Battle of the Sun (8 page)

THE PHOENIX

I
t was a nest.

Jack nearly fainted with the stench – a strong, thick stench of talons and wings and hunting breath, like an owl, like a kestrel, like a hawk, like a bird of prey.

Jack tried not to breathe, but even with his handkerchief over his mouth the smell was overwhelming. Bird droppings were piled in the corners, mixed with bones and straw and dried leaves.

Feathers and dust, dusty feathers, cobwebby feathers littered the rough floor and layered it, a foot deep. The feathers were crimson and gold. Jack picked one up, wondering at it. There was no window in the room, for the room was really the closed attic of the house, and seemed to run on for miles into the dark, but there was a rough opening in the gable-end wall. Jack went over and leaned out – yes, he was right in the roof, near enough to the stars, and high above the courtyard with the well. He was glad of the sudden rush of fresh air, and sat back in the hacked-out opening, careless of the drop. He gazed into the room.

The desk was the only piece of furniture, the only sign that anything human ever came here. And the desk, unlike everywhere else, was carefully dusted, polished even, with a quill pen made from one of the red and gold feathers, and a jar of red ink. There was an open book on the desk. Jack took a deep breath of clean air and made his way carefully across the room.

The page of the book had a drawing on it, and the drawing was of a phoenix, red and gold, and rising out of a smouldering heap of ashes. Standing by the phoenix was a shining boy. Jack looked at the drawing. The writing was in Latin, but on the open page, someone had written, in English, under the Latin tag:

The Radiant Boy shall free the Phoenix and the Phoenix shall find the City of Gold.

Jack looked closer. At the foot of the page was a drawing of a dragon, and at the top of the page were the spires and domes of the City of Gold.

Jack turned back the pages of the book, and there, to his horror, were drawings of all of the boys he knew – Robert, William, Anselm, Crispis, Peter, Roderick – and of other boys he had never known, and each of them had been carefully ruled through, like a mistake.

Hardly daring, but knowing without knowing what he would find, Jack turned the pages forward, and there was a drawing of himself, and at his head was a kind of halo such as he had seen in pictures of saints. But Jack knew he was no saint. He read the tag under the drawing:
The Radiant Boy.

And as Jack looked at the picture of himself, a very odd thing started to happen. Right next to him in the picture, now strong, now faint, appeared a young girl, about his own age. Underneath her was written:
The Golden Maiden.
He turned the page – there she was, on her own page, holding a jewelled clock in both hands, and looking straight at him. Jack had the strangest feeling that he knew her – that he had always known her, but that was impossible. As he gazed, he said to himself, out loud, not knowing why, but by a strange impulse, ‘Golden Maiden of the Book, if you are in the world as I am in the world, find me, help me. I am calling you. I am the Radiant Boy.’

And he had a clear image of himself standing in front of a door and that the door opened.

This is a mystery,
thought Jack.
But I must keep my mind on my task.

The Egg, he must find the Egg. A bird would have an egg, but where would it be?

Somewhere soft and safe
, thought Jack, and began sifting through the feathers on the floor.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

If I were a bird
, thought Jack,
where would I hide my precious egg?

Then Jack looked up. High, that was where a bird would hide an egg, high.

Sure enough, in the rafters, there was a kind of woven basket, long and shallow, like a fisherman’s flat basket for herrings. Jack climbed on the desk, and using all his strength, he pulled himself up on the roof rafter, and dangling there, half his body hauled up, and the other half swinging, reached into the nest. At that very moment, he heard an unmistakable flapping noise coming towards the room.

The Phoenix!

Jack let go of the rafter as if it had stung him, dropped on all fours on to the desk, blew out the candle, and dived under the desk in the dark.

For a moment or two nothing happened, except for the flapping noise swooping and retreating beyond the wall. Then with a great rush of air the bird landed in its nest.

All Jack could see were strong scaly golden legs and cruel capable feet.

The bird stopped quite still in the middle of the room, then with a short hop it jumped up on to the chair behind the desk. Now, terrified as he was, Jack could see its crimson plumage and its steep strong throat.

