Chapter 1
"The End." Aunt Abigail snapped shut Lord Balderdash and Fran the Brave.
"WHAT?" Linus sat up straight in his bed and blinked. "That's not how the book ends!"
"Yes, it is."
Linus shook his tousled brown head. "Is not! Lord Balderdash defeats the forces of the Goblin King and there's a happy ending of sorts. Granddad read this to me lots of times! Lord Balderdash's and Fran the Brave's journey is the most famous in children's literature, Granddad said. Nobody has as many adventures as they do. Fran destroys the magic sword at the end and Lord Balderdash doesn't die! Because Fran gives him the magic potion he stole from the Goblin King!"
Aunt Abigail snorted. "If you say so. Seems a silly ending to me. What was it all for, if you give up that powerful sword in the end? And that Goblin King was a bully right from the start. Fran should have seen through him much sooner. If you don't stand up to bullies, you become invisible. That's what happens to chicken-hearts in the end. They become invisible."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Linus said, but so quietly, the rattling of the window shutters drowned out his voice. Or so he thought. Apparently, visiting aunts had bat hearing.
Aunt Abigail scratched her nose absentmindedly with the tip of the spoon she'd used earlier for Linus's disgusting cough medicine. "How can anyone invisible have real adventures?" she said. "You can't make new friends, when nobody can see you. Besides, you need to leave home once in a while to have adventures."
Linus merely shrugged his shoulders and sank back under his blankets. Ignoring her nephew's obvious discomfort, she put the book on the bedside table and rested one hand on Linus's damp forehead. She frowned. "That fever of yours seems to have gone down a bit. How about a hot drink before you go to sleep?"
Outside the wind howled around the corners of the house, rain drummed against the windows. Linus wriggled to be more comfortable under the layers of blankets his aunt had piled on top of him earlier that afternoon. A hot drink sounded just fine. He was beginning to feel quite sleepy. Hah, Fran the Brave! Linus had quite forgotten how much he'd enjoyed the book when he was little, when his granddad had read to him at bedtime. Aunt Abigail got up to leave for the kitchen. Linus muffled a snort with his blankets. Her tall, thin body threw a strange shadow back onto the wall. With her red cardigan draped around her shoulders and her ankle-long, purple dress she could almost pass for a witch. Almost. She had no warts on her nose, nor a big chin or a hooked nose. But she had thick black hair that stood in stiff, pencil-straight spikes off her head, making her look like a witch. Linus risked a glance at her feet. Feet, according to Roald Dahl's famous book, always gave a witch away. Linus stifled a laugh under his blankets. She did have rather long, narrow feet, just like the witches in Roald Dahl's story! And just like those witches, Aunt Abigail wore old-fashioned black lace-up boots. Linus watched his aunt cross the room. Those clumpy boots! What where they hiding? Linus tried to imagine an aunt with toad-skin or furry feet. He had to pull up his blankets quickly, before his aunt could hear him giggling.
Aunt Abigail trotted out of the room and down the stairs; the clump-clump-clump of her footsteps echoing in the darkness beyond Linus's door. Snuffles, Linus's two-year-old Labrador, took this as a sign to remind Linus he was there. He thumped his tail on the stripey rug in front of Linus's bed, got up and raised his head. One gigantic yawn later, Snuffles rested his chin thoughtfully on Linus's shoulder.
"What do you think? Is Aunt Abigail a witch?" Linus petted his dog's head.
Snuffles rolled his eyes and stuck his black nose into Linus's ear by way of an answer. That tickled and was rather wet. "Get off!" Linus protested, but couldn't help laughing all the same. Snuffles gave up trying to chew off Linus's ear and curled up on the striped rug again. Within moments, the dog was asleep, his hind legs twitching in pursuit of imaginary squirrels.
Linus lay still, listening to the screeching of the wind and the unfamiliar cracks and sighs the old house made. Once or twice the lights flickered. The house needed new electric wires, his dad had said. The house needed burning down and rebuilding, his mum had cried after a thorough inspection. She'd said it was unfit for man or beast to live in. Snuffles clearly didn't feel it was that bad. When they had first arrived at the old house, Snuffles had squeezed his yellow body into the warm space by the old cooker in their huge kitchen and had fallen asleep happily.
