A Pirate Yule – Part Two

Last week, we started the story of the Pirate Yule.  If you haven’t read it, follow this link, since I’m not giving you a synopsis.  I hope you enjoy the story, and have at least as much fun as the pirates this holiday season, whatever it is you celebrate.  This is our last post of the year, too, so for our Green Willow Day we will be looking forward to bringing out book 7, Willoughby the Narrator, and maybe even book 8,  The Princelings of the North, as well. And if you’re behind with your ebooks, check the link to the Princelings of the East Box set Books 1-3, available on Smashwords for Kindle as well as iTunes, B&N and Kobo.

Happy new year!

A Pirate Yule

Part Two – Castle Marsh

On a two day trip, ten men could handle the sailing barque, and Captain Argus knew it.  He could even give them time for sleep by taking the wheel himself, which he did.  They were all hardened sailors, ex-pirates, if only they could lose that tag now they were honest people living in a castle and trying to make their living within the strange customs of the Realms.

One of the few people who treated him as an equal was King Fred of Castle Marsh, and most of his people, come to that.  Like everywhere, Marsh took in travellers, people who had lost their homes in the troubles further north. Some of them treated Argus and his men like dirt, but most realised that being homeless was not in itself a reason for contempt.  They were, in fact, in the same boat, so to speak.  There were even people in places of responsibility that had once been pirates, Frankie being one of the blackest both in deed and appearance.

“Where are you berthed?” Frankie asked as Argus entered the castle gates with four of his men.

“Down at Brey.  In case of more storms.”

Frankie nodded.  “Wise.  We’ve no spare accommodation, though, and I reckon there’s going to be more snow.”

“We’ll go back once we’ve seen King Fred.  It’s urgent, or I wouldn’t have come at Yule.”

“Of course.  I’ll tell Haggis you’re here; there’s a new thing about ID cards, I don’t suppose you’ve got them?”

Argus screwed up his face.  Why on earth would a free man want an ID card?  Frankie laughed at his expression.  “No, well, we’re not worried about people we know.”

“That’s why I want to talk to King Fred.  Keep an eye out for people you used to know.  Tell you more afterwards.”

Frankie nodded.  “Fred’s just about to open the Narrathon, you’ll find Jupiter’s Tavern pretty empty, although most of the waiters are up in the tent in the courtyard.  You can go to the Narrathon, of course.”

Argus looked at his men.  The sparkle in their eyes told him the Narrathon took priority.  Frankie saw that too, chuckled and waved them through.

“Is Willoughby speaking?” Argus checked.

“No, the legendary Willoughby has got too many old promises to fulfill this Yuletide that he can’t even attend his home castle.  We’ve got other good speakers though,” Frankie added as their shoulders sagged.

“Ar wer lookin’ forrad ter ‘earin’ ‘im,” grumbled Bodger.

They made their way to the upper courtyard, although there were so many makeshift dwellings in the lower one, it could hardly be called a courtyard any more.  It all looked clean and tidy, with a light covering of snow, and the paths between the various entrances had all been swept clear.  ‘Very shipshape,” Bodger muttered to Archie.

“I’ve always liked Castle Marsh.  Very clean.”

Bodger nodded, looking sideways at him.  They hadn’t been in many castles, except in the old days, when they raided them.

In the upper courtyard King Fred had finished making speeches and was listening to a story-teller.  They settled down to enjoy themselves, realising this was one of the better ones from Marsh, a youngish person with ginger hair, who spoke well.  The story was about flying, and every now and then he put his arms out straight to imitate wings, and moved around on the platform as if he was in the air.

“He’d best not fall off, or he’ll ruin t’effect,” Bodger whispered, and they giggled, earning them some stern looks from their neighbours.

“Thank you, and well done, Geoffrey!” said King Fred as Geoffrey finished amid loud whoops and cheers. “Our next narrator is Nesta, who’s been practising for weeks, as those of you in the north tower will know!”  A group of people cheered and laughed, and shouted encouragement to Nesta as she took the platform.

“You stay here and listen,” whispered Captain Argus.  “And be polite.”

He nipped off round the back of the platform and said something to the tall person standing behind it.  Bodger could see the tall chap step up to whisper in the king’s ear.  He spoke to the person next to him, another ginger-haired fellow, and then quietly stepped off the platform, beckoning to Argus to follow him.

“Cap’n’s got his attention, anyway,” Bodger said.

In the quiet of the corridor of the west tower, Fred turned to Argus.  “Let’s sit here,” he said, pointing to a bench.  “What brings you all this way?  Can’t be our Narrathon!”

Argus did not waste time in chitchat.

“Had a visitor.  Washed up on the sandbanks in the storm the other night.  Got his crew off as we went out to save them, but spent a few hours drying off with us.  Did a swap, one of our ships for the rest of his journey, and we’d salvage his, and get some of the booty he’d got aboard.”

