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  Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Copyright © 2017 by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  All Rights Reserved, no part of this book may be

  Reproduced without prior permission of the author

  except in the case of brief quotations and reviews

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  It’s A Wrap

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Afterword

  Also by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Foreword

  Hello everybody, and welcome to the world of Nathan, Poppy and their medieval friends.

  In medieval England, people spoke a little differently, and even today the English language has differences in America, Canada, England and Australia.

  Spelling is often different in different countries. In England, they talk about a ‘lift’ whereas in America it is an ‘elevator’. In England, one word is spelled ‘colour’ whereas the exact same word is spelled ‘color’ in America. What a muddle!

  But wait – there’s more. Because in my series BANNISTER’S MUSTER, there are a few old-fashioned words that aren’t used in any country anymore. For instance, ‘braes’ which is the old, old word for men’s underpants. Try telling your mother you need a clean pair of braes this morning to wear to school.

  John and Alfie are important characters in these books, and both speak old ‘cockney’ which is a simple distortion of the common language. ‘Ain’t’ instead of ‘isn’t’ – well, most of us say that from time to time. But also ‘tis’ (for ‘it is’) and ‘t’weren’t’ instead of ‘it wasn’t’. They also make some major mistakes in grammar, such as ‘me old man’ instead of ‘my father’ and ‘it were me’ instead of ‘that was me.’

  I have kept this sort of language to a minimum because I don’t want to make my book hard to read for anyone, but these characters all speak a little differently, and I hope you don’t find it confusing.

  I do hope everyone from all countries enjoys my books and do let me know if you have any problem with the language.

  Best Regards,

  Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Chapter One

  It was the laughter that woke him. With a jolt, Nathan sat up in bed and stared into the darkness.

  “What was that? Who’s there?” he said loudly, startled.

  At first there was no answer. Half befuddled with sleep, Nathan almost lay back down, thinking the laughter must simply have been part of his dream. But just as he was ready to go back to sleep, someone said, “Well, Bumble-Bee-Head. Are you ready for an adventure? Or not?”

  Nathan blinked, hiccupped, and sat straighter. Rising up from the corners of his bedroom the huge balloon rocked, its striped colours as bright as the sunshine, even though now it was past midnight. It seemed to burst through the ceiling, huge and beautiful, bigger than his room and yet completely visible, bobbing on its moorings. Below the balloon in a neat wicker basket rather like a shopping bag but much larger, was a thin man, his knees poking up to his chin as he sat squashed into the limited space. He wore black and a top hat as tall as his shadow. His laughter was like water gurgling down the plug hole, and it seemed to be Nathan he was laughing at.

  “This,” said Nathan to himself, “is a very stupid dream.”

  “This,” answered the laughing man, “is no dream at all, my young friend. So climb in with me, and I’ll show you just how stupid it is. Or perhaps how stupid it isn’t.” He nodded and the top hat tilted. “Unless, of course,” he added, “you’re too frightened to risk an adventure you’ll never forget.”

  Nathan rubbed his eyes and said, “You’re a mad man.”

  “Just a mad wizard.”

  “It’s the middle of the night and I don’t want to go anywhere.” This wasn’t entirely true, but having been taught not to talk to strangers, getting into a magic balloon with one seemed definitely unwise. So Nathan added, “I don’t even know your name.”

  The thin wizard leaned forwards, half out of the basket, until his top hat slipped right over his eyes. He said, voice high and thin, “I’m Brewster Hazlett. The one and only Brewster Hazlett. And you, Bumble-Bee Head, are Nat Bannister.”

  “I’m Nathan Bannister. I hate being called Nat. It sounds like an insect.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I’m not a bumble-bee either. I don’t buzz and I don’t bite.”

  “Then you’ll make a good companion,” the thin man said, stretching out one long-fingered hand. “Come on, Nat. Don’t make me wait. There’s an adventure that’s itching to be born and it’s all yours for the taking.”

  His bedroom was starting to fade. One wall with the pictures of him and his grandmother with his sister when she was a baby, had completely faded away. His small white wardrobe was gone. The spotty wallpaper, and the bedside table had entirely disappeared. Nathan was sitting on his bed with the quilt still up to his waist, but everything else around him was turning into a colourless haze, until all he could see was the huge bobbing balloon and the odd man leaning out from it. The stripes on the balloon’s sides became brighter and bigger and beyond the top curve, Nathan could see the moon. It was a dark night and the moon was just a thin sliver. Nathan rubbed his eyes, but that helped nothing and now the bedroom ceiling had gone and the floor and walls were fading fast.

  “Quick, quick, stupid boy,” Brewster called. “Hurry before the bed disappears and you fall into empty space.”

  The wizard’s voice was high and a little squeaky and Nathan wasn’t sure he liked it, but there was nothing else to do except obey. Only his quilt remained. Nathan gulped, took the strange man’s hand, and found himself pulled straight into the balloon’s basket. The wizard’s hand was thin and bony with long scratchy nails like claws. Nathan tumbled in and plopped onto the wicker bottom, where a bright red velvet cushion broke his fall. So he sat on the cushion and peered out.

