’s turn came, Milli rolled a five. She attempted steering the motorcar ineffectually for a moment or two before it took matters into its own hands. The children were thrown back against their seats as it pivoted at a dangerous angle and hurtled down the street before Ernest could work out how to buckle his seatbelt. Various properties whizzed by in a colourful blur before the car delivered its four nauseated passengers outside a place called Squatters’ Swamp. The other properties had equally strange titles, none of which Milli and Ernest recognised from the game they knew so well.

Squatters’ Swamp must have been the lowest-valued property on the board as it was more of a grimy millpond than valuable real estate. But valuable or not, our protagonists knew that business acumen was always rewarded in the game of Monopoly. Besides, judging by the speed with which Miss Pawpaw and Goblin Grouse were netting properties, the children would need to buy everything they landed on in order to keep up.

‘We’ll take it,’ Milli said.

‘That will be fifty pounds,’ said Mr Banker, looking up from reading his newspaper.

‘Fifty pounds for a scummy pond?’ Ernest objected.

‘Worst pond in the best street—think of the capital growth,’ Mr Banker replied with a shrewd grin. ‘Remember the first three rules of real estate: location, location, location.’

Whilst Ernest considered this, Finn and Fennel were already extracting the correct sum of money and depositing it onto the glossy counter.

‘You are the first people to purchase Squatters’ Swamp in over thirty years,’ said Mr Banker. ‘You must be as mad as my Aunt Midge, but congratulations all the same. Swamps are vastly underrated in my opinion.’

As the game progressed, the children quickly came to understand which properties to purchase and how to maintain a plump money bag. They landed on a square labelled Chance, which entitled them to whatever was written behind one of the squirming question marks in the middle of the board, and earned themselves ten pounds for winning a best hair contest. The fact that they had not entered a best hair contest, nor indeed altered their appearance since their arrival, confused them, but they were glad for the money nonetheless.

When they landed on the Community Chest square, they found that the game took this quite literally and presented them with tasks that served the community. The children had to brush Miss Pawpaw’s fur (which, beneath its silky façade, was rife with knots), clean Goblin Grouse’s ears (a job for which they were issued large cotton-tipped spoons) and repair breakages for any of the landlords who requested it. Despite this, it would not be an exaggeration to say that the children were doing rather well and stood a fair chance of reigning unchallenged as Monopoly experts.

Alas, their luck changed when they rolled a six and landed directly on the doorstep of a place called Notables’ Nest.

In contrast to Squatters’ Swamp, Notables’ Nest was one of the most prestigious and expensive parcels of real estate on the entire board. If you are a well-versed Monopoly player you might liken it to such properties as Mayfair or Park Lane, which encourage you to mortgage all your assets in order to call yourself their proprietor. They may hardly ever be landed on by other players, but you feel satisfied simply to have such a place in your investment portfolio. Even if you are beaten miserably, acquisitions like these remain a small triumph and help to soothe your wounded pride. I know this from many a game lost to my ruthless cousin, Thomas, who claims to have infallible strategies and always hotly denies that his control of the bank has anything to do with his success.

Notables’ Nest was nothing like a nest and, despite being constructed from cardboard, was as imposing as if it boasted real marble pillars and a genuine crystal-studded letterbox. Miss Pawpaw clawed at her thimble in dismay when the motorcar skidded to a halt outside it. Grouse, who was less subtle, stomped his stockinged feet in rage.

The rule book informed Ernest that it was exceptionally rare to land on Notables’ Nest so early in the game. It cost a grand total of five hundred pounds to purchase but its proud owner would be the envy of all the neighbours. Ernest, who had become caught up in the game, looked down at their money bags which were still rather full.

‘We can afford it,’ he said excitedly to the others.

The children were counting out their notes and discussing the benefits of owning Notables’ Nest when they heard a howl. They glanced up to see a procession of black-uniformed jail wardens with handkerchiefs covering most of their faces marching across the square. Miss Pawpaw was cowering inside her thimble but the jail wardens plucked her out by her fluffy tail.

‘Stop that!’ Milli shouted. ‘What do you want with her?’

Mr Banker looked up in surprise.

‘Pawpaw has been declared bankrupt,’ he answered. ‘Bankruptcy is synonymous with extinction. The rules are the rules.’

‘Surely there must be some way she can be helped,’ Milli said.

‘If she pays her debt of five hundred pounds she goes free. But as she has not managed her funds carefully, she can’t. The matter will now be dealt with by the judge.’

‘What happens if she can’t pay?’ Finn asked.

‘She will be shipped immediately to the remote and uninhabited island of Burr Burr where she will live out her days scrounging for food, friendless and ungroomed.’

‘No!’ wailed the cat. ‘Not banishment. Pawpaw will never survive on Burr Burr! Will no one help me?’

The children glanced at one another and then up at Notables’ Nest. It was such a magnificent property and they longed to see their names on the title. But how could they justify such an indulgent purchase when the survival of an innocent (if admittedly conceited) cat hung in the balance? One by one they tore their eyes away from the elegant doorway—all except Ernest. He was gazing at the house with such craving that Milli became quite concerned and shook his shoulder.

‘We’re paying to stop Miss Pawpaw being exiled,’ she said. ‘We’re going to have to leave Notables’ Nest behind. Perhaps next time round.’

‘Would she do the same for us?’ Ernest murmured.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Would Miss Pawpaw make that kind of sacrifice for us?’

‘I don’t know but it doesn’t matter,’ said Milli firmly. ‘We have to help her. Come on, Ernest, we have our swamp.’

Finn and Fennel, accustomed to frugality, agreed wholeheartedly with Milli’s decision, but Ernest’s face twisted into a scowl such as they had never seen on him before.

‘That swamp is the dumpiest place on the entire square,’ he fumed. ‘I want an impressive address like this one. I can hardly be expected to have my friends over at the swamp.’

Ernest himself was surprised to hear such words come out of his mouth. He had never in his life been pretentious, but inside the game he seemed to be a different person. He tried to control himself but, like hiccups, he simply could not stop the words from coming.

‘I want it!’ he insisted, tooting the car horn for emphasis. ‘I don’t care what it costs. In fact, that’s just why I like it. I vote we pay up. It’ll be worth squillions in a few years. I want to eat off silver platters and be the envy of people for miles around. If we help that fluffy nincompoop then we can’t win.’

Milli was taken aback. What on earth had got into her best friend? Was this a reaction to some new allergy? She spoke gently, not wanting to agitate him further.

‘We’re not actually going to live here,’ she said. ‘This is a game, Ernest.’

‘She’s just a stranger,’ he muttered sulkily.

Milli glanced behind her at the crowd of onlookers who were eavesdropping unashamedly. The twins shook their heads in concern and furrowed their freckled brows. Fennel, who was still feeling indebted to Ernest for his performance in the Wood of Tartar, sprang to his defence.

‘This is the game talking,’ she said. ‘It isn’t Ernest.’

‘Remember what the sentinel told us?’ Finn said. ‘The game is the only way to differentiate between friend and foe.’

Milli thought hard. The word ‘Monopoly’ meant domination, power and control. Perhaps this game was not quite as innocent as it seemed.

‘If this is a test,’ she said slowly, ‘then we must be failing.’

The twins nodded grimly.

‘We have to cure Ernest before he costs us the game!’

Milli and the twins tried their best to snap Ernest out of his trance. They pleaded with him, bribed him, and even firmly laid down the law as they had so often seen their parents do. Nothing worked. Ernest was just opening his mouth to instruct the wardens to take Miss Pawpaw away as her howling was beginning to get on his nerves when Milli remembered something Mr Trevor Treble used to say. According to the music master, the best way to cure a spoilt child was to simply tell them what you think of them with no sparing of their feelings. Milli had often seen this method work effectively for Trevor Treble; no one had ever had the audacity to argue with him. Perhaps it was worth a try now.

She thought back to all the scoldings she had received from teachers and parents over the years and tried to emulate their tone.

‘That’s quite enough!’ she projected her voice above the others and gave Ernest a slap she hoped would sting him to his senses. ‘Can’t you see you’re letting the game take over? You’re talking about gold and riches as if they are the best things in the world. Keep this up and you’ll lose every friend you ever had. Don’t you dare let me hear you say the words “I want” again. This is not just about you, Ernest Perriclof. We’re not here to buy expensive houses. We’re here to find a way home, but you’ve already gone and forgotten that. Fancy valuing bricks and mortar over someone’s life. You’re embarrassing us all!’

That made an impact on Ernest all right. He was speechless for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. He looked at Miss Pawpaw and his usual expression of worry and soft-heartedness crept back onto his face.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ he said truthfully. ‘Of course we must help Pawpaw.’

Ernest personally delivered the money bags to the distraught cat, who had begun chasing her tail in an effort to keep from thinking about the prospect of exile. Pawpaw’s eyes filled with tears at the unexpected show of solidarity, whilst the jailers seemed disappointed to be denied a prisoner. They brightened up when Grouse was spotted trying to steal from the bank while everyone was distracted.

The goblin was led away to the birdcage shaking his fists.

Rattled, but rather pleased at having resisted the first temptation, the children continued with the game. I am sorry to say they did not get much further. When they had completed an entire lap of the square and were back to starting position, Finn waved the rule book at Mr Banker.

‘According to this, we are entitled to two hundred pounds every time we pass Go,’ he said. ‘Goodness knows we need it!’

‘I expect you do,’ Mr Banker replied ‘but I am a firm believer that children must work for their keep. You’re going to have to earn it!’

He removed one shiny shoe to reveal a patched sock (perhaps he wasn’t as wealthy as he appeared to be) and waggled his toes in front of the children. ‘I am quite partial to foot massages.’

The children’s decision to forfeit their two hundred pounds, much as they needed it, was unanimous. The result of this was that Mr Banker began demanding taxes for all kinds of bizarre things and soon they could barely purchase a hamburger without their funds drying up completely.

Things got progressively worse as Miss Pawpaw did everything she could think of to ingratiate herself with Mr Banker. She massaged the balls of his feet, trimmed his toenails and praised his alluring eyes, his smart outfit and his trim figure (which was an outright lie). This earned her two hundred pounds plus a little extra just to tide her over every time she passed Go. Very soon, Miss Pawpaw was buying up sites and erecting tawdry hotels all around the square.

The children had rolled a ten and the motorcar was hurtling along when they rounded a corner and caught sight of something quite terrifying. The flashy red walls of the Hotel de Pawpaw were drawing closer and the car was beginning to slow. They hoped, prayed and even attempted fiddling with the brakes in an effort to stop before they reached it, but their destination was decided. With a screech, the car pulled up directly in front of the lobby of Pawpaw’s hotel.

A porter with his jacket buttoned up to his chin strode out to greet them, but before he could get very far a figure burst through the hotel’s rotating door. It was Pawpaw herself, in pink stiletto heels and a shawl made of glossy mouse fur. Given the generous donation the children had made to save her hide, they thought she might have the magnanimity to waive the rent. But cats are known for their gluttonous ways and gold was the only thing on Miss Pawpaw’s mind.

‘I own this corner!’ she cried. ‘That means you owe me one thousand pounds.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Milli snorted. ‘We haven’t got that kind of money.’

Mr Banker took this as his cue to intervene. Puffing out his chest, he unrolled a scroll of parchment from his waistcoat pocket.

‘Players Klompet, Perriclof and Twins, it gives me great pleasure to announce that you have been declared officially bankrupt!’

The children had no time to wonder where or how Mr Banker had learned their names. They did not even have time to ask what would become of them now. Miss Pawpaw’s victorious yowl of delight rang in their ears as handcuffs were snapped shut around their wrists and the announcement rang out: ‘Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Magic Word

Jail was the old-fashioned birdcage they had seen on arrival. It sat in the remotest corner of the square, half-buried in shadow. Its original noisy occupant had disappeared and the children joined Goblin Grouse instead, who was so sulky he did not even acknowledge their arrival.

Inside the birdcage, pipes ran along the bars of the roof and dripped a gummy liquid smelling of shoe polish onto the prisoners’ hair and clothes. There were cots with threadbare and moth-eaten mattresses. As the children watched, an earwig emerged from one of them waggling its pincers, to discourage any inclination they might have had to take a nap. The cell floor was patched with damp sawdust so there wasn’t even a place to sit down, and a flickering red light made even the rat scurrying across the floor appear more threatening than it probably was.

Goblin Grouse sat cross-legged on a cot, as far from the children as possible. He was engaged in a heated debate with himself about who should carry the blame for his current predicament, muttering fiercely and shaking his head.

Milli occupied herself by staring through the bars at the game board. Miss Pawpaw was being congratulated by a red-faced Mr Banker, who was pumping her paw enthusiastically. Surrounded by bulging sacks of money, Pawpaw bounded about in excitement like a pogo stick. It wasn’t fair, thought Milli, how could the shallow cat’s need to see Queen Fidelis possibly exceed their own? She watched miserably as the thimble began to spin in readiness to transport its avaricious passenger to the toadstool palace. But wait! The thimble was not heading towards the steps out of the ravine. It had rotated and was now moving away from them. Miss Pawpaw looked confused and waved her snowy paws at Mr Banker, but he merely tipped his hat courteously as the top half of the letter P in the centre of the board opened like a porthole and swallowed the thimble whole. It sealed again with a resolute crunch.

Hard as they tried, the children could make little sense of this unfolding of events. Miss Pawpaw had been the wealthiest player. She had won the Monopoly game hands down. Why would she now be turned away? Had the game seen something malicious inside her? If this was the cat’s reward for victory, what must the game think of them to throw them into prison? They looked across the cage where Finn was busy trying to engage the unresponsive Grouse in conversation in order to glean some information. The goblin remained engrossed in his own deliberations, which had become heated enough to include him wagging a crooked finger at his own nose and punching himself on the arm.

‘Everybody getting along okay?’ an agreeable voice asked. The children jumped to see Mr Banker peering at them through the bars of the jail.

