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  ‘I will openly challenge anyone who rumours otherwise,’ he announced.

  Just then, the crowd parted and a figure familiar to Sir Peacealot appeared. The midnight blue cloak with its gold and silver runes shimmering in the material gave presence to the unmistakable features of Gizmo, wizard of the realm. He was not a tall person but those close to him seemed to diminish in size as he passed by them. His silver hair was pulled back into a long pony tail which curled around his neck and was plaited with symbols, ciphers and charms. A silver beard was similarly plaited and a trim moustache framed his beaming smile.

  ‘So, you did survive! I knew it, I knew it,’ he said, his face joyful with pleasure. ‘That old hag was no match for my Magik. I kept telling them. He’ll be back, sooner or later and, well, here you are. I might have expected it to be sooner. What’s taken you so long?’

  Sir Peacealot opened his mouth to explain when the wizard cut him off.

  ‘No matter, no matter. Show me the boy,’ he said eagerly.

  Chris peered out slightly in awe from behind Sir Peacealot.

  ‘A real live Wizard,’ he thought. ‘I wonder what he wants with me?’

  ‘Come out boy, come out and let me see you properly, I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you,’ said Gizmo.

  ‘I can’t believe that you’ve been expecting me,’ said Chris curiously as he stepped out from behind Sir Peacealot.

  ‘We’ve all been expecting you,’ said the wizard, gesturing with his arms.

  ‘Everyone?’ said Sir Peacealot.

  ‘Well, those of us with the foresight,’ corrected the wizard. ‘But more of that later. Now let me take a good look at you boy.’

  He caught hold of Chris by the shoulders and stared intently into his eyes and his ears.

  ‘Open your mouth,’ he ordered.

  Chris was so shocked at the command that he obeyed immediately. Gizmo peered in. ‘Hmmm,’ he murmured. Then he turned Chris around in a circle, felt for the muscles on his arms and stood back.

  ‘You’re not very tall, are you?’ observed the wizard, a finger crooked across his chin.

  Now, Chris had always been aware of his short stature. In fact the bullies and spiteful individuals at school regularly reminded him of it. That made Chris quite defensive about it. So it was no surprise that he blurted out, ‘You can talk, have you looked in a mirror lately?’

  The wizard’s face changed as his skin’s pallor darkened, his eyes glowed ice white. The sun disappeared behind a cloud that materialised from nowhere and a rough breeze swirled around them. A roll of thunder shook the ground and Chris noticed that even Sir Peacealot had stepped a little away from him.

  The wizard seemed to grow in front of Chris. Two metres, three metres, four metres, towering over him.

  ‘Am I not great in stature now?’ boomed Gizmo.

  Chris stood still with his mouth open, looking up, as the echo of the wizard’s voice rumbled into the distance. Then for a moment there was silence and no one dared to move.

  ‘Chirrup! Chirrup!’ came the sound from Chris’s pocket. ‘Chirrup! Chirrup!’ It sounded again with some urgency.

  Not taking his eyes off the wizard, Chris put his hand into his pocket and retrieved the object.

  ‘My Tamagotchi,’ explained Chris, holding out the blue plastic toy while it continued to chirrup its little tune. Chris glanced at the display. ‘It’s hungry and I need to feed it,’ he said, as the tune became more erratic and insistent. ‘I’ve got to feed it or it will get sick and die, this is tenth generation and I don’t want that to happen.’

  ‘What wonder is this?’ enquired Gizmo as curiosity broke the spell and he shrank to his normal size, the pleasant sunny day returning as if nothing had happened.

  ‘A Tamagotchi,’ repeated Chris. ‘It’s an electronic toy.’ He turned the screen towards Gizmo as he proceeded to study the little screen and press the appropriate buttons, the Tamagotchi beeping and chirruping with approval.

  The wizard’s long slender hand reached out and curled itself over Chris’s hands and the toy. He turned his head to observe the king’s herald who was approaching, closely followed by a company of the royal guard.

