Deep Amber (15 page)

“In league with the authorities,” he explained, tapping one finger on his nose meaningfully.
“Would have betrayed us all, no question. What can you expect of people who shove nasty pills down your throat and make you take a bath every day?”

Norah Jones, eighty-four, took the key from him and dropped it down the front of her dress with a wink. She hadn't had so much fun since the day a whole group of them had escaped during a fire drill. They had spent several hours at the local fun fair before they'd been rounded up and returned to the home in disgrace. She rather thought they'd get in even more trouble this time, but she didn't really care. As she said to her friend, Ermintrude, Sir Bedwyr might be as mad as a bag of frogs, but he had lovely eyes. And it was a lot more exciting preparing for battle than for hot milk and biscuits before bed.

Cat explained the plan as they set off down the road to the bus stop. Albert would use the sword to open a portal back to Roland Castle. Then Sir Bedwyr just had to be rounded up and persuaded to charge through it with his horse and that was that. End of problem, according to Albert. Although there was still the amber to
worry about, and the rift to shut down – but first things first, he'd said.

Great-Aunt Irene had insisted on coming with them, which meant the box with the amber had had to come too, since she was still magically bound to it. Cat had the box in her rucksack. As soon as she'd seen the amber, Cat had had a strong desire to hold it. But she was wary of getting scorched fingers like Jem, and after he'd reluctantly put the jewel back, she had just carefully shut the box and stuffed it in her rucksack without touching the amber at all.

Simon, meanwhile, had wrapped the sword in a bath towel, and then put it in a black bin liner. It wasn't very dignified, keeping it in a bin bag, he thought, but he still felt absurdly happy carrying it. He could feel the faint buzz of magic from it, even through the towel, and it gave his arm a tingling feeling of excitement.

He glanced over at Cat. They hadn't really had a chance to talk, what with the others milling around, and the need to get to Albert as quickly as possible. He wondered if she was feeling the same mixture of confusion and excitement as he was. The ghost of Great-Aunt Irene – what was
that
about? Part of him felt as if he was just in a dream. And yet there was another part of him that felt as if it was everything
else
that had been a dream – their life before the sword appeared. This tingle of magic in his arm, and the talk of other worlds, rifts, deep amber and knights – he was sure it was all connected to his dad, and right now it felt more real and important than anything Simon could remember.

They made an odd assortment, marching down the road to the bus stop – Jem and Dora in their odd clothes, Simon with his bin bag, and Cat anxiously turning around at regular intervals to make sure the now almost invisible Great-Aunt Irene was still floating along behind them. The bus driver looked a little suspiciously at Simon's package, but he let them on, and it wasn't long before they had been deposited on the outskirts of town, a few minutes' walk from the main entrance to Sunset Court.

As the bus roared off, the nearby undergrowth rustled, and Albert emerged from behind a large tree.

“Excellent!” he said. “All of you. Hopefully we can get everyone sent off home together.
And – my sainted eyebrows! Is that your great-aunt you've got with you?!”

There was a whisper of wind, as the ghost of Great-Aunt Irene swooped rapidly behind Cat and gave an embarrassed cough.

“Albert!” she said, in a rather mortified tone. “I hoped you wouldn't notice. I'm not really fit to be seen. I'm extremely… transparent. Most regrettably, I seem to be stuck here with the amber until we can find a way to pass it on.”

Albert grinned and bowed in Great-Aunt Irene's general direction. “Well, I have to say, I'm not altogether surprised. I always thought you might be an heir. And when all those objects started going back and forth in the house, it seemed pretty clear there was amber there somewhere…” He stopped, and glanced quickly at Cat's rucksack. “So does that mean you've brought it along? The amber?”

She nodded.

He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “Might complicate matters. But I suppose you couldn't just leave it there.” He glanced across at Great-Aunt Irene. “If you wouldn't mind just getting back in the box with it for the moment,” he said,
rather apologetically, “it might be safer all round.”

She drew herself up, haughtily, looking as if she were going to object, but then reluctantly nodded. “As you say, Albert. It might be safest.” She shimmered, then a stream of silvery dust flowed into Cat's rucksack and she was gone.

“Right,” said Albert, looking round at them all. “First thing to do is get hold of that idiot and his horse.”

Chapter Sixteen

It was several hours after Sir Bedwyr disappeared that the Druid got to hear about it. Sol the butcher's boy had seen him ride into a patch of nothingness, and had spent most of the day regaling the castle servants with the tale before he thought to tell the Druid.

“You saw him disappear?' said the Druid sternly. “And you didn't come and tell me about it
at once
?”

Sol looked petrified. He had once been discovered keeping pet frogs in one of the Druid's cauldrons, and had spent a week with pink hair and green skin as a punishment. To say nothing of having to scour clean every cauldron in the castle. Since then he'd avoided the Druid whenever possible.

“Um… sorry. I didn't think… I wasn't sure. It was from a distance.”

“Where, and when?”

“This morning, I was out checking traps in the meadow. He was trotting back towards the castle and then he just… vanished. Winked out. I wasn't sure if it was magic, or if a bit of the sun got in my eyes.”

The Druid held Sol's gaze for a few moments, and then sighed.

“Go away, idiot boy. But next time something like this happens, tell someone who might be able to do something about it, not your good-for-nothing friends.”

Sol escaped rapidly and the Druid headed for his chambers, looking worried. As he opened the door, he spotted a blue caterpillar curled up asleep on his window ledge.

“Ah,” said the caterpillar, waking up as the Druid strode over. “You're back. Good.”

