The Battle of the Sun Read online

‘Excellent!’ said Jack. ‘And I have something for you. Look.’ He took a sunflower seed from his pocket. ‘Here is your sunflower, Crispis. A promise is a promise.’

  ‘That is not a sunflower!’ said Crispis.

  ‘Yes it is. Inside this seed is a sunflower.’

  ‘How can I get it out?’ asked Crispis.

  ‘Soil and water,’ said Jack. ‘Plant it and you will have a sunflower. But for now, hide it in your pocket. Quick – it’s Wedge.’

  It was Wedge and Mistress Split fetching the boys for breakfast. But there had been a change; now the two of them snarled and scowled at each other as much as they ever did at the boys.

  In the refectory Jack slid on to the bench beside Robert.

  ‘Tonight I’m going to break into the Magus’s chamber. Will you help me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Robert. ‘It’s hopeless.’

  ‘If you say it’s hopeless then it will be hopeless!’

  ‘He knows everything we do.’

  ‘The Dragon told me that he only knows what we are thinking when we are anxious or afraid. If we aren’t afraid we’ll succeed.’

  ‘I am afraid,’ said Robert.

  ‘All I want you to do is to keep watch while I am in his chamber. If anyone comes upstairs or anything happens, can you hoot like an owl?’

  Robert nodded.

  ‘Tonight, then, Robert, promise me?’

  ‘But we’ll be locked in!’

  William came and sat by them, listening. Jack fell silent.

  The day passed as the days did in the Dark House. The boys worked at the alembics, Crispis sat sleepily nodding by the talking Head that never talked. The Eyebat whooshed about, but no one took any notice of it any more.

  The Magus was strangely absent, and Jack felt sure that something was being prepared. The heavy lead-like quality of the days that passed without any change had a different feel today, like light on a cold floor. Jack knew that the Magus would know that he had spoken to both the Dragon and the Sunken King, but he was sure that the Dragon would guard the secret of the Cinnabar Egg because he wanted it for himself. He thought about what the Dragon had said about their bargain: ‘Your trust is not interesting. You want something from me and I want something from you. That is interesting.’

  It would be the same with the Magus. At present Jack was safe because he had something – even though he had no idea what it was – that the Magus wanted. Therefore there was nothing to fear. Therefore, this was the time to act.

  Jack’s mind settled as he turned these things over and over. He was not sure about Robert, because Robert had too much fear, but he felt sure about Crispis, a child so odd that he was true. William . . . no, Jack couldn’t trust William, and he had nothing that William wanted. Therefore, William was dangerous.

  At that moment Jack looked up and there was William, looking at him, with the Eyebat hovering just above his head. Quickly William averted his gaze, but Jack had seen the way he looked – envy and anger.

  Jack made an effort to blank his mind now, as anxiety was creeping in, and that, he knew, made him vulnerable to the Magus.

  * * *

  In his library, the Magus was reading. The table was piled with books. Anne, standing quite still, could see that the Magus was consulting astrological tables.

  ‘At the next full moon the moon will eclipse the sun,’ said the Magus.

  ‘What does that mean, sir?’ said Anne.

  The Magus did not answer. He turned and passed his hand over the fire, and what Anne could not see was the spire of St Paul’s burning fierce gold in the flames.

  The day began to close, as days must, so that even the worst days will end and bring in their ending the chance of a new start.

  The boys had been sent upstairs early, and after they had talked awhile, they one by one fell asleep. Only Jack lay awake. Wide awake.

  When he was sure that the house was silent, and when he had counted the boys’ snores, he carefully swung himself out of bed and went to the door. He looked through the keyhole – the landing was empty. Without a sound, Jack took out the iron tool and jiggered the lock. The door was open.

  Jack went to where Robert was sleeping and woke him roughly, shaking his shoulder.

  ‘No,’ said Robert, sleepily.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Get up! You promised.’

  Robert did as he was told, and to his amazement, Jack opened the door to their bedchamber.