  ‘Best hide this Magik and keep it quiet for now; there are those whose minds are not yet ready for such marvels and would use them for the wrong reasons. All in good time, you and I will discuss such things. But, for now, be discreet with this and any other wares you may have brought with you from your world.’

  ‘You mean, you know?’ gasped Chris.

  ‘I know many things concerning you my boy, and there are others who may share an insight to your coming and who would seize you for their wicked motives. The least you say to anyone for the moment the better. I don’t want either of you giving away any information.’ He glanced at Sir Peacealot. ‘Or even mentioning your name until I’ve had the chance to have a long talk with you myself.’

  Chris set his Tamagotchi on pause and put it into his pocket.

  ‘Sir Knight,’ commanded the Wizard. ‘Sheath your sword before it gets you into more trouble, stay close by my side until we are safely inside the royal court and don’t say anything until I tell you to. The same goes for you, boy,’ he said to Chris. ‘But obviously without the sword bit,’ he added as an after thought.

  The wizard turned and then everything seemed to move at breakneck speed. Suddenly, they were off, Chris and Sir Peacealot striding alongside the wizard who was shouting at soldiers and people alike, announcing the return of Sir Peacealot and commanding them to keep their distance lest he turn them all into sheep or toads or even a mixture of the two. (The latter threat having the greatest effect on even the most inquisitive individuals who dared to get too close.)

  Chris had no trouble keeping up with the two men; it was as if he was being carried along, his legs effortlessly striding forward. The royal guards, however, seemed to struggle with the pace, stumbling over the cobbled yard and tripping into each other in their efforts to keep up. The herald, keen to get in front so that he could be ready to announce them into the court, became sandwiched between two of the burly guards, his long trumpet becoming entangled with his tabard.

  By the time they had all reached the tall wooden doors of the throne room, every guard was red-faced and distinctly out of breath. The herald was nowhere to be seen. Gizmo pulled at a strand of his silver hair and plucked it from his head. He let the strand fall towards the flagstone floor, and as it fell it thickened and lengthened until it formed a bright silver cane covered in strange patterns and carvings. Gizmo reached out and caught hold of the stick as it hovered before him.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ he announced. ‘Now let’s have some fun, shall we?’

  4

  Don’t Look Down

  The giant wooden doors arced open effortlessly to the movement of Gizmo’s hand and the babble of the crowded court receded as heads turned in expectation of Sir Peacealot’s return. To Chris, everything seemed just how he imagined a king’s court to be from pictures and descriptions in history books. Before him was a great circular room with tall stone arches and pillars supporting the wooden struts and beams of the roof. Multi-coloured banners and tapestries hung from the walls.

  What light could enter, streaked down from the high stone windows, dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight and grey smoke drifted in the air from the burning braziers and the hanging iron chandeliers which were alight with hundreds of yellow wax candles. Birds fluttered in the eaves and shadows teased themselves around the walls. The floor was strewn with straw and Chris could see glimpses of the flagstones exposed in random patches.

  They strode forwards through the gathered ensemble of colourful individuals. Knights, squires, courtiers, guards and ladies in waiting all filled the court, and Chris even spotted what he thought was a gaudily clothed jester, sitting amongst four or five very large black dogs grouped at the base of one of the stone pillars.

  Gizmo brought them to a halt a short distance from some rising step
s where two more large dogs lounged, their pointed ears alert for any untoward movement and their sharp, ivory fangs just visible through their partly open pink mouths.

  In front of them, an enormous blue tapestry hung against the far wall from ceiling to floor. At its centre was embroidered a giant, blazing, golden sun. Sitting in front of this, on a carved wooden throne that was raised up on a dais, was unmistakably the king, resplendent in a blue tunic and leggings braided with gold and silver, a simple gold band with lettering engraved around it adorning his head.

  His careworn face carried the lines of responsibility rather than of age and was framed by greying shoulder-length hair. Either side of his throne stood two knights. The one to the right was wearing armour that seemed to be dark crimson in colour. The candlelight reflected oranges and reds on the steel suit so that flames danced and flickered across the metal. The wearer had a round and pleasant face and his hair was a striking shade of light brown. Chris thought that his skin looked tanned, as if he had spent much time in the sun.