The bird seemed to be turning the pages of the book, then, with its beak, it took the quill pen and began to write. Jack could hear the scratch, scratch, scratching of the nib.

He wanted to sneeze. More than life itself he wanted to sneeze. The feathers were in his nose. He must think of a world where everyone was born without noses and therefore could not sneeze. He held his poor nose tight between his finger and thumb, and felt his whole body cover itself in sweat at the effort of not sneezing.

Just as he thought he would either die by sneezing because the bird would find and kill him, or die of suffocation by not sneezing, the scratching sound of the quill ceased, and the bird, without a pause, spread its wings and glided effortlessly across the room and out of the window.

Jack let out such a sneeze that every single feather on the floor lifted and settled again. He sneezed so hard, that Crispis, dozing patiently on the landing below, was knocked off his feet, and had to get up again, which he did, to find that William had gone . . .

THE CINNABAR EGG

J
ack had relit the candle and was reading the book. The ink was still wet. The Phoenix had drawn a picture and the picture was of Jack’s mother turned to stone.

Jack shuddered, but he did not falter. He stood up on the desk as boldly as he could, swung up, and reached into the high basket.

Yes!

He felt the oval in his hand, and carefully lifted it out, letting himself drop back to the desk, and then on to the floor.

In the light of the candle, Jack examined his prize.

But it wasn’t an egg; it was a solid gold box in the shape of an egg.

Jack turned it over and over. This was a casket, but where was the lock?

Jack got out his iron tool and spread out the keys and levers. Hadn’t his father said that this tool could open locks?

But what if he couldn’t find the locks?

And then Jack remembered something . . .

He was seven years old, and living with his mother and father in the house of the alchemist John Dee.

Jack had been looking at some pictures of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and one of the pictures showed Arthur as a young boy pulling the sword Excalibur from the stone. All the other men and boys, bigger and stronger, older, richer, cleverer, of high birth, had failed and failed, no matter how hard they tried. Then Arthur came, and the sword pulled clean into his hands.

John Dee, who liked Jack, and let him look at his books, had come into the room. He had taken the book from Jack and pointed to the picture – a ring on each finger, just like the Magus.

‘Do you see how the others failed?’ John Dee had said. ‘They failed because they were concentrating on the stone and not on the sword. They saw the difficulty, but Arthur saw the sword.’

Jack stood still with the golden egg-box in his hands. Inside was the Egg, he knew it. He must not let himself be hypnotised by the difficulty, he must see through the difficulty to what it was he needed to find. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of gold, and suddenly, under his rough little finger, was the tiniest indentation. Jack caught his breath, and rifled among the keys and levers of his iron tool. Was this one the right size? A lever like a needle? No, it was too big. He tried again, and this time chose the smallest key, a key so fine it was like a pin. But it was too big.

In the candlelight, not knowing why, Jack said, ‘Father . . .’ and as he spoke his father’s name, he spread the levers and keys again, and saw what he had never seen before – a key fine as a hair, made from pure gold.

Jack slid the golden key into the golden lock and the golden lid of the golden box clicked open.

And there it was – big and heavy and beautiful and shining and red and orange and purple and brown all gleaming together. It was the Cinnabar Egg.

Like a flash Jack stowed the Egg into his shirt and left the room as fast as he could. He was in such a hurry that he just jumped straight down on to the landing.

He looked around. The landing was empty. Where was Crispis? Where was William?

Filled with foreboding, Jack tiptoed slowly into the boys’ chamber. All was dark and quiet.

As he stepped fully inside and was about to go over to Robert’s bed, he heard a familiar hateful voice.

‘Jackster been exploring? Good morning!’

It was Wedge. And beside Wedge was William, grinning like a merry-go-round monkey.

‘Why did you tell him, William?’ said Jack.

‘I was the one, not you,’ said William. ‘Before you came, I was the one.’

‘I don’t want to be the one,’ said Jack. ‘I want to leave here and never come back.’