“Pirate, eh?”

“Aye, and one you know well.  Too well, perhaps.”

Fred frowned. “Apart from you and — you don’t mean Ludo, do you?”

“Aye.” Argus’s face was grim.

“Oh, heck.”  Fred’s face fell, while Argus broke into a smile.

“That’s the best reaction to his name I’ve ever heard.”

Fred sighed.  “Where’s he gone, do you know?”

“He was going north from us, but he said three to four days.  I was worried he might try something here with you, being he used to be king afore your uncle, but you’re only two days from us, max.”

“So where would three to four days get him?”

“Somewhere up Humber way, I reckon, maybe a little further.”

“Come and look at my map.”  Fred led the way to his office, where he pulled out a large piece of paper with lines curving all over it, and some symbols here and there with small writing next to them.  “Here’s Humber, look.”

“Yeah.  I don’t reckon he’ll be doing much with them fellas, though.  Somewhere further up the coast, maybe.  What’s this place?”

“It’s just a small place, fishing place, harbour in a storm, though, I thought you’d know about it.”

“Not me, I kept to the Sleeve mostly.  Could he beach up around here?”

“I think the beaches would be further up or further down.  It’s all cliffs along there—oh, except for these places.” Fred pointed to an inlet and also a wide bay.

“Yeah, he could land there, although he’s only got one tender if it’s for the beach.  Why, though?  There’s nobody of a real sea-faring mind up there.  We’d have met them.”

Fred stared at the map.  Puzzlement changed to some sort of comprehension.  “Did he say if he was coming back, and when?”

“No.  Oh, he said he was seeing some rebels, but I don’t know if he meant it.”

“Yes, I bet he is,” muttered Fred.  “Well, thanks, Argus, this is important news.  I think he’s gone visiting family that live in the forest up there.  I just hope he doesn’t want to come visiting what’s left of his family here afterwards.”

“Do you need some extra fighting men, in case he does?”

Fred chewed his cheek, as he did if he was seriously worried.  “No.  I can’t see why he’d benefit from letting us know he was around.  I’ll just warn Haggis to put his people on the alert.  I’m really glad you came, though.  Thank you.  How long do you want to stay?”

“Well, if you’re doing food after the Narrathon, we’d like that, if you don’t mind.  Then we’ll get back to the ship and get home before the weather gets worse.”

They left the office and went back to the courtyard.

“Looks like the weather’s worse already.”  Fred brushed the snow out of his eyes; it was snowing hard.  “Can you shelter in the food tent if you need to stay the night, or..”

“Aye, that’ll be fine.  Frankie said you were pretty full.”

“I must get back.  See you later, and… thanks.”

Fred shook his hand and scurried back to his platform.  Nesta had finished, and Bronwyn had taken over.  They were all much improved with just a few months of Willoughby’s tutelage.  He hoped their new steward had reached his next engagement safely.  Willoughby had set up their own festivities then left to fulfill engagements at Arbor, Longmoor and the inn of the Seventh Happiness.  I could always send Victor a note, Fred thought.

The applause for Bronwyn’s story took him by surprise.  George, sitting next to him, saw he was in deep thought  and stood up to thank Bronwyn, and introduce the next speaker.  Fred’s thoughts turned to Kira, who was resting in the warm.  I’ll take her some food later.

“You okay, brother?” George asked as he sat down.

“Yes.  Just some odd news from Roc.  Tell you later.”

Captain Argus sat back with his men to listen to the rest of the stories.  He watched their faces in the candlelight, lit up from imagination and not just the flickering flame.  When the Narrathon ended they crowded into the food tent with the others, and ate hot stew, with warm bread, and drank mulled ale made in the traditional way.  Some of the bolder girls came up and spoke to them, and they chatted about the stories and where they were from.

“My dad was a pirate,” one of the girls said.  “He’s a carpenter now.  Makes lovely tables and stuff.”

“I do that too,” said Bodger.  “Mebbe I know ‘im.”

“Maybe,” she said, smiling at him, and then she slipped away through the crowd.  Bodger saw her with an older woman and a man with a scar on his ear.

“Do you know that guy with the scar?” he asked Archie.

“Looks familiar.  Why?”

“Just wondered.  Wouldn’ it be nice ter have families around at Roc.”

Archie looked at him, but he privately agreed.  The men enjoyed their own company like on board ship but increasingly, when they saw other castles, they knew they were missing out.  How could they ever persuade some family people to stay with them, though?

“If you were getting a yuletide gift from someone,” Bodger asked, “what would you want?”

“A nice new hat and a pair of handwarmers,” said Archie immediately, although the idea had gone straight from seeing someone dressed up warmly, via his brain, to his mouth.