  Chris’s eyes moved to the other knight, who up until then had been turned to one side, speaking to one of the guards. The figure now faced Chris and he nearly gasped with surprise, for there, dressed in a suit of white, steel armour was a woman, her thick black hair in contrast cascading over her shoulders like a long mane. She was now examining Chris intently with her strange, smoke-grey eyes.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ announced Gizmo. ‘I present to you, your noble knight, long thought lost to us but now returned victorious, Sir Percival Peacealot and his new squire enlisted from foreign lands.’

  He bowed and stepped to one side. Sir Peacealot knelt on one knee and lowered his head before the king. Chris was brought to his senses with a sharp jab in the side from Gizmo who gestured for him to follow suit. He did as he was told and his knee connected with the stone floor with a thump.

  ‘Trust me to find a gap in the straw,’ he thought.

  Nothing immediate seemed to happen and Chris wondered whether he should look up when two leatherclad feet appeared on the stone steps before him.

  ‘Arise my knight,’ said the voice above him. ‘It was thought that your presence would never be seen again, our hopes for your safe return have only been encouraged by the Wizard Gizmo and we have waited many months for this day.’

  From the corner of his eye Chris saw Sir Peacealot stand and wondered if he should do the same. As if reading his thoughts, Gizmo whispered to him.

  ‘Wait your turn, you’ll know when.’

  Chris knelt there while the king made a speech to the court celebrating Sir Peacealot’s return and a sharp pain jabbed in his knee and started to spread pins and needles down his leg.

  ‘Oh great,’ he thought, ‘just what I need.’ He tried to shift his weight but this only sent more sharp pains down his leg. In desperation he slowly reached down and grabbed a wad of straw. He lifted his knee, gritting his teeth at the pain and, as quick as he dared, he slid the small clump under his knee. Immediately he felt relief, the softness cushioning the floor. Just as he was congratulating himself for being so clever, the smell hit his nostrils. It was unmistakable.

  ‘Dog poo!’ he grimaced to himself as he felt the dampness soaking into his combats and he realised too late what the straw was strewn around for. Things were just about to get worse.

  ‘Arise young squire and present yourself to the king,’ came Sir Peacealot’s voice.

  Chris hesitated but was then persuaded to stand by another poke from Gizmo’s silver cane. Chris stood up and the clump of straw and dog muck defiantly remained attached to his leg. He felt that everyone in the court was looking at it with disgust. He reached down self-consciously to brush the offending lump off but to his horror it detached itself from his leg and stuck to his hand. He shook his hand but to no avail, it wouldn’t shift. It clung to him like a troublesome, sticky toffee paper. He stood there going redder and redder with a damp patch on one knee and a smelly lump of straw and dogs mess on his hand. He just wanted to disappear.

  Thankfully, the next best thing happened and Gizmo came to his rescue. With a touch of his silver cane the lump evaporated in a puff of smoke and the patch on his combats faded, though unfortunately the smell remained!

  ‘What strange attire,’ observed the king, taking a step backwards as the offending smell reached his nostrils. ‘I’m sure we have much to hear from you but first we must know your name.’

  Chris opened his mouth to introduce himself but all that came out was, ‘Blurble, blurble, piffle wick!’

  There were several gasps from the court.

  The king leaned forward. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Blibble, pobby blip sla, sla, slallop,’ stuttered Chris, totally confused as he could hear himself saying his name in his head but he also heard the gibberish escaping from his mouth.

  Murmurs now started to surface from several corners of the great hall.

  ‘Sir knight, explain,’ demanded the king.

  Sir Peacealot opened his mouth, looked at Gizmo and closed it again.

  ‘If I may explain, my king,’ interjected the wizard, moving forward. ‘The boy is from a region vastly unexplored and rarely visited by outsiders. Their language is a complicated one to such a point that I will need some time alone with him to successfully cast a speech spell to convert his tongue to ours.’