Upon his arrival, Goblin Grouse promptly found his voice. ‘Let me out of here,’ he demanded threateningly. ‘I’ll set my flock of crows on you! They’ll peck your chubby cheeks off and use your whiskers as toothpicks!’

Mr Banker just rolled his eyes and smiled at the children.

‘Beds comfortable?’ he asked.

‘Actually, they’re a little—’ began Ernest before he was brusquely cut off.

‘I’ll give you all the gold I have,’ declared Grouse. ‘I have quite a hoard, you know. In fact, I have a gooseberry tree that bears golden fruit—pips, flesh and all. You can have it, or at least part of it. What do you say to your own orchard, eh? You’ll be the wealthiest man that ever lived.’

‘I hardly need more money,’ Mr Banker tutted before turning back to the children. ‘I suppose you’ve never been in prison before?’ he asked them.

Milli examined him carefully. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a glimmer in his eyes and a note in his voice that encouraged them to do or say something in particular. But what?

Ernest, too, had caught Mr Banker’s signals. ‘How long do we have to stay here?’ he asked.

‘As long as it takes,’ came the reply.

‘For what?’

‘For you to learn your lesson. Otherwise, a lifetime on Burr Burr should suffice.’

‘I’ve learnt my lesson!’ piped up Grouse. ‘I’m a changed goblin; totally reformed. Can’t you see the difference?’ Everybody ignored him.

‘You can’t mean to banish us just for losing a silly game!’ Finn said in outrage.

‘There’s nothing silly about a game that sorts people out,’ Mr Banker replied. He began to drum his fingers on the bars and hummed a tune softly to himself. Clearly he was waiting for something.

The children looked at one another with frustration. Should they confide in this stranger the details of their escape from Battalion Minor and their quest to free the stolen children? There was nothing to indicate they could consider the man who had put them behind bars an ally and yet his continued presence suggested that he might be.

‘Will you deliver a letter to the Queen for us?’ Milli asked, but Mr Banker just clicked his tongue impatiently.

‘Why can’t you children say anything useful?’

‘What do you want us to say?’ Milli and Ernest cried in unison.

Shaking his head, Mr Banker—their only hope of release—began to walk away.

Milli was suddenly angry. If the game sorted people out, as Mr Banker claimed, then it had clearly failed in picking up their intentions.

‘Wait!’ she called after him, deciding that truth was their only option. ‘Don’t you understand that the lives of hundreds of children depend on our seeing the Queen? We have reason to believe that an attack against Mirth is being plotted and the Fada are in grave danger. We must warn Queen Fidelis before it’s too late. We’ve risked a lot to come this far and could end up as fish food if we’re caught. If you set us free, a war might be prevented. You must help us—please!’

Mr Banker jumped a foot in the air, his porky face swelling with pleasure.

‘The magic word!’ he cried in relief. ‘You finally used the magic word! I was beginning to doubt that you children had any breeding at all.’

The others stared at him, unable to recall a single instance where words like ‘Abracadabra’ or ‘Zippity Zap Zoo’ or ‘Bonko Binonko’ had been used.

‘Please, please, please,’ gabbled an inspired Grouse, but Mr Banker took no notice. Removing a key from around his neck, he unlocked the cage and the children were free. Grouse was left calling out ‘please’ in as many languages as he could remember: ‘S’il vous plaît? Per favore? Bitte? Prosze?’ (Educated goblins are usually multi-lingual, for those of you who didn’t know.)

The children were making their way out of the square and leaving the fickle board game behind when the sound of an engine drew their attention. They turned to see their token, the shiny silver motorcar, chugging reliably behind them. Its doors opened invitingly.

‘Need a lift?’ Mr Banker said.

Safely seated and buckled in, the children wondered how the vehicle was going to navigate the steep steps. But they needn’t have worried: with a little phut the car sprouted…not a pair of wings as you avid fantasy readers were probably expecting, but a pair of old-fashioned egg-beaters. Ernest gave a shout and would have leapt straight out of his seat had Mr Banker not restrained him. The car trundled along, steadily gaining speed, until the spinning egg-beaters acted as propellers and lifted it into the air.

Before long the chalky exterior of the toadstool palace floated before them like something from a dream. Milli cheered in delight and threw her arms wide over the side of the car. A horrified Ernest pulled her back.

‘Never put your limbs outside a moving vehicle,’ he scolded. ‘You never know what might fly past and take them off!’

Milli doubted the likelihood of any such disaster but nodded gratefully all the same before turning to Mr Banker.

‘I still don’t understand how we passed the test,’ she said. Mr Banker averted his eyes from the path ahead and then, to Ernest’s growing discomfort, turned his whole body to reply.

‘The mean-spirited would never think to use the magic word,’ he replied as if it were the simplest matter in the world. ‘Manners are becoming as rare as babies’ beards these days as consumers demand more for less.’

‘Are you saying the entire game was to prove we have manners? We only needed to say “please”?’

‘Not at all. There were various tests along the way.’

Milli’s confusion remained unabated. ‘But we didn’t just lose, we were thrashed.’

‘Ah, but that would only be relevant if the objective was to win,’ he answered with an enigmatic smile. ‘The objective, as it happens, was to overcome—a much worthier trait.’

When this last remark was met with blank faces, Mr Banker elaborated.

‘A true friend of Mirth, you see, would never compromise his or her principles for a wad of cash. After all, it isn’t even real money.’ He nodded sagely. ‘A wicked person is always thinking about themselves no matter what the cost.’ He looked directly at Ernest. ‘You showed admirable restraint back at Notables’ Nest.’

Ernest flushed with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

‘And you were right about Pawpaw: she would never have returned the favour—which is why she is hurtling back to Rune at this very moment.’

At the thick base of the giant toadstool, the motorcar landed with a soft thud and the children climbed out.

‘The only way now is up,’ said Mr Banker. With a grin and a rev of the engine he was gone.

They saw what he meant when they found a flight of steps notched into the side of the toadstool that curved right up to its roof. Just inside the doors, the horned bull-sentinel waited to escort them.

‘Well done,’ he said, and bowed so deeply they had to step back for fear ofbeing accidentally disembowelled. ‘We may now proceed.’

The steps wound upwards as tightly as a corkscrew. Although Milli craned her neck at various angles, she could not see an end in sight. Such a prospect would surely have daunted the most intrepid of travellers, but the children (despite being tired and hungry by now) had seen too much and overcome too many impediments to be put off by a little physical exertion. In the face of their journey so far, this climb seemed almost insignificant. Even the normally plaintive Ernest had been silenced.

The stair railings were dusted with a sparkling white powder that rubbed off on the children’s hands as they made their slow ascent. They did not need a psychic to tell them that Queen Fidelis’s quarters would be at the very top of the toadstool. Through the little windows in the trunk they caught glimpses of glittering sea, chunks of sky and craggy hills with cottages jammed into them like sweets in a hedgehog cake. Fennel inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. The air in Mirth tingled with the crispness of apples.

On and on the children went and still their journey showed no sign of coming to an end. By now they expected to feel their muscles cramping and their chests heaving, but the climb was surprisingly effortless. It was as if their limbs weighed nothing at all. Milli suspected the white powder had something to do with the floating feeling that seemed to carry them upwards.

Every now and then they passed a chamber and could not resist stopping to look in. One in particular that captivated them appeared to be a nursery. Cribs carved from acorn shells sat in neat rows, painted vines crept along the ceiling and images of the sun and moon rotated from wall to wall. Dimmed fairy lights twinkled around the window frames. Musicians played lullabies on heart-shaped harps whilst soberly dressed nannies rocked the cribs silently. The infants themselves were cocooned in white silk and looked like glow-worms. Only their minute faces were visible; faces so pure that gazing at them for too long was almost painful. Even the usually hard-edged Finn allowed himself a smile.

‘Dream babies,’ the sentinel whispered, seeing their looks of wonder. ‘They are the guardians of imagination; it is because of them that children in your world can imagine and dream. They must never wake. Every time one of them does, a child somewhere abandons his or her book in favour of an electronic game.’

The four children held their breath when one of the infants stirred and gurgled, but exhaled when it settled back into repose.

A little further on, they came upon a very different sight that made them giggle. It was a classroom filled with school-aged Fada children learning their lessons—or at least that was what they were meant to be doing. The young fairies seemed to be causing havoc as they danced across crooked desks, splashed one another with their watercolour paints and laughed in delight as they took turns spinning on the overhead fan. Although they had lost their wings, the children were so light on their feet they seemed to defy the laws of gravity.

Ernest watched one girl spinning on the globe of the Conjurors’ Realm that stood in the corner before flopping to the ground from dizziness. She sat up and sneezed and a little cloud of gold mist erupted from her mouth. A more industrious group was engaged in sewing broken leaves back together, whilst others tested one other from a book of incantations. The schoolmaster was a flustered-looking gnome wearing a monocle. He was standing at a blackboard trying in vain to explain the meteorological conditions conducive to pots of gold appearing at the end of rainbows. He was distracted by a small male Fada with a mop of yellow curls who took him by the hand and drew him into a circle of children preparing to play Duck Duck Goose. After an unconvincing show of objection, the gnome joined in with as much enthusiasm as his pupils.

Tearing themselves from this spectacle, the four travellers continued their climb, only to be distracted by another room, this one containing a four-poster bed with a coverlet of red brocade. Asleep in the bed was the most ravishing princess they had ever seen. Her gown was made of blue velvet, her flaxen hair flowed around her, and gilded roses were scattered around her head. Milli and Fennel could not resist ducking their heads further into the room to gaze at this real-life fairy-tale heroine.

‘Can’t you climb more quietly?’ said a flustered voice behind them. It belonged to a squirrel who was guarding the shutters of a cuckoo clock.

Milli was about to reply that he was making more noise than they were when the squirrel threw his entire weight against the clock which was beginning to open. He huffed and strained as he battled to keep it closed. Seeing his difficulty, Milli reached out and prodded the doors with a finger. They snapped closed and the wheezing squirrel was able to relax.

‘Thank you,’ he puffed. ‘The princess must not be woken before her prince arrives or the story will be ruined. It is my job to stop the cuckoo clock from heralding the hour. Doesn’t sound like hard work but you have to be on call twenty-four-seven.’

‘It isn’t healthy for a person to snooze all day long,’ Ernest commented.

‘Health isn’t the issue when you’re almost a hundred years old. Doesn’t look her age, does she?’

Again their climb was interrupted, this time by a fieldmouse in an apron insisting they join him for afternoon tea. They would have done so happily had they not been several sizes too large to fit through his front door. They had to be content with putting their eyes to the keyhole to view a dining table laid out with a sumptuous tea of shortbreads, jam sponges and vanilla tarts. There was also a knobbly bed and chest of drawers beside a little stove and dresser. The fieldmouse had laid out his best china and was quite upset to have no company to share it with. He cheered up considerably when Mrs Snail called and graciously accepted the offer to join him.

With so many distractions, the children were surprised to find they had reached the top of the toadstool. They emerged onto a balcony made out of wrought iron twisted in the shape of ivy tendrils and berries. Far below them lay the city of Mirth. They could just make out a dishevelled Goblin Grouse being ushered out of the city gates by the jail wardens and looking like he was demanding legal representation.

At the end of the balcony stood an archway swathed in white. The sentinel who had escorted them came to a halt. He raised a golden hoof in farewell and indicated that they should proceed alone.

‘The Queen is expecting you,’ he said.

Part IV
Revelations

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
An Audience with the Queen

The children stepped through the archway into a wintry courtyard. The trees that twisted from the cobbled ground winked with lights, and vines wound their way around ornate lampposts. Table-sized toadstools had been decorated with satin bows and set with silver tea services, dishes holding pyramids of berries and platters of rainbow cake that glowed with real slivers of rainbow. Earthenware mugs were filled with a creamy froth that the children could not identify but which certainly smelled enticing. A string quartet made up of white hamsters in tuxedos was tuning their tiny instruments. An upturned flowerpot served as a stage and the faces of red poppies opened to reveal built-in amplifiers. Clearly, some kind of ceremony was about to take place.

The children took a few steps forward but stopped when they felt something crunch softly underfoot. They looked down to see they were walking on what appeared to be a carpet of snow, but, unlike snow, it did not leave their teeth chattering or their boots wet. The mystery powder lapped at their ankles like waves, and it fell from the sky in curvy flakes to settle on their hair and clothes. Milli ventured a taste, which left a tingling sensation on her tongue.

All around them, fluttering like moths, Fada dancers appeared. They seemed to materialise out of thin air, appearing from behind lampposts or swinging gracefully down from a leafy bough. Their movements were so graceful that they reminded Milli of seaweed under water. To put it simply, the Fada did not look real. Besides their transparent skin, through which a delicate network of veins was visible, each ethereal creature had eyes a startling shade of blue: robin egg, rock-pool or vivid cornflower blue. The young men with their braided hair and slender shoulders were barely discernible from the women, although they wore silver bands on their forearms and pleated tunics instead of gossamer gowns.

Having gathered in a circle, the Fada moved slowly towards each other in an elaborate dance. Their eyes gazed straight ahead as if looking into some other world the children could not help but feel barred from. Although the Fada dipped and swooped with the poise of water birds, their movements were lacklustre. Something was clearly amiss; uneasiness hung in the air like a shroud. The music playing sounded like a dirge and the whirling dancers looked forlorn. As the children watched, some of the Fada actually began to fade, their bodies dissolving, leaving only a hankering sensation that spread like a vapour.

If you are a child who fraternises on a regular basis with the fairy kingdom, you may have come across a broken-hearted fairy and would agree with me in thinking that it is the most heart-wrenching of sights. They cry no tears but the doleful sound they make is like no other uttered by a living creature. Listening to it, you feel certain that the world is coming to an end. Finn and Fennel put their hands over their ears to shut out the noise. Tears snaked their way silently down Fennel’s cheeks, for no child can be happy when the Fada are not. Milli and Ernest resisted the urge to weep, knowing it would do no good other than to contribute to the general melancholy. They wondered if the Fada already knew of Lord Aldor’s plan to conquer their province or if their sadness was derived from another cause known only to them. One thing the children did understand was that whatever troubled the Fada must be identified and then driven away. A subliminal knowledge told them there would be no harmony in the world of children until this sadness was dispelled.

