Hide & Seek Read online

  Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Also by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Here at last is the sixth and final book in the Bannister’s Muster series, I do hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it, who knows I may come back and write a few more adventures in Lashtang sometime in the future.

  But for now, I hope you enjoy Nathan’s last adventure!

  Best regards,

  Chapter One

  The tiger leapt.

  The leap was high over their heads, so they were all staring up, seeing the tiger’s front legs reaching forwards, claws spread, his back legs curled up beneath him, and his tail straight out behind.

  Everyone gasped and bent down while still gazing up.

  Landing on the wide cobbled street that led to the outer gates, the tiger turned with one bound and faced them, barring their way back into the city. He snarled, mouth gaping to show the rows of sharp teeth.

  Peter continued to play. The tune was soft and gentle, the notes plaintive and melancholy, an ancient Lashtang melody which the Lady Tryppa had taught him. The notes grew high and sad as he plucked the strings, the lute resting against his shoulder, his fingers quick and practised. He neither paused nor hesitated.

  And then, very sweet and soft behind him, the tune was repeated in harmony and Peter turned.

  Lady Tryppa was standing there in the darkening shadows, her lute to her shoulder and her fingers to the strings. She was smiling at Peter as she played.

  With a sigh, the great tiger sank down. The music paralysed him. He could not attack, nor could he make any sound. His jaws snapped shut, his eyes half closed and for a moment it seemed that he could not even move. He lowered his head and laid it on his paws as he sank down. It appeared that Yaark slept.

  Peter almost dropped his lute and ran into the lady’s arms. She wrapped her white fur cloak around him and kissed the top of his hair. “My dear boy,” she murmured, “Your music is as beautiful as I could ever imagine. I have stayed away too long. I missed my most talented student. But now, before the creature wakes, we must be gone.”

  Having run forwards to open the gates, Nathan pushed, then kicked, at the heavy wooden doors, which swung with a creak and a burst of last daylight. With Peter now playing the sea shanty he had recently learned from the crew of Christopher Columbus, they all ran out into the grasslands beyond Peganda City, breathing in the crisp twilight and the perfumes of wildflowers and the river winding to the north.

  Alice was singing. “The autumn colours, oh the reds, the copper, the orange and brown.”

  Grabbing her hand, Alfie ran on along the wide country path. Poppy yelled. “Not too far, Alfie. We need to call the Sky-train.”

  But Tryppa shook her head. “I am not quite as useless as that,” she smiled. “Keep close together, and we shall all be back in the cottage by the count of three.”

  “One – two – three. And here, with the sun sinking behind our own garden gate, we are home amongst our friends.”

  It was Poppy, hands on her hips, who said, “Come on, tell us.”

  “I think we should go inside,” Nathan said. “And tell Dad and Granny and Zakmeister at the same time. Look, Sherdam’s putting the kettle on.” So they were sitting all squashed up together around the kitchen table with hot chocolate or tea, and biscuits in their hands, when Nathan continued, saying, “I’ve got something to tell you all..”

  With little idea of what was going on, Columbus, Richard III, Henry V and Henry VIII soon wandered off to play Snap and Cribbage with an old pack of cards, and happily started teaching Cribbage to Alfie.

  But the others were deep in conversation around the kitchen table as first Tryppa explained what she had been doing for long months in Sharr Forest. “It’s a cold place, and never welcoming,” she said with a slight shiver. The Epilogs loved my music and taught me the songs they used to sing around their campfires. But the trees stuck out their roots when I played and threw down broken branches. It took a long and tedious time to prove myself to them. Still, most of the older trees hate me but some of the birches and maples, the pretty beech trees and the fruits, they accepted me and even welcomed me in time. I hope they will talk to their elders now I’ve gone, and convince them that we are not evil creatures wishing to chop them down and burn them.”

  “And the Golden Figs?”

  “At first they threw their fruit at me. Then they made friends and fed me. I told them we have huge orchards now in Clarr, and some trees growing here by the cottage, a few in the plains, by the rivers, and in Sparkan. They were pleased.”

  “But now,” said Nathan, “we’ve done so much. All the Sparkan animals are friends, even some of the snakes. Hexaconda and Laksta have taught us so much. Amazing. So terrifying and so different. Cruel. And kind too. Everything. All back to front.” He turned to Tryppa. “They’re called Quosters. An old race of snake people. Originally they lived in the forest too. It was just the trees and the Quosters, and no Epilogs because they lived at Clarr.”

  “But the people hated the Quosters and were frightened of them,” said Poppy, “so they killed them. The last few escaped to Sparkan and the hot water lakes.”

  “But by then the Hazletts were killing off the Epilogs so they escaped to the Sharr Forest.”

  “Dear, dear,” said Granny, who was busy icing a cake. “We don’t even know our own history, do we! We should know all this, partly to put things right, but also to learn from the past.”

  “I liked history at school,” said Nathan. “But I never learned much. I didn’t know a thing about medieval London until I suddenly went there. In school, I just knew the dates of battles and the names of kings.”

