The Ice Gate of Spyre (4 page)

He was aware of the voices of the others, yelling as they stumbled this way and that, coughing and sneezing and flailing their arms about to try and fend off the drifting pollen.

And then he lumbered headfirst into something hard and solid, and all the violet lights went out with a
bang
!

Trundle found himself wandering aimlessly through the tall, dark lotus plants. It was still nighttime, but a gleam on the horizon suggested the sun would soon be up. The others were there as well—but they were behaving in a very odd fashion.

Esmeralda was racing madly around and around a tree trunk, flapping her arms and laughing her head off at nothing in particular. And Jack was sitting on the ground, bowing his rebec and serenading a passing beetle.

They’ve both gone quite potty, Trundle observed to himself. How very sad for them. Still, there’s no smoke without weasels, as Ishmael would say. He paused for a moment. What a very wise old fellow Ishmael is! he realized suddenly. I must mention that to him next time I see him. “Oh, lawks!” This final yelp was due to the fact that a whole swarm of murderous pirates had suddenly come pounding toward him through the dark lotus plants, waving cutlasses and firing off pistols and muskets.

Trundle just had time to notice the pirates were pouring out of a large gray windship that lay at an awkward angle in among the trees, before he turned tail and legged it at full tilt through the jungle. He swished his sword behind him every now and then, but he could hear the hollering pirates gaining ground. Any second now, they’d be upon him, and that would be that.

Curses! he thought. What a way to go—pummeled to paste by a posse of pesky pirates while my best pals in all of the Sundered Lands have gone stark mad!

A thin, long-eared figure stepped out in front of him, one paw held up decisively. Trundle skidded to a halt so as not to cannon straight into Ishmael.

“Out of the way!” he screeched. “The pirates will get us both!”

Ishmael raised an eyebrow. “There are no pirates, Trundle, dear boy. They’re all in your mind.”

“I don’t think so,” spluttered Trundle. “They’re all over the jungle—and they’re out for blood!” He barged into Ishmael, sending him spinning. “Run for it!”

A moment later he was aware of Ishmael pattering along beside him. “Listen to me, Trundle,” said the hare. “You and Esmeralda and Jack are having hallucinations brought on by that darned pollen. I seem to be the only one completely unaffected by it. Now do pull yourself together, there’s a good chap.”

Trundle blinked at him. Ishmael was talking nonsense! And him being such a sensible fellow, usually. What a terrible shame.

“You’re not thinking straight, Ishmael,” he puffed. “Your mind has been messed up by that dark lotus pollen. I’ll look after you, though, never fear. Just keep running!”

Ishmael let out a heavy sigh. “I’m very sorry, dear boy,” he said. “But you’ve gone off your rocker. I obviously need to do something drastic to snap you out of it.”

A firm paw grabbed Trundle by the collar, and he was jerked off to one side.

“No! Wait! Stop it! Let go!” wailed Trundle as he was dragged unceremoniously through the undergrowth. “What are you doing? We’ll be caught by the pirates!” He swiveled around in Ishmael’s grip, swinging his sword at the looming pirate hordes.

“My deepest apologies,” said Ishmael. “Just remember—this is for your own good.”

Trundle felt himself spun around. He saw a great stretch of brown swampy water right in front of him. He teetered on the bank for a moment, windmilling his arms. A hand gave him a hefty shove in the small of the back. He lost balance and, with a howl, toppled face-first into the water.

Splish! Splash! Sploosh!

“Urgggle!” spluttered Trundle, floundering in the thick brown water. “Guggle! Gurrg! Ptooey!” He glared up at Ishmael. “You big twit!” he yelled. “What did you do that for?”

But before Ishmael had a chance to answer, the pirates reached the soggy swamp and began, one by one, to leap and jump and dive into the water, laughing and shouting and sending up great spouts of dirty spray that half swamped poor Trundle.

And then, as if marauding pirates weren’t enough, Esmeralda’s aunt Millie came thundering to the brink of the swamp, leaped high, wrapped her arms around her shins, and came cannonballing into the depths like a great big sack of doorknobs.

Trundle’s head disappeared under Aunt Millie’s tidal wave.

Doomed to die in a filthy jungle swamp, he thought as the water engulfed him. What a miserable way to go! Farewell, cruel worlds! Farewell!

T
rundle lifted his snout above the water, coughing and spitting. He gazed around, entirely befuddled. Apart from the odd water snail clinging to his prickles, he was alone in the swamp. Of the pirates and of Esmeralda’s aunt Millie, there was no sign.

“How very curious!” he gasped, wiping weeds out of his eyes and paddling for the bank.

Ishmael was also gone.

“Why, I do believe that clever old hare was right,” Trundle spluttered. “My brain was all bunged up with dark lotus pollen. I imagined the whole thing!”

He heard a disturbance in the jungle, and a few moments later Ishmael appeared, carrying a struggling Jack by the scruff of his neck and by the seat of his trousers. “My deepest apologies,” he puffed, bringing Jack to the water’s edge and then swinging him back and forth a couple of times to work up some momentum.

“I have to get back to my audience!” howled Jack. “I was about to give them my rendering of ‘Advance Ye Voles’ with alternative verses.”

“Later, perhaps,” gasped Ishmael as he released the squirming squirrel.