  ‘It isn’t locked!’ said Robert, now fully awake.

  But Jack wasn’t going to tell anyone how that had happened.

  On the dark landing the two boys looked around.

  ‘Let me stand on your shoulders,’ said Jack.

  While Robert was protesting, Jack balanced on the banister rail, then climbed on to Robert’s shoulders. Jack was nimble and light and Robert was bigger and sturdier, so it was easy enough for the two boys. Balancing himself carefully, Jack began to feel his way across the ceiling, ordering poor Robert to walk left and right, while Robert, with his head down, held Jack’s ankles, and tried to stop himself trembling with fear.

  At length, Jack found what he was looking for – his hands touched on a square shape recessed into the ceiling plaster. This was the opening, but there must be some kind of a spring somewhere. Jack pushed and tested, and heard something clicking. Excited, he pushed with all his force, and suddenly the ceiling panel opened, and Jack came tumbling down off Robert and the pair of them collapsed in a noisy heap on the floor.

  Jack looked up – there was the way into the Magus’s Chamber.

  ‘We’ll be caught now,’ said Robert. ‘We’ll wake the Creature.’

  Robert scrambled up and ran back into the boys’ bedchamber and flung himself into bed. No one seemed to be awake but Crispis.

  ‘Robert! Come back! You have to help me!’ said Jack, but Robert absolutely would not get out of bed.

  ‘Did you find the way in?’ asked Crispis, appearing on the landing.

  ‘Yes, but I can’t reach it without Robert,’ said Jack, in despair.

  ‘Reach what?’ said William, and Jack was not pleased to see that William too was awake. But it was too late now, and William was also on the landing, staring up at the opening.

  ‘I will help you,’ he said. ‘You can climb on my shoulders. I am nearly as tall as Robert.’

  Now Jack did not want to do this, but he knew he had to do something, so, holding his doubts at bay so as not to disturb his mind and let in the Magus, Jack climbed up on William’s shoulders, reached into the opening, and hauled himself up with all his strength.

  It was dark.

  But what was the ‘it’ that was dark?

  Jack had exactly the same feeling as he had had in the well, when he’d wondered if he had been swallowed by a whale, and at the same instant he remembered what Robert had said about how the house didn’t really exist, but that they were all living inside the Magus.

  ‘No,’ said Jack involuntarily to himself.

  He took a tinderbox from his pocket and struck a light. The room lit up, and in the flare Jack saw a desk with a candlestick on it. He lit the candle and looked about him.

  The room was not a room at all . . .

  THE PHOENIX

  It was a nest.

  Jack nearly fainted with the stench – a strong, thick stench of talons and wings and hunting breath, like an owl, like a kestrel, like a hawk, like a bird of prey.

  Jack tried not to breathe, but even with his handkerchief over his mouth the smell was overwhelming. Bird droppings were piled in the corners, mixed with bones and straw and dried leaves.

  Feathers and dust, dusty feathers, cobwebby feathers littered the rough floor and layered it, a foot deep. The feathers were crimson and gold. Jack picked one up, wondering at it. There was no window in the room, for the room was really the closed attic of the house, and seemed to run on for miles into the dark, but there was a rough opening in the gable-end wall. Jack went over and leaned out – yes, he w
as right in the roof, near enough to the stars, and high above the courtyard with the well. He was glad of the sudden rush of fresh air, and sat back in the hacked-out opening, careless of the drop. He gazed into the room.

  The desk was the only piece of furniture, the only sign that anything human ever came here. And the desk, unlike everywhere else, was carefully dusted, polished even, with a quill pen made from one of the red and gold feathers, and a jar of red ink. There was an open book on the desk. Jack took a deep breath of clean air and made his way carefully across the room.

  The page of the book had a drawing on it, and the drawing was of a phoenix, red and gold, and rising out of a smouldering heap of ashes. Standing by the phoenix was a shining boy. Jack looked at the drawing. The writing was in Latin, but on the open page, someone had written, in English, under the Latin tag:

  The Radiant Boy shall free the Phoenix and the Phoenix shall find the City of Gold.