“Yeah.” Bodger watched another young woman taking off her hat and handwarmers in the cosiness of the tent.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have some of these people at Roc,” said Argus eventually, voicing all their thoughts.  He got up and went in search of Frankie.

Eventually, as all parties do, the energy dropped and people started to leave.  As the throng thinned, the pirates were left in their little group, and they moved over to sit nearer the fire.

“You staying the night, then?” asked the woman in charge of the catering.

“Aye, reckon we’ll leave at first light,” Archie replied, then added, “I don’t suppose you know a few families who’d like to come and join us at Roc, do you?”

Jupiter, the caterer, smiled at them.  “You feeling a little lonely this Yuletide?  From what I hear it’s a tough life you have there.”

“I don’t think it’s any tougher than anywhere else.  Not really, although I suppose if it’s just one or two women, it might be.”

“Tell you what, if I hear anything, I’ll get the word out that families are welcome at Roc, and you never know, come spring you might get some people wanting to give it a go.  Winter, they stay put.  Too dangerous travelling in the wilds.  Oh, and by the way, it’s still snowing.  You might be here a few more days.”

“Oh, we’ll be okay.  Never let a little weather stop us.”

Jupiter nodded and said goodnight.

“Now there’s a fine woman,” Archie said, eyes following her.

“I ‘spect she’s taken, Archie,” Bodger said, his eyes on one of the other women who left with Jupiter.  He sighed.

Argus came back in. “Had a good evening, men?”

“Aye, cap’n.”

“Well, we’re here for the night.  I reckon it’ll be settled and frosty in the morning, so we’ll make good time getting back to the ship.  Then home, eh?”

“Aye!  Home!”

But the usually cheerful word ‘home’ had a certain wistfulness about it.

The next day they set off, if not at the crack of dawn, then at an hour suitable for the tide.  Frankie came down and saw them off, handing them bags of spare provisions and having a quiet word with the captain just before they left.  Argus grinned, then set his face to a neutral expression as he ordered the men off down the track to their wild harbour.

The marsh was quiet, not even the reeds crackled under the ice, with the weight of the snow lying them sideways and a lumpy path showing the way ahead and scrunching under their footsteps.  Their breath steamed, and most of them pulled a hat or scarf around their ears to stop the tips freezing.

They shared the food with the men who’d guarded the ship, and cast off from the banks, to slip through the narrow entrance to the harbour on the ebb tide.

The wind was light, but the tide was with them, and by the time it turned they were far into the river estuary they had to cross to get home.  It was an easy journey, and they made it in record time.

The next day Argus called all the men together, around a fire.

“Men, we started this Yuletide a day early, so I’m going to end it a day early too. You’ve done a fine job with the ship, bringing it off the sandbanks, and making it watertight again, and we’re going to need it in the near future.

“We went to warn King Fred, which we did, that Ludo was in the area.  Now it’s possible that Ludo may be back to plague us all, but we don’t want that, we want peace with the Realms, and it’s King Fred who is our best chance.  But more than that, we want some of the things we saw at Marsh.  Families, kids running around, people enjoying themselves and things we miss.  And I have some great news, news that makes this our Green Willow day, when we look forward to improving our lot here at Castle Roc, to living a respectable life, with fun and food and friendship.”

“And fish!” called out one wag, which made everybody laugh.

“Yes!” Argus laughed with them.  “Never forget the fish.  But my news is this.  Our friends at Marsh, Frankie and his mates, spoke with us, and they spoke with the king, good King Fred, and a few other people, and they suggested, and I agreed, that when the spring comes, all those who want more space, and that includes three families with fourteen girls between them, and another group of six women who stick together since they were exiled together, all move down here to Castle Roc.  What say you to that?”

But he didn’t need to ask, because the men were already cheering.  So many people joining them would be a message to others that Roc was a good place to live, despite its past.

It was the best present they could have, promise of a life as a community, not just as ex-pirates.

Everyone at Castle Roc now looked forward to what spring would bring.

 

At Castle Marsh, Fred held Kira’s hand and told her of events.  She approved, as he knew she would.  If Ludo was around they were prepared for him, as they were for many things, including the new children as and when they would be born.  Jasmine, Arthur and Young George would have new siblings in the spring, as long as Kira saved her strength and let others do the work.  It had been a good Yule.  Now for whatever the new year would bring.

© J M Pett 2016

Catch up on the Princelings series ebooks at Smashwords to be ready for the next books coming out in 2017

Yuletide Narrathon – The Twinkletree Fairy

We are in the upper courtyard of Castle Marsh, listening to the Yuletide Narrathon…

King Fred stepped up to the fiddlesticks and stood beside them. He looked around at the happy people in the courtyard. This is how it should be, he thought, and let them chatter on about the last narrator until they saw him waiting, nudged each other, and waited for him to speak.

