They inched it along, careful not to make a sound as it was imperative that they avoid detection. Only when the catapult was in place some metres from the looming gates of Battalion Minor did the dogs rouse. The children heard Oslo growl at them and the barking subsided.
‘Now all we need is someone strong enough to send us flying,’ Milli whispered as they made their way back to the barracks.
‘Yes,’ Ernest mused, ‘someone strong enough to send us flying to our
deaths.
Have you not considered that such a landing may cause multiple fractures, extensive bruising and, more than likely, a broken neck?’
‘In that case, we need to ensure a soft landing.’
The children were silent as they considered this. Coming up with brilliant ideas in the dead of night is not always easy and they made the judicious decision of conferring with Nonna Luna, hoping she would not be too put out at being called upon at this irregular hour.
Nonna Luna slept in a sloping room just off her kitchen. As she was hard of hearing, she did not respond to the children’s frantic tapping at the door and they were compelled to lift the latch and tiptoe inside. Their entrance triggered wild flapping from Olive, which in turn woke Nonna. She leapt out of bed brandishing a rolling pin before realising the trespassers were Milli and Ernest.
Nonna Luna was barely recognisable in her stiff nightdress (from under which poked a pair of knobbly feet) and hairnet. Her face was smeared with an ointment that made her glow in the dark and gave off a faint odour of seaweed. When Nonna had recovered sufficiently from the shock of having her sleep interrupted, she ushered the children into the kitchen and busied herself putting on the kettle whilst they outlined their rudimentary plan. They still hadn’t found anything that would adequately serve as a landing mat and the few items they came up with were simply too tricky to transport.
‘There must be something,’ Ernest thought aloud. ‘It’s all about being resourceful.’ When Nonna Luna looked at him blankly, he elaborated. ‘It means being inventive with what you have at hand.’
‘You very cleva children,’ Nonna Luna said proudly, as if she had no doubt that a solution would soon present itself. ‘You can use anyting you find in my kitchen. There is natink in da cool room except for a few legs of ham and da hundred or so crates of bananas dat arrive by special delivery justa yesterday.’
‘Bananas?’ Ernest queried.
‘Very high in potassium,’ Nonna replied with an eagerness that only talk of food and its properties could elicit from her.
‘Bananas are perfect!’ Ernest exclaimed.
‘Now is not the time to be thinking of your stomach,’ Milli reprimanded.
‘I’m not thinking stomach…I’m thinking LANDING PAD!’
‘Brilliant!’ squeaked Milli, finally on the same wavelength. ‘What we need is a Bananafest! I’ll wake the others and you start dragging out the crates. Nonna, can you take care of the dogs?’
Soon Nonna Luna’s kitchen was teeming with drowsy children, as well as salivating dogs gnawing noisily on ox tails under the kitchen table. Someone tapped Milli on the shoulder and she turned to find a troubled Finn and Fennel.
‘You can’t do it,’ Finn said. ‘You have no idea what’s out there.’
Milli looked at him calmly before replying: ‘We have to go.’
‘Please listen to us,’ Fennel begged. ‘You don’t understand—things are different in the Conjurors’ Realm.’
‘Trust me,’ Milli said, more gently now, realising that the twins were afraid for her and Ernest’s safety. ‘Something terrible is brewing and we can’t just stand by and watch it happen.’
‘But at least in here you know what you’re dealing with. Isn’t it better just to wait and see?’ Finn persisted.
‘If we do that, it may be too late…for us all.’
‘Then at least let us come with you,’ Finn said. ‘Fennel and I know our way around the realm. We can help you.’
Milli’s first instinct was to refuse this request outright. There was no point in endangering the twins unnecessarily. But the more she thought about it the more sense it made. Finn and Fennel had grown up in the Realm. They knew things Milli and Ernest could never know and perhaps it was time they learned to accept help when it was offered. It was hard to argue against the logic of this and when the children turned to Nonna Luna for her to input, she nodded her approval.