  “I just knew about the names of Roman Emperors that I couldn’t pronounce,” giggled Poppy.”

  “Back to business.” Bayldon stood, leaving a biscuit on his plate which John immediately grabbed. “So Brewster pretends – or may be truly – to be our friend. Wagster is crazed. Clebbster is badly injured, can do no magic for some weeks, and has to stay in bed. His wife and daughter have returned to Sparkan. For the moment, we are safe from all of them.”

  “Yes.” Nathan took a deep breath. “But listen. There’s something more important than history. Even more important than the trees and the Epilogs.” He took a deep breath and looked around at all the attentive faces watching him. Then he exhales just as deeply, and said, “Yaark is back.”

  For some moments there was complete silence. This was the worst shock they could have, and no one spoke for some time. Then quite suddenly everyone spoke at the same time. “What? How? When? How do you know? And what shall we do?”

  For hours they talked, and the grey shadows crept into the corners where they changed to black night. Eventually, as quiet as the shadows, they fell once more into bed. Every one of them dreamed, haunted by the thought of Clebbster and the return of Yaark. No one slept well.

  Ninester, having slept better than anyone else, was up early the next
morning, and followed by little Smudge the puppy, ran out into the garden. Granny was still curled, snoring slightly, in her warm bed so there was no waiting breakfast. Opening the garden gate, Ninester and Smudge danced down the little pathway which led to and from the cottage, and past the hedges of bushes out into the sunshine.

  And there, unwatched and without sound, Ninester disappeared entirely.

  Smudge sat a moment, staring around. He saw nothing. He wagged his tail hopefully, but no one came. He began to whimper. Still. No one came. So he trailed the edges of the bushes and the roadside onwards, and then back towards the cottage, sniffing for a hint of his master’s sweet scent. Still nothing. With a bound of panic-stricken desperation, he leapt the garden gate and rushed to the cottage door. There he sat on the doorstep and barked. The door didn’t open. So he began to howl.

  Zakmeister pushed the door open with considerable impatience. “Idiot dog,” he said Loudly. “Stop that noise. Why aren’t you with Ninester?”

  Sitting docile on the doorstep, Smudge attempted to look worried but intelligent.

  Granny, up now but still in her dressing-gown, peeped over Zakmeister’s shoulder. “What’s the matter with the puppy?”

  “Goodness only knows. Where’s Ninester?”

  John came from the outside wall and wandered over. He had been watching the dawn from the garden bench. “Wot do Smudge cry fer?” he asked. Everyone shook their heads. “Where be Ninester?” John demanded. Granny shook her head, Zakmeister shook his head, and Smudge nodded with a loud bark. “Well, that’s it, then,” said John.

  “What’s what?” asked Granny, waving her wooden spoon.

  “Tis obvious,” said John. “Ninester got lost or fell in sommint. Smudge knows where. We gotta follow him. Reckon I’ll go. Will bring him back fer breakfast.”

  Granny returned to scrambling the eggs, Zakmeister returned to his morning coffee, and John followed the dog back into the morning sunshine. But it wasn’t far before Smudge stopped in the middle of the empty pathway, turned around three times, looked up hopefully at John, and then sat down with a whimper.

  “Well, he ain’t here,” said John. “So wot’s it all about?” He looked up. There were no striped balloons hovering, no floating grey clouds, no storms arriving and no sign of anything at all. It was a sunny blue and cloudless sky. “Tis Ninester you be looking fer?” John asked. Smudge barked once. “He done gone?” The very small dog sat panting, tongue out.

  Smudge was still panting as he watched John disappear before him. He began to howl.

  From the kitchen Granny peered out of the window, saying, “That little dog is howling. I do believe something is very wrong.”

  “I shall go and check,” said Tryppa, who had been setting the table and buttering the toast. She grabbed one piece of toast and hurried through the back door. Sherdam ran after her.

  “Not alone,” he told her. “No one goes alone now. We go together. Hopefully nothing too violent will happen since I’m looking forward to those scrambled eggs.”

  Tryppa was munching the toast as they arrived at the point where the puppy sat in the middle of the path, whimpering and staring around. No one else was there. To one side of the path were low bushes and behind the bushes were two wide-spreading oak trees. Through their branches, the sky was a light blue. Tryppa said, “No clouds. But this has to be Yaark.”

  “When Yaark was first captured,” Sherdam said, eyes narrowed as he bent and patted Smudge, “this was where we found him afterwards, the jar smashed just under those bushes.” He frowned again. “But I don’t remember those trees.”

  Abruptly, Tryppa looked up. “I can’t remember what was growing here,” she said softly. “It’s been an age since I was here last. But why don’t those leaves carry autumn colours? Why are they rich green, when everything else is turning old gold and dying? Leaves are falling from the other trees, but not these two oaks.”