“Well, everybody, we come to the final story in our Narrathon. I’ve enjoyed it hugely, and I think you have too, haven’t you?”

Cries of ‘yes’, ‘enormously’, and other murmurs rippled round the courtyard, out-competing the cold wind.

“I have a small surprise. It’s customary for an award to be given to the best story at a Narrathon. Given this is our first one with a proper narrator,” he saluted Willoughby, sitting the other side of the fiddlesticks, waiting his final turn, “I felt it was a little obvious that he would win.” Laughs all round, and a sheepish grin from Willoughby. “I hope he doesn’t mind, but instead of giving him the prize, I’m splitting it evenly between our three home-grown talents, who were very brave in tackling the task of entertaining you all.”

Cheers, cries of ‘hear, hear,” and ‘absolutely!’ greeted this announcement.

“So, Geoffrey, Marcus and Marina, here is a small hamper for you and your families to enjoy.” Three of the king’s assistants each took a small basket of food and treats over to one of the home-grown tale tellers, to the applause of the crowd.

“So now we come to the final story in the first real Castle Marsh Narrathon. For the last time this year, but I hope not for the final time, I give you… Willoughby the Narrator!”

Huge applause and cheers, even though most people were huddled in family groups under blankets, cupping hot drinks to keep warm.

“Well, well, thank you, King Fred, and all of you, for keeping a poor Narrator warm and comfortable through a cold winter’s day.” Many laughs: Willoughby had been keeping himself warm by various fires and in the dining hall for most of the day in between stories.

“My last story of the night is one that may give you dreams tonight – if you can stay awake to listen to it.” A loud yawn from one of the younger members disturbed his speech. Appreciative chuckles from the audience, many of whom hugged sleepy youngsters to their sides.

“It was Green Willow’s Eve – maybe it will happen again on this Green Willow’s Eve, who knows – but anyway, people had gathered together under the big Yule Tree in their courtyard,” he waved at the tree decorated with ribbons and lights standing by the steps leading to the lower courtyard. “It was decorated just such as yours, with ribbons, and little lights, but also with small metal sculptures like harps, and flutes, and spiders’ webs, and snowflakes. Underneath the tree lay a pile of presents for the children and the families, all wrapped in pretty paper, and on top of the tree a small figure looked down on everyone. She was very small indeed, not even as big as your hand, little one,” he said, looking at one of the youngsters in the front row. “Even smaller than one of King Fred’s ears!” Most people glanced at Fred, but he laughed, and his daughter Jasmine pulled his ear and then whispered into it, making him smile again. Fred had very large, handsome ears.

“It was, of course, the Twinkletree Fairy on the top of the Yule Tree, and she looked down on everyone, to make sure nobody was left out or unhappy, unless they were like Drood and insisted on being miserable to spite themselves.

“The time came for the presents to be given out, and everyone crowded round to receive their gifts. Of course, there were squeals of excitement as the children tore off the paper (or unfolded it very carefully to smooth it out and put it aside for next year),” general laughter, since Marsh folk were known to be careful to reuse things. “There were toys to play with, music things to blow or play, corn-dollies to look after and play ‘imagine’ games with, and one whole troop of wooden soldiers with painted faces and green jackets.” A few cheers rippled around for the small group of soldiers who had been stationed at Marsh for so long they were considered part of the castle.

Castle Marsh Narrathon

“But suddenly there was a snowstorm, and everyone dashed inside, leaving most of the presents where they lay, under the tree, save for a few that children had been holding when the snow came. Since it was late, the children all went to bed clutching those few presents, or empty handed.

“One of the empty handed ones was Clara. She lay in bed thinking about the soldiers out in the snow, wondering if the corn-dollies would get wet and soggy, and whether anyone would think to bring them inside when the snow stopped. The castle grew quiet, since it was late, and Green Willow Day is a busy one, so everyone goes to bed early. The moon got up and Clara could see its light on the snow outside, so she crept out of her bed, pulled a blanket around her – just like you – and tiptoed out to the Yule Tree.

“The fairy on the tree saw her and flew down to her shoulder. ‘What are you doing, Clara?’ she asked.

“‘I’ve come to see if the toys are all right,’ she said.

“‘Wait here with me and watch!’ the fairy said.

“And Clara crept under the boughs of the tree, into the shade, with the fairy on her shoulder, and she watched, and didn’t feel at all cold, because the fairy sprinkled fairy dust over her, so she could see magical things without freezing in the dark of the night.

