Chapter 8

The Crossing

As the story finishes, we step out of the trees onto a path made of neatly cut hexagonal stones. It runs directly across at a right angle to the rough path we’ve been walking on. On the other side, the trees lining it grow so close together there’s no way through. My fingers find the handle of my foil, grip it tightly.

Lodinitus, first King of the Fae once stood here feeling very different to the way I do now. He was scared, uncertain and lost. I’m brave, secure in my companions. I feel alive. It’s weird that one person can stand in exactly the same place as another and yet feel something so completely different.

Alice points off to our left, up the stone pathway. “Brad. Look!”

I turn so we’re stood shoulder to shoulder.

Just ahead is an arched bridge made of huge stones. And behind this a grey wall so high we can see nothing of the town beyond except little wisps of smoke that curl into the sky.

Angelmere.

My heart leaps with the thought of what waits behind those walls.

“Insanely cool,” Alice breaths.

The sound of water rushing over stone slowly fills my ears. The more I concentrate, the more intense it becomes – like someone’s turning up the volume. “Is that…?”

De Silva nods. “The River Angel, yes.”

As I listen to the river rush endlessly onwards, some strange regret takes hold of me. I turn away from Angelmere, away from where we’re headed and stare back down the dirt path through the woods: back the way we came.

Although I know it wasn’t really Josh I heard in the woods – know it was only the Kao tree and it’s dangerous spell – the whole thing still makes me feel like Josh is behind me now and that every step I take forwards is a step away from him.

And I don’t want that. I’ll never want that.

But if I go back down that path, I’ll find only an empty space where the door to my old life once stood, a clearing of memories and a dead woman who could not leave hers behind.

I take a deep breath, and everything wobbles inside me then settles. “Let’s go.”

De Silva clears his throat. “Not so fast.” He points down the road towards the bridge. “The entrance to Angelmere is guarded by one of the most fearsome, cunning, and downright ugly trolls ever to have graced the world. His name is Gunwaddle and he is King of The Lost and The Found.”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a silver coin. His has a different picture on it to ours, a woman in profile, her hair piled high on her head. It’s just a picture but even so it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. She looks so harsh, so unforgiving – a bit like Mrs Hickan, my old history teacher.

I’m about to ask who it is, when De Silva flips the coin in the air and catches it again. “This one is for Gunwaddle. Each person must pay their crossing with borrowed silver.”

I take the silver coin he gave to me earlier from my pocket. “Borrowed?”

“Yes.” De Silva raises his eyebrows and grins. “I borrowed it from an ogre.”

Alice holds the coin up. “This is the treasure you stole from King Humfdoodle, isn’t it?”

A small smile touches De Silva’s lips. “Very possibly. And stole is such an unpleasant word. I much prefer borrowed.”

I stare at the bridge. “How can you give it back if we give it away to this Gunwaddle, King of The Lost and Found?”

De Silva shrugs. “Never been one for details.” He wags a finger at me, eyes wide. “And never call Gunwaddle, King of The Lost and Found. He’s grumpy, even by troll standards. If you get his formal title wrong, he will eat you from the legs up. And while he’s eating you from the legs up, he will tell you over and over that he is not king of general rubbish that people have left lying around. He is King of THE Lost and THE Found.”

My stomach tightens. “The Lost and The Found,” I repeat, trying not to think about what it might be like to get eaten from the legs up.

De Silva slaps me on the shoulder. “Good job. Wouldn’t want you getting eaten for forgetting the word ‘THE’.” He makes little inverted commas in the air with his hand. “Sir Werdun?”

“Got it, Sir.”

De Silva rubs his hands together. “Well, let’s go say hello then.”

As we approach the bridge the rush of the River Angel becomes a roar; the water flowing fast and clear over the craggy, knife like rocks that surround the underside of the bridge. Sunlight streams down, glinting and bouncing off the water’s surface until the darkness beneath the bridge swallows it, then spits it back out on the other side.

