Yuletide 2016 – A Pirate Yule part One

Seasons’ greetings, and welcome to December on the Princelings website. This year we have a two part story for you, involving the pirates who kidnapped King Fred a couple of years back, when he solved their immediate problem by getting them their own castle, Castle Roc [Fred’s Yuletide Escape]. Since that story, it seems they’ve become good neighbours, even if they are a whole day’s sail from each other, at least.

Each part of the story is just over 2000 words, and the second part is next Wednesday, 14th Dec. The following Wednesday is the winter solstice, of course!

A Pirate Yule

Part One – Castle Roc

December in the Sleeve, the long stretch of turbulent sea which separates the island of the Realms from the great continental mass to the south and east.  High winds rushed along the coast from the west, whipping the waves into a frenzy.  Equally strong winds from the north scoured the air above the eastern sea, sweeping it into whirlpools and crashing it into sandbanks.  And where the north and west winds met, off the southeasternmost point of the Realms, a choppy maelstrom tossed flotsam, jetsam, and ships caught in the storm from wave crest to trough, despite the still airs above them.

“Hold fast!” yelled the captain at his crew. “We’ll be through it yet, like a cork out of a bottle.  And then I’ll crack open the rum for ye!”

Forty soaking, freezing, salt-rimed sailors heard his words and tried to grin, but the salt stung their lips, and they shut them again rather than expose the painful cracks to the cold.  Their grip on the gunnels, ropes and whatever else they’d managed to secure themselves to was held only by the ice encrusted on their hands.  Darkness came again, a mere six hours from the previous dawn, and the sailors gritted their teeth and thought of the alternatives to their way of life.

There weren’t many options for lifelong pirates.

***

Forty miles along the coast, safely around the headland from the Sleeve, sixty ex-pirates huddled in sandy caves set into the hillside, protected from both wind and wave by the sturdy walls of Castle Roc, set thirty feet above the high water line, but with a sheltered cove to berth their ships.  If it had not been the ideal place when they had agreed to move there, it was now.  They made a decent enough living from the sea, traded honestly with inlanders and visitors from the continent, and were even growing strange things called vegetables in the good soil in the valleys beyond the cliffs.

“How many days now till Yule, Archie?” asked one gruff-voiced fellow with a scar over one eye and a rough woollen cap perched over his ears.

“Two days, Bodger, two days.  One less than yes’day, when it was three days.” Archimedes was used to explaining how numbers worked to his mates.  He learned to count as a kid, as did at least six of the others, and fully twenty of them could do so now.  Far from being despised as larnin’, it was now viewed as an asset, since counting meant you could tell whether the water was too shallow, or if all the seeds had sprung up, or how many more days it was till the Yuletide feast.

“Wot we gonna do this yar?” A scrawny chap who looked like a kid, but was at least as old as the rest, stretched on his pile of hay and yawned.

“Cap’n told ye, t’other day. Weren’t ye list’ning, Dafydd?”

“Oh, arr, we wos list’ning a’right.  Jus’ wanna hear it agin, Archie.”

“Well, I’ll tell ye again, then.  First up, we have the Solstice speech, and then the feast.”

“Why’s the cap’n speechifying?”  Popster asked

“‘cos it’s trad-ish-unal.”  Dafydd showed that he knew perfectly well what was happening.

Archie rolled his eyes.  “Then there’s the storytelling day.”

“Narrathon,” Dafydd corrected him.  “But we ain’t gettin’ any proper narr-ators.”

“No, we’re doing it ourselves.  And if we want to sing the shanties we can, because that’s even more traditional.”

“Hold up! Cap’n on board!” A dark chap at the edge of their cave called, and they all rolled to their feet, murmuring ‘Cap’n’ in greeting as a tall chap slid through the entrance into the light.

“Men,” he said, looking around at them.  “There’s a ship in trouble out on the banks.  Maybe it’s holed, maybe it’ll swim, but it’s dark and we have to decide whether to save those on board or not.

Now if we save them, we may have to share our food with a full crew, or maybe only a few survivors, but that feast will be least feasty, if you take my meaning.  Shall we save them?”

A small chorus of ‘aye’ rippled around the cave, but the captain could tell it wasn’t all the men, by any means.