Milli paused before deciding how to explain the plan to the others. Experience had taught her that insufficient information could lead to a host of pointless questions that they did not have the time to deal with, whilst too much information could result in confusion amongst the young and impressionable. She opened her mouth to say that they were in grave danger and help was needed, but caught herself when her gaze fell upon the youngest children, who still believed their imprisonment at Battalion Minor to be an exciting game at which they must triumph. Their faces were full of trust and they seemed eager to make a contribution. Milli knew at once that she must choose her words very carefully.
‘Ernest and I must leave you for a short time,’ she began. ‘In order to gather information that will assist us in our mission, we must embark on a journey outside Battalion Minor. Our job is to make our way to a group of people who will advise and direct us so that we may get home as soon as possible. We won’t be away long, but while we’re gone it’s vital that our absence remain unnoticed. We will return with important
clues to help us win the game. In the meantime, you must cover for us if questions are asked. Nonna Luna will tell you what to say.’
A boy called Ronald Tottenham raised his hand. ‘Can I come?’ he asked. ‘I’m strong and I can carry all your luggage.’
At this, a chorus of voices piped up begging to be taken along, each calling out their abilities like vendors at the Sunday market cry their wares.
Milli whistled for attention (a trick Rosie had taught her).
‘I’m sorry but nobody can come with us. We can’t risk being discovered. The best way for you to help us is to stay here and behave as if nothing has changed.’
Milli felt a stab of guilt as she saw the hopeful faces crumple with disappointment. She did her best to console them by pointing at the mounds of bananas. ‘Don’t feel bad. You have the most important job of all. Ernest and I need your help getting out of here. Together we have to eat our way through this mountain of bananas in order to escape safely. There’s no time to explain further—Oslo will be awake in a few
hours. Now, please queue up quickly and quietly.’
Gummy Grumbleguts was the first to step forward, smacking his lips noisily. ‘I’ll take a dozen,’ he said with heroic aplomb, ‘and that’s just for starters.’
Nonna Luna’s eyes shone as she handed out bananas. She was shone every minute of this real-life adventure; it far outstripped talking to soup for excitement value.
Milli was pleased to note that everyone seemed heartened by the project and their new-found feelings of participation. At least now they would all be able to tell their parents they had actively contributed to the great escape. Besides, the children were grateful for a bite of anything that did not come from a dead animal. Milli had a suspicion that the butcher’s shops in Drabville would go out of business when they all got back.
The consumption of the crescent-shaped fruit known as a banana is not something we generally think too much about. Try working your way through enough bananas to feed a small army with a view to saving your life and see how
different it feels. The children displayed great fortitude as they nibbled, chomped and mashed their way through the bunches of fruit, happy in the knowledge that they were contributing in some small way to preserving life as they knew it. A Drabvillian with a purpose is like a dog with a bone. I really should apologise for this simile as it is making a generalisation about dogs and their attachment to bones that is not necessarily true. It is quite possible that some dogs would prefer pavlova or crêpes suzettes if anyone bothered to ask them. All I am trying to say is that the children were determined and not easily discouraged. They ate until they swore they could feel themselves swelling into banana muffins and sprouting monkey tails, until their very brains were banana-logged and all they could see was a mirage of banana soldiers marching down a banana-skin footpath. Then, suddenly, there were none left. Not a single banana was in sight. The children looked around hardly daring to believe it, but it was true! They had consumed the lot.
The next task was stacking the banana skins in every receptacle available. Nonna Luna donated two wheelbarrows from the vegetable
garden, while the others filled their pockets, a pair of old boots by the fireplace, and every pot and pan that could be found. Even Olive helped by ferrying skins over the gates. Sometimes she miscalculated and nearly knocked herself out flying into the gateposts.
When they were finished, the children purposefully strode outside each bearing their contributions to the landing pad. Ernest felt compelled to utter a few words to mark the historic moment. He did not even feel at all ridiculous as he waved a banana skin in the air and proclaimed: ‘For Drabville!’
A slithery, slushy landing mat formed quickly on the other side of the gates. Gummy Grumbleguts was given the honour of manning the catapult, but before Milli and Ernest could climb into the basket to be launched, Nonna Luna drew them aside for some parting words of wisdom. She took their chins affectionately in her hands.
