Sebastian Darke: Prince of Explorers (5 page)

Sebastian stared at the little warrior in exasperation. 'Tell her!' he protested. 'Tell her I'm not a hero!'

'I will do no such thing,' retorted Cornelius. 'This is just like you, Sebastian, trying to downplay your abilities. But your modesty is misplaced. You should celebrate your magnificent victories, just as
ordinary
men do.' He smiled at Keera. 'The Chosen One is still weak and a little confused. If the two of us could talk alone for a few moments . . .'

'Of course.' Keera rolled up the parchment and replaced it carefully in her pouch. Then, retrieving the bowl, she got up, bowing respectfully first to Sebastian and then to Cornelius as she went past.

The little warrior waited until she was out of hearing, then strolled into the hut, beaming. 'I'm rather enjoying being the friend of the Chosen One,' he said. 'I've never been so indulged. I simply snap my fingers and I get whatever I want!'

'Cornelius!' Sebastian glared at his friend. 'What's all this "Chosen One" nonsense? And why are you allowing Keera to believe such a ridiculous notion?'

'For very good reasons,' Cornelius assured him. 'While you've been sleeping the days away, I've been using my time to good purpose . . . But more of that later. For now, I have a surprise for you.' He glanced back towards the open doorway. 'Come on, shaggy. He's clearly well enough to entertain visitors.'

A great mournful head ducked in through the doorway and there stood Max, regarding Sebastian with evident relief. 'My prayers are answered!' he exclaimed. 'The young master is healed!'

'I wouldn't go quite that far,' Sebastian told him. 'But I'm certainly on the mend – and though I never thought I'd say it, it's good to see your face, Max.' He thought for a moment. 'Who exactly did you pray to?'

'Why, the great buffalope-god Colin, of course.' Max looked quite indignant at the question. 'Who else?'

'But I didn't think you believed in him,' persisted Sebastian.

'I don't really. But in a situation this grave, I wasn't taking any chances.'

Sebastian laughed at this and instantly regretted it as another stab of pain went through him. Cornelius came and sat down cross-legged beside the straw bed. Max ambled closer too.

'Oh, young master,' he said. 'I can't tell you how happy I am. Even in this terrible place, where everybody seems to want a portion of me!'

Cornelius laughed heartily. 'It's lucky for you you're the magical assistant of the Chosen One,' he said. 'Otherwise you'd be nothing but a handful of spare ribs. I swear there's one fellow in the tribe who can't look at you without drooling!'

'There you go again!' hissed Sebastian. 'You must put Keera straight about this. It's not fair to let her go on thinking . . . well, that there's something special about me.'

'But who's to say there isn't?' argued Cornelius. 'You've seen the scroll. And I've spent some time listening to the old stories. There are some startling similarities: for instance, the Chosen One – that's what the Jilith call this Elf Lord – he's supposed to come from a desert region, just like your homeland Jerabim. He's supposed to have brought down kings and witches, just as you have. And—'

'Yes, but these are just coincidences! There's nothing special about me.'

'I can vouch for that,' said Max. 'I've seen his jester's routine.'

'You
are
special. We all are, and you'd better get that into your thick skull,' said Cornelius.

'But can't you see? It's wrong to allow Keera to deceive herself after she saved our lives and everything. If you won't say something to her, then I will.'

Cornelius shook his head. He reached into his singlet and took out his tobacco pipe and pouch. 'You'll do nothing of the kind,' he said calmly. 'For one thing, tell her that and poor old Max here will be on a roasting spit before he has time to blink.'

'Do you really think so?' asked Max warily. 'I'm nervous enough as it is without that kind of talk!'

'And secondly,' continued Cornelius, 'if we can convince the Jilith that you are who they think you are, they'll give us the location of the lost city of Mendip.'

'What are you talking about?' asked Sebastian. 'Nobody knows if there is a lost city . . . do they?'

'Well, hear me out a moment and see what you think.'

Sebastian was beginning to tire but he listened to Cornelius's story and marvelled at his friend's cleverness. It was clear that despite his concerns for Sebastian's welfare, the little warrior's mind had remained active enough to spot golden opportunities. He had noticed that Keera seemed to be in awe of Sebastian from the very start, treating him with great care and reverence, as though attending to the needs of a king. He had taken his first opportunity to ask her about it.

Soon enough she had told him the story and shown him the ancient parchment. At that point, Cornelius could easily have dispelled the notion, but he had decided that it would be in their interests to allow it to develop. It was Keera who had convinced her father that the strangers in the camp were not ordinary men; and that their appearance here at the village had great significance for the future.

'I've spoken with Keera's father, the chief,' said Cornelius; 'a powerful warrior called Maccan. I asked him if he had ever heard of an ancient lost city in the jungle. He replied that of course he had – it had been a familiar story since his childhood. Not only that, but an old man of the tribe called Joseph claimed to have visited it when he was a little boy.'

'Could he lead us there?' asked Sebastian, trying to hide his mounting excitement.

'Joseph is very old and infirm, not capable of making a long journey – but Maccan thought that he might be able to give us directions to it. I told him,' said Cornelius, puffing away on his pipe, 'that the reason we were sent here was to find the lost city. And for that we would require a guide.'

'I see,' murmured Sebastian. His eyes were growing heavy but he was determined to stay awake a while longer. 'So . . . did you talk to this . . . Joseph character?'