“Caractacus,” said the Druid, looking taken aback. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, let's see,” said the caterpillar, ticking each point off on one of his many legs. “There's the three objects, possibly more, that have fallen
through to this side over the last few days. There's the sword. That went the other way around the same time. And then there's the rather large knight and horse that seem to have crossed over just this morning – causing no end of havoc, according to Albert. It all adds up to a piece of deep amber that needs dealing with, immediately.”

The Druid threw himself into a large carved oak chair with an exasperated expression. “I know!” he said. “But I can't go back. I promised I wouldn't interfere. I did send Jem and Dora with a message for Ravenglass and the queen. And I made sure they went through the forest, so you'd know as well. Why hasn't someone dealt with it?”

“Well, Albert's doing his best,” said Caractacus. “But Smith and Jones are involved. And Lord Ravenglass is up to something. The forest would like to send another agent.”

He looked hard at the Druid.

“But I quit!” said the Druid. “Years ago.”

“Hmm,” said Caractacus. “And I retired. Not that you'd know it. They never stop sending me to sort things out.”

The Druid held his head in his hands for a moment, and then stood up. It was no good.
He'd tried very hard not to get involved. He'd tried to keep his promise. But it seemed that no one was just going to get on and deal with that amber. The rift was getting bigger, and now it had dragged Sir Bedwyr across. The Druid sighed. Caractacus was right. He would just have to go himself.

He opened a small drawer in the cupboard opposite, and took out a small, carefully wrapped packet. He gently removed the wrapping. Nestling in the folds of fine parchment was a small, rectangular piece of orange and yellow card. On it were printed the words:
CHEAP DAY RETURN, LONDON TO BASINGSTOKE
. The Druid made a series of complicated hand manoeuvres over the card, said the words of the portal spell, then carefully stepped through the swirling white mist that appeared in his room, into the grey dusk of a deserted railway-station platform.

Sunset Court was prepared for battle. Colonel Fairfax had doled out garden forks and shovels and a number of particularly heavy brass lampstands to the eager troops. Sir Bedwyr had levered a long, straight piece of heating pipe off
the wall with one of the shovels, and hefted it experimentally in his hand.

“Perfect,” he said, handing it to Colonel Fairfax. “Just the weight and balance of a good broadsword.”

Then the residents had constructed a number of booby traps, and settled down in the hall to wait for action.

It wasn't long in coming. Mrs Allsop, the matron, had not been at the management meeting on the second floor. She had been at the local garden centre, putting in an order for twelve tubs of geraniums to brighten up the patio. When she returned, she was extremely surprised to find a whole pile of the care home's furniture stacked in the middle of the driveway, preventing her Fiat Panda from getting further than halfway to the house. There also appeared to be a white horse wandering around the grounds.

She marched up to the front door, and opened it crossly, calling out for her deputy to come and see about the mess on the driveway, and the strange horse. But she wasn't more than two steps inside the door before a whole bucket of water tipped down on her head from the balcony above
the entrance hallway, and a knight in armour approached her waving a very long sword.

“Wha- wha- what?” gasped Mrs Allsop, trying to wipe the water out of her eyes, and back away at the same time. “What on earth's going on?”

“We are under siege,” said Sir Bedwyr. “Are you with us or against us?”

“Don't be ridiculous!” said the matron, sounding a good deal braver than she felt. She glanced past the knight at the massed residents of the home, with their shovels and forks and excited faces, and felt a twinge of doubt, but she tried not to let it show. “You must all stop this silly nonsense at once,” she said firmly. “Or I shall call the police!”

Albert Jemmet had noted the matron's approach. He decided to let her go in first, and see what happened. Gesturing to the others to follow him, he crept up to the front door, where he could hear Sir Bedwyr and the matron arguing loudly. As he hesitated, a shrill voice from one of the windows above the entrance shouted, “There's more of them! Intruders – at the front door – quickly!”

Albert shoved open the door and marched in purposefully. “Now then, all!” he said firmly. “Time to stop this little game. Sir Bedwyr – we've come to take you back to the kingdom.”

But his voice was lost in a general shout and crash as most of the residents hurled themselves down the long hallway, with Sir Bedwyr roaring over the top of them all, “Charge! For glory and freedom!”

Albert and the others all dived sideways through large open double doors, into what looked like the ballroom of the manor house, but now served as the residents' lounge. It was a long room with various sofas and armchairs dotted about, and a large Persian rug in the centre. Crashing after them through the double doors came several elderly warriors waving garden forks, a tall man with a white moustache wielding what looked like a large section of central-heating pipe, and a small but sprightly old lady waving an umbrella and shouting: “For England and your queen!” Behind them all charged Sir Bedwyr, waving his sword.

“Sir Bedwyr!” shouted Dora, as she dodged an old man with a shovel. “It's us! We're here to rescue you!”

Simon ducked behind an overstuffed armchair just as the man with the moustache brought the central-heating pipe crashing down exactly where his head had been a moment before. The chair sagged, but held firm, and the man raised the pipe for another go. Simon just managed to use the sword, still wrapped in its bin bag, to fend off the second blow.

Albert Jemmet was on the other side of the room, using a dining chair to keep off two residents with garden forks and Jem was pinned to the wall by the sprightly old lady, who was poking her umbrella into his middle. Dora had been chased behind a sofa. Luckily at that moment, Cat managed to throw herself at Sir Bedwyr's legs and rugby-tackle him to the ground, his sword flying out of his hand and halfway across the lounge. Albert Jemmet swept his chair sideways at his two assailants, and as they staggered into each other, he picked up the sword and waved it over his head.

“Enough!” he roared. “This stops NOW! We've come to get Sir Bedwyr and if we don't get him home very soon I wouldn't like to say what might happen.”