“The snow glistened in the moonlight, and the moon swung around to light the lumps and bumps that were the toys hidden under the snow. As Clara watched, the lumps began to move, and out of each of them came the soldiers, and the corn-dollies, and the gingerbread voles, and the furbees, and they all danced around and had their own party in the moonlight. And the musical instruments all played, and it seemed to Clara that the toys had grown, or she had shrunk, because she was dancing with them, and the handsome soldier bowed to her and danced her all round in a circle in the snow, whirling and twirling and kicking up snowflakes like a gossamer ballgown.

“Then suddenly the music stopped in a jangle and the corn-dollies started screaming. Mice had run out from the depths of the castle and were attacking the partygoers! The soldiers cried to the rest of the toys to get into a huddle at the bottom of the tree, and they fought off the mice, hand to hand in the darkness, since the moon was setting above the castle walls. Clara joined the huddle, but she could see the soldiers fighting with the mice, and suddenly her dancing partner wasn’t there anymore! The rest of the soldiers beat off the mice, who ran away back to the depths of the marsh, and the huddle broke free and started to chase after them to make sure they had really gone. The soldiers called them back, and they returned to the base of the tree.

“But the party was over. The toys went back into their snow mounds, and Clara found she was her normal size again. And there in the snow was her handsome soldier, his head knocked off his shoulders, all broken.”

Willoughby paused, gauging the tension in the audience. There were a few sniffs, and he could see light glinting in a few eyes where tears had welled up.

“The Twinkletree Fairy came to Clara’s shoulder again and asked why she was crying.

“’My handsome soldier is all broken, and he fought so bravely for me and for all the others.’

“’Thus does it happen, sometimes, my child,’ said the fairy, ‘that people have to fight to defend the safety and peace of the others.’

“’Poor, poor soldier,’ said Clara, and she picked up the pieces and held them together, and kissed them. And the Twinkletree Fairy waved her magic wand and the pieces repaired themselves, and the soldier had his head again, and his arms and legs. Clara laughed and said ‘thank you!’ and skipped back to her bed, the wooden soldier in her hands. And she put it by the side of her bed, and said goodnight to it. And the soldier looked over her while she slept, and for who knows how many years afterwards, to keep her safe from harm.”

Willoughby looked around his audience, judging whether to finish on a happy ending or a moral.

“So keep your twinkletree fairies safe, dear Marsh folk, and be prepared for aggressive mice, but otherwise, have a very happy Green Willow Day, and thank you very much for your hospitality for this poor Narrator, this Yule tide.”

And he bowed deeply, all round, so that each person in the audience felt he had bowed specifically to them, then he jumped up into the air and disappeared in a flash of white smoke.

(c) J M Pett with thanks to the story of the Nutcracker

Header image © Jacquie Lawson.com

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Yuletide Narrathon – The Solstice Ghosts (part 2)

We’re continuing our exclusive content on the Princelings website; this is the concluding part of the third of Willoughby’s tales in the Castle Marsh Narrathon.

The Solstice Ghosts (2)

Willoughby jumped back on the table, watched the scurrying of his audience as they resumed their places, and as a hush crept over his audience, he cleared his throat.

“The mean and miserly Drood has received his warning from the ghost of his former partner, Darley, but do you think he’s taken any notice? No, he has not!” he added, answering his own question as some of the audience who joined in with a smattering of “No” from the more alert members near the front. Willoughby gave a piercing glance to those still settling down, and continued where his story had left off before the break.

“Drood found it hard to get to sleep. He was cold, which he was used to, but had no guilty conscience, since he didn’t have a conscience at all. But the sight of his partner, Darley, and the huge chain he dragged around, that bothered him. How could his chain be longer? He did nothing wrong, he worked hard, he did nothing frivolous, he kept himself to himself and asked nothing of no-one. He tossed and turned, and might have drifted off, but he heard the castle clock striking the hour, and on the stroke of twelve, he heard a noise which chilled his heart. His door (which he had carefully locked after Darley’s departure) swung open and a presence entered the room.

“and then….

“very slowly…

“some… thing… pulled the blanket from his head.”

“’I am the Ghost of Solstice Past,” said the pale female who stood in front of him. “Come with me, Drood, and repent.”

“’I don’t want to repent, and I don’t want to come with you!’ Drood replied, but the apparition took hold of his arm and whisked him off through the wall, which was transparent once more, up into the cold night air, over marsh and moorland, till they landed in a castle far from home.

“’Why, this is where I grew up,’ Drood said, and he watched as the apparition showed him a youngster standing next to other youngsters at a Solstice celebration, standing at the edge and refusing to join in the games for fear of making a fool of himself. ‘Is that lonely boy me, spirit?’

“It is you. Before you turned away from friendship. Maybe it was the beginning of your lonely life.’ They waited, watching, until the games were ended and the castle speech was made, and the inhabitants had made their Solstice promise. And, through it all, young Drood said nothing, did nothing. ‘Why did you not join in?’