  His bedroom had now entirely gone. His house no longer existed. Even the garden couldn’t be seen anymore. All that could be seen was the huge black night sky and a thousand blinking and flickering stars with the thin sickle moon high above.

  Brewster said, “Well, Nat. Hang on. We’re off.”

  Nathan stared. “And I’m not dreaming?”

  “Are you cold?” demanded the thin wizard. “Do you feel the wind? Yes, of course you do, Bumble-Bee Head. And you know that doesn’t happen in dreams.”

  “I’m not a Bumble-bee Head and I hate being called Nat and this sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life either.” Nathan was hanging on to one of the ropes that attached the basket to the balloon. He could certainly feel the cold wind, and he was sorry he hadn’t had time to put on his dressing gown and slippers. He was only wearing his fleecy striped pyjamas and was shivering as the wind whistled through the ropes. But the excitement was far greater than the discomfort, and as he gazed up and around, Nathan could smell something sharp and spicy.

  “Smell that?” Brewster Hazlett seemed to guess what Nathan was thinking. “When that scent comes spinning up your nose any ti
me in the future, you’ll know I’m nearby.”

  “But,” said Nathan at once, “does that mean you’ll be visiting me again and again? What if I don’t want you? Can I tell you I don’t want to see you anymore?”

  “You’ll want to see me alright,” cackled Brewster. “First of all, you’ll want me to come back and take you home.”

  “What?” yelled Nathan, turning around abruptly. “You mean you’re taking me to some strange place and then you’re going to leave me there all alone in the middle of the night?”

  “No.” The thin man shook his head. “I’m not taking you some place. I’m taking you some when.” Still laughing, he added, “Look down.”

  Both hands holding tight to the wicker lip, Nathan looked down over the edge of the basket, and gasped. Spread out below was a great city, but it was nothing like any city he had ever imagined. There were no skyscrapers and no motorways, but the hundreds of houses were small and clustered together either side of narrow lanes and twisting alleyways. There seemed to be very many churches with high steeples and one great cathedral with a huge spire and massive pillars rising from the raised entrance. Through the dark sleeping city ran the twists and loops of a river, which was wide and shining silver in the starlight.

  “Where is this?” asked Nathan. “Is it still England?”

  “Foolish Bumble-Bee Head,” sniggered the skinny wizard. “This is London, of course. Don’t you see the River Thames? Can’t you see St. Paul’s Cathedral? And there, in the distance, is Westminster Palace.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nathan objected. “It can’t be London. St. Paul’s doesn’t look like that at all. It hasn’t got a spire, it’s got a dome. Some of those little houses have thatched roofs. London certainly doesn’t have little thatched cottages, or any funny old houses like this at all. And I can’t see Big Ben nor Tower Bridge.”

  “But you can see the Tower with a hundred turrets,” Brewster said, pointing. “Look, stupid boy. The Tower of London. So where could we be except London itself. Look, Nat, look, and use your little brain.”

  Nathan was cold, tired, confused, and extremely excited, but getting annoyed. “Don’t call me Nat,” he objected. “Gnats are horrid little flying insects that bite and there’s nothing wrong with my brain. And yes, there’s the Tower. But where’s the bridge?”

  “The Tower bridge,” grinned the wizard, “won’t be built for nearly four hundred years. This, Nat, is London when King Richard ruled England, and the city was a very different place.”

  The wind was howling like a wolf, and the basket was shaking, buffeted by the growing gale. The smell of magic, which Nathan had first found exciting, now seemed rank and too strong. Nathan shook his head, trying to get his hair out of his eyes. “My name isn’t Nat,” he mumbled. “My name is Nathan. And King Richard who? We haven’t got a King Richard.”

  “Ah, but we did in the year 1485,” said Brewster, pulling on one of the cords. “And that’s where you’re going, boy. Richard III. He was a king some people hated and some people loved, and you’re going to meet him, if you use what little sense you have.”

  Nathan took a deep breath. “I still don’t know if this is a real adventure or just a dream,” he said, “but you’re rude and I want to go home. I want my bed. And I don’t want to be made to walk around a lot of old houses in the cold just wearing my pyjamas. I haven’t any idea why you chose me for your crazy adventures and you can’t leave me here against my will.”

  And Brewster Hazlett laughed again, very loudly. “Well now,” he cackled, “as it happens, yes I can.”

  The basket began to tip. It rocked in the stormy wind and Nathan hung on, screwing up his eyes to see. The stars were bright but now the thin slice of moon was hidden behind clouds. As the balloon began to hover lower and lower, so the huge stone walls of the Tower rose up to meet them. Looking up, Nathan saw the bright balloon roll and shake, while looking down all he could see was menacing darkness, mossy stone walls and the stars reflected in the water of the river nearby.

