Mr Gum and the Power Crystals (7 page)

‘That's the way, young 'un,' said Old Granny, helping Polly out into the kitchen. ‘Now come and sit by the fireside while Old Granny tells you her incredible tale.'

So Polly knelt down at the hearth and Old Granny lit the fire against the cold wind that had caught up outside.

‘There,' said the old woman, ‘a good old-fashioned blaze-up, that's the way.'

Old Granny stirred the fire with a poker.
Then she poured a few drops of sherry on to the flames, causing them to flicker and dance with a strange purplish light.

For some time she sat gazing with a faraway look into the flames, as if seeing pictures there from days long gone. She nodded occasionally and sipped her sherry and once Polly heard her gasp, ‘Don't go in there, Mother! It's full of pelicans!' But eventually Old Granny seemed to remember where she was.

‘Young 'un,' said she, turning to Polly. ‘Show me what that whopper dog did find down by the Lamonic River where the water rushes grow.'

With a grimace, Polly took the coloured stones from her skirt pocket. She could not believe she had once thought them beautiful like a goose on a hill. They had brought nothing but trouble and now she could barely bear to bear them in her bare hands.

‘Billy William called 'em power crystals,' whispered Polly as she placed them in Old Granny's withered palm.

‘Aye,' nodded the old woman sadly, studying the wretched things in the firelight. ‘And he was right.'

‘What are they, Old Granny? What do they do?'

‘I will tell you, young 'un,' replied the knowledgeable old drunkard. ‘But it is a terrible
business, it is a terrible business. Aye,' she added. ‘It is a terrible business. A terri–'

‘Excuse me, old 'un,' interrupted Polly politely. ‘Are you a-gonna tell me 'bout it or are you jus' gonna keep on sayin' “it is a terrible business” over an' over?'

‘Just a couple more,' said Old Granny. ‘If that's all right with you.'

‘Fair enough,' said Polly.

‘It is a terrible business,' said Old Granny.
‘Aye, a terrible business.'

And rocking back in her chair she began to tell her tale.

‘I
t was 1529,' Old Granny began, ‘and it was totally rubbish. There was no TV, no rap music, no nothing. The King was a skinny old hunchback with no teeth, the Queen was an ant, and there was nothing to eat in the entire kingdom except for one enormous apple
surrounded by the royal guards. I tell you, the Olden Days were a total waste of time.

‘“I'm sick of it,” said Nicholas de Twinklecakes one Wednesday morning, just after a delicious breakfast of nothing at all. “I haven't eaten for about a year and I'm starting to get hungry. I'm going to build a windmill, and then we can make loaves of bread.”

‘“Hoorah,” said his wife and son. “Hoorah hoorah hoorah.”

‘So Nicholas worked hard to build his windmill,' continued Old Granny. ‘He already had 3p, which made him the richest man in Lamonic Bibber at that time. Plus he found 2p under a piece of dirt and another 1p inside a dead peasant. That gave him 6p – more than enough to build a mighty windmill in those days.

‘So he set to building and very soon it was done. There the windmill stood, on the banks of the Lamonic River, its heavy wooden sails
turning just as fine as fine can be. And sure enough Nicholas and his family were soon feasting on loaves of bread every day.

‘“Hoorah,” said his wife and son. “Hoorah hoorah hoorah.”'

‘But the hoorahs didn't last long, young 'un. It was Midsummer's Eve when a fierce storm came
a-calling. And just at that moment Nicholas' wife and son were standing under the windmill singing a song called “Hoorah. Hoorah hoorah hoorah.”

‘They had just reached the chorus when – FIZZ-FIZZ-OUCH! – they were struck by lightning. When Nicholas returned later that night he found them both dead. And what's more, the windmill was broken, for the storm had destroyed the machinery that made the sails go round.

‘Then a dark look did come over Nicholas' face,' said Old Granny, taking a long sip of sherry. ‘A dark look, even darker than the thunderous skies above. And as Nicholas knelt there by the riverside with an earthworm licking his shoe, he shouted, “I hate everything now! I've gone all bad and I'm going to destroy Lamonic Bibber with a huge cannon! No, wait, I've just had a better idea! I'm going to destroy it with power crystals instead! And the power crystals will make the
sails of the windmill turn once more, but this time the windmill will not make loaves of bread. No, it will make PURE EVIL!”