When I was smaller, my favourite book was the Three Billy Goats Gruff. I loved the troll. His sharp teeth and yellow eyes; his cooking pot and knives. Mum used to tell me there were no monsters crouched under my bed waiting to get me. But the truth is, I half-liked being scared of the unknown.

De Silva steps forwards and knocks three times on the bridge with the handle of his sword.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Just cross over,” a miserable voice says from below. “I don’t care today.”

De Silva raps again, harder. “Come now, Oh King of The Lost and The Found. I’m not falling for that. Do you think De Silva some kind of amateur?”

There’s a scraping and muttering beneath the bridge before Gunwaddle’s head appears from behind the stones.

Even stood in full sunlight, I shiver at the sight of him.

Just like the picture in my old book, he’s got large yellow eyes full of hatred and a hooked nose with a gigantic hairy wart. His hair, like wire wool, stands straight up off his head, and one ear has the unmistakable sign of teeth marks in it.

I try not to stare. I fail.

“Go on,” he says. “Just cross over. Seriously. Myrtle has ran off with another troll. I’m just not in the mood for cursing, eating or enslaving.” He sniffs. “I mean, what’s the point?”

Alice’s voice wavers a little as she speaks. “I’m sorry to hear that Oh King of The Lost and The Found.”

“Well, well,” Gunwaddle sneers, suddenly cruel. “Who’s these polite little lunches you’ve brought me De Silva?” With a single leap, he’s on the bridge. My eyes widen. He’s huge. He must be like eight feet tall or something. “What’s to say I’ll let you in anyway?”

De Silva draws himself up. “You’ll do it because you are bound to. Myself, Sir Atkins and Sir Werdun have borrowed silver for you.”

Gunwaddle deflates like an old balloon. “Sirs are they? Hate knights I do. Tough and chewy.” He cracks his knuckles: a sound like popcorn in the microwave. “Well, get on with it. All persons must be stated before crossing.”

De Silva bows low. “Thank you oh gracious King of The Lost and The Found.”

Gunwaddle snorts. “Flattery will get you nowhere – except maybe inside my cooking pot.”

De Silva ignores him and waves the coin at us. “Listen carefully to the words I’m about to say. You must repeat them exactly but use your knightly name.” He points at Alice. “Sir Werdun.” He points at me. “Sir Atkins. Got it?”

Both me and Alice nod.

De Silva looks between us then holds up a finger. “The rhyme goes like this. Listen:

A coin of silver,

spinning round and round.

Makes payment,

to The King of The Lost and The Found.

Catch it now, and hold it near,

For Sir De Silva is on his way,

into Angelmere.”

He makes us repeat it three times each.

Gunwaddle calls out during the third time. “Get a word wrong, I dares you!”

Alice gives me a tight smile. “We got this.”

I swallow to settle the waves churning in my stomach. “Yeah. We got this.”

De Silva puts one foot onto the bridge and holds out the coin, balanced on his thumb and index finger. He repeats the rhyme in a loud voice and on the words ‘Catch it now’ flicks the coin through the air towards the troll.

Gunwaddle catches it in his filthy, dirty nailed hand. “In you go.” He flicks his head towards the town.

De Silva walks over the bridge, then turns and calls out, “Do as I did, and all will be well.”

Gunwaddle laughs, a great big booming belly laugh that chills my soul. “Or don’t and be my dinner guest. That’s a guest you eats for dinner!”

“You wanna go next?” Alice whispers.

My stomach back flips and I swallow. “Do you?”

She shakes her head.

I take the coin from my pocket, squeeze it tightly and run through the rhyme in my head one last time.

I’ve got this.

Putting a foot on the bridge I repeat the rhyme, flick the coin and finish with, “For Sir Atkins is on his way, into Angelmere.”

“In you go,” Gunwaddle snorts, staring at the coin in his hand. My heart rattling against my ribs I scurry across. As I pass, he mutters, “Hang on. Whassis?”

Without looking at him I keep going. The other side seems so far away, I’m sure the bridge wasn’t this big before.

“Wait!” Gunwaddle yells.

My whole body stiffens, freezing me to the spot.

His footsteps slap down on the stones behind me.