“That’s what I thought.  We might, but we might not.  We could set ourselves against the perils of the deep in the dark of the night, or we could wait till morning.”

“It’s not that deep, cap’n.  Tide’s goin’ out so we can walk to the bank in two hours.”

“Shut yer gob, Sparky.”

“No, Sparky’s right,” said the captain.  “In two hours the moon’ll be up and there’ll be enough light to wade across.  If we don’t go to them, I reckon any survivors will come to us, and if we go, we’ll be in charge, won’t we?”

“Aye!” came a stronger response.

“Right then.  Two hours, assemble on the beach, everyone except red watch – they’ll stay here to make sure anyone that’s already come ashore gets looked after.  Archie, tell them when two hours is up, will you?”

“Aye, cap’n.” Archie said, and watched his captain swagger away to address the men the other caves.

 

The rescue party were halfway to the sandbanks when they heard the sound of oars and muffled grunts.

“Ahoy, there,” called the captain.  “Be you the ship that ran aground?”

“Aye, that we be,” came an answer to the captain’s left.

“Can ye see the light we left on our harbour wall?”

“Aye, we’re making for it, thank’ee.”

“Are ye all safe in the boats?”

“Aye, that we be.”

The captain shrugged and called his men to make their way back to shore.  It might be profitable to search the grounded ship, but not in the dark, and not when the captain and crew were making for his castle.  He had a strange feeling about the voice he’d heard echoing over the water, still disturbed, but now just a gentle sploshing, not the choppy waves of earlier.

He and his men made land about the same time as the boats.  The rest of his men directed the newcomers to the fire to dry off, and the rescue party hurriedly changed into dry clothes to support them.  The captain reckoned the newcomers outnumbered his shore party, but not when all his crew banded together.  Old habits died hard; he wasn’t about to lose all they’d worked for to another band of pirates, since he knew by the look of them that was what they were.

He knew even better when he saw their leader, a tall muscular chap, mostly black with a few white scars about his person, and tufts of ginger around his ears and neck.

“Well, Ludo, I’m surprised to meet you here.”

“And who might you be?”

“Captain Argus, at your service once upon a time, but now we make a fairly honest living here at this castle, as you see.”

“Given up your petty pilfering ways have ye, Argus?”

Argus smiled broadly at him, showing his teeth were still as strong as ever.  “Given up your pilfering ways and hoping not to get found in the Realms, are ye, Ludo?”

“I have an invitation.”

“Oh, yes?  And who might be inviting the most double-dealing pirate king ever known to the high seas, banished after the rout of the Battle of Dimerie, and told never to set foot in the Realms again?”

“Got any trouble with bandits?” asked Ludo.

Captain Argus wondered at the change of subject.  “Not around here, no.  Why?”

“You will have soon.  I’ve been kept up to date about all the goings-on in the Realms.  Double-dealing by lords of their castles, occupation by vampires who set plague loose in the southern lands, people kicked out of their homes seeking shelter in their beholden castle only to be enslaved… heard any of that?”

Argus shifted uncomfortably.  “Aye, we hear rumours.  Get a few people coming by, hoping to find safety here.  Families move on when they realise, but some of the loners stay.”

“Losers, you mean.”

“Young males without a job, seeking companionship and purpose.  Just like the old days, really.”

Ludo had been walking beside Argus as they talked, and now they were some way from the fire.  Ludo looked towards the fire, and then back along the seawall to where the next sentry was, and beyond him to the ships.  The first glimmer of dawn was on the horizon.  It would be light enough to see faces inside another hour.  He stopped and looked out to sea.

“I’m headed north, to meet some people I know from old.  I need a ship and mine’s breached.”

“We’re two days off the spring tides.  Is she reparable?”

“Maybe.  If I take one of your ships and my men, you can have her whatever state she’s in, with all the booty aboard as well, save for a chest in my cabin.  Will you give me your word you’ll return that to me?”

Argus thought for a moment.  Ludo was notoriously tricksy.  On the other hand, he had known him to deal fair with other captains; it was the way he brought so many of them to support him.

“Are you starting a new campaign?”

“Maybe.  Want to join?”