  Then the whole balloon and the basket too began to twist as if caught in a tornado. It spun around and around until Nathan was dizzy, but he could still see Brewster Hazlett laughing at him. The thin cackle seemed to pierce through the howl of the wind, and even though Nathan continued to hang on tightly, he felt he was falling.

  One minute there was the velvet cushion beneath him and the clutch of the basket safe between his palms, and the next moment the wind was whistling in his ears, he felt a terror he had never known in his life before, and the whole world went topsy-turvy.

  With a bang and a clunk, he landed on hard cobbles. Bruised and shocked, he sat there a moment, watching as the balloon sailed away from him, up into the night sky. The wizard was peering down, laughing again, and waving. His fingers were long and skinny and they shone pale in the darkness, but what showed brightest was his mouth, open in laughter, red lipped and full of long white teeth. His tall black hat was askew and his skinny pointed knees were shaking with enjoyment. And then, within minutes, there was nothing more to be seen and the whole balloon and Brewster with it had disappeared into the clouds.

  Nathan sat very still. For a very brief moment he felt like crying. All alone and completely confused, he had no idea what to do next. He wanted, very much, just to wake up. But by now he was sure that he wasn’t asleep at all. He was very much awake, and very frightened. He wondered what his Grandmother would do in the morning when she came to wake him up, and found an empty bed. Granny would shout and little sister Poppy would come running in to see what was wrong. But Nathan would not be there to explain.

  Looking around, he realised that he was sitting in a very narrow lane. The ground was cobbled and a thin gutter ran wet down the middle. There was no pavement and the windows of the houses either side were dark and closed with wooden shutters. There were no street lamps and no lights in any of the houses. Right next to him there was a set of old broken steps leading down into deepest shadow, and at the end of the lane, the huge soaring stone walls of the Tower of London blocked his view. Next to the dark and broken steps was a smithy, but it was closed, although through a crack in the doorway where the hinges were rusty, he could see the deep red embers of the smith’s furnace. Then he heard a church bell which seemed to come from the other side of the stone wall. It tolled five times and although it sounded nothing like Big Ben, Nathan thought that might mean it was five o’clock in the morning. And then suddenly there was a flicker of light in an adjacent window, and a grating and clank as someone within the house took down the shutters.

  Nathan struggled up and began to walk down the alleyway in the opposite direction to the walls of the Tower. And at that moment there was the sound of running feet and five dark figures bolted from the shadows, came racing around the corner, and ran straight into him.

  Winded, everyone stopped, and one small child fell over with a grunt as he banged his small elbow.

  The fallen child began to cry and Nathan reached out a hand to help him up. They all stood, looking at each other and finally Nathan said “Hello. You must be – cold.”

  It was true. He was conscious of his own weird looking pyjamas and bare feet, but what the other children were wearing was even more odd. The tallest boy wore a long grubby shirt to his knees and under this his legs were bare and so were his feet. At least over his shoulders was a heavy cape of thick sheepskin, clipped tight under his chin, but his feet looked blue and icy. The next tallest was a girl with very long tousled hair and she wore a long tunic dress in some dark heavy material, but peeping beneath the skirts, she also had very dirty bare feet. A dark haired boy wore a torn shirt and was also bare legged, but a small blue cape covered his shoulders. The other two smaller boys were wearing even less, just ragged and dirty shirts.

  Hesitant, and gazing at him in surprise, the small group seemed unsure whether to push past and run on, or stop and talk. The eldest boy was staring at Nathan’s pyjamas. “Well, we’re us
ed to the cold,” he said. “But where did you get them funny things? You look chilly too.” He shook his head of light brown curls. “My name’s Alfie. Who are you?”

  Nathan sighed. “Nat,” he said, accepting the inevitable. “Hello Alfie. Do you live here?”

  “’Course we do,” Alfie said. He pointed to the girl at his side. “She’s Alice. And the little one you knocked over is Sam.” He nodded to his right. “He’s John Ten-Toes,” then nodded to his left, “and he’s Pete.” Alfie waited a moment, but when Nathan didn’t say anything because he couldn’t think what to say, Alfie added, “So where do you live?”

  “London,” Nathan sighed again. “But not this London. Another one. A different one… In a house in Hammersmith.”

  The girl Alice, frowning, said, “Hammersmith is a little village way out West beyond Westminster. That’s not London.” She was hugging herself and shivering. “And if you’ve got a proper house to live in, then that’s where you should be on a cold morning like this. Are you lost?”

  “Oh yes,” admitted Nathan, “very, very lost.”

  It was John Ten-Toes who smiled suddenly and said, “Then reckon ya better join our gang. The best, we are, the very best. Reckon there ain’t no better in all London. We’ll look after ya till you finds your way home again.” He put his hand protectively on Nathan’s shoulder, ten very dirty fingers with ten very dirty finger-nails. “Ain’t no one bests us,” he grinned. “We’ll keep ya safe.”