My eyes widen as his hand shoots in front of my face, holding the coin with the picture of Vestaharjle on it. The third finger of his left hand is missing: just a stump – his breath horribly hot on my neck. “I said, whassis?”

I squeeze the fear down into the bottom of my stomach. If fairy tales are true, I followed the ritual and should be safe. I swallow heavily and concentrate on keeping my voice firm. “Borrowed Silver.”

Gunwaddle walks round in front of me, blocking my way. His eyes narrow. “Borrowed from who? These is old coins. Not many around. And I knows someone who lost a chest full not too long ago.”

Humfdoodle. Heat rises in my cheeks.

Gunwaddle sticks his face closer to mine. His breath smells like my old maths teacher’s - smoky, bitter, and stale. “Is you a little thief? A dirty little thief?”

“I never…”

Gunwaddle’s voice is low and threatening. He leans in even closer, and it takes all my strength not to shrink away. “And what’s worse, King Humfdoodle has gone disappeared.”

My stomach twists. Disappeared?

Gunwaddle stares at the coin. “I heard he went to look for his stolen treasure chest. Him and all his followers left Hardmire Caves where they live and never returned. No one’s seen them since.”

My mind whirls. Surely Sir De Silva didn’t…My eyes flick to him. He’s staring at Gunwaddle, eyes narrowed, muscles tense – like a tiger about to pounce.

Surely one man can’t take on an army of ogres.

Gunwaddle follows my gaze, his head turning slowly towards De Silva. “The little sneak,” he whispers.

Alice starts her rhyme, her voice clear and strong.

Gunwaddle’s head snaps around and his eyes widen. It seems he can’t resist the pull of the words. He growls at the back of his throat and his thumb jerks towards the opposite bank where De Silva is waiting. “In. You. Go.” The words seem forced from him.

My heart beating full pelt I slide away and scurry to the other side.

De Silva places an arm around my shoulder. “What was that about King Humfdoodle?” he whispers.

“Something about him disappearing.”

De Silva’s fingers tremble slightly on my shoulder. He leans in closer then bites his lip and steps away as Alice crosses the bridge safely and joins us. “Ah, Sir Werdun. Safe across.”

Doubt snakes through my guts. Something’s up. I need to talk to Alice later. “You ok?” I ask her. “Did Gunwaddle say anything to you?”

“Just called me a little thief and liar who’d get her just desserts.” She pulls a face. “He’s disgusting. Maybe I’ll stay and become a troll hunter.”

“Maybe we could start our own business.”

Her eyes are fierce. “Now that’s an idea.”

“Enjoy your time in the wonderful city of Angelmere,” Gunwaddle calls out in a mock polite voice. “Be sure to take a walk through the beautiful parks and enjoy a drink at one of the many amazing inns.” He laughs evilly to himself then stops suddenly. “De Silva?”

De Silva arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I knows about King Humfdoodle.”

De Silva’s fingers twitch on the handle of his sword before his face sets into a look of concern. “I heard about that. You don’t know where he went perchance?”

Gunwaddle starts with a belly laugh that turns into a hacking cough. “Nice try,” he wheezes. “But I don’t know.” He stands to his full height. “Me and you should talk later. I have interested parties that’d pay much gold to know.”

De Silva bows. “If I discover anything, I will of course share it with you. My knight’s honour on it.”

“You lost that years ago,” comes the sneered reply. Then, putting one hand on the side of the bridge, Gunwaddle vaults over and is gone.

“Can he follow us in to Angelmere?” Alice asks.

De Silva shakes his head. “Fear not. Gunwaddle would not dare anger the Fae by crossing into Angelmere.”

Relief washes through me, but as the wave of emotion rolls back it leaves behind – like a large, unmovable stone – my worry about De Silva.

I really need to talk to Alice later.

I shake the feeling away. We faced a fearsome troll and survived to tell the tale. That’s pretty cool. And now – as the huge gates of Angelmere swing open – I square my shoulders and breathe deeply.

Sir Atkins and Sir Werdun are on their way into Angelmere.