The Six Crowns: Trundle's Quest

  TRUNDLE’S QUEST

  The Six Crowns

  ALLAN JONES & GARY CHALK

  Six are they, the Badgers’ crowns.

  If power ye seek, they must be found.

  Crystal, iron, and flaming fire—

  Gather them, if ye desire.

  Ice and wood and carven stone—

  The power they give

  Is yours

  Alone.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - The Lamplighter of Shiverstones

  Chapter 2 - Razorback and the Pirates

  Chapter 3 - Badger Blocks

  Chapter 4 - Stowaways in the Hold

  Chapter 5 - Rathanger

  Chapter 6 - The Perils of Cheating at Cards

  Chapter 7 - Razorback and the Raven

  Chapter 8 - The Mines of Drune

  Chapter 9 - Things Go BOOM!

  Chapter 10 - Homeward Bound?

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  The legends say that once—long, long ago—there was a single round world, like a ball floating in space, and that it was ruled over by six wise badgers. The legends also tell of a tremendous explosion, an explosion so huge that it shattered the round world into a thousand fragments, a vast archipelago of islands adrift in the sky. As time passed, the survivors of the explosion thrived and prospered and gave their scattered island homes a name—and that name was the Sundered Lands.

  That’s what the legends say.

  But who believes in legends nowadays?

  Chapter 1

  The Lamplighter of Shiverstones

  Trundle Boldoak smiled as he lifted his candlepole to light the final lamp of Market Square.

  Evening was coming on fast, but Trundle’s job was done—all the lamps of Port Shiverstones were burning now. From Docking Street to Gatherer’s Turnpike, the yellow flames flickered behind their glass panels, illuminating the highways and thoroughfares of the small trading town.

  Leaning on his candlepole, Trundle gazed up into the darkening sky. Far away he could see the twinkling lights of the few islands that floated within eyeshot of Shiverstones. Beyond them, the darkness was sprinkled with the opening eyes of a hundred thousand stars.

  “And now to home,” Trundle murmured to himself as he headed across the Market Place. The end of his candlepole clicked sharply on the cobbles as he passed the great stone fountain with the granite statue of the founder of Shiverstones at its center. Furrowman Plowplodder, the first animal to bring cabbages to the flat, windswept island—farmer forefather of all the endless acres of cabbages that were now Shiverstones’s principal crop.

  Windships came here from far and wide, trading Shiverstones cabbages for earthenware pots and cast-iron pans, for candles and cheese and cloth and hoes, for buttons and buckets and boots and stoves, and for everything else the farmers and merchants of Shiverstones might need.

  Trundle had spent all of his short life in Port Shiverstones, as had his parents and his grandparents before him. All his relations were dead now, and Trundle was quite alone, but he didn’t mind that so very much. He had his work to do. The hereditary job of Lamplighter was not a glamorous or an exciting one, but it earned him ten sunders a day, which was enough for his simple needs.

  “Good evening, Mistress Gleet. Good evening, Farmer Gossage,” he called cheerily to passing townsfolk as he made his way toward Lamplighter’s Lane and the small cottage that he called home.

  “Good evening, young Trundle,” they replied as they hurried along. “The wind’s up tonight!”

  It was always good to get out of the stiff, chill winds that blew across the land of Shiverstones. Even in high summer, through the toasty months of Greengrow and Beetime and Sunhover, the Shiverstones nights could be cold and bleak.

  Now that Trundle had finished his evening rounds, he was looking forward to a cup of cabbageleaf tea and a warm bowl of cabbage broth. And then a quiet evening with his feet up and his snout in a good book.

  He always went to bed early with his alarm clock set for dawn; by sunrise he needed to be busy with his snuffing staff, putting the lamps out again. Then he would spend the morning trimming the wicks and polishing the lamp glass and topping up the oil and happily passing the time of day with friends and neighbors. Yes, all in all, his was a good life, and he was contented with it.

  He ambled down the center of Lamplighter’s Lane. The two yellow lamps above his front door flickered and danced as he approached, as if they were the eyes of the house, sparkling with joy to see their master returning.

  He stepped onto the porch and lifted the latch. As he pushed the door open, he could already smell the broth that he had left warming over a low flame.

  “Peace and quiet,” he said happily, stepping over the threshold.

  Suddenly he heard a swift patter of feet behind him. Before he even had time to glance over his shoulder, something hit him hard on the back, and he was sent sprawling forward across the flagstones of his parlor floor. He skidded helplessly, gathering rugs as he went, spluttering and gasping under a heavy weight that pressed down on his back and knocked all the breath out of his body.

  He came to a halt with his snout almost in the hearth.

  “You’re smaller than I expected,” said a voice. “And where’s your sword?”

  Breathless and befuddled, Trundle managed to squirm onto his back. A strange girl hedgehog sat squarely on his stomach, looking down at him with a critical gaze.

  She had a mischievous face, grubby and unwashed, but enlivened by a pair of bright, flashing eyes. The shabby dress she wore might once have been a deep red color, but now it was so stained and dirty that it was more gray than anything else.