Cornelius frowned. 'Not yet,' he admitted. 'But it's on my list. I thought I'd wait till you were a bit stronger. I'm sure you'd like to meet him. The thing is . . .' He puffed on his pipe for a moment, emitting great clouds of fragrant smoke. 'Keera told me that nobody from the tribe would be willing to undertake a long journey at the moment – not with the Gograth threatening the village as they are. So I was obliged to promise her . . .' He hesitated and threw a cautious look at Sebastian.

'What?' prompted Sebastian. 'What did you promise her?'

'That, er . . . we'd rid her of that little problem before we left the village.'

Sebastian stared at him. 'What . . . little . . . problem?'

'The Gograth. I told her we'd ensure that they were never a threat to the Jilith again.'

Cornelius blew out another cloud of smoke. 'So we just have to work out exactly how we're going to do that,' he said.

'Cornelius,' sighed Sebastian, 'how can you hope to achieve it?'

The little warrior smiled. 'I'm already working on it. My plan is to train the Jilith up as an army so they can give the Gograth the trouncing they so obviously deserve. Maccan has already approved my plan.'

Max snorted and shook his great horned head. 'Why does it always come down to fighting with you people?' he asked. 'Surely there's some other way. Couldn't you go to the Gograth and offer them your hand in friendship?'

Cornelius looked doubtful. 'Did they strike you as the kind of people who are open to reason?'

'They didn't even strike me as
people
,' said Max. 'More like overgrown boobahs with shorter tempers.'

'Well, there you are then,' said Cornelius. 'Offer them the hand of friendship and they'd most likely chop it off and cook it for dinner.'

'But . . . from what Keera was saying,' murmured Sebastian, 'they greatly outnumber the Jilith.'

Cornelius made a dismissive gesture. 'Numbers mean nothing! The Gograth look like they need help to do up their buttons. All the Jilith needed was a mighty general to teach them the finer points of warfare.'

Max looked glum. 'Yes, but where are they going to . . . ?' He glared at Cornelius. 'Not you, surely? You're only a captain!'

'Shadlog's beard! Keep your voice down, you great oaf! I've told Keera I'm a general, just like this General Darvon that everybody's so stirred up about. That way she'll feel more confident about me training the villagers.'

'It doesn't matter how trained they are,' protested Sebastian. 'If they're outnumbered twenty to one they'll be slaughtered.'

'In a stand-up fight, yes,' admitted Cornelius. 'That's where we need a really great bit of strategy.'

Sebastian and Max looked at him expectantly.

'I'm . . . working on it,' he said. 'Now' – he got to his feet and nodded to Sebastian – 'you get some more sleep. You'll find that each day now, you'll manage to stay awake a little longer. You've been very lucky, my friend. I saw them take out that arrowhead – it was right next to your heart.' He held his forefinger and thumb slightly apart. 'That close.' He looked at Max. 'Come on,' he said. 'We'll let him sleep.'

'Very well.' Max gave Sebastian a mournful nod. 'Goodbye, young master, I'm pleased you're not dead. I'll see you later.'

Max and Cornelius left the hut, and within moments Sebastian was asleep and dreaming. He dreamed that he was sitting on a great golden throne, in the centre of a huge marble palace. Below him he saw Keera coming slowly up a long flight of steps, holding a jewelled casket out in front of her, her brown eyes gazing up at him in utter devotion. She knelt before him and held out the box like an offering. He took it from her, placed it on his lap and opened it. Inside was an ancient scroll. He took it out, unrolled it and studied its contents, realizing with a dull sense of surprise that it was a list of his father's jokes, written in elegant calligraphy.

He looked back down the steps to see that behind Keera were lots of people in animal skins, who he presumed were the rest of the Jilith tribe. They were all kneeling and looking up at him expectantly. He recognized others too. There was King Septimus glowering up at him in silent hatred; there was Leonora watching him knowingly with her pale yellow eyes. There was Jenna Swift and Queen Kerin and lots of other faces he never expected to see in this strange place.

They all seemed to be waiting in silence.

So he read out the first joke – the one about the man who had a little mutt that chewed somebody's hat. He came to the punch line, paused for dramatic effect and then delivered it clearly. He waited for the laughter and applause. He waited and waited but the crowd were just looking at him blankly. And that was when he felt the big beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

He tried the next joke. And the next. Nobody laughed. Not a titter. Not a chuckle. Just silence and those terrible bemused faces.

And though he knew he was asleep and dreaming, he couldn't seem to make himself wake up, no matter how hard he tried . . .

The days passed and Sebastian was finally strong enough to get up and take his first brief forays outside, seeing the village for the first time. He discovered that it was composed of around twenty small round huts and several oblong communal guesthouses, one of which had been allocated to him and Cornelius. The jungle had been systematically cleared for a good distance all around the encampment so that there was no cover where enemies could hide. In and around the huts, the Jilith worked, played or just sat and passed the time.

They were a handsome people, with olive skin and dark hair. The men sported beards, which they kept neatly trimmed, and wore rough animal hides. Though they had no armour and their weapons were crude things, they were clearly capable of defending themselves. Sebastian noticed that whatever they were doing, they kept their swords, shields and spears within reach. Keera had told him that parties of Gograth might launch armed raids on the camp at any time. It had been a while since the last raid and everyone was on edge, waiting for the next one.