“Depends on your purpose.  Like I said, we have a good berth here.  How far north are these people you used to know?”  Argus had some good friends a day or two away, and he didn’t think they were friends of Ludo’s.  In fact, he had reason to believe they were his sworn enemies.

“Oh, three or four days’ sailing, then a short walk.  They’re rebels, nobody you’d know, now you’re so comfortable in your wee landlubbers’ castle.”

Argus refused to rise to the bait.  Ludo was trouble, and he’d decided his own course after the battle of Dimerie.  It had been a hard won struggle to get recognition, a home for his men and others of their former calling, and the security of a castle.  He wasn’t going to tell Ludo the other benefits he was negotiating with princes and kings.

“If anyone asks, you’ll have to say you stole my ship, but yes, you can have one, and we’ll raise yours.  Deal.”

“Good.  We’ll be on our way at the next high tide, then.  The wind should be in our favour by then.”

There was a fair bit of murmuring as the newcomers took over one of the ships and put up one sail to work their way out of the little harbour.  Once they were clear and under full sail, Argus turned to his band.

“Men! I’m sure most of you know who’s in that ship, and you may have guessed why I sent them on their way.  We want nothing to do with them, but if we can raise their ship we’ll have got a decent exchange.  Now today is Solstice eve, and I reckon we should celebrate today, then raise the ship tomorrow, since it’ll be a long job.  What say you?”

“Aye!” came a chorus.

“Right then, well, I’d better speechify about finding ourselves here, in a safe haven, with good fishing and ships and friends in high places, and the Realms gradually coming round to thinking we’re just regular people, although we know we’re a bit better than them.”

Everyone laughed and Argus continued.

“Now, I want to see our friends at Castle Marsh, and tell them about Ludo and his visit further north.  I want a small crew to come with me after the feast, straight after, so no drinking yourselves silly.  The rest of you can carouse as much as you like.  Sing shanties, play games, have a great day.  But raise that ship during the next three tidefalls, and you can have the pick of the contents.  Those that come with me will get a second feast at Castle Marsh!”

Cheers came from all quarters; it was a plan, and they liked plans.  Argus knew who he could trust to carry them out, too. While the feast was being readied he went to all the section leaders, picked his crew out, and saw that everything was shipshape while he was away.

They’d miss having stories and all the other goodies that went with Yuletide, but they’d surely make up for it when they met King Fred and told him the news.  Ludo, formerly the pirate king, and one-time king of Castle Marsh, was back.

Watch for Part two next week!

© J M Pett 2016

Yuletide Story: No Room at the Inn of the Seventh Happiness

Just a single 2000 word story for you this year during our Yuletide celebrations, plus a Yuletide Giveaway at the end.

However you celebrate the winter holidays, may you walk in peace and friendship.

Fireplace at Seven HNo Room at the Inn of the Seventh Happiness

Willoughby blew in with the snow, crashing the door of the Inn of the Seventh Happiness against a table squashed too close, and the wind creating chaos of the napkins and place-settings, carefully laid out for Solstice festivities.

“Making an entrance as usual, Willoughby!” called one of the people leaning against the bar, and other calls and greetings met him as he struggled to shut the door again.  The weather noises receded, and the hubbub of a warm and friendly refuge took over.

Willoughby stood behind a line of customers at the reception end of the bar.  He considered leaving the quest for a bed for later, and starting with a warming drink.  His nose, ears and feet were frozen, but his insides were warm enough, since he’d jogged the last two hours of his journey from the hills this side of Longmoor, when the storm had caught him.  If he hadn’t had the engagement to narrate at the inn he’d have turned back.

“Well, I can put you in this room if you don’t mind sharing two beds between you,” Victor was saying to the couple in front him, whose children were huddling into their sides.  One boy turned and looked at Willoughby with large, dull eyes.  Lost eyes, ones with no hope or expectation in them.

“If ye can do that, we’ll manage, thank’ee kindly.  I’ve not much money, y’see.”

“What castle?” Victor asked, since the system applied credits against castles when their citizens went travelling.

The father shook his head.  “No castle, not any more.  Hoping to make it to Fortune.”