‘Not leaving us yet, Jackster, that I know,’ said Wedge. ‘Now give it to me.’

‘Give what to you?’ said Jack, looking directly at Wedge.

‘The Cinnabar Egg. I want the Egg.’

‘I shall give it to the Magus, not to you,’ said Jack.

‘Oh, you don’t want to do that, my Jackster. You want to give it to me, and we’ll say no more about it.’

‘He is your master.’

‘That could change,’ said Wedge. ‘William and myself could be the master, joint master, we could if we had that Egg.’

‘Then why didn’t you get the Egg for yourself, long ago?’ said Jack.

Wedge looked shifty. ‘I found the nest and found the box, don’t think I never did, but I couldn’t open the box, no one could, not ever, none of them and you weren’t the first to try, some of the boys tried too, the ones that are turned to stone, you’ve seen them, that was their punishment, but that is in the past now, Jackster, like our little disagreements and fallings out, yours and mine. I knew you were a special boy when I saw you, and so I will make a bargain with you, handsome and fair: Give me the Egg and I will let you out and away through the courtyard door and you’ll never be seen again.’

Jack hesitated.

‘What about my mother?’

‘I’ll bring her to you in a cart. She can’t walk far, it’s true, on account of her legs being turned to stone, but she can sit at home with you and do sewing, yes, women like to sew. You can be free, Jackster.’

‘Can I come with you?’ said a piping voice.

It was Crispis.

Jack looked at the little boy and smiled. ‘Yes, always, I promise.’ He turned to Wedge. ‘Here is the Egg,’ he said. And from his pocket he pulled out the coconut he had found in the Dragon’s den.

Now Wedge had never seen the Cinnabar Egg, and he had never seen a coconut either. But the coconut looked egg-shaped enough, and exotic enough, and its brown hairy shell seemed to him to be the safe protection of whatever was inside.

Wedge stretched out his hand. Jack drew back.

‘How do I know that I can trust you?’ said Jack.

‘Trust me, Jackster? Swear on my heart, I do, that trust me you can.’

‘You’ve only got half a heart,’ said Crispis, ‘so Jack can only half trust you.’

Wedge glared at the tiny child. ‘Halves is as good as wholes,’ he said.

‘And if I give you this Egg,’ said Jack, ‘what will you do with it?’

Wedge’s eye filled with greed, ‘Hatch it, Jackster, hatch it.’

‘What’s in it?’ asked Jack. ‘It’s only a bird.’

‘If there is nothing in it,’ said Wedge, ‘you wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to get it!’

‘I didn’t get it for myself,’ said Jack, ‘I got it for the Dragon.’

‘The Dragon? You don’t ever want to trust a dragon, Jackster, believe me, yes, believe me you should.’

‘I don’t trust the Dragon,’ said Jack.

Wedge nodded. ‘If you give me that Egg, you’ll be on your way home with your mother by midnight tonight.’

‘Then I’ll give you the Egg at midnight tonight,’ said Jack.

‘Now!’ said Wedge, lunging forward. ‘I say now!’ But Jack was too quick for him, and ran to the window.

‘I shall drop it and smash it,’ said Jack.

Wedge held up his hand. ‘Do it your own way we will, Jackster. I’ll come for you at midnight tonight.’

Wedge hopped away, leaving Jack, Crispis and William in the bedchamber.

‘Now you’ll go away,’ said William, ‘and the Magus will choose me.’

‘No he won’t,’ said Crispis, ‘you’ll see.’

‘Everyone knows you are stupid in the head,’ said William. ‘I don’t care what you say.’

‘Leave him be,’ said Jack. ‘He is no harm to you. Crispis! We might as well go and start the fires.’

‘You can’t,’ said William. ‘We aren’t allowed to leave the chamber until Wedge comes for us!’

‘I don’t think that Wedge is going to say much about it this morning, do you?’

And Jack took Crispis by the hand and went downstairs.

As they passed the Creature’s room Jack glanced inside, and there was Mistress Split fast asleep, snoring her half snores, the dog Max lying beside her. Max saw Jack and lifted his ears, but Jack put his finger to his lips, and the dog understood.