The dance ended and the Fada parted as if in slow motion to reveal a silver throne. Bracken grew from midair to form a protective canopy around it and overhead the sparkling dust gently fell. A ring of toadstools surrounded the throne—a barrier no one could infiltrate without special dispensation. On the throne was seated the most singular and entrancing figure of all the Fada: Queen Fidelis. Her silver hair tumbled over her shoulders like a waterfall. On her head was a coronet of daisies, and her wide eyes, the colour of periwinkles, gazed at the children with unblinking kindness. Her face was as honest and full of virtue as that of a small child. Her willowy limbs were clad in lacy garments so insubstantial they appeared almost shredded. Her skin was the colour of marble and the nails on her bare feet (for fairies seldom trouble themselves with shoes) were so delicate as to be easily mistaken for pearls. Everything about her denoted fragility yet there was a steadiness in her gaze that hinted at an inner strength. She was not so much beautiful as removed, with an expression not dissimilar to those Milli and Ernest had seen on the faces of classical deities in art books.

Fidelis stood and her coral lips parted briefly in the suggestion of a smile. When she stepped down to greet the children, they noticed that she left no imprints in the snow-like powder. It was as if she had no physical substance.

Each child took her extended hand in turn; it felt as cool to touch as moss on stone. Power seemed to emanate from her slender fingers. Language was superfluous as they felt she knew their thoughts. The Queen escorted her four visitors into the protected circle of toadstools and bade them sit.

They sank into the soft ground and allowed themselves to finally relax a little. Milli let the white powder trickle between her fingers.

‘Fairy dust,’ Fidelis said, seeing Milli’s fascination. Her speech had the lilting quality of song and a mesmerizing effect.

‘What does it do?’ Milli asked.

‘Many things,’ answered the Queen. ‘One of which is to soften the ground for sitting.’

The children looked at her carefully, trying to determine whether or not to laugh at what might be a fairy’s attempt at humour. But Fidelis looked so grave that they simply smiled and nodded thoughtfully.

‘You have had a long journey,’ the Queen said. ‘You must be tired and hungry.’ She nodded at a elf, who came forward and offered the children refreshments.

Milli took a piece of rainbow cake that left her fingers streaked with colour. ‘We have come all this way to tell you—’ she began.

Fidelis held up her hand. ‘I know why you have come. You are here to warn us. We are grateful but there is no need for you children to be troubled.’

‘But a war is coming and you have to be prepared,’ Finn said, concerned by the Queen’s composure.

‘It has been coming for quite some time,’ Fidelis replied. ‘But there will be plenty of opportunity for discussion later. Now you must rest.’ She smiled at them and it was just like the sun breaking through cloud on a wet and gloomy day. ‘Now tell me, what do you most like to eat in the entire world?’

The question brought a light-heartedness into the conversation and made Milli suddenly aware of her weariness and the emptiness of her stomach.

‘Toast with honey and cinnamon,’ she replied dreamily, and whilst this might seem a mundane reply to you or me when a fairy with limitless power is asking such a question, Milli’s answer reflected her longing for home.

Fidelis plucked a daisy growing beside her and sprinkled over it some of the substance she had called fairy dust. Instantly it transformed into a plate piled with thick slices of toast spread to all four corners with golden honey and sprinkled lightly with cinnamon. It was even crustless and cut into neat little fingers just as Milli liked it.

‘Crispy Clouds,’ Ernst piped up, so carried away by the display of magic that his usually impeccable manners were temporarily forgotten. He was rewarded with a Crispy Cloud as big as a grapefruit sitting delectably in a patty pan. If he wasn’t mistaken, its consistency when he eagerly bit into it was smoother and more velvety than even Mr Klompet could achieve.

An equally excited Finn asked for wild boar stew (something he vaguely remembered his mother making when they were still a family), whilst Fennel meekly requested strawberries and cream. It was something she had never tasted before, and she believed it to be the preferred dish of all fairy princesses.

When the children had eaten their fill and drunk several mugs of the amber froth (which turned out to be marzipan ale, which is always served warm), Fidelis addressed them again.

‘On the last full moon news came to us from well-wishers in Runis; news that spoke of war and Mirth’s downfall at the hands of the self-serving tyrant Lord Aldor. But how have you children come to learn such things? How did you come to enter a place as dangerous as the Realm?’

‘You don’t know,’ Milli blurted incredulously, ‘about Battalion Minor and Oslo and Lord Aldor’s plans?’

Now it was Fidelis’s turn to look troubled.

‘We have never needed to know,’ she said. ‘Lord Aldor cannot touch us here.’

‘Perhaps not until now,’ Milli said. ‘But he has devised a new plan and we are his army, lots of us, in training back at the camp.’

‘A children’s army,’ the Queen repeated, realisation slowly dawning. ‘What a heartless idea. I think I had better hear this story from the beginning.’

Piece by piece, and with numerous interjections from the others, Milli told what had happened from the time she and Ernest had coerced a reluctant Mrs Klompet to allow them to attend the free matinee to all the abducted children ending up as trainees of a barely coherent and failed gladiator. She described how they had been befriended by an almost bald but very demonstrative Italian grandmother who had fed them hearty food and assisted in their escape; how they had passed through a strange wood by outwitting clowns masquerading as dentists; and finally how a display of courtesy had won them a game of Monopoly, thus allowing them admittance into Mirth.

By the time the story was finished, the Queen’s calm had disappeared. She paced back and forth, a crease of agitation on her porcelain brow.

‘Why use an army of children when you have four provinces to fight for you?’ Milli pondered.

‘Ah, dear child, that is the ingenious part,’ Fidelis said. ‘Lord Aldor knows we are not a warring people; our magic is our only armour. Do you think he has not tried to conquer us before? We have managed to stay his armies or we would have been finished long ago.’

‘So what makes him think we can help?’ Ernest asked.

‘The answer to that is simple,’ Fidelis replied. ‘It has taken him time and endless study but Lord Aldor, it seems, has finally unlocked the secret of our magic.’

‘What secret?’ Fennel whispered, her face so pale with fear her freckles had become dark shadows on her cheeks. She reached for Finn’s hand as she spoke.

‘The magic of Mirth can never work against children,’ the Queen explained. ‘Our magic prevents enemies from entering our domain, but should an army of children invade Mirth, the Fada would be powerless to stop them. Children and fairies have been allies since the beginning of time. The rules of the Old Magic are very strong and cannot be broken.’

She bowed her head and murmured almost to herself, ‘Your poor friends. Something must be done to help them.’

‘We have to fight back; organise an army here in Mirth,’ said Finn with some impatience.

The Queen shook her head. ‘I’m afraid that is impossible. We Fada exist only to be carefree. We only frolic; we cannot fight.’

The children could not hide their disappointment. They had overcome various obstacles and travelled so far driven by the expectation that Fidelis would be able to gather an impregnable army to charge Battalion Minor and escort all the children home to safety. Now the Queen they had hoped would save them was talking about frolicking. It was all a little confusing.

‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’ Finn asked.

‘Yes,’ the Queen mused. ‘I was thinking we might play for a while until we gather our thoughts.’

‘Why does everyone around here think only of playing? You have to act when you see something bad happening around you,’ Milli said.

‘Just because humans live in a world full of conflict does not mean children should forget how to play,’ the Queen replied. ‘That would be even more dangerous.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Fennel.

‘I mean that after the fighting there would be nothing to go back to. Let me give you an example. Ernest, do you happen to remember how you finally came to give up your pacifier as a stubborn three year old?’

‘Yes…’ Ernest said hesitantly, wondering how Fidelis could possibly know about this.

‘Could you tell us?’ the Queen continued.

‘Well, I traded it with the fairies in exchange for some magic acorns,’ Ernest replied. Seeing Milli’s derisive look, he added huffily, ‘They needed it.’

‘We certainly did,’ Fidelis smiled. ‘And if you look carefully enough, you will find it in one of our toddler playgrounds being used as a first-rate slide. Don’t panic, Ernest, we made sure to sterilise it first. You see, that is what we Fada do: make potions out of moonbeams, ensure the flowers are sufficiently dewy in the mornings, and leave gifts for small children to help them forget their worries.’

‘Why were the Fada dancers so sad just now?’ a concerned Fennel wanted to know.

‘They worry about their future. If children no longer call on them, there is no need for them to exist.’

‘Why are they no longer needed?’ Finn asked.

‘Because more and more children are forgetting how to play.’

‘I know someone a bit like that,’ said Milli, casting Ernest an accusatory glance that she hoped might remind him of all the times he had made a priority of studying when he could have been building fairy gardens with her under the camellia bushes.

Fidelis’s words struck a chord with each of the children. If they thought about it, they were forced to accept the truth of her words. Milli and Ernest’s own circle of friends were so busy with various activities to extend their skills and enhance their CVs that they had forgotten how to climb trees or how to spot the house in the street that was so unkempt it had to be haunted. Their lives were neatly divided into blocks of time, and time itself had become a commodity so precious it could not be wasted. As for Finn and Fennel, their young lives had been so focused on self-preservation they had all but forgotten the pleasure of play. But was it too late to address this predicament before catastrophe struck and more and more of the Fada disappeared? Milli for one was disinclined to accept defeat.

‘Can nothing be done about it?’ she asked.

‘Something can always be done,’ replied the Queen. ‘I will convene an emergency meeting.’

‘A meeting?’ the children quizzed.

‘The Fairy Parliament must be consulted.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Fairy Parliament

The meeting was not scheduled until the following morning, so the children managed a much-needed night’s rest. They were so exhausted that not even their concern about the future could keep them awake. They slept soundly on silk mattresses stuffed with fragrant rose petals, hastily assembled by the Queen’s courtiers in order to accommodate these giant visitors who were much more robust than the slight Fada. On waking, the children breakfasted on buttermilk pancakes with cream before preparing for their journey to the Hollow of Justice: a secret burrow where the emergency summit was to take place. After sprinkling a little fairy dust over their heads the children were able to slide down the banisters hands-free and without wobbling a bit. It surprised them when Fidelis also chose to travel this way.

As honoured guests they travelled in the Queen’s own carriage, which was drawn by white horses garlanded with ribbons and flowers. They looked out to see a crowd following the carriage in solemn procession. Some of the faces they recognised as the more harmless characters from nursery rhymes and fairy tales who had obviously taken refuge in Mirth during these troubled times. There was the old woman who lived in a shoe with a barefoot raggle-taggle of children in tow. There was a boy carrying a goose under one arm whose eyes darted furtively as if he had committed a crime. A prince in a velvet doublet was giving chase to a gang of dwarves who were absconding with his future bride asleep in a glass coffin. There were a couple of friendly giants who had defected from Thumpalot and had to be constantly reminded to watch where they put their lumpy feet. There were three fairy godmothers banned from working as nannies ever again, and masses of fairy folk whose feet barely touched the ground. All carried tiny silver wands shaped like stars or crescent moons.

A sombre mood pervaded the Hollow of Justice. The assembly rose upon the arrival of the royal party and remained standing until Fidelis had been escorted to her seat. Inside the Hollow, broken columns of stone made comfortable with thistledown cushioning served as benches for the citizens of Mirth who had gathered to hear and contribute to what promised to be the debate of the eon. At the centre of a raised platform and presiding over the proceedings sat Judge Fudge, an ancient white-whiskered gnome who had come out of retirement and cut short a fishing trip at the Queen’s request. There were two semicircles in front of the platform. On one sat the Queen, flanked by the children; on the other were three ministers wearing black gowns and triangular hats made entirely of pine cones.

Due to the absence of actual portfolios, the ministers—Mario, Fabio and Julio—had been forced to fill in their time with hairdressing, haberdashery and haute couture respectively (all of which the Fada are extremely fond). Having been called upon for their input as ministers, they were slightly at a loss as to what to say or do but were trying hard not to show it. In order to achieve this Mario busied himself with buffing his nails; Fabio squirted cologne from an atomiser at everyone in his vicinity; and Julio picked invisible fluff from his gown. All the while they bowed and smiled obsequiously at Fidelis, whilst the Queen avoided their gaze and seemed a little embarrassed by their antics. But one thing was for certain, the minsters vied fiercely to outdo each other when it came to winning the Queen’s approval.

All around the Hollow people spoke in undertones about what was in store for them and made predictions regarding the outcome of the day’s deliberations. At the sound of Judge Fudge pounding his gavel and calling for order, a silence descended.

‘The Fairy Parliament is now in session,’ the judge announced in a world-weary voice. ‘Our Queen, in her infinite wisdom, has convened this meeting to field all opinions and viewpoints before making her final decision. The first—and, I might add, only—item on today’s agenda is what has already come to be dubbed the Retribution Bill. To strike back or not to strike back, that is the question you are being asked to consider today. After hearing various informed viewpoints you will be asked to cast your vote in the traditional manner—via a twinkling of wands. Who will be first to address this assembly?’ Immediately all three ministers began waving frantically like schoolchildren eager to give the correct answer. The behaviour of Fidelis’s chief ministers struck the children as a touch juvenile given their esteemed positions. They ignored all formalities, quibbled ungraciously about who was to go first and even jostled one another off their stools. They had to be reprimanded severely on several occasions by Judge Fudge. Thinking of the salmon he could be catching, the judge gave a heavy sigh.

‘We will first hear from the honourable Minster for Haute Couture,’ Fudge ordered, assuming control of the situation.

A jubilant Julio almost leapt from his seat to face the audience, ‘In my humble opinion…’ he began, scratching his chin pensively in an effort to look terribly learned. Then he paused. ‘What exactly is the issue we are deliberating here today? It appears to have temporarily slipped my mind.’