‘And then Nicholas de Twinklecakes uttered his famous curse –

“When next the windmill's sails do turn,
Lamonic Bibber will burn and burn!”

‘But Old Granny, why would he want to burn
down the whole town into cinders an' ash?' asked Polly. ‘It doesn't make no senses!'

‘It was grief for his dead wife and son,' said Old Granny gently, rocking back and forth in her chair and farting all the while. (Luckily the creaking of the chair covered the noise, and they didn't smell too much so she just about got away with it.)

‘Yes, Nicholas' grief rose up inside his heart and drove him mad,' she continued sadly, ‘and in his madness, he blamed the whole town for what had happened to his family.

‘And so for the next thirty years no one saw Nicholas de Twinklecakes. Up there in his windmill he sat, all alone like a piece of old cheese that no one wants to dance with. His hair grew long and his face grew bitter and his arms sort of stayed about the same, but never mind.
He was busy with his experiments. Strange, unnatural experiments involving power and crystals. And eventually, after thirty years of toil, struggle and hardly combing his hair, he had finally done it. The year was 1559 –'

‘Jus' like what it's written on the bag Jake found,' whispered Polly in the flickering firelight.

‘It was 1559,' continued Old Granny, ‘and it was Midsummer's Eve once more.

‘“Ha ha!” crowed Nicholas from high up in
his windmill. “I have finally made some power crystals! And now to do that curse I mentioned earlier, about thirty years ago.” Giggling madly, he ripped up a couple of floorboards and made them into a Power Crystal Control Panel.

‘“Ha ha!” crowed Nicholas. “Now to put the crystals into the Control Panel – and it's burning time!”

‘But at that moment there came a shout from below and peering down, Nicholas saw the
townsfolk gathered around the windmill, brandishing flaming torches and chickens.

“We know what you're up to!” shouted the townsfolk. “We are going to get you, Nicholas de Twinklecakes!”

‘“Oh, no!” cried Nicholas. “I haven't got time to put the power crystals in the Control Panel. I'd better run away.”

‘So Nicholas climbed out the back window and away he ran, over the fields and meadows,
stopping only to bury the power crystals deep in the ground. Maybe he thought he'd get another chance to use them some other time – but it was not to be. Three days later he was found in a ditch, dead as a kettle and completely bald. He had been murdered by hair thieves.

‘And that's how I heard the tale, as it has passed down from generation to generation,' finished Old Granny. ‘To be honest, I made up the bit about the enormous apple but the rest of
it is probably true. And I tell you, young 'un, ever since that time the windmill's sails have never once turned, not even in the strongest winds.'

‘W
hat a brilliant story that was,' said Polly after Old Granny was done. Outside the wind was howling and the first drops of rain were beginning to fall, a cold, cold rain that meant no
one any good. ‘The bad guy lost an' the townsfolk won an' all's well that ends well. Good night an' sweet dreams, says I!'

‘Oh, young 'un,' said Old Granny. ‘The story is not yet over, don't you see? Nicholas' chance has come again after all.'

‘But all that stuff done happened ages ago!' exclaimed Polly. ‘Nicholas de Twinklecakes is dead an' gone, you saids it yourself with your very own cracked old lips. It's all in the past!'

‘Aye, young 'un,' said Old Granny mysteriously. ‘But the past has a way of repeating itself. The past has a way of repeating itself. The past has a way of repeating itself. And the crystals are growing strong with power again. Tonight is Midsummer's Eve, and I dread to think what may happen if the crystals are taken to the windmill on a night like this.'

‘Well, bad luck, you stupid old hassler, cos that's exactly where we're takin' them,' rasped a filthy voice, and spinning around Polly gasped to see Mr Gum and Billy William climbing from Old Granny's fridge, eating boiled eggs as they came. The roo-de-lallies had tracked them down!