  Jack looked closer. At the foot of the page was a drawing of a dragon, and at the top of the page were the spires and domes of the City of Gold.

  Jack turned back the pages of the book, and there, to his horror, were drawings of all of the boys he knew – Robert, William, Anselm, Crispis, Peter, Roderick – and of other boys he had never known, and each of them had been carefully ruled through, like a mistake.

  Hardly daring, but knowing without knowing what he would find, Jack turned the pages forward, and there was a drawing of himself, and at his head was a kind of halo such as he had seen in pictures of saints. But Jack knew he was no saint. He read the tag under the drawing: The Radiant Boy.

  And as Jack looked at the picture of himself, a very odd thing started to happen. Right next to him in the picture, now strong, now faint, appeared a young girl, about his own age. Underneath her was written: The Golden Maiden. He turned the page – there she was, on her own page, holding a jewelled clock in both hands, and looking straight at him. Jack had the strangest feeling that he knew her – that he had always known her, but that was impossible. As he gazed, he said to himself, out loud, not knowing why, but by a strange impulse, ‘Golden Maiden of the Book, if you are in the world as I am in the world, find me, help me. I am calling you. I am the Radiant Boy.’

  And he had a clear image of himself standing in front of a door and that the door opened.

  This is a mystery, thought Jack. But I must keep my mind on my task.

  The Egg, he must find the Egg. A bird would have an egg, but where would it be?

  Somewhere soft and safe, thought Jack, and began sifting through the feathers on the floor.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  If I were a bird, thought Jack, where would I hide my precious egg?

  Then Jack looked up. High, that was where a bird would hide an egg, high.

  Sure enough, in the rafters, there was a kind of woven basket, long and shallow, like a fisherman’s flat basket for herrings. Jack climbed on the desk, and using all his strength, he pulled himself up on the roof rafter, and dangling there, half his body hauled up, and the other half swinging, reached into the nest. At that very moment, he heard an unmistakable flapping noise coming towards the room.

  The Phoenix!

  Jack let go of the rafter as if it had stung him, dropped on all fours on to the desk, blew out the candle, and dived under the desk in the dark.

  For a moment or two nothing happened, except for the flapping noise swooping and retreating beyond the wall. Then with a great rush of air the bird landed in its nest.

  All Jack could see were strong scaly golden legs and cruel capable feet.

  The bird stopped quite still in the middle of the room, then with a short hop it jumped up on to the chair behind the desk. Now, terrified as he was, Jack could see its crimson plumage and its steep strong throat.

  The bird seemed to be turning the pages of the book, then, with its beak, it took the quill pen and began to write. Jack could hear the scratch, scratch, scratching of the nib.

  He wanted to sneeze. More than life itself he wanted to sneeze. The feathers were in his nose. He must think of a world where everyone was born without noses and therefore could not sneeze. He held his poor nose tight between his finger and thumb, and felt his whole body cover itself in sweat at the effort of not sneezing.

  Just as he thought he would either die by sneezing because the bird would find and kill him, or die of suffocation by not sneezing, the scratching sound of the quill ceased, and the bird, without a pause, spread its wings and glided effortlessly across the room and out of the window.

  Jack let out such a sneeze that every single feather on the floor lifted and settled again. He sneezed so hard, that Crispis, dozing patiently on the landing below, was knocked off his feet, and had to get up again, which he did, to find that William had gone . . .

  THE CINNABAR EGG

  Jack had relit the candle and was reading the book. The ink was still wet. The Phoenix had drawn a picture and the picture was of Jack’s mother turned to stone.

  Jack shuddered, but he did not falter. He stood up on the desk as boldly as he could, swung up, and reached into the high basket.

  Yes!

  He felt the oval in his hand, and carefully lifted it out, letting himself drop back to the desk, and then on to the floor.

  In the light of the candle, Jack examined his prize.

  But it wasn’t an egg; it was a solid gold box in the shape of an egg.