‘What is the honourable minister’s view on the most appropriate course of action given the imminence of a war?’ Judge Fudge repeated patiently.

‘Ah, yes, war. Terrible thing and to be avoided at all costs,’ Julio chirped.

Some audience members erupted into cheers and applause. Encouraged by the display of support, the minister continued with increased conviction.

‘Just think of those awful helmets we might have to wear! Guaranteed to destroy a good blow wave, of that you may be certain. And I have it on good authority that chainmail is very passé this season.’

While Julio was outlining his position, his fellow ministers smirked behind their hands, raised their eyebrows and even hummed a kind of sing-song so that he might not be properly heard. Speeches from ministers Fabio and Mario followed, which were equally nonsensical and focused on similar irrelevancies. In his most scientific voice Mario alerted the audience to the detrimental effects of over-exposure to sunlight on delicate fairy skin. He was rudely interrupted by Julio.

‘I think we can conclude that you are safe there. No amount of sunlight could penetrate that layer of make-up! Do you apply it with a trowel?’

‘OBJECTION!’ called Mario, who was not so much offended as keen to show off his best legal voice. ‘Your Honour, I take extreme umbrage at that last comment!’

‘Sustained,’ Judge Fudge said in his gravelly voice. ‘Ministers of the province are reminded of the importance of this sitting and asked to refrain from making personal remarks.’

Fabio didn’t seem to be listening, as his speech referred to battles as a ‘messy business’ and he reminded the audience how difficult bloodstains were to remove from garments. All the while, a woodpecker, appointed to keep a record of the proceedings (including interjections from the audience), kept dipping his pointy beak into a walnut-shell ink pot and scribbling on sheets of bark.

At one point the discussion became so animated that he had difficulty keeping up and fainted from the exertion. He had to be carried out and doused with spring water in order to be revived.

When the judge invited comments from members of the audience, an opinionated pixie (president of the Mythical Creatures Debating Society) jumped up.

‘Fighting is far too dangerous,’ she declared. ‘Loss of life can never be justified. It goes against everything we hold dear.’

In response, a humble giant with pockmarks as large as craters lumbered to the podium. He cleared his throat nervously.

‘If we does nuffin’ and let the kiddies suffer, how can we ever walk wif our heads held high? What will become of us if the little-uns stop playin’ altogether? Dat would be a very bad fing.’

The audience buzzed as they considered this new perspective. The giant was no orator but they had to agree he made good sense.

‘It would be useful,’ declared Judge Fudge (whose eyesight was known to be failing), ‘if we could hear from some children before we consider our verdict.’

Fidelis coughed, and in a tone approximating exasperation said, ‘There are four sitting right beside me.’

‘Capital!’ said the judge. ‘Let us hear from them forthwith.’

Finn and Fennel looked positively alarmed at the idea of addressing such a large and obstreperous audience. Ernest gave Milli a gentle nudge, knowing how fond she was of public speaking. Milli stood up slowly and surveyed the crowd whose eyes were now focused exclusively on her.

Judge Fudge squinted down at her. ‘What is your view on the matter, young lad? You are one of the few here who can speak directly from experience. Have children forgotten how to play?’

Milli considered her words carefully before responding.

‘Well, Your Honour, that is difficult to say. As a little girl I can tell you that children are awfully busy these days. I don’t think they’ve forgotten, but some could use a gentle reminder.’

At Milli’s words, Queen Fidelis drew a dramatic intake of breath. ‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ she murmured, wearing a far-away look.

‘Did Your Majesty wish to say a few words?’ Judge Fudge asked.

‘Yes,’ the Queen announced as she stood. ‘I have heard quite enough and have reached a verdict. This Parliament is dismissed. Millipop Klompet, we thank you for your enlightening comment.’

The perplexed Judge Fudge opened his mouth to ask if Fidelis might share her verdict when the Queen waved her wand absently and the Hollow of Justice and all those gathered there disappeared. They were sent back to whatever tasks had been occupying them before the summit had been called. The children were left standing in an empty burrow made of nothing but damp earth and twigs.

Back at the toadstool palace, over a tea of baked aniseed biscuits and hot pine-chocolate (which is just hot chocolate infused ever so subtly with a few pine needles so that you think of forests when you drink it), the children sat contemplating what exactly Milli had said that was so enlightening. Whilst they could see the value of her suggestion, a bigger and more daunting question remained: how? How could hundreds of children be persuaded to believe once again in the power of laughter and games after all they had experienced since their arrival in the Conjurors’ Realm? Milli rested her chin on her knees and sighed. Was it possible they had reached a dead end? Where could they go from here? It did not seem as if a simple solution was about to present itself, and the Queen still looked lost in thought.

Queen Fidelis sat and listened to what the others could hear only faintly—the mourning cry of her people which boomed like an orchestra in her ears. The sound tore at Fidelis’s heart a hundred times deeper than it did at anyone else’s. She could hardly bring herself to think what might become of the Fada if Lord Aldor ruled over Mirth. She had sometimes dreamed of her white city burning to the ground, its people captured and their magic exploited by merciless oppressors who had no inkling of their ways. This was her deepest fear. The Fada were the last little piece of goodness left in the Conjurors’ Realm; without them, the world of make-believe would cease to exist.

Her eyes strayed to the young children seated before her. With worry printed on their small faces, they did not look as children ought to. The eyes of the red-headed girl had been swimming with tears since her arrival, and her brother was so toughened by hardship his expression was permanently steely even when he was pleased. The wistful boy, Ernest, was twisting a button on his jacket so anxiously it was a wonder he did not wrench it off. Things were clearly not as they should be. These children belonged at home with their parents, not racking their brains trying to devise a battle strategy to counter an evil onslaught. But now the girl with the tumbling curls had given her the glimmer of an idea that just might pay off.

Fidelis was gripped by a feeling she had not experienced before. It caused her stomach to lurch, her fingers to curl and her breath to grow short. It took her quite by surprise. Although she could not know it yet, what Fidelis felt was rage. Neither the Fada nor the children had ever caused harm to anybody. They had no concept of iniquity or revenge. But now they were all miserable because one rapacious magician could not be content with what he had. Fidelis felt a flutter of determination. These children had managed to find their way to her for a reason and she suddenly knew what that reason was. If Lord Aldor wanted Mirth, he would have a fight on his hands, but not in the conventional sense of the word. Mirth’s response would not involve artillery. The Fada were neither liars, cheats nor bullies and could hardly be expected to transform into such for the sake of expedience. No, if the Fada were to defeat Lord Aldor they would need to do it their own way. An idea began to take root at the back of Fidelis’ mind, an idea which as yet was too embryonic to even be articulated let alone shared. Ideas can be tricky things—they spend a lot of time fluttering around in our heads rather like fireflies. You have to be quick to catch them. Hesitate and they dart away to be lost forever. That is why I have developed the habit (which I highly recommend, even if you run the risk of looking antisocial) of always having a tiny notebook and pencil on hand. Sometimes it is the very act of writing something down that assists its taking shape. Fidelis being a fairy, this hadn’t occurred to her so she was forced to let the idea bubble and foment in its own good time. It was a little like watching dough rise: you know it’s growing but you don’t know what it will become—margarita pizza or a loaf of raisin bread. To help her idea take shape, Fidelis cleared her mind and summoned all the strength bestowed upon fairy rulers since the beginning of time. A resolution grew within her as indissoluble as rock.

She reached out a finger and lifted away a curl that had flopped over Ernest’s face so they were looking eye to eye.

‘I think two can play Lord Aldor’s game,’ she said, and winked.

Four expectant faces turned towards the fairy queen, but crinkled again in disappointment when she did not enlighten them. Fidelis wanted to be absolutely certain of her plan before raising the children’s spirits, which had already suffered enough knocks and blows. The children, who could not divine her thoughts, felt only frustration as they struggled to make sense of cryptic remarks such as:

‘If Lord Aldor thinks children are nothing more than blank canvasses upon which his duplicity can unfurl, then let’s show him what children are really capable of!’; or ‘Sometimes the strongest defence is to play into the enemy’s hands.’ They wondered if Fidelis, in her stressed condition, had temporarily taken leave of her senses.

‘Your Majesty, please explain to us what’s going on,’ Milli finally implored.

‘All in good time,’ the Queen said, recalling their presence. ‘I have come to the decision that the only course of action open to us is to remain true to ourselves.’

‘Yes, but what does that mean?’ asked Ernest.

‘You must wait and see.’

Fidelis would elaborate no further despite the children pressing her. She had decided that ignorance was the safest state for them, for if by some misfortune Lord Aldor got wind of what she had in mind, their end would be all but assured. The Queen’s plan was ingenious in its simplicity. When the children eventually learned of it they wondered why it had not occurred to them before. But as they were not privy to the details of the plan at this stage, you too shall have to wait to find out what Fidelis had in mind.

The Fairy Queen made two requests of the children: first, that they show faith in her judgement; and second, that they return immediately to Battalion Minor and their friends. There they must comfort the others, and offer them greetings from the Queen as well as an assurance of Mirth’s assistance. Most importantly, they must follow without question all instructions given by Oslo.

Fidelis herself could not leave Mirth, much as she would have liked to accompany the children, for her powers weakened the further she journeyed from her people. She would be unable to protect them or herself in the event of an ambush. Instead, she summoned Mr Banker and his trusty motorcar, which regrew its egg-beater wings on command.

The children found it difficult leaving Mirth, more difficult than they had expected. It was like being reunited with a childhood chum only to have the visit cut short by impatient parents. Instinctively, all four reached up to put their arms around the Queen’s neck, even though this was not the most appropriate way to take leave of royalty. Fidelis did not seem to mind; she returned their embraces with heartfelt emotion. The children felt they knew Fidelis well despite the brevity of their encounter. She was their only hope in the dark and arbitrary world known as the Conjurors’ Realm.

Having become better judges of character in recent times, Milli and Ernest knew that Fidelis would not abandon them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gummy’s Secret Weapon

The journey through the chilly night sky in Mr Banker’s silver motor vehicle would have been very different had the children not been wrapped in enchanted cloaks that prevented them feeling either cold or fear. The motorcar delivered them inside the walls of Battalion Minor. Regretfully, they watched it hover silently in midair for an instant before speeding away. They could hardly believe they were back at the camp they had worked so hard to escape from. But Fidelis had been adamant that the success of her plan depended on the children working as a team. They could still hear her words echoing in their ears: ‘Look after each other and fear nothing. I shall be awaiting your return.’

Battalion Minor seemed unchanged as the party of four crept stealthily towards the barracks. The ablutions block was as squalid as ever, perhaps boasting an even thicker layer of grime. Despite the menacing silhouettes of combat stations all around, there was a disconcerting sense of tranquillity. It seemed to the children that each person asleep in his or her bed (or straw sack) was blissfully unaware of the battle they knew could only be hours away if the conversation they had overhead at the Drunken Admiral was to be trusted. They could hear Oslo and Fiend snoring in sync in the quarters they shared.

As they passed the mess hall, they came across Muffy-Boo, Contessa Bombasta’s miniature poodle, dressed in a knitted vest and pink booties. His watery eyes stared reproachfully at the children as they passed. It seemed the Contessa and Federico Lampo were spending the night of Black Harvest in the jade citadel and had forgotten to take the pooch along. He looked so woeful that Milli, momentarily forgetting his poor training, scooped him into her arms. He growled and nipped her ear lobe in protest.

‘Muffy-Boo, I will not tolerate that from you,’ she rhymed sternly, and to her surprise Muffy-Boo hung his head and looked mortified.

When she reached the entrance to the barracks, Milli hesitated. She felt a niggling reluctance to step back into a life of drills and regimentation. Despite the shortness of their stay in Mirth, the city had reignited in them all a love of freedom, which now proved difficult to relinquish. But they were the only ones who could lead the other children out of danger. Now was not the time to be pining after the pleasures of Mirth.

Milli turned to look at the glowing spires of Lord Aldor’s jade citadel. They stood out prominently against the velvet sky and overshadowed everything in the vicinity. It looked as if the citadel’s master sought to rule over the heavens as well as over the earth. Time had done nothing to mellow Lord Aldor’s greed. His hunger was fuelled by both victory and defeat. Furthermore, he was cunning and wicked to the core. The foundations of Mirth were weak and he would use that to assist him as best he could. Lord Aldor was relentless; the sort of person who picks and scratches away at a scab until he succeeds in drawing blood.

As quietly as they could manage, the four children tiptoed into the barracks, hoping to avoid a commotion. But no sooner had they stepped inside than a candle spluttered to life and a cluster of eager children surrounded them. The captives of Battalion Minor had sat awake night after night anticipating the return of their liberators. Even the youngest had refused to doze for fear of missing the news when it finally came. Ernest felt a surge of thankfulness that they had not lingered another night in the lavish toadstool palace. For these children, it would have meant another interminable night of waiting and hoping.

When Milli had managed to subdue the excited voices to a whisper, she asked everyone to sit down to hear the story of their travels through the Conjurors’ Realm.

Being deprived of good stories for any length of time can parch a perfectly good imagination and the children of Battalion Minor lapped up every word as a stray cat might a saucer of milk.

Absently petting Muffy-Boo, they listened in rapture, mouths agape, when it came to the part about the dream babies described by Milli. They begged for more when Ernest told them about the marketplace in Runis and what one could see and buy there. They tittered as Finn fleshed out every detail of their stay at the uncongenial Drunken Admiral, and held their breaths while Fennel re-enacted the antics of the vicious Grin Bandits with their rusty pliers.

It was close to midnight when the story was finished. Milli was pleased to see the children were flushed with excitement; some even looked relieved to have been left behind.

‘What exactly did Queen Fidelis say?’ someone asked sleepily.

Milli paused, trying to remember the parts of Fidelis’s speech she had actually understood. As much of it was not communicable, she was forced to condense it in order to convey any real meaning.

‘She said she’s going to help us,’ Milli replied. ‘She sent a message to you all saying not to be afraid and that when the battle comes we will not stand alone.’