  The king looked down at Chris. Chris smiled back weakly. The king looked at Sir Peacealot.

  ‘How have you managed to talk with the boy?’ he asked.

  ‘Sign language,’ blurted out Sir Peacealot. ‘And hand signals,’ he added, waving his arms wildly for good measure.

  Gizmo looked skywards in disbelief.

  ‘Well, demonstrate for us now so that we at least can exchange names,’ commanded the king.

  Gizmo moved forward. ‘If I may have a private word, my king?’

  The king nodded his approval and Gizmo leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said the king briskly, stepping further back from Chris and Sir Peacealot. He turned and addressed the gathered crowd.

  ‘Sir Peacealot and his squire have journeyed long to reach us and no doubt have many tales to share, however I feel it would be wise to give them time to recover from their travels before we put them to the court’s questioning. I myself am tired from the day’s events and therefore I declare this gathering at an end until tomorrow when we shall have all manner of festivity to celebrate our brave knight’s return. Clear the court.’

  Amidst much mumbling and some gentle protesting, the royal guards ushered the crowd through the big doors and out of the room. The king and the two knights left the dais and disappeared through a gap in the tapestry which hung behind the throne.

  Gizmo beckoned Sir Peacealot and Chris to him.

  ‘What did you say to the king?’ asked Sir Peacealot.

  ‘I told him that you may be infected with a sickness spell and that it was best for me to cleanse you both before you had any further contact with him.’

  They both stared back at him accusingly.

  ‘Well, it worked, didn’t it? Now let’s move on, shall we?’ he snapped. ‘Follow me and don’t stray,’ he said as he touched one of the large stone pillars with his silver cane. Silently, granite blocks slid aside and a rough, door-shaped opening appeared. Gizmo stepped into the darkness.

  His voice echoed from the shadows. ‘Come on, don’t just stand there gawping.’

  Chris followed the wizard with Sir Peacealot close behind.

  ‘Hold tight and don’t look down,’ ordered the wizard as the stone pillar closed in front of them and they were bathed in a grey, eerie light. There was a rushing of air from below them and Chris looked down in horror to see that there was no floor. They were suspended on a thin grey vapour and he could see the stone pillar walls dropping below them into lost darkness.

  ‘Crikey!’ he yelped, grabbing hold of the wizard’s cloak.

  ‘I told you not to look down,’ growle
d Gizmo, and Chris closed his eyes.

  Then with a start, they were lifted on a soft cushion of air, their clothes billowing around them as they travelled upwards. Chris thought he saw a flickering of coloured lights through his eyelids and so he opened his eyes. The stone wall was inches from his face as it raced past at an incredible speed, flickering and flashing colours as if it were a fairground ride. Looking up he saw nothing but blackness. He glanced to his left at Sir Peacealot who was also staring up, the colours dancing across his face. The knight smiled down at Chris.

  ‘Here comes the bit that I like,’ he grinned.

  ‘You mean there’s more?’ asked Chris.

  The wizard reached out and touched the wall with his silver cane and the wall became a curtain of mist.

  ‘Get ready to step forward,’ he instructed Chris.

  ‘You have got to be joking,’ yelled Chris. ‘Haven’t you noticed that there’s nowhere to go to?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sir Peacealot. ‘That’s the fun in it.’

  ‘Now, one, two, three, step!’ commanded the wizard.

  Once again, Chris closed his eyes and hung on to Gizmo’s cloak, for good measure he also grabbed Sir Peacealot’s arm, then he stepped forward with them. It was like walking through a veil of thin material and as it passed across his face, Chris realised he was again standing on something solid. Slowly, he opened his eyes. It was amazing; they were standing on a stone balcony overlooking an enormous circular room with a high, domed ceiling.

  ‘Where are we?’ he asked in wonder.

  ‘The wizard’s private apartments. Very few have had the privilege of visiting them,’ said Sir Peacealot.

  Chris stepped forward to grasp a thick iron railing. Spread below him was a vast space comprising a confusing mixture of apparatus and objects.