The Golden Portifor - 14. Chapter 14

Karl patted Brunhild’s face and she nuzzled him back a little harder than usual and snorted, then began chewing on her manger. This was not like her. Then she lifted her tail and peed hard on the straw.

‘Andreas?’ he called over to the next box. ‘How’s Jennet this morning?’

‘Hang on, I’m just finishing the brushing. She loves that. There. What’s the problem?’

‘Come over to the door. Hear the stamping in the stable? The stallions are picking up on Brunhild. I think she’s in season. Brilliant timing.’

Andreas gave out a snort of laughter. ‘Remember last year in the Platz? When that pack horse got frisky with the officer’s stallion and backed her bum up to him, knocking a stall over as she did it. Then the stallion climbed on her back and did her in the middle of the market, sending her bags everywhere. That was so funny, what with the officer swearing and the chapman screaming that he’d have damages.’

Karl smiled to himself. ‘Weren’t all bad on the streets was it?’

‘There were good times when the sun shone, and no one to tell yer what to do. But I like here and now a lot better. I had an empty tummy far too often then, and I was ill and itched a lot. Now there’s people who cares whether I wakes up in the morning, and if I’m eating alright and if my clothes are warm and clean. Now we has different sorts of fun.’

‘And of course we gets paid! Eighty pfennigs a week! What you doing with yours?’

‘I keeps it in a box under our bed. Then at the end of the week I goes down into town and buys food for the Conduit gang. The oath, remember?’

Karl nodded seriously. ‘I haven’t forgotten. But I’m storing what I save till next winter. That’s when they’ll really need help. Master Jan agrees. He said he’ll help when the time comes. He says it’s a disgrace how this city treats its abandoned kids, and it wouldn’t be allowed where he comes from.’

‘Hey, Gottlieb!’ Karl called over. ‘Brunhild’s in heat.’

‘I’d noticed, Wollherz,’ the youth grunted. ‘She gave Onyx a kick when he tried to get in her space yesterday evening, and Erebus has been biting the others. You and your mate better get her and Jennet to the new stabling down on the close. They can sleep there for the next week and graze the grass in the pasture. It’s growing fast. Can you ride them down without a saddle? I don’t want to leave tack out in the fields overnight, so just hand walk them there if not. I’ve got a bed down there, I’ll caretake them while they’re sleeping out in the fields.’

‘But it’s the review this week, Gottlieb. I was going to ride her down to the Great Park with my lord.’

‘I don’t think they’ll want a mare in heat there with hundreds of randy stallions all around her, so you’ll have to give your apologies, sunshine.’

***

‘I have to say, dear Phoebus, that following along in your wake does drag me to some very cold and uninteresting places.’

Serge looked up from his sketchbook, where he was putting the final touches to his neat renditions of the southern glass windows of the Veronkenkirche. ‘You disappoint me, Willi. I know you’re as much a pagan as I am but there’s a lot about religious art that I thought you’d like.’

‘The martyrdoms you mean? I’ll admit that the naked St Sebastian in the Hofkapelle writhing about as if he’s going to orgasm, that gets me quite hot and bothered. But mostly they’re prudish and sexless maidens, like that old bird of a nun up there. All respects and all, she being your ancestor. What exactly is going on up there in that window?’

Serge put down his pencil. ‘I tracked it down to her apocalyptic prophecies. It’s drawn from the prologue to one of her devotional works, where she has a vision of the face of Christ, which is why this picture’s set up here. An interesting thing is that the Fenice in that window has no halo around her head, so it was executed before her canonisation, and I rather think in her own lifetime, and what’s more the detail of the execution of the face leads me to suspect that the artist who drew it was able to take a portrait from life.’

‘Really? Now that is somewhat interesting. So that’s her actual face, you think? It is rather well done now you mention it. Not a woman I’d want to get on the wrong side of, from that glimpse of her character.’

Serge shrugged. ‘She seems kindly enough to me, but I am biased I suppose. Now, I’m done here, and you’ve been very good. So what do you want to do?’

