Continuing last week’s stories which you can find here (Monday) and here (Wed).
Janet led the way to the open iron gates, Dragon at her shoulder, Fairy hovering above her head, and Pixie riding on Dragon. At the entrance, the friends paused.
‘Why is it so quiet?’ Fairy whispered. The daunting silence was enough to hush other voices.
Janet glanced at Dragon, who breathed a little fire and moved ahead of her. Janet let him.
At this time of the morning, the courtyard should be busy with people going about their tasks, pulling water from the well, carrying trays of loaves from the bakery to the dining rooms, bringing horses from the stables to exercise them, dragging sacks of grain for the chickens about to be freed from their overnight sanctuary. Boys and girls shouting on their way to lessons, teachers with books in their arms looking stern.
Instead, a foreboding emptiness prevailed.
The four walked slowly across the deserted space until they reached the well. With her back to its solid stone, Janet surveyed the cloistered walkway. With a start, she saw every door was open.
‘Some evil has come here,’ she said.
Fairy landed lightly on Janet’s shoulder. ‘An evil whose presence still hangs in the air.’ She turned to the Dragon. ‘Look at poor Pixie.’
Pixie was huddled into Dragon’s neck, sobbing his heart out. When Janet reached out to comfort him, he turned his tear-streaked face to her. ‘We have to leave,’ he said.
Janet shook her head. ‘Not until I find out where everyone is and what’s happened.’
‘We won’t find the answers here.’ Pixie drew himself up straight and dried his eyes on the sleeve of his green jacket. ‘See, there.’ He pointed to the far side of the square where an arched gate – also wide open – appeared to lead outside the walls.
Dragon was already on his way to the gate. Janet followed, holding her sword high, ready for the kind of surprise attack the goblin king used to spring on her. She stopped in the gateway, gazing along a narrow path between winter-bare trees where fresh snow glistened in the morning sun. Two sets of huge footprints – one leading into the castle, the other leading out – marked the snowy track.
‘Here,’ Fairy said, fluttering before a piece of parchment pinned to the wall with a giant iron nail.
‘Take this path and cross two bridges.’ The note was written in a crooked hand, as if the writer was unused to words.
‘Let’s go.’ Janet sheathed her sword, adjusted her crown and stepped onto the path.
Continued here
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TAKE THIS PATH AND FOLLOW IT ACROSS TWO BRIDGES
Sir Thumpalot was tired – and lost. He had been travelling constantly for two days to reach King Arthur’s castle Camelot and had to admit he had no idea where he was.
His trusty steed Backstrap was desperately in need of rest and food and water before he totally collapsed.
A fool’s errand, this, thought Sir Thumpalot. I should never have agreed to it.
But when one of King Arthur’s leading knights Sir Lancelot had approached him in his home village of Leewich with a plea to help fight the invading Anglo-Saxon hordes from Europe – the latest threat to peace in 5th century post-Roman Britain – it was difficult to say no.
“Forsooth, Sir Knight,” pleaded Sir Lancelot. “King Arthur has even promised to make you part of the legendary Round Table coterie in exchange for your services.”
What knight in his right mind could resist that carrot? Certainly not Sir Thumpalot.
So, without further ado, he climbed aboard his favourite battle charger and headed in the direction of Camelot.
Thumpalot knew it to be quite a distance to the king’s castle and the lousy winter weather had not helped one bit.
Sleet and snow had impeded his progress at every turn and now, here he was, exhausted, hungry and totally lost.
As he rounded a bend in the road, Thumpalot spied a peasant labouring under a heavy hay bale slung across his shoulders.
“Hold up, knave,” he cried out. “I need your help in finding my way to Camelot. You wouldn’t be able to help with directions, by any chance?”
The man paused and wearily looked up at the figure towering above him, Backstrap’s warm breath suspended in the moist, foggy morning.
“Aye, Sir Knight,” the peasant responded. “Take this path,” pointing to a track through the brush to the right, “and follow it across two bridges. Ye will come to a clearing and beyond that is the castle ye seek.”
And without another word, the man continued slowly on his way.
Thumpalot thanked the receding figure as he swung Backstrap in the direction indicated. The going was not easy, impeded as he was by thick undergrowth and low-lying tree branches.
Eventually, he spotted the first bridge and, dismounting, tested his weight on the first plank before carefully proceeding.
The second bridge was about a mile further on but snow had begun falling obliterating the surrounding the countryside and making it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of him.
To be continued….
Sir Thumpalot! Ha! Hope he gets there
This is becoming very intriguing. I am dying to find out what happens 😀
Me too – and I haven’t much time left to decide.