Old houses settled down for the night, Aunt Abigail had explained to him earlier that afternoon, when she'd told Linus about his grandfather's passing away. The reason Linus's parents had stayed behind in London. Granddad had been very ill. There was nothing to be afraid of in this old house, Linus's new home. Old houses grunted and sighed just like old people, their joints aching a bit, as they lowered themselves into their favourite armchair, Aunt Abigail had explained. That had made Linus smile. He'd pictured a house on legs, dropping into a huge armchair by the fire, crossing slippered feet and shouting impatiently for the evening newspaper. Just like his granddad had done, when he was still alive.
Thinking about the strange ending Aunt Abigail had invented for Linus's favourite book at bedtime, he wondered, not for the first time, if she knew about the boy at his new school. The move into this town had not gone well. Pretty much everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. Their new home in Lincolnshire was a rotting dump. The garden was overgrown, the roof leaked and Linus's mother said the attic was bound to be full of rats. His parents hadn't chosen the house themselves. Mr Hunnicut, the man Linus's parents worked for, had found it for them. He was moving his business from London to Lincolnshire and needed them to move, too. In a hurry. So he'd told them to take the first house for sale. This house.
RATS! Linus had almost forgotten about them! He cast an anxious eye at the ceiling. Rats were almost as bad as toothy goblins! But not nearly as bad as Troy the Terminator. Linus wriggled out of his blankets and leant over to his bedside table. He looked at the picture frame that stood there and stroked the bedside lamp's shade with one finger. A pod of dolphins were chasing fish through a tangle of sea weeds, throwing blue-green light onto the walls of his room with every spin of the lamp's revolving top. The photograph was of himself and Linus's best friend, Will. In the picture they stood in front of Linus's old home in London. The picture had been taken on the day when Linus had accidentally broken his neighbour's window with his football. With a grimace Linus remembered that on that day his Aunt Abigail had also been there to look after him. He couldn't remember where his parents had been. Probably working long hours again. Aunt Abigail had somehow managed to smooth things over with the neighbour before his parents had arrived back home.
Linus watched the dolphins chase round and round the tattered pink-and-white striped wallpaper of his room. It was like living in a giant gob-stopper, Linus thought, one of those old-fashioned boiled sweets his granddad had always carried around with him in the pockets of his coat. Linus watched the dolphins and thought of the day he'd spent at London Aquarium with his granddad and Will. Linus's granddad had bought him the lamp as a reminder of their visit. They'd gone to the Aquarium for Linus's birthday. He sighed. He wouldn't see Will again until his next birthday. Then Will would come for a visit. Linus's first ever birthday without his Granddad.
A scratching sound from above made Linus look up again and stare at the ceiling. Will wasn't scared of rats - he kept one as a pet. A white one, not one of those dirty brown brutes you saw scuttling off down the streets of London. Will wasn't scared of anything, Linus thought. Except perhaps his grandmother. Mrs Mayer could fuss with the best of them. Any inkling her little Willikins suffered from an illness would send her maternal instincts into overdrive. She had been known to turn up at school with a steam cooker full of boiling chicken soup just because Willikins had sneezed once in the morning on his way to catch the school bus. A grin spread over Linus's face. He'd like to see Troy the Terminator try any of his stuff with Will around! Willikins was undisputed Judo champion of London's under-twelves and didn't suffer fools gladly. He'd have dealt with Troy the Terminator in no time...Will would not have suffered a ducking in the market square fountain!
Chapter 2
Linus's new house was miles and miles away from London. It stood at the edge of an ancient market town and was surrounded by fields. There was a lake somewhere, too. Not like the lakes in Hyde Park or St James's. This was a real lake, not a pond. It was really deep in places, his mum had warned. And big enough to be home to any number of ducks, geese and swans, his aunt had said. And lots of interesting insects. His dad had merely grunted. It took Linus's dad more than an hour to drive to work, something his boss had failed to mention, when Mr Hunnicut had arranged their move to the new house. Mr Hunnitcut had praised the peaceful neighbourhood, ideal for bringing up a boy. Plenty of room to play football. Mr Hunnicut wasn't wrong. There was plenty of space all around, but hardly any neighbours. Who exactly did Mr Hunnicut think Linus would be playing football with? Cows? The little girl from the O'Malleys' farm two miles away?