* * *

The dark sky was breaking into pieces of morning. There was not much time.

‘Crispis, we’re going to take the Cinnabar Egg to the Dragon.’

‘No,’ said Crispis. ‘I shall be eaten.’

‘No you won’t, we’ve got something he wants.’

The hallway was silent. Jack pushed open the door that led to the downward tree and, putting Crispis on his back, climbed down as he had before. The child looked in wonder at the wide, thick fleshy leaves, and deep-coloured blossoms. Once they had reached the Dragon’s lair, Crispis bent down and felt the warm moist soil, and while Jack was pushing ahead, Crispis filled both his pockets with soil. He had had a good idea.

Jack didn’t notice that Crispis had fallen behind. He was looking for the Dragon.

From beneath the vast trunk of a vast tree, a single eye opened, and the Dragon coughed.

‘How so, Jack Snap, come back?’

Jack whirled round. The Dragon could camouflage himself easily in the prehistoric forest, and it was only his bright eye that alerted Jack to his presence. His purple and green scaly coat was hidden beneath the purple and green of the forest.

‘Here is the Cinnabar Egg,’ said Jack, pulling it from his shirt.

The Dragon opened both his eyes. He sat up. He sat up twenty feet high above the ground, and his long neck arched and stretched, then swooped down right at the level of Jack’s head. Jack did not flinch, even though the Dragon’s breath smelled of wet cloth and rabbits.

‘How so, how so! Clever boy, cleverer than I guessed,’ said the Dragon. ‘Ah, Jack, we have a bargain indeed!’

‘Why do you want this Egg?’ asked Jack boldly, though once again he had the strange sensation that he only asked the questions the Dragon, in his vanity, wanted to answer.

‘An Egg has two uses and that is all,’ said the Dragon, ‘Eat or hatch.’

‘Which is it?’ said Jack, marvelling that he dared to speak at all, let alone in this familiar way, to a Dragon.

The Dragon’s eyes flickered and hooded themselves. He was ancient and cunning. ‘Ah, Jack, hatch. A waste of such an Egg to consume such an Egg.’

‘What is inside the Egg?’ said Jack.

‘I did not ask that question!’ The Dragon pulled himself up, and shot his purple tongue into the air. ‘Until now you have asked only the questions that I wanted you to ask – that is a Dragon’s way. How so, Jack, that you ask a question I did not ask?’

So Jack was right. The Dragon could put words into his mouth.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jack, truthfully, and the Dragon looked thoughtful.

‘You are more than you seem, Jack Snap, and we shall meet again, both changed.’

Jack didn’t know what the Dragon meant by this, so he decided to proceed with what he did know.

‘Will you prepare the Bath now, for the Sunken King?’

‘I will,’ said the Dragon. ‘In three days’ time come here again and the Bath will be prepared, and the King will be waiting for you. And I shall be waiting for you, Jack Snap.

Now, the Egg.’

‘How do I know that –’

‘You can trust me?’ interrupted the Dragon. ‘You are a human being and you talk of trust. I am a Dragon who knows more of the human heart than you. Our bargain is our bargain, and by my ancient oaths I must honour it. I will tell you something, Jack Snap: trust only those you love, and for the rest, make bargains. You cannot trust the world, but you can bargain with it. Hear me, Jack: trust only those you love.’

‘What do you know of love?’ said Jack, who felt the Dragon asking this question.

‘A great deal,’ said the Dragon, ‘but it was a long time ago, when love and trust grew in the world as easily as trees and flowers. Now it is otherwise, Jack Snap. Now go.’

And Jack held out the Cinnabar Egg, and the Dragon inclined his ancient head and took the Egg in his jaws.

Jack bowed – he did not know why – and walked backwards until he felt safe enough to turn, conscious of the jewel-eyes of the Dragon upon him.

As he reached the foot of the downward tree, he heard a rustle, and there was Crispis, creeping out from under a giant leaf, trembling and covered in earth. Jack grabbed him and together they climbed away.