‘Apart from the obvious? Let’s go back to your place and we can take advantage of your bed, and when you get dressed again you can don your full glory as major of cuirassiers and aide-de-camp to His Royal Highness. I have this dirty vision of you in full armour having your way with me naked under you. There, it’s made me hard again, and in church too. I assume you’ll be in uniform for the rest of this week?’

‘As will His Royal Highness. You’re not envious are you?’

‘Me? Oh come on, Phoebus. Such is my natural contrariness that the more warlike our prince becomes, the more a devotee of universal peace am I. Besides, I couldn’t afford those splendid accoutrements. When that new boy from Mittenheim was appointed Second Groom there went my chance of an augmented income. I may start borrowing from you, or gambling.’

‘You only have yourself to blame for that. But it is bad that you get no regular allowance from the court. It’s time to make a coordinated assault on Henry on the subject. I’ll recruit Dodie and Ulrica and we’ll put him under siege.’

‘You’re attacking the wrong fortress there. This all comes from the Hofburg, Phoebus, out of the gloom and shade that wraps itself about my dark uncle, old Hades himself. And he’s beyond reach. It was he who prevented my escape to the upper world at Christmas, don’t forget, and not a word of explanation as to why.’

The pair strolled up to the Erzbischofsplatz then debated a promenade around the aisles of the cathedral. but decided instead on the original plan and ended up in bed together. They were still dozing there as the cathedral bells rang out the ninth hour, at which point the door opened and Karl Wollherz stumbled in with a pile of linen.

‘Oh! Sorry my lords, didn’t know you were in.’ The boy was all eyes as Serge and Willi were lying together without any covers.

Willi sat up and stretched. His hair was cut short for a more comfortable fit of his wig. He grinned at the page. ‘Is it my savage tonsure that’s got your eyes goggling, child?’

‘Er ... no, sir. Sorry to have woken you and all.’

‘Well, you may put down the linen. Is there anything else?’

Karl hesitated and added ‘Brunhild’s in heat, sir.’ Willi tried not to snigger, and to Serge’s raised eyebrow Karl carried on. ‘I can’t ride her down to the big parade tomorrow, sir.’

‘Ah, that’s inconvenient, but tell you what, you can still have the day off, you and Andreas, so you can go down and watch the action on the Martzfeld.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll tell Ando.’

Serge pulled Willi down on him. ‘That was not very well done of you. You shouldn’t tease the child.’

‘He was staring at my schlong, Phoebus, as if his eyes would pop out.’

‘That was just your imagination. Nobody’s interested in your membrum virile, or in your case, your mentula, since you do all your thinking with it.’

‘Nobody?’

‘I might be, but only if you take your turn for a change.’

‘Get on your back?’

‘It really is about time in our relationship.’

‘Oh! No one’s ever asked me to do that.’

‘Well, now I have. En garde.’

***

Andreas and Karl, along with Wilchin and several smaller urchins from the Conduit, had found a fine viewpoint on top of a blockhouse just below the glacis of the Citadel. It was elevated enough so they had a sweeping view across the plain of the Martzfeld, where the Mittenheimer Brigade of the Ruritanian army was now deploying. Nobody was bothering them up there, as the only approach was by a narrow and thorny path unattractive to the adult spectators thronging the lower slopes. The boys were feasting on a sack of pies and pastries that Andreas and Karl had bought from the market stalls in the Platz with most of their week’s salary, along with bags of dried fruit and stone bottles of cordials and beer. Wilchin had a tobacco pipe he had lit and was entertaining the other boys by blowing quite accomplished smoke rings.

It was a fine March day, sunny with a light breeze. New green and some blooms were appearing on the bushes and trees of the hillsides and river bank. A fair proportion of the city’s population had turned out to cheer their Crown Prince and his new regiments, and traders were doing a brisk business in the crowd below.

‘Here comes the Prinzengarde!’ whooped Karl. ‘There’s my lord riding Erebus, next to the prince under the big flag!’