The thought of soccer-playing cows brought a fleeting smile to Linus's face, but it disappeared quickly, when his eye fell on the calendar on the wall facing his bed. Then he remembered what day of the week it was. It was Sunday. Followed, unless a miracle happened that would throw the time-space continuum out of balance, by Monday. M.O.N.D.A.Y. Ugly word. Linus pursed his lips, trying to make the word sound a little friendlier or funnier. The best he could come up with was Moanday, followed by Mournday. Nothing cheerful would spring to mind. How about Mouseday? That was friendlier. But the thought of scurrying rodents made him look up at the ceiling again. Another mysterious scratching noise made him shudder. But when no rats fell through the ceiling with murderous intentions, Linus's mind went back to his day-of-the-week-problem.
Another deep sigh escaped him. On Friday Linus's parents had left for London for a few days. Mr Hunnicut needed them to prepare the business move to Lincolnshire, they'd said, not mentioning how ill Granddad really was. Enter Aunt Abigail. She was sometimes looking after Linus, when his parents were away and his grandparents weren't around. Linus wasn't sure what to make of her. She was his mum's sister and he'd only ever met her a few times before. Linus thought his aunt was a bit weird but quite nice. She lived in a tiny cottage near Stonehenge, travelling around the world in an old campervan for months at a time.
But apart from her poor choice in cars, she was alright. Aunt Abigail was a whizz at cooking and could conjure up meatballs with spaghetti like nobody else. She also never told tales about anyone. Not even when Linus had broken his mum's favourite vase. Aunt Abigail had taken the blame, said she'd smashed it when she did the washing up. Aunt Abigail was alright, really, even if she did look uncool in her cardigan and clumpy boots. She had tried to persuade Linus's dad to find a more enjoyable job, now that they had moved all the way to Lincolnshire. She'd reminded them all that a job - and a new neighbourhood - were what you made of them. "You need to give it more time! You've hardly unpacked, yet," she'd said with an accusatory stare at the stacks of cardboard boxes that still littered the living room, hallway and dining room.
But Linus's parents hated their new place and missed London just as much as Linus did. Not that they were around all that much. There was still a lot to do in London, before the business could move, his dad had explained, just before he'd rushed off again to join herds of drivers on the motorway.
Before leaving, Linus's dad had pressed a new mobile phone into his hand. "Here, in case of emergencies in this wilderness. Be careful in that Gallantry Lane! You could break your ankle in the tracks that farmer's tractor leaves everywhere!"
On Thursday evening his parents had packed two small suitcases, telling him that Aunt Abigail was on her way to babysit. Babysit! Linus's protests that he was hardly a baby and quite capable of looking after himself for a couple of days had fallen on deaf parental ears.
Aunt Abigail had arrived late that evening, her tires screeching on the drive, scattering gravel into all directions. Aunt Abigail drove a 1960's VW campervan, her minty-green and white mini-home on wheels. She liked to drive really fast. Well, as fast as such old vans would go. Early on Friday morning his parents had left with much beeping of their black BMW's horn and much waving. On his way to school Linus had thought about life with his mysterious aunt. Rain or shine, she always wore a red cardigan and matching socks. Aunt Abigail was quite a character, Linus's dad had said with a big grin on Thursday evening. She was an absolute star, Linus's mum had protested. Who else would baby-sit at such short notice? Aunt Abigail was a hot contender in the witch department, as far as Linus was concerned!
Family legend had it that she'd been round the world twice in her campervan. She had driven all the way up the Andes Mountain range, his mum had said. That was impossible, his dad had laughed. You couldn't actually breathe up there, the air was far too thin. And that old van would never make it uphill. Well, as far as 1960's campervans would go, his mum had protested. Linus imagined his aunt had ridden a llama for the rest of the way, her long spindly legs dangling off the animal's sides. Linus pictured her long feet as they scraped a dirt road where centuries ago Inca messengers had run like the wind to reach their masters' remote mountaintop palaces. Huge pyramid-shaped palaces built at heights that made your head spin and your stomach turn. He imagined the Spanish invadors who had first discovered, then conquered South America. He could picture their eyes bulging at the sight of so much Inca gold. Aunt Abigail, so Linus thought, wouldn't have been afraid of Spanish bullies. She would stick the tip of her umbrella up their noses, if she caught them mistreating an Inca child!
When she'd arrived on Thursday evening, he'd asked her why she travelled so much? Was she unhappy in her little cottage? After all, being so close to Stonehenge's mystical circle of stones seemed the best place for an aunt like her. Why travel in that old campervan, when you only had to wave your wand or click your heels together and be whisked off whereever you wanted to go, thanks to Stonehenge's magic? Linus thought Stonehenge probably worked like a giant battery - you could upload magical energy and be off again, whenever you pleased.