‘Trust no one, keepa to da path and remember dat da heart know more than da head. Buona Fortuna!’ She kissed their foreheads and handed them a lantern along with a tea towel wrapped
in a tight bundle. ‘Open dis packet wheneva you feel lost. The zucbeacon will help you.’
The children looked at her with puzzled faces.
‘No worry. You willa know whata to do.’
There were some mutters and grumbles when the children saw Finn and Fennel join Milli and Ernest in climbing into the catapult’s basket. Before Milli scrambled in, she turned to the expectant faces, all looking a little green around the gills by now and rubbing distended bellies.
‘Look after one another,’ she said. ‘If you need help or advice, go to Nonna Luna. We’ll be back before you know it, I promise.’
The next thing she knew, the wind was roaring past her ears as the basket swung into the air. The few moments she was airborne were exhilarating. She spread her arms wide, imagining they were wings. Ernest, being more practical, travelled in a foetal position. Milli landed face first in the banana peels, whilst Ernest bounced off and rolled neatly to the ground. Finn and Fennel, who were familiar with tumbling about on various surfaces, managed quite well.
The four children picked off any stubborn skins clinging to their hair and clothes and looked around them. The gates were solid and they could neither hear nor see the others now. Milli glanced at the hills to the west and felt a cold breath of wind sting her cheeks. A light was burning in the window of the jade citadel—like an eye, peeled and ever-watchful.
‘Put out the lantern!’ she hissed at Finn, who was holding it up to illuminate the path before them.
Upon spotting what Milli had seen, Finn threw the lantern to the ground and smothered it with leaves to extinguish the light. The children felt a little safer blanketed by the cover of darkness.
Ahead, dirt roads diverged like the prongs of a fork and in the pre-dawn light they had no way of telling which one led east. Just then, something twitched inside the tea towel package suspended on a stick over Ernest’s shoulder. He quickly rested the bundle on the ground and untied it. They were all completely bewildered to find three apparently useless objects amongst
the snacks Nonna had packed for the journey: a hairnet, a zucchini with its yellow flower still attached, and a flask of Nonna Luna’s extra virgin olive oil.
It was the zucchini that had been moving, and it now spun around, drawing attention to itself. Ernest held it at arm’s length and pointed it directly ahead. The flower sprang open and glowed like a torch. Intrigued, Ernest pointed it in another direction, at which point the flower snapped shut and began to wilt.
‘The zucbeacon has spoken,’ he announced, and started off down the middle path.
They soon fell into a steady pace and had walked barely half an hour when they were hailed by the driver of a horse-drawn wagon that had seemed to spring out of nowhere. It pulled up alongside them and they saw that the driver was covered from head to foot in feather boas. The wagon was also chock-f of them in assorted brilliant colours.
‘Where you headed?’ he asked.
‘The city of Runis,’ Fennel responded. ‘Have we far to go?’
‘Couple more hours on foot,’ said the driver. ‘Headed there meself. Give you a lift if you like, if you’re not allergic to feathers.’
While Ernest stopped to think about this, the others were already thanking the driver and climbing in.
The wagon rattled on and, ear deep in feather boas, the children watched the landscape unfold before them. Pale light leached into the sky as night turned to day. The dirt track was soon framed by fields of vibrant wildflowers that swayed in the breeze as if to some lullaby only they could hear. There was a strange whispering in the air and the children felt suddenly very drowsy but did not dare succumb to sleep.
The fields were soon replaced by rows of neat cottages like dolls’ houses all painted in gelato colours. It began to drizzle with rain and the children watched in fascination as the little chimneys sprouted umbrellas to keep themselves dry. At another point, they came to a picnic pavilion crowded with garden gnomes. The gnomes had glinting eyes and merry painted faces that did not move even when their gruff little voices shouted rude things after the wagon.
A couple of the bolder ones came right up to them and tried to snatch some feather boas, but their size prevented them leaping high enough. Eventually, the rhythmic rocking of the wagon coupled with the soft bedding sent the four children drifting into a shallow sleep. They were awoken by the voice of the driver announcing their arrival. Dismounting, they shook themselves free of any feathers that had caught in their hair and clothing and took a hesitant look around. Each made a mental note to be alert and guarded at all times, for now they were in Runis, the heart of the Conjurors’ Realm.