  Trundle had never seen her before in his life.

  “Get off me!” he gasped. “What are you playing at? Who are you?”

  The girl clambered off and held out a helping paw. He scrambled up, ignoring the offer of assistance.

  “I’m Esmeralda Lightfoot, the Princess in Darkness,” she said cheerfully. “And you’re the Lamplighter!”

  “So what if I am?” Trundle said angrily. “That’s no reason to jump on me like a Windrush hare!” He dusted himself off a little. “What do you want? Be quick. I’m busy.”

  “I want you,” Esmeralda said. “Time’s wasting. Come on, we have a windship to catch.”

  Trundle looked warily at her. The girl was clearly mad, but she needed careful handling. Now that he was on his feet and his brain was unscrambling, he noticed that her dress was Roamany. He’d never actually been face-to-face with a Roamany before—the romantic Roamany caravans never came to Shiverstones—but he had seen pictures of the Roamany folk in books. And he’d read about them, too; enough to know they were the only people in all of the Sundered Lands who had magic about them.

  If this girl was Roamany, it wouldn’t be wise to antagonize her—she might turn him into a carrot or a cobblestone or a shred of thistledown. Apparently Roamanys could do things like that.

  “I think you may have mistaken me for someone else,” Trundle offered cautiously, edging toward the side of the fireplace, where he knew a stout iron poker could be quickly snatched up if the need arose.

  “Not at all,” Esmeralda said. She fumbled for a moment in a pocket in her dress and then brought out an oblong piece of wood, about two inches long by one inch deep. Trundle noticed that the block of wood had pictures carved on its four long sides. “This is a Badger Block, this is,” she announced, holding the piece of wood up to Trundle’s face. “See?”

  “If you say
so.” Puzzled, he peered at the picture cut into the side facing him.

  His eyebrows shot up. Carved into the wooden block was a picture of a hedgehog—a hedgehog dressed exactly as Trundle was dressed, a hedgehog with a Lamplighter’s candlepole in one paw and a long sword in the other.

  “Well?” Esmeralda insisted. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Trundle opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but could think of nothing useful to say.

  “This is one of the magical and ancient Badger Blocks from the old times,” Esmeralda explained. “You’ve surely heard of the powers of the prophetic Badger Blocks?”

  “Um . . . no,” said Trundle. “Not as such.”

  Esmeralda frowned at him. “That doesn’t matter right now,” she said. “The thing is, I picked this block from the black sack and it came up Lamplighter—and the Lamplighter is quite obviously you! I knew it the moment I saw you.”

  Trundle took a long, slow breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said gently. “But if you tell me what you want, I’m sure I’ll be able to point you in the direction of someone who can help you.” By this he meant he wanted her out of his house and as quickly as possible, with a bolted door between them.

  Esmeralda blinked at him. He got the impression she thought he was an idiot, which was rather annoying.

  “When I was born,” she began, “Aunty did a reading of the Badger Blocks and found that my picture was the Princess in Darkness. Everyone has a picture that relates to them, okay?”

  Trundle nodded.

  Esmeralda touched a paw to her chest. “I’m the Princess in Darkness.” She pointed at him. “You’re the Lamplighter. The two of us need to go and board a windship. We must follow the prophecy of the Badger Blocks and find the first of the Six Crowns of the Badgers of Power. Now do you understand?”

  “The Badgers of Power?” Trundle scoffed, hardly able to keep from laughing. “They’re not real! The stories about them are just . . . well, children’s tales. You can’t seriously believe . . . that . . . there . . . really . . . were . . .” His voice trailed off as he saw the girl looking more and more ferocious.

  “The legends are absolutely real!” she said. “The badgers existed, and their six crowns still exist. And for some reason, you’re needed to help find them.” She shook her head. “Aunty once told me that the Fates sometimes use the most unlikely creatures to work their will.” She eyed him up and down. “And for this task, the Fates have chosen you.

  “Now then,” she went on briskly, “gather whatever you think you might need on the journey, then let’s get going.”

  “Going? Going where?” Trundle gasped.

  “To the docks, to find a windship to take us to the first of the Six Crowns!” Esmeralda declared.

  “Okay,” Trundle said firmly. “This has all been very interesting, and I’m thrilled to have met you, but it’s my dinnertime now, so if you don’t mind . . .” He spread his arms and started to herd her toward the still-open front door. “Do send me a postcard to let me know how you’re getting on,” he added with a strained smile. “Address it to Trundle Boldoak, Lamplighter’s Cottage, Lamplighter’s Lane, Port Shiverstones.” If necessary, he intended to give her a helpful shove out into the night before slamming the door on her and throwing the bolt.

  “Now look here—” Esmeralda began.

  But whatever she’d been planning on saying next was drowned out by a loud explosion that shook the little cottage and sent dust raining down on their heads.

  Shocked, Trundle stared out into the night. A bloom of reddish cloud was rising behind the rooftops from the direction of the docks. Before he could catch his breath, there was another explosion, and then another and another.

  Boom! Crash!

  Boom! Crash!