He hadn't actually said that to her, but she'd given him such a look, as if he'd let all this slip out aloud. With a sniff of her long nose she'd said: travel broadens your horizon. You can make new friends that way. Why not try it for yourself? Her tone of voice had clearly said he was in need of new horizons as a matter of urgency. That had sounded plain silly to Linus, who was happiest in London. Why make new friends when he had Will?
He missed Will more than anything; all the travel adventures in the world couldn't replace your best friend! When Linus had passed Aunt Abigail's campervan on the front drive on Friday morning, he'd grimaced at the thing. As if it was the campervan's fault that Linus was no longer living in London. There it sat on his drive, a smug grin on its pepperminty face. New horizons indeed!
Sunday...followed soon by Monday. Unless a miracle happened. Linus rubbed his tired eyes. Where was his aunt with his hot drink? He looked down on his pile of blankets and felt totally silly. Catching a cold in early summer! But that's what you got when you took a ducking in the fountain and didn't change your wet clothes right away.
Snuggling deeper into his blankets, he wondered briefly who'd win a spitting contest: a llama or Aunt Abigail. He closed his eyes and drifted back to Friday afternoon, when he'd shot out of the school gates. He was aiming for the town centre to put off the time, when he'd have to go back to that creaky old house. You always had to be quick to get out of the schoolyard, when you were a new boy. Or you'd fall foul of Troy the Terminator's rules.
Aunts like Abigail, Linus thought, probably weren't afraid of anything, not even goblins. Or rats. Or fat ugly boys with a grudge against the whole world. Linus yawned. Somebody at school had told him there was a bike shop in town. He could do with a bike. It let you get away much faster. Linus wriggled uncomfortably in his bed. When he'd arrived at the town centre, he'd found Troy already waiting by the market square fountain. He'd tried to avoid Troy and his friends, Harry and Jeff, but they'd already seen him. When he'd refused to hand over his pocket money and mobile phone, Linus had come face to fist with Troy, The Terminator to his friends. A year older than Linus, Troy's favourite pastime was tormenting smaller boys. Harry and Jeff only did the fetching and carrying. Linus sighed and shut his eyes. They'd fetched and carried him alright. Bundled him into the fountain, while Troy stood by and played with Linus's new mobile. Laughing his head off.
Where was Aunt Abigail with Linus's hot drink? He opened his eyes again, staring at the door. Linus had said nothing to his aunt, when he'd arrived back late on Friday afternoon. Dripping wet, with a bruise on his chin. And Aunt Abgail hadn't asked. She'd just pointed at the washing machine, telling him to take off his wet clothes and go to bed right away before he caught a cold. But he'd ignored her and gone into the garden first. Sitting by the pond with Snuffles, watching the dragonflies do their stuff. He'd only gone inside again, when he'd started shivering.
What was he to do? Troy was twice the size of him and he had friends. Linus, on the other hand, had nobody except Snuffles now. In Troy's book of rules taking a ducking in the fountain was a refreshing pastime no smaller boy should be denied. But to Linus the fun factor of drowning was severely overrated.
The memory of those first two weeks at school made Linus sink even deeper below his pile of blankets. S.U.N.D.A.Y. That word meant a day full of sunshine and warmth, a F.U.N.D.A.Y. But it had been pouring down with rain all day. No fun at all. And he'd been in bed with a fever. Who catches cold from a dip in the water in early summer, when birds fall out of their nests with heatstroke? His dad had asked irritably on the phone. Linus's aunt had replied that boys used to London's hot climate had to be given time to adjust, to explore. Afterwards she'd heaped blankets on top of Linus bed, so he could sweat out his cold. Now his fever was gone, but he was feeling miserable. Worrying what to do about Monday morning and school.
Maybe he could persuade his aunt that he wasn't any better? He touched his forehead. It was still a little hot and sticky.
If he stayed at home, he could play video games all day. Or watch his dolphins chase fish round and round. He could remember all the good times with Granddad. And Will.
Finally, Linus heard the clump-clump-clump of his aunt's boots coming up the stairs. He'd almost given up hope on getting that hot drink! For a horrible moment he imagined she'd give him one of her stinky herbal teas again. But the smell of hot cocoa wafted up the staircase before Aunt Abigail. Life suddenly felt a little better.