Victor looked at them and sighed to himself.  Just another group of refugees.  He was trying to keep a tally of which castles they came from, but getting the information from them was hard without making them even more scared.  “Okay, take this chitty, keep it safe, and give it to Fortune when you get there.”

“Really?”

“Yes, if they take you in they’ll usually pay a little of your bill here with me.  The least we can do for you, really. I’m afraid it means you won’t get a huge feast, though.”

“Any food will be good, thank’ee.  And I can keep my coins for later?”

“Yes, keep them for the coach, if you can run to that.”

The father backed away, and Willoughby watched him approach the stagecoach drivers settled by the fire.  Maybe the stage would take them as far as Castle Fortune for the rest of his money, if they waited till the one had space.  Willoughby shook his head, thinking about the state of the world today.  It was not just the number of families on the road seeking a safe haven, it was the reduction in decent, honest people willing to help them.  Help that had come naturally once upon a time had become rationed, as if goodwill was a finite commodity.  He pondered his planned stories for the next few days and wondered how to get his message across without preaching.

The two people next in the line held a long discussion about whether they would share a bed together in a ten berth dormitory.  Victor looked at Willoughby over their shoulders.

“If I knew whether Prince Lupin’s rooms were free I’d have more flexibility.”

“Have you asked them?”

“The vacuum post to Buckmore is down.  Nothing’s going through.” How quickly we come to rely on these communications, thought Victor.  A few years ago he would have been confident they wouldn’t be needed, but now, with the possibility of the Prince and his family flying to Castle Marsh, or even taking their horseless carriage, he needed to keep the rooms for an emergency.

“Surely they’ll be doing Solstice at Buckmore?”

“Well, yes, but George was flying yesterday and dropped in to see me.  He said they might be grounded if the weather closes in.  I think grounded means they can’t fly, and the weather has definitely closed in.”

“I see what you mean.”

Willoughby watched as Victor directed the two travellers to the dormitory, since they’d decided it was as good an offer as they’d get.

“Any room for me, then?” he asked, leaning on the desk and looking at Victor’s complicated chart, full of crossings-out and arrows.

Victor blushed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve given your room to two families, each of six, who arrived earlier.  They’re on their way to Fortune, too, and the stage came back since the tunnel is blocked.  There’s nothing going to Fortune, Dimerie, Cabot or beyond.  Fortunately nobody much uses the Deeping/White Horse line any more.”

Willoughby chewed his lip.  His resentment at the failure of the Realms to help White Horse made the hair on his neck rise.  He was of White Horse, but most people had forgotten that, just as they’d forgotten what went on there.  More fool them, since it was happening other places now.  He came back to the present as he realised Victor was waiting for him.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all.  Must have been a palace you’d reserved for me.”

“No, just the cubbyhole downstairs, but I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not, Victor.  Is it always like this at Solstice?”

“It used to be fairly quiet.  Everyone at home for the season.  Last year we had a full house though, which is why I suggested you came to entertain them this year, but it’s… well, we’re more than full. I hope you’re the last.”

The door banged open, sending a blast of frigid air through the room.

“Maybe not,” Victor sighed, eyeing a young couple, with the female clearly in need of assistance after a difficult journey.  One of the people near the door got up and offered her his seat, which she took gratefully.

“I can sleep on the long seat near the fire,” Willoughby offered.

“It’s already taken by two of the drivers.  The other two are on the floor beside it, and the two that came back from the Dimerie line have bagged the cushions on the side by the wall.  If you don’t mind, I’m putting you in Saku’s bed, and he’s going in with Argon.  They’ll be thrilled to be sharing their room with you.  Is that okay?”

Willoughby grinned.  Sharing with Victor’s kids would be just fine.  He wondered what the Saku he knew so well, and the Argon he’d seen around before he’d left his real home castle, would think.  “No problem, as long as they don’t snore.” He winked to show he didn’t mean it, and Victor’s tension dissipated.

“Now, where on earth am I going to put this pair?”

***

Nobody else arrived that night, and no stagecoaches left the next morning, partly because it was Solstice, and partly because the snow had mounded up around the top of the cliffs surrounding Seventh Happiness, and drifted in great piles into the southern edges of the little settlement.  A group of locals, assisted by visitors, dug out the entrance to two of the four southern tunnels, just in case someone was coming through from Dimerie or Cabot, but the drivers said they weren’t setting out in case they got stuck in a drift.