  Jack turned it over and over. This was a casket, but where was the lock?

  Jack got out his iron tool and spread out the keys and levers. Hadn’t his father said that this tool could open locks?

  But what if he couldn’t find the locks?

  And then Jack remembered something . . .

  He was seven years old, and living with his mother and father in the house of the alchemist John Dee.

  Jack had been looking at some pictures of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and one of the pictures showed Arthur as a young boy pulling the sword Excalibur from the stone. All the other men and boys, bigger and stronger, older, richer, cleverer, of high birth, had failed and failed, no matter how hard they tried. Then Arthur came, and the sword pulled clean into his hands.

  John Dee, who liked Jack, and let him look at his books, had come into the room. He had taken the book from Jack and pointed to the picture – a ring on each finger, just like the Magus.

  ‘Do you see how the others failed?’ John Dee had said. ‘They failed because they were concentrating on the stone and not on the sword. They saw the difficulty, but Arthur saw the sword.’

  Jack stood still with the golden egg-box in his hands. Inside was the Egg, he knew it. He must not let himself be hypnotised by the difficulty, he must see through the difficulty to what it was he needed to find. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of gold, and suddenly, under his rough little finger, was the tiniest indentation. Jack caught his breath, and rifled among the keys and levers of his iron tool. Was this one the right size? A lever like a needle? No, it was too big. He tried again, and this time chose the smallest key, a key so fine it was like a pin. But it was too big.

  In the candlelight, not knowing why, Jack said, ‘Father . . .’ and as he spoke his father’s name, he spread the levers and keys again, and saw what he had never seen before – a key fine as a hair, made from pure gold.

  Jack slid the golden key into the golden lock and the golden lid of the golden box clicked open.

  And there it was – big and heavy and beautiful and shining and red and orange and purple and brown all gleaming together. It was the Cinnabar Egg.

  Like a flash Jack stowed the Egg into his shirt and left the room as fast as he could. He was in such a hurry that he just jumped straight down on to the landing.

  He looked around. The landing was empty. Where was Crispis? Where was William?

  Filled with foreboding, Jack tiptoed slowly into the boys’ chamber. All was dark and quiet.

  As he stepped fully inside and was about
to go over to Robert’s bed, he heard a familiar hateful voice.

  ‘Jackster been exploring? Good morning!’

  It was Wedge. And beside Wedge was William, grinning like a merry-go-round monkey.

  ‘Why did you tell him, William?’ said Jack.

  ‘I was the one, not you,’ said William. ‘Before you came, I was the one.’

  ‘I don’t want to be the one,’ said Jack. ‘I want to leave here and never come back.’

  ‘Not leaving us yet, Jackster, that I know,’ said Wedge. ‘Now give it to me.’

  ‘Give what to you?’ said Jack, looking directly at Wedge.

  ‘The Cinnabar Egg. I want the Egg.’

  ‘I shall give it to the Magus, not to you,’ said Jack.

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to do that, my Jackster. You want to give it to me, and we’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘He is your master.’

  ‘That could change,’ said Wedge. ‘William and myself could be the master, joint master, we could if we had that Egg.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you get the Egg for yourself, long ago?’ said Jack.

  Wedge looked shifty. ‘I found the nest and found the box, don’t think I never did, but I couldn’t open the box, no one could, not ever, none of them and you weren’t the first to try, some of the boys tried too, the ones that are turned to stone, you’ve seen them, that was their punishment, but that is in the past now, Jackster, like our little disagreements and fallings out, yours and mine. I knew you were a special boy when I saw you, and so I will make a bargain with you, handsome and fair: Give me the Egg and I will let you out and away through the courtyard door and you’ll never be seen again.’

  Jack hesitated.

  ‘What about my mother?’

  ‘I’ll bring her to you in a cart. She can’t walk far, it’s true, on account of her legs being turned to stone, but she can sit at home with you and do sewing, yes, women like to sew. You can be free, Jackster.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ said a piping voice.

  It was Crispis.