  BOOM! CRASH!

  Trundle and Esmeralda stood together on the doorstep, staring into a night suddenly full of noise and smoke and leaping flames.

  Voices rang out— frightened voices, screaming and shouting and wailing—and there were other voices, too, harsh, guttural voices that whooped and howled and bellowed.

  “It’s Captain Grizzletusk!” Esmeralda gasped, her voice shaking. “We’re too late! The pirates have found us!”

  Chapter 2

  Razorback and the Pirates

  Esmeralda’s words made Trundle’s heart almost stop. The people of Shiverstones didn’t know much about the wide realms of the Sundered Lands, but even in this quiet backwater they had heard terrifying stories of Captain Grizzletusk, the pirate hog.

  Esmeralda turned to Trundle, her eyes filled with fear. “We have to run!”

  “We?” Trundle yelped. “What do you mean—we?”

  “Here are your choices,” Esmeralda said determinedly. “Either I stay here and Grizzletusk finds us—or we go before the pirates arrive.” Her eyes narrowed. “You decide!”

  Trundle stared at her.

  A little while ago, he’d been looking forward to nothing more energetic than a bowl of broth and a good book, and now suddenly he had to choose between being chopped into pieces by a band of marauding pirates or fleeing his cozy home with a mad Roamany girl!

  “I’m very sorry,” he said, making a last desperate effort to hold on to his peaceful, sensible life, “but this is nothing to do with me.” And so saying, he backed through the doorway and slammed the door on her.

  Leaning against the wooden panels, he breathed hard, listening to the hideous din of the savage pirates. Pirates in Shiverstones! Even now he could hardly believe it. He had expected the crazy girl to yell for help and to hammer on the door, but there was no sound from her. After a few moments, he pressed his ear to the panels.

  No. Nothing.

  “Esmeralda?” he called tentatively. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” came a dull reply.

  “Aren’t you going to run away?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “What’s the point?” came Esmeralda’s flat voice. “If you won’t come with me, I may as well wait here to be recaptured.”

  Trundle closed his eyes and bumped his forehead against the door a couple of times, trying to dislodge the disturbing thought that was growing in his brain. The thought that he really ought to do something to help her!

  With a deep sigh, he opened the door. Esmeralda leaped in with a wide grin on her face. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down!”

  Beyond her, at the dark end of Lamplighter’s Lane, Trundle caught his first glimpse of the pirates. He didn’t like the look of them one little bit. There were pigs and rats and weasels and foxes, all dressed outlandishly and armed with cutlasses and—worst of all—with muskets and smoking pistols.

  “Is there a back way out?” Esmeralda asked, slamming the door shut and shooting the bolt. “Quickly, now—there isn’t much time.”

  Nodding, Trundle led her across the parlor, through a door, along a corridor, through the scullery, and into the washing room. From here a door opened into his neat garden. Beyond the low drystone wall, endless acres of cabbages stretched out under the night sky.

  Esmeralda stopped on the threshold. “You’re sure you don’t have a sword?” she asked.

  “I’m positive,” Trundle assured her.

  “Not even hidden in the attic or under the floor-boards? One that might have slipped your mind?”

  He stared at her. “Hardly.”

  “Then I expect we’ll find it during the quest,” she said with a nod. “But right now our problem is how to get off this benighted island without being caught by Grizzletusk and his cutthroats. They’re hot on my trail!”

  She sprinted across the garden with Trundle close behind, and in a moment the two of them were over the wall. The rows and rows of cabbages extended into the distance, looking weirdly unnatural in the starlight glow, like ranks of squat, blobby monsters brooding with evil intent.

  Another explosion made Trundle jump. He looked back. The night sky was
aglow with a ghastly red light, and he could hear gunshots in the town. In all of the Sundered Lands, only the pirates knew the secret of the exploding powder; only they wielded muskets and blunderbusses and flintlock pistols.

  “Why are the pirates chasing you?” he asked.

  “No time to explain,” Esmeralda replied. “I’ll fill you in later.” She pointed across the fields. “Where does this lead?”

  “This is all Farmer Pyepowder’s land,” Trundle told her. “The light you can see in the distance is his farmhouse. And beyond Farmer Pyepowder’s land is Farmer Gidding’s land, and beyond that is Farmer Stickleback’s land, and—”

  “I get the picture,” Esmeralda interrupted him. She gestured toward the town. “Is this the only port?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the only way to get off this dismal island is to go back to the docks,” she said, rubbing her snout. “Hmm. Tricky!”

  “We could hide in the fields,” Trundle suggested, waving a paw toward the cabbage-filled horizon. “They’d never find us in there.”

  She looked at him with wide, solemn eyes. “Yes,” she said, “they would. Come on, back into town. Sneaky’s the word! They’re dangerous and violent, but they’re not very bright—except for the foxes, of course. We’ll have to watch out for them.” She climbed back over the wall and, keeping low, peered around the corner of the house into the lane.

  Trundle considered his options. None looked good, and at least the girl seemed to have some idea of what was going on. With a heavy sigh, he decided to follow her.