She put his steaming mug on the bedside table and urged him to drink the cocoa while it was still hot. He wriggled out of his blankets, rested on one elbow and picked up his drink. She'd given him his favourite mug, the one Granddad had bought him for his birthday, when they'd gone to London Aquarium. Linus drank deeply. The dark chocolate drink smelled as expected, but tasted a little funny. And he suddenly felt very hot. So hot, Linus thought steam would burst out of his ears and nose! Out of the corner of one eye he saw Aunt Abigail was eye-balling him nervously. She began to fuss around the room, plumping up cushions on his window seat, straightening a book on the shelf by the door, pulling curtains shut against the rain and wind.
"Any good?" she finally asked.
He nodded, all of a sudden too tired to speak. He felt his limbs grow heavier and sank back into his pillows; his eyelids wouldn't stay open any longer. His head began to fill with pictures of a long, dusty lane with fields on both sides. Crows wheeled in the sky above, their caw-caw-caw calling out to him. Linus felt his toes twitch under the blankets. He opened his eyes a little. His aunt stood over him, watching. She was smiling. When he closed his eyes again, the picture had changed. He was by a lake, feeling ready for anything. There was a boat tied up at a small jetti. Something moved in a clump of yellow irises. There were Canada geese landing on the lake. And a couple of swans sailed past. Just like the ones he and Granddad had fed in St James's Park...
Perhaps tomorrow after school Linus could explore the fields beyond his house? Troy the Terminator would be helping his mother in that hardware shop they ran in the town centre? Linus shut his eyes more tightly and thought of Fran the Brave. Fran would have explored the neighbourhood by now. So would Will. But why leave your room, a place entirely free of boys like Troy and sword-wielding goblins? Why go exploring, when you had a home filled to the brim with strong-armed aunts, ready to kick butt with oversized boots? You had to be nuts to leave a home like that!
He snuggled deeper into his blankets. He heard his aunt take the empty mug from his bedside table, and close the door behind her quietly. The room seemed strangely quiet all of a sudden. The window shutters were no longer rattling. Linus guessed the wind had finally died down. The rat-tat-tat of raindrops on the window had also stopped. The old house in Gallantry Lane was finally falling asleep. What did lie at the end of Gallantry Lane? Linus wondered with a yawn. More fields was the obvious answer. Field upon field, the land as flat as a pancake. Fields, where a constant breeze ruffled still ripening maize, yellow heads bopping on the surface of a green, green sea. A family of dolphins appeared out of nowhere, chasing after a flock of crows. Driving them across a turnstile into a narrow track across the fields. Then everything went black.
With a smile, Aunt Abigail closed the door behind her. Adding her special herbal mix to the cocoa had worked better than expected! She yawned. Tomorrow would be another busy day. On the gloomy stairs outside Linus's room she clicked her heels together on the threadbare brown carpet. She vanished with loud POP, leaving nothing behind but the soft flickering light of a glow worm.
Chapter 3
The next morning, it was still really early, Linus got out of bed, feeling almost like his old self. He washed and dressed carefully, smoothed his unruly brown curls down, because that's what grown-ups liked. Maybe, if he looked pale enough, his aunt would let him stay at home...
He snatched up his school blazer, stuffed a packet of crisps and an apple into one of the pockets and a couple of doggy treats into the other, then he made for the stairs. Snuffles bobbed excitedly up and down beside him, as Linus trotted down the stairs. Aunt Abigail was already in the kitchen! He sighed and opened the door. She stood at the old-fashioned black cooker, stirring something in a heavy pan. He sniffed. Scrambled eggs. Comfort food? A toast rack with gently steaming slices of brown bread stood already next to his plate. He slipped into his chair and accepted a mug of hot milk.
"You look a bit perkier today," Aunt Abigail said, beady green eyes searching his face for signs of fever. Seemingly satisfied, she switched off the searchlights and turned to get the scrambled eggs. Linus was disappointed. He'd hoped she'd find at least a little bit of feverish look in his eyes.
With another a sigh behind his mug he decided to look to breakfast as the only comfort he was likely to get that day. He wondered briefly what his aunt was up to. She seemed so cheerful. Was there any chance getting out of school with an aunt that cheerful? Not very likely...there was a glint of determination in her eye, when she started heaping scrambled eggs on his plate.