“’I was destined for other things. It would have been beneath me.’

“’Even the Solstice speech? The king joined in.’

“Drood just shrugged, and the spirit took his arm and they flew to another place, where an apprentice Organiser sat at a desk while all his colleagues enjoyed a Yuletide party organised by their boss.  Drood watched as a female sat by the younger Drood and talked to him about joining in the dancing, but he shook his head, and excused himself. Three more times, the spirit showed him Yuletides in the past, where a younger version of himself avoided the celebrations and immersed himself in his work, so as not to notice everyone else enjoying themselves. Then the apparition took him home.

“’So, you mean to show me the error of my ways, I suppose? Well, that is that, and what is done cannot be undone. Bah! Farewell, spirit, and if there is another one, as Darley said, I hope they can do a better job than you.’

“The Ghost of Solstice Past said nothing, but looked sadly at him, and shimmered into the wall and disappeared.

“Drood pulled his blanket back over his head, but hardly had time to close his eyes before he heard the clock strike twelve again. Curious, he thought, and then pulled the blanket off his head as a bright light and warmth filled the room. A huge person stood in front of him, wielding a fistful of herbs in one hand, and a bunch of fresh celery in the other.

“’Well, Drood,’ the stranger’s voice boomed, ‘time for a little fun! Let’s go and see what’s happening outside, shall we?’

“’Er, no,’ stammered Drood, pulling back from the stranger’s grasp, with no success whatsoever. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

“’I am the Ghost of Solstice Present, and I assure you we are going outside and I, at least, will be having fun!’ and he took a huge bite from his celery, tucked the rest into his other hand, and took Drood by the arm. They flew over marsh and moorland, seeing the formal dinner at Castle Buckmore, and the free-for-all celebrations at the Inn of the Seventh Happiness. All around the castles, people were busy, getting ready for the celebrations, putting up decorations, bringing in a Yule log, taking food out of storage and preparing delicious dishes. They found young people playing with carefully prepare gifts from their friends and family, and lovers, old and young, holding hands and exchanging tokens. It was the same all over the realms, even at far-off Castle Haunn, where the princelings of the north were dancing Strip the Green Willow and other dances with the blacksmith’s daughters at their ceilidh.

“At last they came back to Drood’s home, but not to his rooms. The spirit took Drood to his nephew’s room, where they stood behind him and his family and friends as they enjoyed a carefully prepared meal with all sorts of good things they’d dried or preserved from the summer. The nephew proposed a toast, and included his uncle Drood, which caused a great deal of argument about why they should drink to a miserly old meanie. Drood shifted on his feet, but nodded in agreement when his nephew explained that Drood was only doing what he thought best, working everyone to the bone so he could be successful, and not to worry, since when Drood went, hopefully the nephew would inherit the business. ‘Well, maybe,’ muttered Drood.

“Then the spirit took him down to the castle’s lower levels, and they found Bob and his family squashed round a table, and Mrs Bob bringing in the best food they had managed to grow, and even though it was very little for a feast, they helped the little weak one to a big share before everyone else tucked in. And Bob took the weak one to bed and told him a bedtime story, and the weak one said he thought Bob would make a wonderful Narrator. ‘But my job is with Mr Drood, my dear one, and it is him we thank for our good fortune in having food to eat and a place to live.’ Drood nodded as he heard this, but wondered how Bob could live on so little, and with so many mouths to feed.

“After this the clock started striking the hour. ‘I must leave you now,’ said the spirit, ‘but remember, the things you see here are only the Solstice Present, and many other Presents may exist, if you change your ways!’ And before Drood could argue the need to change his ways, the spirit vanished, leaving Drood alone in a cold, dark lane, a place he didn’t recognise, although he thought he knew the castle very well.

“The clock finished striking twelve, and a sinister hooded figure blocked out the remaining light at the end of the lane. Drood stepped forward, hesitating over whether this was the third Ghost that had been promised. Then the hooded figure turned and beckoned to him.

“’Are you the Ghost of Solstice Yet to Come?’ (Willoughby put a tremor in his voice). The hooded figure nodded to him. The apparition was huge, towering over him, menacing and mysterious. Drood squeezed his eyes shut and gulped. ‘Have you come to show me the future?’

“The apparition turned and swept his cloak around Drood. When Drood felt himself uncovered, he opened his eyes and found they were in a graveyard. It was dark, mist was dripping from the leafless tree in the corner, and some people stood around a freshly dug grave. ‘He was nothing but a slave driver,’ said one. ‘Good riddance’ said another. ‘At least we can all be free of him now,’ said a third. ‘Maybe his nephew will be a better master,’ said another, who looked uncommonly like Bob, ‘but it comes too late for my wee bairn.’ He turned away and walked to another part of the graveyard, where he comforted his wife and the rest of his family before they walked sadly back to their home.