  The puppy was whimpering again, burying its nose in Sherdam’s warm woollen shoulder. He looked down at its quivering snout and big frightened brown eyes. “Back to the cottage,” he said at once. “There’s something wrong. It’s time to talk, not to be taken like the others.”

  “Taken?” Tryppa was confused.

  “You’ve just said it.” Sherdam started walking and Tryppa kept close beside. “You pointed it out yourself,” he told her. “Those two trees don’t belong.”

  For a moment Tryppa stood and dropped the rest of her toast. “You mean those trees have followed me from Sharr?”

  “Almost positively.” Sherdam did not look behind. “We need to find out exactly what’s happening, but we need to face the danger from a position of strength. I want Altabella, Zakmeister and Messina at my side.”

  Chapter Two

  It was no longer the darkness of night. Nothing moved within the enclosed black warmth, no stars glimmered, and no leaves were visible. There was a rich loamy scent, not unpleasant, but too strong for it seemed to fill the air. Indeed there was little air, and John began to gasp, finding it difficult to breathe.

  Ninester was crying, his woolly llama cuddled in the crook of his arm. “Will they hurt my little Smudge?”

  “No way,” John told him. “Yer puppy’s gone orf to get Granny and t’others. He ain’t stuck in here. Got too much sense.”

  “I want my Smudge and I want my Mummy,” Ninester sobbed.

  John decided that if he had to be abducted alongside one of their group, Ninester was not the one he’d choose as a helpful companion. “It ain’t gonna last long,” he said with determination, “cos yur dog’s gone to get Granny and them others. Reckon we be out mighty soon.”

  But he wasn’t sure he believed this himself. How was anyone going to guess where they were? John reached out both hands, feeling the sides of their prison. It was rough with the knobs and flaking surface of wood, with the cracks and grain of the hollow tree trunk where they had both been trapped. They could not see out. The gaping hole in the sides of the old oak had closed around them, and they were no longer able to see where the entrance had been. The rough bark inside gave no clue and where John found the cracks and slits and poked in his fingers to try and force an opening, he discovered only more wood. Beneath them were old dead leaves and piles of broken acorns, broken slithers of twigs and old moss.

  “I’m frightened,” admitted Ninester. “I’ve never been in a tree before.”

  “Not sommint we normally does,” John agreed. “But tis not hurting, apart fer a bit squashed.”

  “And no air.”

  “Tis Yaark,” decided John. “I reckon Yaark done got into trees cos there ain’t no more tigers.”

  He was interrupted by a voice he did not recognise. Nor did he fully understand. It sounded nothing like Yaark. “I speak for myself, and no other speaks for me,” said a deep booming voice. It echoed within their tiny prison, and the walls around them vibrated. “I know of the creature Yaark,” continued the voice with a gruff tone of dislike, “but its malice will never enter my trunk, nor flutter one leaf, not touch one root. I disdain such alien beings. Yaark has no place on Lashtang.”

  “But I do,” sniffed Ninester. “I was the emperor’s son. Why don’t you like me? I never hurt you.”

  “When you two become four,” said the booming voice, “we will carry you back to Sharr.”

  Ninester sniffed. “I don’t want to go to Sharr,” he mumbled. “It frightens me.”

  “We are the guardians of the land,” the voice said, now as deep as the roots of the tree. “Some of us have lived in Sharr for two thousand years. Trees see everything.” A faint cracking echoed from above. John felt that the tree was bending. “When I was a sapling,” it said, “all the world was young. The moons sprang over my head, calling to the rain for me to drink. The grass grew thick to protect my roots. The birds sang and nested along my branches. I knew myself welcome. I was loved.”

  “I don’t reckon tis naught to do wiv us,” objected John. “We ain’t done nuffing to yo
u but we ain’t gonna love no trees wot takes us like we was criminals or sommint. You kidnaps us – wot fer?”

  “We were loved by the birds, by the rain, by the sun and the moons,” continued the booming voice. “Nature loved us in the beginning of time, and we loved nature. We loved the Quosters. They were our friends. They slept on our branches, winding around and basking in the daylight. They knew our language and we told them stories.”

  “Yer,” muttered John. “Now we knows who them Quosters are. But we done made friends wiv them an’all.”

  “When people came along,” boomed the tree, “they killed the Quosters. It was horrible to see. The snakes hid amongst our roots, but the men pulled them out and killed them. We sobbed for them as we watched our friends killed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” cried Ninester. “I’ve never killed anyone. I never would. Nor has my Mummy. My Daddy, well, he has. He’s mean and wicked. But that’s not my fault.”

  “To help our friends escape,” continued the oak tree, “we created a rainbow stair to Sparkan. But only good and just people can use it. The bad people could not approach. But the Quosters used the rainbow to escape and they went to live on Sparkan. We have never seen them since and we miss our friends.”

  “But them Epilogs came instead,” said John.

  “The Epilogs fear us,” said the tree, “and we cannot see them. These are not friends.”

  “Well, reckon if you lets us out,” decided John, “we’ll wanna be yer friends too.”

  No voice answered. The silence came back.