"Feed a cold, starve a fever! That's what Granddad always said. Now your temperature's down, you can do with fattening up a little." Aunt Abigail smiled at him. Unbearably cheerful, it seemed to Linus. "Before you skip off to school," she added; cruelly, Linus felt.
What felt like four eggs and half a loaf of bread later, Linus was finally allowed to leave the breakfast table, his stomach bulging. He trotted, as ordered, into the garden for a bit of fresh air before school. Snuffles raced him for it. The dog hurtled down the stairs of the verandah, a yellow cannonball with flying ears and wagging tail making straight for the wilderness that was the old garden. His paws kicked up bits of gravel as he sped along.
Linus turned left towards a thicket of shrubs, where a small round pond snoozed under a blanket of algae in the shade of oak trees. Last time he'd sat there, he'd watched some frogs hop around in the grass, wishing he were one of their family. Frogs didn't have to go to school.
Now a dragonfly sailed past, its wings shimmering green, blue and purple in the dappled light that fell across the pond. While Snuffles amused himself as only dogs can in the outdoors, running in circles, chasing squirrels, Linus began to make plans for the day. Plans how to avoid Troy the Terminator. How to stay in one piece...and dry without another ducking in the town's fountain.
When Snuffles had tired out the garden's squirrel population and investigated all possible sources of smells, he returned to Linus's side, wagging his tail. Linus felt his heart miss a beat. Granddad had given him the Labrador as a present.
"How about it?" said Linus, putting his arm around his dog's neck. "Shall we hunt for goblins, you and me, like Fran the Brave and Lord Balderdash? This afternoon?" The memory of his favourite book brought a lump to Linus's throat. No more walks in St James's Park or storytelling with Granddad!
Snuffles barked happily, forcing Linus to come out of a dark cloud of memories. He got up and tied a red scarf around Snuffles' neck. It made it easier to spot him in the tall grass. Linus and his dog set out to explore their new home. Snuffles ran ahead. Linus tried to follow him quickly, before the dog got into trouble, but had to deal with a determined wasp first that was trying to sting him. Eventually, he found Snuffles. The dog was pawing at something on the ground. It was an odd-looking bundle of feathers. Grey pigeon feathers bound together with a piece of string. Linus wondered if it belonged to his aunt, some sort of Native American dream-catcher thing. She had one dangling off the mirror in her campervan. He picked up the feather bundle and stuffed it into his school blazer's pocket. He'd ask her later. But there she was already. Calling him from the back door. He sighed.
As is turned out, he needn't have worried. Troy was not at school. At breaktime, Linus sat down and managed to eat his sandwiches for the first time without a knot in his stomach. Another new boy, a boy called Ben, joined him. Ben was from the city of Lincoln originally, so not from that far away. But he also missed his friends, he said. Linus told him about his best friend Will back in London. Eating their sandwiches in friendly silence, neither of them missed Troy.
That afternoon, during his last lesson, Linus remembered his dream the night before. The dusty lane, the fields, the lake. The memory wasn't that pleasant. He gnawed at the tip of his pen, brooding. The dream reminded him of the previous Friday. The ducking. The way his aunt had looked at him when he came home. The fever. But it was silly. He couldn't stay at home every single day of his life, just to avoid running into Troy, Harry and Jeff.
He had as much right to explore the neighbourhood as anybody else! And Troy was not at school...he cast a look over his shoulder. Jeff and Harry had their heads stuck together, whispering over their exercise books. Linus grinned. English homework defeated Harry, despite his claims of belonging to a long line of English nobles.
At home Linus got through his homework quickly. Shutting his exercise book, he got thinking about the dusty lane and the lake again. It was as if he couldn't get them out of his head. At last he gave up and went downstairs to ask his aunt, if he could go out for a bit. She gave him a funny look. "So you've finally decided you need new horizons after all?" But when she saw the expression on his face, she smiled. "Have fun exploring. Get to know your neighbours."
He took his leave with a grimace. New horizons indeed! There were nothing but fields and more fields. Still, it meant getting out of the house for a bit. He called Snuffles and they set off. They turned into the dusty lane at the bottom of their garden, and followed it. Crickets seemed to be all around them in the fields, their constant song of zzz-zzz-zzz making Linus feel as if the fields were filled with tiny saws. After what seemed forever, a narrow track opened up to his left. He was about to ignore it, but then he remembered his dream. How strange! There had been a narrow track running through a field as well...and a turnstile...