Some faces brightened immediately upon hearing this, but others remained uncertain.

‘Lampo says the Fada are the ones we ought to be afraid of,’ a young boy called out. It was clear it had taken a good deal of courage for him to speak for he looked immediately abashed. To make matters worse, his comment unleashed a volley of questions and accusations the children had not been prepared for.

‘Is it true the Fada enchant their visitors and lock them in a dungeon?’

‘Do they really have wings like bats and fangs like a pythons?’

‘Does the Queen truly make her people dance until they can barely stand?’

‘We heard it is always night-time in Mirth.’

‘Did you see their underground torture chambers?’

‘I hope you didn’t eat their cakes. Lampo says if you eat anything in Mirth you can never leave.’

‘Listen!’ Milli called out over the racket. ‘Whatever Lampo has told you is lies. We have been to Mirth, we have eaten there, and as you can see we have come back safe and sound. The Fada are the kindest creatures you could ever hope to meet. Your heads have been filled with hooey-gooey garbage! You mustn’t believe a word of it! If you choose to, you are as bad as Oslo and the rest.’

Some of the children were contrite and silently rebuked themselves, vowing to block their ears next time Lampo addressed them. But others were not persuaded and muttered privately to one another about victory and the tantalising promises Lampo had made in return for their allegiance.

Milli exchanged uneasy glances with Ernest, Finn and Fennel. What had transpired in their short absence for the children to regard their captor as akin to a guardian? How much power had Lampo gained over these children and what fabrications had he used to achieve it? The worst part of it was that some children had stopped questioning and thinking for themselves. A good number had already been persuaded that the Fada were an enemy that had to be overcome in order for them to get home. And what wouldn’t they do to be able to go home!

‘What else has Lampo told you?’ asked Milli.

‘That if we defeat the Fada in what Oslo calls the Final Fray we can all go back to our families.’

‘If we help Lampo, that will never happen,’ Milli assured them.

The confusion returned to the faces of those assembled.

‘There’s nothing more we can do tonight,’ Ernest said to Milli. ‘Let’s try to get some rest. We’ll all need our wits about us tomorrow.’

As the group began to scatter, still muttering, an eager hand pulled at Milli and a small voice rang out. ‘Wait!’ It was Harrietta Hapless, her hair in two long ropes down her back, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. It appeared she had gained a lot of confidence since her brilliance with tying shoe-laces had been unearthed.

‘What is it, Harrietta?’ Ernest asked.

‘We have something to show you. While you were away, some of us needed a project to keep our minds off the training,’ Harrietta explained proudly. ‘So we came up with an idea of our own.’

‘Tell us about it,’ Milli encouraged.

‘Well,’ Harrietta said, suddenly hesitant, ‘just be warned that it is…well…disgusting.’

‘It’s crude,’ a voice piped up.

‘It’s unspeakable!’ called another.

‘It’s whiffy!’

‘But brainy!’

‘It’s zany!’

‘And noxious!’

‘What is it?’ asked Milli and Ernest together.

‘If this is a war we’re meant to be fighting,’ Harrietta continued gleefully, ‘we decided to develop a secret weapon of our own.’

‘We don’t have the materials to make weapons,’ Finn remarked dismissively.

‘We didn’t make one, we discovered one,’ Harrietta said. ‘Allow us to give you a quick demonstration.’

Slowly and rather dramatically, the tank-like figure of Gummy Grumbleguts emerged from the shadows. He gave them a bow that sent his chins into a wobbling frenzy.

‘The secret weapon,’ he announced, ‘at your service.’

‘You’re the weapon?’ Fennel cried. ‘You’re the gentlest boy I’ve ever met.’

Gummy looked offended for an instant before a rumbling filled the room like an erupting volcano. It took some moments for the four children to realise the sound was coming from Gummy himself. A few children tittered in amusement.

But was that the worst of it? No, indeed, it was not! All laughter was cut short when the children smelt Gummy’s secret weapon a few moments later.

Suddenly the barracks were overwhelmed by all the terrible smells in the world fused into one through some kind of internal chemical combustion. It is difficult to convey smell in print, but Gummy’s secret weapon combined wet dog with cheese in its final stages of putrefaction. It was like the ham sandwich that has been in your desk at school for the last two years. It was your brother’s sweaty socks and the cow dung fertiliser the next-door neighbours use in their vegetable garden. It was rancid and pungent and soggy and saccharine all at once. The best way to describe it would probably be to say that it was as deadly as paint stripper.

Some children dived under their mattresses for refuge; others buried their noses in the nearest shoulder; and those with respiratory allergies simply stopped breathing altogether. It took every ounce of self-control for Milli not to run from the room. Many did try to escape, but Gummy barred their way in triumph. This was his moment and he was determined to have a full audience.

The inventive Harrietta had taken a hair clasp out of her pocket and used it to peg her nose so she remained unaffected, but poor Ernest was one of those rendered unconscious by the deleterious gas.

The odour refused to dissipate from the barracks for a long time, seeming to haunt the atmosphere like an entity. When at last it was safe to inhale again (and then only in very shallow and tentative gasps) Milli turned to Gummy.

‘What on earth have you been eating?’ she asked. Although her tone denoted both horror and disgust, she could not conceal that she was also rather impressed.

‘Mostly beans,’ Gummy declared. ‘I’ve been on a strict diet for weeks.’

He rummaged in his pocket, withdrew a crumpled piece of paper and held it out to Milli. In Nonna Luna’s wobbly hand it read as follows:

Nonna’s Hurricane Diet

Guaranteed to produce flatulence at hurricane levels. To be avoided by newlyweds and those with a social life they wish to preserve.

Bean Entrées

1. White bean salad with mashed egg and red onion

2. Kidney bean frittata

3. Fried soybeans served on a bed of boiled cauliflower

4. Bell peppers stuffed with organic lentils

5. Lima bean and sardine roulade

6. Mini cabbage rolls stuffed with beans

Bean-based Mains

1. Black bean enchiladas and a serving of bean bread

2. Cheesy bean casserole

3. Crispy bean tacos

4. Four-bean risotto

5. Bean and potato meatloaf

Beany Desserts

1. Bread, butter and bean pudding

2. Bean cake with cream cheese frosting

3. Borlotti bean soufflé with butterscotch sauce

4. Chickpea sorbet

5. Baked cheesecake with mixed bean crust

Bean Beverages

1. Warm bean juice

2. Bean cola

3. Bubbly bean cider

4. Mineral bean water

5. Bean, bean and bitters

6. Bean sauvignon blanc

7. Creamy bean soda

‘Surely this isn’t all you’ve been eating?’ asked an incredulous Milli. She was beginning to turn woozy herself and hoped it would not be too obvious if she had to sit down suddenly.

‘I can see that Gummy’s dangerous, all right,’ Finn said, ‘but what I don’t see is how we’re going to use him.’

‘It’s always useful to have a secret weapon during a battle,’ said Harrietta. She looked at her watch. ‘You’re just in time for his midnight snack. It allows the digestive juices to build up overnight.’

‘What happens in the morning?’ Fennel asked.

‘We don’t stay around long enough to find out.’

At that moment a stout little figure in an apron and well-worn black boots appeared in the doorway carrying a tray covered with a checked tea towel.

‘My doves, you are back!’ she crooned. ‘How I missa you. Where is my Ernesto?’

When Nonna Luna spotted Ernest on the ground, she gave a strangled cry like a seal and thrust the tray she was carrying into the arms of the nearest child. She rocketed across the barracks at an alarming speed for an old biddy and gathered Ernest’s prone figure into her arms. Using a bottle of crystallized smelling salts drawn from her apron she was able to quickly revive him.

‘Precious ones,’ Nonna cooed in between kissing and stroking their faces with her sandpaper hands. ‘It is important to want to save da world but more important to stay close to those who lova you. Now, promise you won’t desert us again.’

‘It’s only been a few days, Nonna,’ Ernest protested, his voice muffled by the garlicky apron. Nonna Luna allowed him to come up for air but surveyed him closely.

‘No tattoos?’ she asked suspiciously, checking any skin that was exposed. ‘When Lampo meet that beastly Bombasta the firsta thing he do is get her name tattooed sumawhere I’d rather not say,’ she explained.

Ernest flushed with embarrassment. ‘No, Nonna, I haven’t got any tattoos,’ he replied, hastily pulling down his shirt as Nonna tried to peer under it. ‘And I’m not remotely interested in a girlfriend.’

‘Ask him if he found a boyfriend,’ Milli prompted, thinking of Princess Salt.

Nonna Luna’s head jerked around in horror, but Ernest glared at Milli and came up with an effective distraction.

‘One thing I have noticed is a lot more headaches since being away from here. You might need to check me for the Malocchio.’

At the mention of the evil eye all the children gave a synchronised groan. With no Milli and Ernesto to tend to, Nonna Luna had kept herself occupied by flushing their systems of all bad thoughts and ill intentions. They had only submitted to this because of Nonna Luna’s skill for making chicken parmigiana, which was nothing short of a gift.

Harrietta was not quite ready to surrender the limelight just yet. ‘First let them see what we’ve been working on,’ she said to Nonna Luna.

Nonna nodded in agreement and took back the tray she had been carrying. Under the tea towel was the strangest and most unappetising-looking snack the children had ever seen. Milli guessed it was supposed to be some sort of dessert given the fine-stemmed glass it was served in. But unlike most desserts, it was a murky shade of green.

‘One broccoli soufflé for my Gummy,’ Nonna said and set the tray down before him.

Milli looked in wonder at Gummy, who had taken on the demeanour of an emperor. Everyone hovered around him like disciples, hoping he might share some of his wisdom. But the only words that passed Gummy’s lips were, ‘Mmm, tasty…’ He picked up a spoon and licked his lips.

You see, it does not matter to a boy like Gummy Grumbleguts what he is eating, so long as he is eating something. If he can engage in the action of chewing and swallowing then he is content. Today there would be all sorts of theories as to why Gummy was the size he was, and terms like ‘low self-esteem’ and ‘smothering parents’ might be bandied about in staff rooms. But the simple fact of the matter was that Gummy lived to eat. He did not like food; he loved it. And he saw no reason to deprive himself of what he loved. You cannot dream about food the way Gummy did; about chocolate pudding with white chocolate sauce or Christmas turkey with all the trimmings, and then be expected to survive on tinned salmon and raw vegetables.

The broccoli soufflé was primarily made up of layers of green foam. It looked more like a green ice-cream sundae and the children wondered if Nonna Luna, with her imperfect English, had got her words mixed up. They stopped thinking this once they spotted the giant red bean on the top where you might have expected to find a glacé cherry or a shard of chocolate. Beneath the mushy layers, pale stalks floated alongside noodles around the bottom of the glass. It looked like some sort of monstrous alien creation that should have come with a warning: Not for human consumption. But Gummy tucked in readily and even paid his compliments to the beaming chef.

It was an indication of Nonna’s wizardry in the kitchen that the expression on Gummy’s face as he shovelled the green gunge into his mouth was one of pure bliss.

CHAPTER TWENTY
Bloodthirsty Preparations

Before she left them for what would be their last night at Battalion Minor, Nonna Luna poured each child a thimbleful of a bitter liquor she called A Hundred Herbs, which she said would aid their digestion and settle their nerves. Even with the assistance of this draught, not much sleeping went on in the barracks that night.

Milli, for one, could not relax. The change in some of the children worried her. It was a new obstacle that could threaten their unity as a group, and it made her consider the old adage divide and conquer with a new understanding. How could the division be repaired? The damage done in their absence was too extensive to be undone overnight. How could she convince the children that their fears of the Fada were unfounded? Milli’s thoughts turned to the impact recent events had had on her own outlook. Experience was certainly a double-edged sword, she decided. On the one hand, it was necessary to prevent one making the same mistakes (which could make life very tedious after a while). On the other hand, it meant you might never again have the pleasure of letting your thoughts wander untrammelled by concern about what lay around the next corner. It was not such a good idea to acquire too much knowledge of the world too soon.

For the first time since their arrival in the Conjurors’ Realm, Milli felt a wave of remorse. She had been so petulant and preoccupied about attending the Lampo Circus that she had not once stopped to consider her mother’s objective in keeping her away.

As it turned out, Rosie’s apprehension had been justified. She was right to be wary. If the parents of Drabville had been less trusting, they might not have so guilelessly surrendered their children to a stranger in a top hat, no matter how much amusement he promised them.

Milli suddenly felt the need for a friendly ear with whom to share such weighty observations. She looked around for Ernest. He was shaking out his bedding.

‘What exactly are you doing?’ she snapped.

‘Airing my pallet as you can see,’ Ernest replied calmly. ‘I want to make sure it’s infestation free.’

‘Pallet’ is just another word for a mattress or bed made of straw. Ernest was taking comfort in the one thing he felt he had some control over: precision of language. It was Ernest’s belief that if you knew the exact word for something you should try to incorporate it into your everyday speech. Milli, he had not failed to notice, had become rather careless with her speech lately and had more than once substituted ‘thingy’ when the correct word eluded her.

Milli rolled her eyes in a display of impatience. ‘Can’t you find anything more useful to do?’ she said more rudely than she intended.

‘Milli, don’t be such a baguette.’

‘For your information, Ernest Perriclof, baguette is the French word for a bread stick. Are you sure you mean baguette?’

‘Quite sure. It also means “little bag”.’

‘I’ll stop being a little bag when you stop being a…a horseradish!’

‘Let me get this straight—you are comparing me to a sharp condiment?’

‘You obviously don’t know that horseradish is a root vegetable so tasteless and horrible only a horse will eat it.’

They both had to laugh then, comforted by the knowledge that whatever else had altered in their lives, their ability to get on each other’s nerves and just as quickly make up had not.

When they woke, the children discovered that several heavy trunks had been delivered to the barracks overnight. Rummaging through them they found various pieces of armour from different time periods, some so corroded they might have come from a munitions museum. They gingerly lifted out dusty breastplates, visors, steel tubing designed to protect shins, and various rusty rapiers taller than themselves. There were shields so big they were only going to be effective if the children hid under them.

