The Ice Gate of Spyre (9 page)

Trundle had the feeling that Jack was the unhappiest of them all. He had sacrificed his beloved rebec, and now he couldn’t even play them a tune to lighten their mood. Trundle looked at the usually merry minstrel. Jack hadn’t spoken for some time. He must be feeling awful. But then Trundle noticed that the squirrel was busy scribbling things down on a scrap of paper resting on his knees.

“What are you doing, Jack?” he asked. “Writing a sad song about what happened? Requiem for a wrecked rebec?”

“Not in the least!” said Jack, his eyes unexpectedly bright. “I’ve been doing some calculations.” He sat upright and bawled at the top of his voice. “Wingnut! Hey, Wingnut—get yourself in here!”

A few moments later, Wingnut arrived, clad in a floor-length nightgown and with a nightcap over his ears, the bobble of which kept swinging to and fro across his face, making him go cross-eyed behind his spectacles.

“Yes, Mister Jack, sir?” he said uneasily. “Are there more things I can do for you? You peckish? Need a snack? Wish for Wingnut to plump your pillows? Name it and I do it. I feel disappointed that this is my fault.”

“Cheer up,” said Jack. “You might be able to make everything all right again if you give me the correct answer to one simple question.”

“Ask question, I give good answer.”

“What is the date today?” asked Jack.

“Today is twentieth of Greengrow,” Wingnut replied. “That was an easy question! Ask another!”

Esmeralda sat bolt upright, staring at Trundle. “You prize idiot!” she hollered. “You said today was the twenty-first. You worked it out all wrong!”

“We still have a full day to get to the Ice Gate,” added Jack.

“Well, I’ll be blowed!” gasped Trundle, not minding in the least being called an idiot under the circumstances. “So I did! Well, that’s the best news I’ve had for a long time.”

“Toffee makes the donkey’s ears sticky when he sees the fishing rod!” added Ishmael, nodding enthusiastically.

“Wingnut very happy for you!” Their guide grinned. “I take you into monastery first thing in the morning!”

“No delays,” warned Esmeralda. “No detours. And definitely no rissoles!”

“Meerkats’ honor!” said Wingnut, holding up a solemn paw. “You’ll see Ice Gate in the morning. That’s a promise. Why not?”

T
he party of five was ready and waiting the following morning when the gongs rang out and the trumpets blared and the great gates of the monastery swung open to greet the new day.

“Follow me!” declared Wingnut, marching in under the high arch of the gatehouse. “I show you points of interest, why not?”

“Do it quickly,” said Esmeralda. “Remember what I told you!”

Wingnut nodded very fast. “Yes, I remember. But this is a very, very historical place. The First Master, he built it a long time ago. Most venerable Master Ramalama.”

“Ramalama?” said Jack. “Well, I never! The brave chap did make it up here after all!”

“Good for Ramalama!” Esmeralda added with a low whistle.

“So the crown ought to be up beyond the Ice Gate still,” said Trundle. “And the Ice Gate is melted right now. All we have to do is go up and get it!”

Wingnut was looking from face to face as they spoke. “I take you to Ice Gate in very soon time,” he said. “But what crown do you mean? I can get you a crown—very cheap!”

“Not the one we’re looking for, you can’t,” Esmeralda said, patting him on the back. “Don’t worry about it. Just get us up there.”

Wingnut blinked at her a few times, then turned and went trotting off through the archway and into the grounds of the monastery.

It was clear right from the start that they were in a special kind of place. Trundle could feel the peacefulness of the monastery enveloping him, as though the very walls dreamed tranquil dreams.

“This is the Scarlet Gate of Inquiry,” Wingnut informed them in a low, reverent voice as they passed a carved, arched doorway to one side. They came next into a wide green courtyard. “And this the Reflective Cloister. Hush—very quiet place where lamas come to ponder on deep stuff.”

And there, at last, they got their first sight of the legendary lamas of Spyre. They were actual llamas, all of them dressed in heavy satin robes of midnight blue, and most of them wearing tall curved hats on their heads. They sat or walked slowly about the cloisters, their heads bowed in thought, their faces wise and dignified and benevolent.

The four pilgrims followed their guide on tiptoe, not wishing to disturb the pious creatures. Wingnut led them on through courts and open pathways, across lawns and through blooming gardens and under white arches, up stairways and passageways. And all about them, the serene llamas sat or stood or paced the flagstones, all silent, all very obviously thinking profound thoughts.

“This is very interesting,” Wingnut explained, stopping under the shadow of a long white wall. “This is the Seat of the Absent Oracle.” He pointed to a niche cut in the wall. It contained a simple stone chair with a purple cushion on it. Trundle could see at a glance that the threadbare cushion had been there for some time.

“He’s been absent a very long time, that oracle,” said Wingnut, nodding. “About time he turn up again!” He looked at them. “By the way,” he said. “I forgot to say—this special tour includes free fortune-telling from mysterious and ancient Badger Blocks. You ever hear of Badger Blocks? They are very special. Only lamas can interpret their prophecies.”

“We know all about Badger Blocks, thanks,” said Esmeralda. “And trust me, it isn’t only these fellows who know how to use them!” She eyed him keenly. “Now then—what about the Ice Gate?”