“Drood said nothing, strangely moved by the sight of Bob’s child’s grave, and of the one on the other side. The spirit wafted him on, to other places in the castle, where he heard nothing but people pleased to hear that ‘the old miser’ had died. It gradually dawned on him that it was himself they were talking about, it was him that was dead in the first grave. And everyone was pleased. No-one had a good word to say about him. His life’s work was counted for nothing. He remembered what the previous ghost had said. Many other Presents may exist, if you change your ways. He asked his dour companion if that was the case, but the hooded apparition said nothing, just moved forward to envelope him, and Drood felt himself swooning, drowning, sinking into the dark folds of his cloak.”

Willoughby paused. If there were such a thing as a pin to drop, it would have been heard. Willoughby stayed still, imagining the hopeless descent into the depths of the blackness of the cloak, and whispered…

“The Spirit of Solstice Yet to Come faded into the night,” Willoughby raised his voice gradually up to a shout, “but Drood found himself fighting the cloak, fighting and fighting! He didn’t want to die! Not alone! Not like this!”

Stunned silence.

“The cock crowed. Dawn came. Drood unwrapped himself from the blanket that he had got so terribly tangled in during the night. It was all a dream, he said to himself. But as he got out of bed, he stepped on some celery leaves, and a few herbs, scattered by his door.”

Willoughby looked at his audience, half of whom had their mouths open in awe.

“I never did find out if Drood changed his ways,” he said. “But I bet he didn’t risk the fate he’d been shown by those three Ghosts of Solstice. Now let’s all join in a dance, yes, even you, hiding by the back door!”

And despite the crowd they were in, they all stood up and did one of those dances you know so well, where you stand on the spot and do strange moves with your hands and your hips and everyone laughs because it’s so hard to remember what comes next. Willoughby led them for the start, but then someone else jumped onto the table and carried on, and Willoughby slunk away to a nice mulled apple juice in a quiet part of the castle, to rest until his final turn of the Narrathon.

(c) J M Pett 2014 (and Charles Dickens)

Yuletide Narrathon – The Solstice Ghosts (part 1)

Willoughby the Narrator with the third of his tales in the Castle Marsh Yuletide Narrathon.  This one is in two parts, and as you will see, owes a huge debt to Mr Dickens.

The Solstice Ghosts (1)

What used to be the castle’s Small Hall was overflowing with revellers, since the snow was blasting round the courtyard and against the eastern walls. Everyone had taken refuge there, which was the best place, since the food was served at one end, and the rest of the area served as the castle’s communal dining room, or refectory. It was big enough to cope, usually, but this afternoon everyone wanted to be there at once, so they sat on tables, benches, and curled up in each other’s laps. The gallery was full too, and they all wanted another story.

“Well, if you don’t mind me going out of turn,” said Willoughby, standing on the emptiest of the serving tables, “I’ll do another one. I don’t want you to go to bed straight afterwards, though, because it’s a ghost story!” His voice went all funny as he said ghost story, and many of the audience went ‘oo-ooh’ in spooky voices. Willoughby waited while the kitchen staff cleared the table he was on, assisted by some youngsters who filled some baskets and scurried back up to the gallery with them.

“If you’re all sitting or standing as comfortably as you’re going to get,” he paused while some latecomers slipped in at the back and wormed their way through, “then I’ll begin. Oh, wait one more minute for George to get settled.” Everyone laughed as Prince Engineer George entered from the side steps in the corner, a short cut from his laboratory.

“Well, then,” started Willoughby. “It was a day just such as this, in a castle not like this one at all. It must have been a Seat of Learning for Business and Organisation, because there were many people there who worked in the business of accounts and paperwork. You’ve never heard of those, have you? No, I thought not. Castle Marsh never seems too worried about paperwork!”

There were lots of giggles, especially among the people who had settled in Castle Marsh from other parts of the realms in recent years. One of the best things about Marsh was its warm welcome with no papers required. The interview with the security team could be quite an ordeal, though.

“In this place was an office ruled by a person called Drood. He had several apprentices under him, and one journeyman called Bob. You haven’t any journeymen called Bob, of course…” loud laughter. Bob was a common name, and several journeymen, engineers and natural philosophers, as well as other castlefolk, were named Bob. “Well, this one had been a journeyman for so long, he had grown a long red beard,” more laughter; people nudged themselves and looked over to where a fine bearded Bob sat with his wife and youngsters. “And he had to work very hard to be allowed enough time to work the fields and make things for his wife and family. He felt he owed it to the castle, since he had a large family, and one of them was a poor wee boy with a crooked leg and a sickly constitution, who received much care from those who knew about his illnesses. Drood didn’t see it like that at all. As far as he was concerned all his apprentices, and his journeyman, should work from dawn to dusk, and later, to make sure that Drood remained as important as possible. He didn’t take time off to make things for his family, so he didn’t see why anyone else should. Of course, he didn’t make time for family because he didn’t have a family, except one nephew, and who would blame any acquaintances for not getting involved with such a mean-spirited person?