When Milli succeeded in putting on a breastplate designed for a grown man she could barely stand straight under its weight. When Ernest experimented with the shin protectors he found he could only walk with his legs spread wide apart, which prompted a comment from someone that he looked like he’d just had a major accident.

‘I thought this stuff was meant to be indestructible,’ commented Gummy as he held up a shield so badly corroded he could put his fist through in several places. He discarded it and struggled with a chainmail headpiece, finally giving up and deciding to wear it as a headband instead.

Were they not about to march off to actual warfare, the children might have enjoyed the dress-ups, so comical did they all look. Of one thing there was little doubt: not much thought had gone into their safety.

When Oslo looked in to check on their progress, Milli had the temerity to ask, ‘Don’t you think we would fight much more effectively if we could actually move?’

‘Is it Question Time?’ he asked sardonically and ordered them all outside.

‘At last the Final Fray is upon us. Are you ready to conquer?’ Oslo boomed from Fiend’s back as he cantered up and down the ranks of children assembled outside the mess hall. When no response was forthcoming, he tried to spur them on further.

‘Never forget the three Cs: crush, clobber and clout all who stand in your path! You don’t look like warriors to me! Bare those teeth and flex those forearms. This is no game you are playing. You are about to sully [sally] forth into battle against some of the most feared creatures in the Realm. Remember to be on your guard. If you don’t desiccate [decimate] those Fada quickly, they won’t hesitate to get you!’

Oslo proceeded to coach his young fighters on the conventions of battle but it seemed to the children that he really had only one message for them: that there were no conventions. He did not appear at all confident about their readiness for the Final Fray, and some of the more soft-hearted children felt like patting his arm and reassuring him that he’d done his best. As no one could predict what response this might unleash it was best their commiseration remained unshared.

Oslo ended his rousing speech with a short demonstration on the use of weaponry. He showed them how effective a blunt object (like the mace with its metal spikes) could be in penetrating armour and causing concussion and trauma to vital organs like the brain. Daggers, on the other hand, were useful for striking vulnerable points on the body like the eyes or armpits.

‘The trick to wearing armour,’ Oslo said, as if he were imparting a highly guarded secret, ‘is to forget you’ve got it on. A trained knight can run, tumble and even belly dance in his armour he is so used to wearing it.’

The children noticed that this couldn’t be said for Oslo, who was wearing a new plumed helmet that kept slipping down and obscuring his vision. It wasn’t a sight to inspire confidence. So beside himself with nerves was he that at times Oslo broke into spontaneous war chant or clasped the child unfortunate enough to be closest to him in a clumsy soldierly embrace. Oslo’s hope on this frosty morning was that he had at least instilled in his young soldiers a thirst for victory. Given their long faces and the way they restlessly shuffled their feet, he was not sure he had succeeded.

Federico Lampo and Contessa Bombasta arrived in a curtained litter carried by stumpy-legged ogres. It was little wonder they looked so fresh and well rested. By contrast, the poor children had been woken at the crack of dawn by the dogs, had struggled to put on their battle gear and been ordered to line up before they’d even had a warm drink. Most were still rubbing sleep from their eyes, too tired to be all that concerned about the day’s outcome. Rather than lusty warriors about to conquer a province, they felt as rusty as old bicycles.

The Contessa’s personal assistants arrived wearing tailored suits and carrying briefcases. They were followed by her little bow-legged accountant. Mr Ledger squinted as if unaccustomed to daylight and carried a wad of invoices under one arm.

When Oslo assisted the Contessa down from the litter, the children could see through the fringed curtains that it had been packed full of snacks (clusters of grapes, stuffed figs, champagne, caviar and roasted quail) as well as light reading in the form of romance novels. Clearly, the Contessa was expecting it to be a long day. If they were far enough away from the action, she hoped Federico might be persuaded to read to her from an old favourite as she fed him frosted grapes.

Both Lampo and the Contessa had chosen elaborate outfits in honour of the occasion and the children’s eyes widened when they saw them in their full glory. Federico’s rosy cheeks were redder than ever and he wore a rich mantle of red velvet over his pressed uniform. Bombasta was dressed from head to foot in silver fur, making her look like the Abominable Snowman. Her gloves were made from the thick coat of the recently extinct Chinwag Penguin and her shoes were fringed with the fleece of baby pandas. To get into the spirit of the occasion she wore diamond earrings in the shape of miniature bows and arrows. Her appearance confirmed the maxim: money cannot buy taste. Even Muffy-Boo—who must have regretted returning to his mistress that morning—was dressed for battle in a breastplate of beaten brass. It must have chafed terribly because the little dog was constantly scratching and became very distressed when he couldn’t reach the spots that needed most attention.

‘I am very worried,’ Bombasta said suddenly. ‘How will we know what is happening, Lampo?’

‘Reports will be brought to us, my dear Contessa. We will be kept constantly informed.’

‘I require my information to be first-hand,’ pouted Bombasta.

One of her assistants promptly produced a pair of dainty binoculars from her briefcase and placed them solemnly in the Contessa’s hand.

‘What if I used binoculars?’ Bombasta suggested, as if the idea had just occurred to her. She turned again to Lampo. ‘Have those wretched artists arrived yet?’

‘Of course. Van Palette and Canvasari are already on location, setting up their easels as we speak. They are demanding double their fee if any of their blood is spilled.’

‘Artists can be so precious!’ said the Contessa with a shake of her head.

‘However, as Patroness of the Arts it would be remiss of me to let such a momentous occasion pass without it resulting in at least a couple of masterpieces.’

‘Your generosity knows no bounds,’ Lampo gushed as he kissed her hand.

‘How will we dispose of any leftover brats when the battle is won?’ Contessa Bombasta pondered now that she was on a problem-solving roll. ‘My piranhas are very fussy eaters.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself about such matters. I believe the slave trade is alive and well and healthy children fetch a good price,’ Lampo sniggered.

‘Goody!’ said the Contessa, and they enjoyed a private giggle like a pair of schoolgirls who have just left a love note in a boy’s locker.

Fortunately our protagonists did not hear any of this conversation, otherwise Milli would have been inclined to march over and bop the Contessa with her own binoculars. Clearly the hundreds of abducted children were no more than bait in Lampo and the Contessa’s lucrative scheme. Once their goal had been realised, the children would be as irrelevant as theories about the creation of the Realm. What did it matter how things started? It was how they finished that was important to Bombasta.

‘It’s criminal what some people get away with,’ Finn said. He had been keeping a close eye on the Contessa and Lampo.

‘Maybe in the short-term,’ Milli replied. ‘But they always get their comeuppance.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Finn said, scrunching his freckled face into a scowl. His electric blue eyes clouded over and Milli knew he was thinking of the men who had taken his parents.

‘I don’t know it but I choose to believe it,’ she said firmly.

Just as they had been marshalled inside the gates by Oslo so many weeks before, the children now marched out in much the same manner. This time they were followed by Nonna Luna pushing the first aid cart, which now had a red cross roughly painted on its tarpaulin cover. Olive was perched on her shoulder. The owl looked unsettled by the commotion and kept swivelling her head around in order to try and hear what she could not see.

The children looked back for what might be their last glimpse of Battalion Minor. Although they weren’t sorry to be leaving, they did not want to forget their stay there. Despite their hardships, they had learned some important lessons. They had banded together, taken care of one another and discovered the real meaning of friendship.

Oslo rode Fiend up and down alongside his tousled troops and looked back at the words suspended above the camp gates. ‘On to victory!’ he howled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Final Fray

The raggle-taggle army marched for a good three hours before Oslo called them to a halt near the border of Mirth. He had led them along back roads so overrun with bracken that they’d had to hack their way through in places. Still, they arrived so quickly compared to their first journey that Milli and Ernest could only conclude there must have been magic involved.

They made their way through a copse to find themselves in an open field where the earth was so parched and cracked only some sturdy cacti had managed to survive. In the distance they recognised the domed top of Queen Fidelis’s toadstool palace and the gates of the walled city. When they looked behind them, they saw that their army had burgeoned in size. They seemed to have picked up a diverse collection of Lord Aldor’s supporters along the way.

There were trolls armed with buckets and mops (being simpletons, they had taken the idea of cleaning up on the battlefield quite literally). A mob of leering witches from Hagdad hovered overhead, pouches of ingredients swinging from the ends of their twisted sticks. Occasionally, the white-haired women zoomed down to adjust a child’s shield or remind another of posture. The children squirmed at this contact and noticed that smudges of charcoal were left behind on whatever surface the hands of the hags happened to touch. The Goblins from Gobbo looked like they had drunkenly stumbled into a costume hire shop and made a poor selection. They wore cheerleader uniforms complete with pompoms and cropped jackets which they wore unbuttoned over their stout chests. Occasionally they broke into a cheerleading routine, singing jingles about the Fada (too bawdy to repeat here) and swinging their batons as if they were javelins. A line of giants from Thumpalot brought up the rear. They had been instructed to travel at some distance behind the group as the earth tremors caused by their lumbering steps was resulting in an outbreak of motion sickness. Some of them carried boulders, whilst others waved banners (actually old bed sheets) that read: MUSTA ALDOR ROKS DA REALM. Alas, with brains capable of entertaining only one idea at a time, some of the giants were already becoming sidetracked. They covered themselves with the sheets and pretended to be ghouls, or played peek-a-boo with each other by hiding their faces behind the boulders.

It was the conjurors from Runis that truly sent cold shivers down Milli’s spine. This was not only because of the spangled cloaks they wore as a mark of their clan or the silver horns that hung around their necks—for a purpose unknown to the children. It was because of the way they moved together as one, wands held aloft in readiness. Milli suspected those small sticks possessed more power than the sharpest of swords. Magic was going to be performed this day, she thought grimly, powerful magic of the blackest sort.

The noon-day sun was beating down. All the children wanted was to flop to the ground where they were and enjoy a nice cool drink. Their armour already felt like lead. But neither sitting nor resting featured in Oslo’s battle strategy. Whilst they hurriedly sipped from the flasks of water they had been given, Oslo dismounted and stood respectfully to attention, as if expecting someone’s arrival. Judging by the tomblike silence that fell over the entire army, this someone must be very important. The children broke into goosebumps despite the warmth of the sun.

There was a screech and the beating of leathery wings. Around a bend in the dusty road came a black carriage made of cast iron and shaped like a giant cauldron with metal spikes protruding dangerously from its sides. It was windowless and rusty bolts held its door in place. Four ravens flew above it and Milli had the uncomfortable feeling that she had seen them before.

Some of the younger children began to cry when they saw the creatures that drew the coach. They had the head and torso of a woman and the body of a vulture; their mottled faces were framed by coils of matted grey hair and their skin was a mouldy yellow. They were Harpies—legendary monsters that live in the blackest recesses of the earth. They had curved noses like hawks and their slanted eyes resembled two bloody gashes on their faces. Their razor-sharp talons carved deep tracks in the earth as they approached and their beating wings released waves of an overpowering stench of decay.

The carriage came to a stop and the door opened. Tendrils of grey smoke emerged, veiling its occupant as he climbed out. The first thing the children saw was a boot with a metal tip as sharp as a pencil. It was followed by the swirling hem of a scarlet robe, which was patterned with vipers and scorpions embroidered in gold thread. As the unnaturally tall and misty figure glided towards them, the images on his robe moved too. The vipers flicked out their tongues and spat flames onto the ground. The scorpions opened and shut their pincers like machinery.

The man stepped out of the smoky haze and raised a crab-like hand with ring-encrusted fingers. Milli and Ernest recognised his hair, which was a milky blue and strung with bells that did not tinkle as bells should but emitted frail screams of pain when he moved, as if poor tormented souls were trapped within them. But it was his eyes that turned their hearts to stone. Their colour shifted like liquid in a test tube. One minute they were as red as sunset, the next as black as beetles, before turning a shade so pale they were like water. There was no mistaking their old nemesis, Lord Aldor the Illustrious.

Somehow, the magician was taller than Milli remembered. His features had become even more shrunken if that were possible and there was less flesh clinging to his bones. His eyes were hungrier, as they often are in those whose plans have been thwarted once before. The pallid lips curled in revulsion at the sight of the children. In short, it was the face of what had once been a man but was now a creature without hope of redemption.

When the wizard locked eyes with Milli and Ernest, a demented smile of satisfaction crossed his face. ‘Who is there to come to your aid this time?’ his cold gaze seemed to say.

Despite the proximity of Mirth and the promise of Queen Fidelis’s assistance, the children could not have felt more alone.

A sudden sob broke the silence. ‘Please, sir, don’t make us fight!’ a little boy cried out. ‘We haven’t had enough training.’

Lord Aldor did not so much as acknowledge the speaker by turning in his direction. Instead, he gave a flick of his pinkie finger. Cockroaches wriggled from the boy’s ears, scuttling down his neck and into his clothes until he fell in a twisting heap on the ground. With a puff of smoke and a prolonged moan, the boy’s skin began to blacken and dry out, his legs coalesced to form part of a hard outer shell, and his eyes shrank to pinpricks on stalks. His arms thinned to the size of pipe cleaners, then split and multiplied into spindly bug legs. The boy’s screams turned into a faint rustling sound.

The watching conjurors cackled and clapped in appreciation of this unexpected display of magic.

Nonna Luna crossed herself three times, then rushed forward, pocketed the stunned cockroach and hurried it off to the first aid cart. Although Milli and Ernest were shaking from the injustice of what had just happened, they knew that to speak up would bring terrible consequences. They did not want to be returned to their parents in a matchbox, so they gritted their teeth, lowered their gaze and said nothing.

Lord Aldor turned his attention to the gathered army. When he spoke, his voice rolled over them like thunder.

‘From this point, you children will proceed alone,’ he said. ‘You will march into enemy territory and destroy the advantage the smug Fada fairies have had over us for centuries. The moment you succeed in breaking the spell, the rest of us shall join you in battle.’