Jack glided in a graceful curve through the air and splashed into the swamp, a few feet away from Trundle.

“Ishmael,” Trundle called, rising and falling on the seething water. “I’m in my right mind again. It worked!”

“T’riffic,” panted the old hare. “Now for the hard part.” So saying, he turned and walked determinedly back into the jungle.

Trundle knew exactly what he meant: Esmeralda still needed a dunking. He didn’t envy Ishmael that particular duty!

Jack rose to the surface with an amazed expression on his face. “Well, I never,” he said, beaming at Trundle. “So that’s what Ishmael feels like most of the time! I must say, I quite enjoyed it—although I can see how it gets in the way of normal life.”

“But did you notice?” said Trundle. “The pollen has made Ishmael sane.”

“Well, three cheers for that, I say,” said Jack, paddling over to Trundle. “Life is going to be far easier if he stays that way.”

“Get your paws off me, you jug-headed jackrabbit!” raved a well-known voice. “Just let me get to my feet and we’ll settle this once and for all.”

Ishmael emerged from the trees shortly afterward, dragging Esmeralda by one foot while she kicked and writhed and fought to get free.

“You’ll thank me for this when you’re feeling better,” gasped the exhausted hare, hauling her to the bank of the swamp.

“I’ll kick your cottontail up the back of your neck, that’s what I’ll do!” yelled Esmeralda. “Do you know who you’re dealing with, you flop-eared fool? I’m a Roamany princess, I am!”

“Yes,” groaned Ishmael. “A Roamany princess who’s entirely off her pie crust! Now then, don’t make a fuss and this’ll all be over before you know it.”

He released Esmeralda’s foot and leaned over to try and grab her. But she was too quick for him. She scrambled to her feet in an instant, her face furious. But before she could deliver a roundhouse punch to his snout, he ducked, grabbed her around the waist, and propelled her to the very brink of the swamp.

She teetered, her feet slipping on the wet grass. “Nooooooo!” she hooted, losing balance.

“Sorry!” puffed Ishmael, letting go and giving her a good shove.

At the very last moment, she managed to get a grip on his shirt front.

“Whoop!” she exclaimed as she fell.

“Yoop!” he gasped as she dragged him after her.

SPLASH!

For a few seconds the world vanished in a great fountain of brown swamp water. A wave washed Trundle to the bank, and he clambered out. Jack pulled himself out a moment or two later and stood shivering on the bank, wringing his tail. The swamp was seething like a cauldron of simmering soup, and bobbing up and down in the swell were the faces of Esmeralda and Ishmael.

“Good gracious me!” said Esmeralda. “Whatever was I thinking with all that running round and round?” She swam strongly to the bank, and Trundle helped her out. “That dark lotus pollen is tricky stuff, and no mistake,” she said, wiping water from her eyes. “What a good thing Ishmael was turned sane! Who knows what would have become of us otherwise?”

“My thinking exactly,” said Jack. “Three cheers for Ishmael! Hip! Hip! Hoo—”

“Hold on a minute,” Trundle said. “Why isn’t he trying to get out?”

Sure enough, the old hare was making no effort to get to the bank. Instead he was lying on his back, splashing his feet and sending up spouts of water from his mouth.

“Ishmael!” called Jack. “Are you all right?”

“It’s winkles at dawn, Sir Godfrey!” warbled the happy hare. “Come on in! The custard is lovely!”

There was a telling silence between the three friends.

“Drat!” said Esmeralda. “Barmy again!” She looked from Jack to Trundle. “So?” she said. “Who’s volunteering to go in and get him?”

The sun had risen in a bright and warm morning, and the four companions were drying out nicely around a merry little campfire, over which were roasting fresh-caught fish and green bananas on a spit.

Esmeralda had laid the fire while Jack had caught the fish and Trundle had found the bananas, making sure to avoid going anywhere near the grove of dark lotus plants. He had seen quite enough of them for one lifetime.

Ishmael, meanwhile, sat happily by the fire, humming contentedly to himself and counting his fingers, toes, ears, and whiskers. It seemed to keep him happy, although Trundle thought it was a great shame that his brain had gone to pieces again.

“That was a very strange experience,” said Jack, looking up from a half-eaten fish. “Do you know, at one point I’d swear I saw a stone windship in the jungle! Isn’t that the craziest thing?”

Esmeralda stopped chewing and stared at him, swallowing hard. “Me too,” she said. “A huge stone windship. It looked as if it had gone prow first into the side of a rocky hill.”

“With full sails and everything,” added Trundle. He pointed away into the trees. “It was over there somewhere.”

“We can’t all have imagined the same thing, surely?” said Jack. He turned to the humming hare. “Ishmael? Did you see a stone windship earlier on, old chap?”

“Never leave your granny in the rain,” chortled the hare. “The poor old girl may slither down the drain.”

“I swear he’s gotten worse,” sighed Esmeralda. She turned to the others. “I’m not so sure that was an imaginary windship at all,” she said. “What say we go check it out?”

“I’m with you,” said Jack. “A stone windship in the middle of the jungle. Well, if that isn’t a mystery, then I don’t know what is. What do you say, Trundle?”

Trundle swallowed a final piece of fish and licked the juices off his fingers. “What are we waiting for?” he asked, feeling quite adventurous now he knew that no pirates or evil aunties were likely to be involved.