“Well, it was Solstice eve, and everyone was getting ready for the festivities to start, except for Drood, who kept his workers working, right up until the finishing bell. He muttered and groaned when they skipped out of the door at the first ‘ting’ of the bell, and called to Bob to finish what he was doing, since he wouldn’t be working on it the next day. ‘Has to be done tonight,’ he grumped.

“Bob sighed, and got back to work, but thought about the wooden toys he needed to finish. He’d manage somehow, he thought. Suddenly the door swung open. ‘Good evening, Uncle, still working?’ said a cheery voice.

“’What else would I be doing?’ grumped Drood.

“’Why, getting ready for Solstice, of course,’ said his nephew. ‘But we knew you wouldn’t so I’m here to invite you to our dinner tomorrow. Will you come?’

“Bah, humbug,’ said Drood. ‘Waste of food and time, having a festival. People should be working!’

“Well, I think one day, or just a few, in the middle of winter, won’t make much difference. And it cheers everyone up!’

“’And why should people be cheered up?’ asked Drood, and turned away so he didn’t have to listen to all the good reasons his nephew put forward. The nephew gave up and left, and Bob stood up soon after, putting his books away. ‘Finished, Mr Drood, so I’ll be off now, and I wish you a happy Solstice and health and peace of the season.’

“’Bah!’ was all Drood said, but he closed the door on the workshop after Bob left and stepped out into the cold night.

“It wasn’t far to go, but Drood lived in a quiet, dark part of the castle, and he kept feeling that something was following him home. Three times he stopped and looked, even calling out ‘who’s there?’ but he could see no-one. He pushed his way into his large, dark room, ladled out some cold water from under the ice in his bucket, scraped some dirt off a carrot, and sat by his bed to eat his evening meal, such as it was.

“What was that noise? He was sure he heard something. A clanking noise, or maybe moaning. ‘Just the wind’, he told himself, and checked the fastening on the window and pulled a blanket round his shoulders.

“The noise came again, definitely a rustling noise, and the sound of heavy chains dragging on the ground. Drood pulled the blanket over his head in the hope he couldn’t be seen.

“Drood’s door opened, and a blast of even colder air filled the room. Then it shut again. Drood felt an eery presence… and then his blanket was slowly pulled from his head.

“’Well, Drood, are you cowering away hiding from everyone, just like the old days?’

“’Darley, is that you?’” (Willoughby stammered in a croaky, quavery voice, a few octaves higher than usual.)

“’Yes, it’s me you old codger. Ten years since I died and you carried on the business without me, ten years I’ve been wandering the wilds, watching you get more and more crabby. Ten years carrying this great chain around with me, the penalty for all the mean things I did in my miserable life. Well, now I have a miserable death. But it’s nothing to what yours will be, if you don’t change.’

“’Why should I change? It’s nothing to me what you are doing.’

“’Didn’t you hear me? Your chain is three times, nay, five times as long as mine, and heavier too. You’ll lead a miserable death if you don’t mend your ways. Believe me, death is no peace, no satisfaction and no reward, and the only escape is to save someone else from their fate.’

“’Bah!’ said Drood, but it was more to keep his spirits up than anything else. He looked at Darley’s chain, thick heavy metal links, dragging along behind him, going out of the door and down the steps. If his was five times longer, then surely it would reach all the way to the courtyard!

“’You have till tomorrow to mend your ways,’ said Darley, ‘and to help you change your mind, because I can see you’re taking as much notice of me in death as you ever did in life, three Solstice Spirits will appear to you, starting at midnight. Take heed! Take he-e-ed..’ and so saying, he walked straight through the wall, which went transparent so that Drood could see him floating off into the sky and joining in with hundreds of other ghosts, ghastly and grey, wafting past, all dragging heavy chains with signs of their misdeeds attached to the links, and a ghastly wailing filled the air.

“’Bah,’ said Drood pulling his blanket back over his head. ‘The carrot must have been off,’ and he closed his eyes, ready to sleep.”

Willoughby looked at his audience, who looked back at him, in rapt attention. “Will he change his ways, do you think? Well, you‘ll have to wait. I’ll finish the story after a short break!”

“Awww,” the sounds of disappointed listeners rolled around the room. The kitchen staff started ladling out more hot drinks. Willoughby stretched and went outside for a quick run. It was his longest story, and he needed to be fresh to tell what happened at midnight.

… to be continued next week….

(c) J M Pett (and Charles Dickens)