He raised his arms and the crowd rattled their weapons and swung their mops as an indication of their fervour. Lord Aldor’s eyes glowed red at the show of support.

‘My comrades and friends, in a very short time we will reclaim what is rightfully ours and at last unite the Realm!’ he roared.

‘One Realm, one leader!’ the assembly chanted.

Aldor waited for the cheers to subside before continuing.

‘With the guardians of human imagination under our control, what is there we cannot achieve? What power we cannot overturn? In the new Realm, you need only wish for something to have it. Each and every one of you has my solemn promise on this.’

The conjurors shrieked their devotion, waved flags printed with Aldor’s image and blew kisses at their leader, who bowed deeply.

He turned back to the children and his tone changed to one of scornful derision. ‘If you wish to see your precious mummies and daddies again, I suggest you follow orders. Think of it this way—Drabville is but a battle away.’

A gentle tinkling like chimes filled the air. It was faint at first but grew steadily louder. Lord Aldor held up a greyish hand for silence. The children turned towards the city of Mirth. Sure enough, its magnificent white gates were beginning to swing open. A rapacious smile spread slowly across Lord Aldor’s face.

‘They are coming,’ he said.

For a moment, nothing stirred inside the gates of Mirth. Milli’s heart soared as she thought the Fada might attempt a peace treaty or simply refuse to appear, but seconds later they came streaming through the gates, a carpet of gowned creatures moving like swans across the battlefield. Leading them was Fidelis in a seashell chariot pulled by golden lions. Her gown, woven from clouds, billowed behind her.

The chariot moved towards them at an alarming speed, finally halting in the centre of the open field. Behind it gathered the entire adult population of Mirth. The children stared, wondering how these seraph-like beings could possibly be equipped to take on Lord Aldor and his vicious followers.

Their hair was laced with wildflowers and their eyes sparkled as if they contained fragments of stars. The Fada looked like they might topple if too strong a wind blew up. They carried weaponry but the hilts of their blades were encrusted with pearls and their pretty archer’s bows looked like toys. Milli and Ernest hoped the weapons were enchanted for they would prove useless otherwise.

The prospect of anyone attacking such celestial creatures filled the children with dread. It might have been a different story had they been facing a horde of warty, lice-infested hags; at least then there would have been some justification in the thought that they were ridding the world of unpleasantness. But the Fada looked perfectly composed and unaware of the violence intended towards them. The children began to grow agitated, unable to gasp sufficient air. They felt sticky and almost welded to their armour. Beads of sweat formed on their foreheads and their hands shook uncontrollably. Gummy Grumbleguts found he had to tighten his grip on his sword to stop it slipping from his sweaty palms.

Milli herself was torn by doubt. What had happened to Fidelis’s plan? Would now not be a good time to put it into operation? She would have liked to send Fidelis a secret sign to indicate that time was running out and now was not the time for procrastination. Fidelis’s gaze was fixed on Lord Aldor’s face, as if an unspoken struggle was taking place between the two. The firm set of her jaw said she was not ready to surrender Mirth just yet. But perhaps she had changed her mind about helping the children, Milli thought. Perhaps her first loyalty was to her people and she had decided she could not protect them both.

Lord Aldor’s eyes narrowed. He gave Oslo an almost imperceptible nod, which was the gladiator’s cue to act.

‘Attack!’ Oslo roared.

But the children were paralysed by fear and indecision. They stood rooted to the spot, dizzy with the hundreds of thoughts whirring through their heads. Some closed their eyes and tried to recall the terrible things Lampo had held the Fada responsible for. But they just could not bring themselves to believe him.

Oslo stood frozen in a mixture of horror and dismay that his order had been ignored. This was the moment he had imagined for weeks, which had sustained him through the training of such bungling troops. Was glory to be so callously snatched from him? He hissed a reminder to his army about the penalty for failing to follow an instruction, whilst the crowd behind began to shout abuse in the hope of inciting action.

Bombasta and Lampo resorted to threats.

‘There are nastier creatures than piranhas that like the taste of small children,’ the Contessa warned, her face contorted like a gargoyle’s.

‘You will live out your days as floor sweeps for the Lampo Circus,’ Federico shouted, mopping his forehead with a hanky.

Anger blazed in Lord Aldor’s sallow face. ‘Your poor parents are sick with grief, I hear,’ he said with mock concern. ‘They blame themselves each time they see your empty little beds. Your precious town has died. No one sleeps or laughs there now. The only ones who can change that are you. You do not fight for me today; you fight for home.’

To Milli’s dismay, these words seemed to have the desired effect, for many of her peers raised their weapons and took a tentative step forward. Aldor had tapped into their deepest longing: there was not much they wouldn’t do to get home. Milli and Ernest looked desperately around, trying to think of a way to delay the battle, but for the first time in their lives they could not come up with a single idea. Perhaps Lord Aldor’s plans were already coming to fruition because their minds were blank. That was more frightening than the idea of fighting.

The two armies were now only metres from each another. The Fada simply stood there, waiting for the attack. Fidelis was so close that Milli and Ernest imagined they could smell the lavender sprigs in her hair. She did not look afraid, just very purposeful.

Suddenly, all around them, they heard the deadly sound of swords being drawn from their sheaths and arrows being plucked from their quivers. Some of the children had hardened themselves against feeling pity. They sensed Lord Aldor’s presence right behind them, as if he were breathing down their necks. They knew that fighting was their only hope of ever seeing their parents again. Gummy Grumbleguts stepped forward, holding his blunt sword above his head. And at that exact moment, something happened that no one could have predicted. Or, I should say, two things happened.

The first thing was that Queen Fidelis lifted her sceptre and lightly tapped it three times on the floor of her chariot. Immediately fairy dust drifted from its iris-shaped head. Gummy’s sword clattered to the ground as the fairy dust swirled around him and formed itself into a small dragon with shimmering metallic scales. The dragon’s wide eyes looked puzzled and the children shrank back in alarm. Suddenly the dragon’s long snout twitched and his eyes began to water. They watched in dread as the beast threw back his head, opened his mouth and let out a…sneeze. He looked bashfully around before pulling a hanky from behind a scale and using it to noisily blow his nose. But a dragon with a tickle in his nose was not the miraculous part. It was what happened next that was so extraordinary it changed the course of destiny for children all over the world.

The second thing was that deep in the throng of tiny ill-equipped soldiers, someone giggled. It was only a self-conscious splutter at first and was almost camouflaged as a cough.

The perpetrator, Prudence Cackle, was a dark-haired seven year old with her hair cut in a blunt bob. Her second giggle was healthier and actually had some volume about it. The third expanded to a chuckle. Prudence knew her reaction was a little unorthodox given the purpose of the gathering, but she couldn’t help herself. A palpable tension followed. The children made room around her as if they’d just been told she was afflicted with leprosy.

The thing about laughter is that (like leprosy) it is highly contagious. It infected Gummy Grumbleguts next, beginning as a snort but soon growing into a rocking, irrepressible laugh. Suddenly there were five children chortling, then ten, and before long every soldier in Battalion Minor was splitting his or her sides with peals of laughter. The laughter grew to a level where it ricocheted around the surrounding forest and off the distant hills.

Fidelis seized this moment to launch her plan. ‘Play!’ she cried.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Playing for Victory

No sooner had Queen Fidelis spoken than the battlefield was transformed into a kind of carnival. The Fada withdrew their wands and whirled into action, sprinkling fairy dust everywhere and creating breathtaking sights out of thin air.

One fairy whistled a jovial tune and a stall sprang from the ground complete with a spinning tub that produced whopping great cones of mouth-watering ice-cream drizzled with hot fudge sauce and sprinkles. An elf in a tunic blew up colourful balloons and twisted them into the shapes of assorted animals that paraded around making their own distinctive sounds and jostling one another for air time. A canary tried to peck a worm and the two began to bicker in Balloonspeak, which sounds like a lot of huffing and squeaking. Two sprites pulled little square cushions from their satchels and engaged in a friendly pillow fight. They enjoyed it all the more when the cushions burst and covered them in feathery down. One curly-haired Fada twirled around and from her hair burst a great cloud of exotic butterflies. They landed on the shoulders of the stunned children and tickled them under the chin with their antennae. A little dryad carrying a tin watering can poured water onto the cracked ground and a rosebush sprang up with buds made of fairy floss. The dryad picked some buds and tossed them to the children before trotting off to create a candy-cane shrub.

Some clever dwarves had gathered clumps of dry wood and chiselled and hammered them into clockwork toys. Fidelis herself commanded the clouds above to first darken and then morph into blue whales that spurted water from their blowpipes (aimed strategically at Oslo). Somebody conjured up a slippery slide, whilst others engaged in games of blind man’s buff and hide-and-seek. Instead of the dust and clatter of battle, the air was filled with cheerful sounds and was abuzz with enchantment. The whole place was so riotous with frivolity the children did not know where to look first and simply stood there in open-mouthed amazement.

Fidelis’s dragon was seized by a volley of uncontrollable sneezes and this time streams of white powder flew from his nostrils and rained over the battlefield. Some of Aldor’s supporters hid behind their shields but could not escape being covered in the floury substance. Gummy Grumbleguts cautiously licked his lips before breaking out in a grin.

‘It’s sherbet,’ he announced, ‘and it’s delicious.’

Thus encouraged, many of the children bent to scoop up the powder in handfuls. They lapped it out of their palms like kittens and squealed in delight as it had been so long since they had tasted the fizzy sour sweetness of sherbet. And this was no cheaply manufactured sherbet that keeps dentists in business; it was the real deal, unlike anything you or I have ever tasted.

Finn and Fennel were the first to peel off their armour and discard their weapons. They dropped them to the ground without a second thought and marched across to join the Fada. More clangs and clatters followed as other children abandoned their weapons. They seemed to forget their fear and darted from one enticement to another, openly tasting the marshmallow blossoms growing on trees. Oslo, Bombasta and Lampo bellowed threats at the children but dared not cross over into the enchanted province.

When Fidelis summoned them, Milli and Ernest wasted no time in running to her side.

‘So this was the plan,’ Milli said, looking at the mixture of relief and glee on the faces of the children around her. ‘But how did you know it would work?’

‘Fairies and children share the same thoughts,’ Fidelis replied simply.

‘Does this mean your magic is stronger than Lord Aldor’s?’ Ernest asked.

‘Smarter, not stronger,’ said Fidelis. ‘If there is one thing villains have difficulty dealing with, it’s anyone having fun. Innocence can be a very powerful weapon—remember that.’

It appeared that Fidelis was right. Lord Aldor’s army were at a loss. Some were already beginning to turn back, their dejected expressions revealing that next time they would think more carefully and ask more probing questions before following their self-professed leader. To the children it really did seem that victory was theirs. What was left for Aldor and his entourage to do other than beat a hasty and humiliating retreat? Hopefully they would return to Rune and never trouble Mirth again.

But as you and I know, Lord Aldor was not the kind of villain to be easily dissuaded. He was far too enraged to slink away to lick his wounds just yet. As far as Aldor was concerned, the games were a setback but the battle was far from over. Looking more intimidating than ever, the wizard drew himself up to his full height. His voice when he spoke shook the very hills with its power.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he roared at his diminishing troops. ‘Destroy every child and take every Fada prisoner. Do not stop for breath until this mission has been accomplished.’

Oslo, in a last effort to salvage what was left of his dignity, charged onto the battlefield—which now resembled a giant fairground—like a goaded bull. With a sword raised alarmingly in one hand and a mace in the other, Oslo hurtled towards the children. He was but inches from them when he stopped abruptly, captivated by Fidelis who stepped entrancingly in front of the cowering children to offer him a bunch of daisies. Oslo looked startled, as if trying to recall where he was and why he was feeling so hostile. The next moment, he was settled cross-legged on the ground plucking petals from the daisies with a far-away look on his weathered face. A kind young Fada offered him a cup of chamomile tea. As he plucked, Ernest could see him mouthing, ‘She loves me…she loves me not.’

When Oslo tired of this, he tucked a couple of flowers behind his ears, then began work on a daisy chain, which required all his concentration as his fingers were thick and clumsy.

Bombasta and Lampo were horrified by Oslo’s conduct. Together they strode to where the gladiator sat and attempted to lambast him to his senses.

‘Get up, you bumbling fool!’ commanded the Contessa.

‘I warn you, we’ll make sure you never work in the Realm again. You’ll be hoeing turnips for a living!’ shouted Lampo.

They jabbed at Oslo with sticks but they might have been invisible for the effect they had on him.

Bombasta shook Oslo so violently that his ponytail came free, then looked up and caught Lampo’s eye. She gave a crafty smile and tapped him suddenly on the shoulder. ‘You’re it!’ she squealed jubilantly and dashed away before he had time to catch her.

So engrossed did the pair become in their game of Tiggy Touchwood, they forgot all about Lord Aldor and his funding for the arts. In order to increase her agility, Bombasta shed her shoes and furs. With her imported silk stockings laddered and her ample bosom swinging she looked as if she had not a care in the world.

So this was the secret power of the fairies, thought Milli and Ernest, broad smiles on their faces. The Fada possessed the power to recreate childhood. Lord Aldor must have hoped that using children to launch his attack on Mirth would somehow cancel this power. It might have worked too, if one giggling child had not refused to let fear dominate her sense of wonder.

By this time it would be safe to say that Lord Aldor was beyond livid. Rage sent such tremors throughout his entire body he was not sure he would be able to conjure with accuracy. He needed to calm down and approach the problem with the stealth of a cobra. He took a deep breath, created a cloud around himself for cover, and levitated until he was floating directly above the children. Then he scanned the throng for two familiar and repellent faces.