“That’s the next stop,” Wingnut said brightly. “One long staircase, and we’re right there!”

“Where there’s a will, there’s an anchovy,” declared Ishmael. “Cast off, my hearty. Ishmael’s a-willing!”

Wingnut gazed admiringly at the old hare for a moment, then set off again.

The path to the Ice Gate turned out to be a very long staircase indeed. It wound up the mountainside, climbing over walls and around towers and up steep slopes until pretty much the whole of the extensive monastery complex was spread out below them. As they climbed, Trundle noticed that the air was gradually becoming chillier and chillier. He tucked his paws into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. They were getting closer to the snow.

“There you will see Emerald Prophecy Courtyard,” Wingnut said, turning and pointing back down to the lower parts of the sprawling monastery. “They’re working on your fortune-telling right now!”

They looked down. Sure enough, in a wide courtyard striped by mowed grass, they saw a whole group of llamas dressed up in four-sided oblong costumes with pictures painted on each side. They were obviously playing the parts of living Badger Blocks!

As they watched, a gong rang out and the Badger Block llamas suddenly took off in all directions. They raced around and around the courtyard, darting this way and that until Trundle felt quite dizzy from watching them. Then a new llama in ultramarine lama robes strode out, wielding a hooked stick.

He moved among the racing animals, swiping randomly at their feet. Most leaped over the stick, but every now and then one was tripped up and went rolling over and over in the grass. When four llamas had been brought down, the gong sounded again and the rest ran to the sides of the courtyard, while the lama with the stick walked around the fallen players, writing something down on a scroll.

“Amazing,” breathed Esmeralda. “What a brilliant way to do a reading.”

“Time to go,” said Wingnut, hopping from foot to foot and blowing into his hands. “It’s too nippy for long hangings about!”

Up they went. And then up some more. It wasn’t long before Trundle could see his breath as they climbed. There was a powdering of snow on the steps now, and the air nipped with icy teeth at ears and tails and fingers and toes.

But at last they came to the top.

“This is Enlightenment Platform of the astonishing Ice Gate!” announced Wingnut, stepping out onto a large wooden platform that jutted on solid wooden posts above the lower snow slopes. The white mountain fairly filled the sky now—huge and strange and enigmatic, wreathed in mists and with its head in cloud.

“Harpoons and hornpipes!” exclaimed Ishmael, staring up at the mountain. “You may fire when ready, Mr. Goosepaste! My endives are at your command!”

“What a brain this man got!” marveled Wingnut, rubbing his paws together and gazing spellbound at Ishmael. Then he sighed and padded over to a large brass telescope set atop a post in the middle of the platform. “From here you can see the Ice Gate really good,” he said. “Who wants first look?”

“You mean, this is it?” asked Esmeralda. “You’re not going to take us right up to the Ice Gate itself?”

Wingnut’s eyes bulged. “Not jolly likely!” he exclaimed. “Very dangerous to go any higher. All snow from here on up. No paths. Just plenty of big snow snakes that eat you in one gulp.” He flapped his arms, shivering with the cold. “But you can see the Ice Gate fine from here, no problem.”

“We don’t want to
look
at it,” said Jack. “We want to go
through
it!”

“Noooo!”
Wingnut stared at them in astonishment. “You’re making big joke on Wingnut. No one goes through the Ice Gate.” He spread his arms to their fullest extent. “Snakes, I tell you! Big snakes, no fooling! You don’t want to be eaten! Not much fun, trust me!”

“We’ve handled worse than
snakes
,” Esmeralda said nonchalantly.

“All the same, we ought to take a look at them,” Trundle said uncertainly as he marched over to the telescope. If the snow snakes were as big as Wingnut was suggesting, then they’d need a plan of attack.

The telescope was fixed in position, and the moment Trundle looked through it, the Ice Gate leaped up to his eye, so huge and clear and shiny that it quite took him by surprise. The telescope was aimed at a deep, narrow ravine cut into the mountainside. Its sides reared up sharp and hard, capped with snow and hung with massive icicles. Trundle couldn’t see where the ravine led; a thick mist coiled between the walls, obscuring the view. But it was easy to spot the remnants of the Ice Gate itself. Fragments of it remained, melted to little nubs and stalagmites of clear ice between the lower jaws of the ravine. And it was so close!

Trundle removed his eye from the telescope, and suddenly the Ice Gate wasn’t close at all. It was a fair way off, in fact; a good trek up the smooth sheer face of the snow-clad mountain.

He looked at the others. “Anyone got any bright ideas?” he asked.

“We nip over the side of this platform and get ourselves up there, pronto,” suggested Esmeralda. “It’s not so very far, and even if there are any giant snakes about, surely we can outwit a bunch of overgrown worms!”

Just then a series of high trumpet calls sounded from the monastery below.

“That’s well odd,” said Wingnut, running to the top of the stairs. “That’s the alarm call! Something’s up!” He stared down, his breath clouding and his arms wrapped around himself for warmth. “Ah, I see signal flags now.”

Trundle came and looked over his shoulder. Way down in the Emerald Prophecy Courtyard, llamas were waving a series of red and yellow pennants in a way that he assumed must mean something.