Snuffles squeezed through the bottom of the wooden fence, while Linus climbed over the turnstile. Tall stems of maize, golden corn-cobs glowing at their tops, swallowed them up instantly. Linus and Snuffles followed the track, which looked as if rabbits had made it. Eventually, Linus and his dog reached a wider lane where deep tracks left by a tractor had formed hills and valleys for the local beetle population, much to Snuffles's delight. He chased a beetle out of its lair.
"Leave him be! It's goblins we're after." Linus demanded. He picked up a heavy stick and tried it for a weapon. He raised his arm and swung the stick through the air with great speed. It made a swishing sound. Linus grinned. Now that he had a sword, he'd be Fran the Brave for the rest of the day!
Snuffles barked and wagged his tail. Linus stuck the pretend-sword under his belt and laughed, suddenly feeling ready for anything. "Come on, Lord Snuffles! We'll soon deal with the Goblin King's armies who threaten the Balderdash lands! "
Before long they encountered a goblin patrol. Well, not exactly. It was just a rotten old scarecrow standing at a crossing of two lanes. Linus grinned. A scarecrow was better than nothing. It had a nose made from a shrunken old carrot and eyebrows made from black wool. Its mouth was made from thick red wool sewn onto a sack that held the straw that filled its head.
Perhaps he could practice his sword fighting on the thing? Counter, thrust and cut, that was the thing, according to chapter three. It had taken Fran the Brave ages to learn. Linus hoped he'd do better.
"Take that, you ugly goblin king!" He raised his stick, took aim and gave the scarecrow's head a mighty bash.
"Ouch!" The scarecrow cried, its bucket-helmet slipping over one charcoal eye with with a clang. "Pick on somebody who can fight back, you bully!"
Linus blinked. "Y-y-you're alive! You talk!" He took a large step backwards. Snuffles let out a whine and cowered behind Linus.
The scarecrow snorted. "Of course, I talk! Wouldn't you pipe up, if you stood here minding your own business and somebody whacked you over the head with a dirty great big stick?"
"I'm not a bully," Linus said after a full minute. Only now did he notice the scarecrow's unusual clothing. "I was only practicing my sword fighting. Like the hero in my favourite book. Just like him, I'm on a quest, you see. Sort of. Hunting for, uh, rats. Not goblins," he added quickly, when the scarecrow raised one woolly eyebrow. "The countryside's full of rats, right?"
"If you say so, Sir Bully. Personally, I've never seen any. Only crows. Flying villains! Stealing the harvest whenever they can. But rats, no!" The scarecrow tut-tutted, its bucket helmet making a tinny sound. "You know, there's no glory in striking a creature barely tall enough to nip your ankles. It's cowardly. Crows now, there's a large creature that could only be improved by an occasional whack on the head," the scarecrow added after a moment's hesitation.
"Hitting a crow over the head would be just as cowardly! They can't fight back either." Hoping to change the subject, Linus pointed to the scarecrow's odd clothes. "My dad's got several suits just like it." From its pinstriped trouser suit to its black laced-up boots, the scarecrow looked more like an office worker who'd just stepped out of the London Underground on his way to the Bank of England. "His are hand-made."
"Your dad's clearly a man of taste," the scarecrow snapped, stretching a little to make itself taller. A cloud of sawdust sailed out of its left sleeve. "If I weren't always so busy, I'd buy all my suits hand-made. Expensive, but so worth it."
Linus masked the laughter bubbling up in his throat with a coughing fit. "What's so important that you're always kept busy?" He finally asked, waving his arms around in a generous circle to describe endless fields, dusty lanes and the darkening sky. "A few crows are hardly going to make a difference? I bet the farmer who owns these fields is quite happy with his harvest, whether a few crows raid the corn or not."
Screwing up its charcoal eyes until they nearly popped out of their potato sack sockets, the scarecrow shook with anger. "A few crows! Whole swarms of them attack my fields! And you don't understand. It's not about the corn they steal. It's about the lanes. That's what keeps me busy."
"The lanes? What about them?"
"You have to travel them to find out, Sir Bully."
Chapter 4
Linus wrinkled his nose
Impressum
Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG
Texte: Maria Thermann
Bildmaterialien: Sarah Chipperfield
Lektorat: Maria Thermann
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.09.2015
ISBN: 978-3-7396-1620-9
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Widmung:
To Alisa, Willow and Flora Fangs. You light up my world.