At noon everyone crammed into the inn for the Solstice celebrations.  In castles they were usually formal affairs, with speeches from kings and followed by sumptuous feasts.  So Victor said as he started his speech.  Willoughby heard mutterings and extended his listening to hear “not in Vexstein, they weren’t,” from several quarters, and a complaint about a couple of other castles, too.

Victor went on to say how the people of Seventh Happiness were “glad to live here, free to make our own lives, and to share what little we have with our visitors.  We remember the old year, and all the things we achieved, the kindnesses we received and gave, and the things we want to do better next year.  And as the days grow longer, we look forward to good growing seasons, good harvests, good health, and good cheer!”  At that everyone raised their glasses and made a toast to the community of the Seventh Happiness and to next year.  And some said “to safety” or “to a home of our own” or whatever they wanted most.

Then Willoughby told the first of his stories, which was of the hero who had been caught out in the woods at Midwinter, and was found by lots of lost villagers with nothing to eat because the harvest had failed.  After a few adventures they found their way back to the shelter of his cave and he magically fed them all from just the few grains of wheat he had in his saddlebag.  Everyone enjoyed the story, and then it was time for the feast.  Calli, Madge and Toby had done wonders to make a little food go a long way, too, and there was enough for everyone to have a really good meal, with lots of lovely vegetable soup to fill up the corners.

Then while all the adults had a rest, Willoughby told the kids the story of a young couple who had to travel a long way one Solstice, and they had come to a busy inn in their home castle because everyone had to be checked by the tax collectors.  “And there was no room at the inn, so the landlord offered them shelter in his stable.  And there, during the night, the lady found she was ready to give birth, and she did so, and laid him in a manger, soft with hay, watched over and warmed by the ox and ass that lived there.”  The kids were spellbound by the visitors that came to see the child, who was destined to be a great king, but lived in poverty until he was old enough to claim his inheritance.

“Will I be a king one day?” one child said to his parents after Willoughby finished, but Willoughby didn’t hear the reply.  Maybe all children could aspire to be kings, he thought.  Maybe you don’t have to be born a prince to become a great leader.

It was later in the evening, after he’d told the adults the story of the Diamond Souls, that he was relaxing, thinking he’d surely earned his keep this Solstice, when Victor came over to him with a large glass of mulled apple juice.

“Here.” Victor said.  “Thanks for the stories.  It would have been even more chaos without you, with all those kids to keep happy.”

“Are they all heading south?”

“Yeah, one way or another.  Although of course, if they’re here, they’re heading south.  I heard from Sowerby there are a lot heading north, too.”

Willoughby considered that.  People travelling north and south, away from the Troubles. The Realms were divided.  Only people with flying machines could travel swiftly and safely between the two.  That didn’t help for a strong society.  He shifted in his seat, as Victor shifted too.

“I didn’t think much of your second story,” he said.  “He was’t much of an inn-keeper if he couldn’t find room for a mother about to give birth.”

“I suppose he thought she needed peace and quiet.”

“Well, yes, but there’s always ways.”

He was interrupted by Calli as she came in.  “Two boys,” she said, smiling.  “Mother and children doing fine.  The father, too, come to that. They’re sleeping now.”

Victor nodded, looking slightly smug.

“Where did you put them?” Willoughby asked.

“Oh, they’re in Prince Lupin’s room.  Thought it best, really.  A birthplace fit for a king, really.”

Willoughby laughed. “You never know, Victor, you never know.  These are strange times.”

“Strange times maybe, but there’s never no room at the Inn of the Seventh Happiness.”


 

BookElves_Vol2_authors(c) J M Pett 2015, with thanks to Rebecca Douglass for pinching the gist of Halitor at Midwinter, which appears in the BookElves Anthology Volume 2.  Willoughby’s other stories appear in the forthcoming Princelings Book 7: Chronicles of Willoughby the Narrator and on Jemima’s blog here, and in the Bible (Luke, 2.7)

Now enter the Giveaway – entries close on the stroke of the end of the year.

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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)