Millipop Klompet and Ernest Perriclof stood in triumph on either side of Queen Fidelis. But Lord Aldor did not see two heroes; he saw two mewling and meddlesome terrors who had foiled his plans yet again. This time he would not be so charitable. His mission to conquer Mirth might be on the verge of collapse but these two would not escape unharmed. With the brats dispatched, any future plans stood a better chance of unfolding. Aldor had many times contemplated taking on the fairy population single-handedly, but he knew the effort would leave him drained and wasted. Magicians his age did not recover easily from such exertion. But at this moment his desire to conquer all five provinces and amass their wealth and power for himself faded into the background. What he most wanted was the necks of those two puling children who, through sheer luck and some quick thinking, had destroyed his hopes. No one was going to deny him the pleasure of seeing them reduced to a pile of ash.

Milli and Ernest were overcome with relief. Those members of Aldor’s army who had not deserted cavorted alongside them and the battle seemed to have been completely forgotten. Ernest cast an eye around for Lord Aldor, but even he seemed to have given up and retreated to his citadel.

A cluster of children formed around Milli and Ernest and began a celebratory game of Ring a Ring o’ Roses. As they danced they chanted the nursey rhyme the popularity of which had remained impervious to the passing of time.

Ring a ring o’roses

A pocketful of posies

Atishoo! Atishoo!

We all fall down.

Picking up the daisies

Picking up the daisies

Atishoo! Atishoo!

We all stand up.

Milli saw that the faces of the twirling children were bright and lively despite all they had been through. Time seemed to stand still as the children moved like a wave, small hands clasped, hair streaming. They crouched low as they feigned sneezes, then leapt up again—but as they rose a skeletal claw stretched out of the sky and snatched at them. The children screamed and scrambled to avoid the huge hand, but it was not them it wanted.

Milli struggled and kicked against the grip on the leather belt around her tunic. It was lifting her off the ground when Ernest niftily unbuckled it and helped her wriggle free.

A face formed in the clouds above and now Lord Aldor’s eyes bore into them, two bottomless red pits on a stony face. His grey lips retracted to reveal pointed front teeth like fangs and his mouth foamed in rage.

Suddenly, Fidelis was next to them. She stared unflinchingly into the cruel eyes.

‘You have no power over me, Fada Queen,’ the wizard scorned.

‘Be gone, Aldor, there is nothing for you here,’ said Fidelis, standing her ground.

‘I beg to differ,’ the wintry voice replied.

An electrical current flashed through the air and knocked Fidelis to the ground, winding her. Again the withered hand came towards them and this time it caught Milli’s bare arm in its grasp.

‘Game over,’ mocked the voice as Milli’s feet lifted clean off the ground.

‘Hang on to her! Don’t let go!’ shouted Ernest, and the children rallied to Milli, grabbling her feet and pulling her back to earth. A tug of war ensued, with Milli rising several inches into the air and the children hauling her back down.

‘On the count of three, pull really hard!’ shouted Ernest. ‘One, two, three!’

They pulled so hard that they dragged not only Milli but also the wizard into their midst. Aldor released Milli and teetered an instant before preparing to levitate again. But an instant was long enough for Ernest to grab his free hand and immobilise the deadly pinkie.

Lord Aldor’s hand was as cold as the Arctic but Ernest held on fast. Suddenly Fidelis was on her feet and looking directly at the children as the sweet notes of her voice filled the air. ‘Ring a ring o’roses,’ the queen sang invitingly. Quickly catching on, the children re-formed into a circle and threw themselves into the game with renewed vigour. Lord Aldor was carried along by the crowd, Ernest still clasping one hand and Milli the other. The magician hissed like a snake and tried to shake free but his strength appeared to be failing. It seemed to Milli that the warmth from her hand was spreading into the icy one she held.

The children sang, skipped, spun and chanted and the merriment returned to their faces. Lord Aldor turned as green as his jade citadel. He lurched and swayed and looked as if he was going to retch. The laughter of so many children roared through his head like an express train. The heat of their bodies seeped into him like a poison. Villains are not designed for play, and if forced to participate it unhinges them so they become too confused to retaliate. Villains spend their times plotting and scheming and thrive on wicked thoughts. Youthful exuberance does not agree with them, and right now it was drinking up Lord Aldor’s power like a desiccated sponge.

Milli watched in horror as the hand she held crinkled up like a leaf in autumn and a finger broke off. It dropped like a stone to the ground and lay at her feet, pale and wriggling. The knuckle from where it had detached was jagged like broken glass, as if Lord Aldor was merely a shell, and inside as hollow as a tambourine.

Ernest almost jumped out of his skin when something separated from Lord Aldor’s head and landed on his shoulder. It was a waxy ear! With a squeal Ernest flicked the offensive appendage to the ground.

The children’s fear turned to fascination as Aldor’s extremities continued to detach as if he were decomposing before their very eyes. The magician was bent over like an old man, his face distorted.

‘This is not over,’ he spat as his left arm dropped off just below the elbow.

Fearsome as he normally was to the children, this last statement just did not ring true. Bits of Lord Aldor were dropping off all over the place. An entire leg fell to the ground still kicking. I have heard that a headless chicken will run about for several moments after being decapitated and that is precisely what happened to the magician. His limbs refused to accept that they had been separated from his body and thrashed about as if they were still part of the whole.

The remaining conjurors watched in stunned silence. Only a distraught Lampo rushed forward and hastily began to gather the scattered pieces of his Master.

‘Stop them!’ screamed Lord Aldor, who now existed only from the torso up. With a crunch, his neck became suddenly lopsided. ‘Do something!’ But the quivering Lampo could

only catch Aldor’s pocked nose before it hit the ground and tuck it safely into his breast pocket.

Very soon all that was left of the children’s captor was a jumble of body parts collected in a wheelbarrow that had previously held army supplies. As Lampo scurried away with Lord Aldor’s head cradled in his palms, the magician still could not be silenced.

‘You will see me whole again,’ the head ranted at Milli and Ernest.

‘I will be there when you least expect it. You will live to rue this day.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Just Desserts

Having come to her senses, the Contessa flung herself back into the litter which, unable to withstand the sudden strain, collapsed beneath her, along with its bearers. For once the accident sparked no reaction from her assistants, who just rolled their eyes and continued their conversation. Gummy Grumbleguts took this opportunity to saunter casually past the Contessa sprawled on the ground. There was an eruption of sound and volley of curses when the full brunt of his weapon took effect. Tangled in the wreckage of her litter, Bombasta could not even crawl to safety. Much thrashing and gurgling followed and the Contessa broke out in a sweat. With her nostrils flaring, she was spared no layer of the fetid and stomach-turning scent. Gummy grinned sheepishly at her.

‘You disgusting boy!’ she managed to say in between gasps.

‘What can I say—it’s a gift’ he shrugged.

The traitorous Muffy-Boo, unaccustomed to seeing his mistress in a discombobulated state (which you must agree is a wonderful word to indicate feeling out of sorts) trotted disdainfully over to Milli and Ernest, who immediately released him from the torture of the breastplate. Fidelis conjured him a dish of minced steak, which was a welcome relief after the diet of caviar and chicken liver pâté he had been fed for years.

The opportunistic Mr Ledger took advantage of Bombasta’s distracted state by sidling up to Fidelis and discreetly offering his services. As the slimy Ledger was busy marketing himself, the children saw the bull-sentinel snort and begin to paw the ground. A few moments later, a yelping Mr Ledger was sailing across the battlefield like a soccer ball. He was catapulted almost as far as the Wood of Tartar where some clowns in lab coats found him calculating how much he could claim in damages.

In due course Fidelis saw fit to release Oslo from the enchantment. The gladiator had traded making daisy chains for a game of Patter Cakes with Harrietta Hapless and now stared around him in a dazed sort of way before looking extremely embarrassed. He made a growling sound at Milli and Ernest before whistling for his stallion, Fiend, and galloping away, presumably to find new troops to torment.

The stragglers that remained traipsed miserably back to Rune to drown their sorrows at the Drunken Admiral. The children had the feeling that the power of the Fada would not be underestimated again in a hurry.

Nonna Luna was the last person to scuttle across to the Queen on her stumpy legs, wheeling her precious cart and tugging a mulish Lampo by the ear. They were both warmly welcomed by the Fada, whom Nonna immediately pronounced (with a solicitous shaking of her head) as seriously undernourished or, to use her words, ‘very, very skinny’. Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to pack a basket of her plaited milk biscuits, one of which was substantial enough to constitute a meal for a fairy, and promised she would have them fattened up in no time.

A great weight lifted from everyone’s minds as they stepped through the shimmering gates of Mirth. For a moment each child was rid of their memories of Battalion Minor and the hardships endured there. When their recollections did return, they felt lighter and less troubled by them.

Milli struggled to believe all they had been through was real. She thought her last adventure to the Shreckal Caverns to save the shadows had been enough to go through. Now she could claim not only to have visited another world but also to have fought alongside fairies to preserve childhood and all it encompassed. Like the others, all Milli wanted at that moment was the freedom to laugh and be a child again. Battalion Minor may have tested them but it had not succeeded in crushing them. With the Fada’s help they had managed to remain true to themselves even when faced with the prospect of annihilation. This was an important lesson. They knew now that life without nonsense and play could not be much of a life at all. Milli, herself, decided to safeguard her imagination against any future assaults. The consequences of losing it were just far too dire.

Ernest was engaged in similar thoughts. After Battalion Minor he would never think of his home as regimented again. In fact, he missed the structure and safety of it. If there was one thing he had learned during his visit to the Conjurors’ Realm it was that he was not quite ready for independence. It had never occurred to him before to consider the vulnerability of children. What would be the long-term effects on those that had seen too much for their young years? Would they ever look at games in the same way again? How long would it take before their dreams were no longer troubled and would they approach all new experiences with fear and mistrust? Innocence once lost could not be re-captured. He looked across and exchanged glances with Milli. They both knew that after this last episode, there would not be much they could not tackle together.

Although there might be disquiet in the Conjurors’ Realm again, Milli and Ernest felt that the province of Mirth was at least safe for the time being and, therefore, so too was the world of boys and girls. As for the twins, for the first time Finn’s scowl had disappeared and Fennel’s eyes were not watchful or afraid. No longer slaves of the Lampo Circus, the twins had been given choice for the first time in their lives. They had never had the freedom to decide even the smallest of things like what to wear or eat, and were very much looking forward to it. Perhaps with the help of their new friends they would be able to put past sadness behind them.

While they contemplated their future, the twins could not know that Milli had already decided she could not possibly leave them behind. They must come with them to Drabville where children were valued and protected. They could visit Peppercorn Place and see if they liked it.

To commemorate their victory over Lord Aldor, a sumptuous feast was prepared for the children at the toadstool palace. It needed only a flourish of Fidelis’s wand for them to find themselves bathed and changed into clean clothes. They were seated at tables laden with each child’s favourite treats. When they had all eaten their fill and were on the dance floor learning the steps of a fairy jig, Milli chanced to look outside where she spied a fleet of carriages made of upturned mushrooms, high in the clouds. They had silky interiors and at the end of each stalk was a spinning silver propeller. Milli guessed this was to be their transport home.

As she stood to watch the carriages land, a girl with violet eyes approached her. She was followed by a handful of the youngest children in the group. They looked up at Milli, expectation on their faces.

‘That was a good game,’ the girl observed.

‘We gave the dragon cough medicine but he didn’t like it,’ her friend said with the air of someone delivering vital information.

‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ Milli agreed.

‘Is the game over now?’ the first child persisted.

‘It is,’ replied Milli with a certainty she had not felt in some time, ‘and congratulations—we won.’

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to everyone at HarperCollins for their continued advice and support, and a special thanks to Jenny Grigg whose original designs make the text come alive.

Thanks to my Ethics teacher, Marianne Hale, for her passion and for broadening my view of the world.

Love to Cousin Thomas for continually providing me with new material simply by being himself, and to Auntie Ida for our regular and therapeutic gossip sesssions.

Thanks to Muffy-Boo for being a substitute sibling as well as my luck-dragon.

Thanks to special friends: Nathaniel Hiscock, Miffy Thewlis, Julian Lynch and Emma Bates for accepting me ‘warts and all’.

Lastly, thanks must go to all the young readers I have met for their support and enthusiasm. They have provided me with the incentive to keep writing.

About The Author

Alexandra EmilyAdornetto lives in Melbourne and is an only child. She has loved stories for as long as she can remember. Her family includes a three-legged cat called Rosie-Mittens, and a spaniel, Muffy-Boo, who features in this very book!

The Shadow Thief, the first book in The Strangest Adventures series, was written when she was thirteen years old and inspired by J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.

Alexandra is currently completing Year I I at school where she is focusing on subjects such as Literature, History and Religion and Society. She is also a keen debater and performer. Whatever career Alexandra pursues in the future, she hopes to continue writing books for children.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Praise for The Shadow Thief

‘Clearly [Adornetto] is already an Australian
literary phenomenon…to read The Shadow
Thief is to be thrust into a fast-moving plot full
of menace and thrills, amply seeded with a
magnificently precocious vocabulary.’

The Courier Mail

‘…an impressive debut…a wonderful fantasy
story, full of adventure and scary,
dark shadows.’

The Australian Women’s Weekly

‘…a fantastic achievement…’

The Sunday Age

‘…a comic fantasy full of magic.’
The Sydney Morning Herald

‘You will be hooked by Alex’s sparkling dialogue and witty perceptive insights…’

The Toowoomba Chronicle

Copyright

Angus & Robertson

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia

First published in Australia in 2008

This edition published in 2010

by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Ltd

ABN 36 009 913 517

www.harpercollins.com.au

Copyright © Alexandra Adornetto 2008

The right of Alexandra Adornetto to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

This work is copyright.

Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copies scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

HarperCollinsPublishers

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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Author: Adornetto, Alexandra

Title:The lampo circus / author, Alexandra Adornetto.

Publisher: Pymble, N.S.W.: Harper Collins, 2008.

ISBN 978 0 7322 8619 4 (hbk.)

ISBN 978 0 7304 0091 2 (Epub)

Series: Adornetto, Alexandra. Strangest adventures.

Dewey Number:A823.4

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