The cuirassiers headed the review parade, a magnificent sight, their breastplates and drawn swords shining in the sunlight. Behind marched two blue-coated regiments of musketeers, their grenadier and life companies leading each, with the brass-fronted mitre caps flashing in the sun. Even up on their vantage point, the boys could clearly hear the thunder of the cuirassiers’ kettledrums and the fifes of the musketeers.

‘And look!’ Andreas called out. ‘That’s my lord on Onyx carrying the flag, three companies back in the Prinzengarde. I spent a lot of yesterday evening polishing his breastplate.’

Suddenly all were deafened and the boys yelped, as the guns of the fortress above them unexpectedly erupted in a grand salute to the brigade. Then they laughed and coughed as they were engulfed in an acrid cloud of gunpowder smoke which rolled down from the emplacements above their heads and was shredded away by the breeze. With some experience now of military manoeuvres, Karl observed to his colleagues that not one of the Prinzengarde mounts shied at the thunder of the salute, though two mounted infantry officers were carried away and one thrown by his panicked horse. ‘That’s prob’ly why His Royal Highness asked for it. To test out the training of the horses. He’s clever like that.’

‘What? You met the Red Elphberg?’ queried a very impressed small boy.

‘Well, no. But my lord talks about him a lot to Master Jan, and I sees him riding in the park and sometimes at the palace. And of course the lord Strelsau, my lord’s friend, is his sort of cousin.’

‘What’s the prince like?’

‘Tall and a bit scary,’ Karl responded, ‘or at least they say he can be.’

‘But Lord Sergius isn’t bothered by him at all,’ Andreas added supportively, ‘he’s very brave.’

They settled down to watching the drill and manoeuvres that followed the opening review. Regiments marched in companies and columns, fired volleys in lines, which brought cheers from the top of the blockhouse, and formed squares. The cuirassiers mimed an assault on the regimental squares, riding up to the ranks by half-company and firing off carbines and pistols above their heads. Then the Prinzengarde drew huge cheers from the crowd of onlookers in a grand charge on an imaginary enemy.

‘Wait for this!’ announced Karl. ‘It’s not over. My lord Strelsau thought this up. He was very pleased with himself about it.’

Andreas scoffed as he added ‘He’s always pretty pleased with himself.’ He was kicked for his trouble.

Suddenly there was a dramatic braying of great horns, a clash of cymbals, a wailing of shawms and beating of tambours as a big Turkish band marched out in full costume on the field, its musicians marching ponderously à la Turcque. The crowd cheered them as they paraded around, and cheered even more when with ululations and cries fifty skilled riders dressed as Ottoman sipahis in chainmail and crested helmets burst among the parade, waving sabres and darts and riding along the ranks. Then they formed up and launched a mock assault on Prince Henry, his staff and the officers of the Prinzengarde, who responded by their own charge, firing their pistols and clashing swords, before the sipahis fled the field.

‘Bet it’s not as easy as that with the real ones,’ Andreas commented drily.

***

That night, Andreas and Karl were detailed by Jan Lisku to the stable in the Altstadt fields to give Gottlieb a night off. Their masters were at the barracks or at the Marmorpalast all week, so their morning and evening services were not required at the Sign of the Angel.

The night was clear and chilly enough to demand that Brunhild and Jennet be swathed in their blankets, even inside the shed. The two boys settled under their own blanket, resting their backs against Brunhild’s warm stomach as she lay out in the straw. She seemed happy enough about it. Karl explained to Andreas his theory that she regarded them as two colts, and coddled them accordingly with all the tolerance of a herd mother. She certainly arched her neck and nuzzled them at regular intervals, causing a lot of giggles.

‘Gottlieb’s going down into the Neustadt,’ Andreas commented. ‘From what Wilchin was saying he’ll not have much chance with the ladies tonight. Too much competition. The Mittenheimer boys who were allowed leave in the city were breaking into shops and fighting all along Gildenfahrbsweg last night, and they’re more attractive to the ladies than him. The whores are marking up their prices for uniforms.’

‘So Gottlieb pays for it?’

‘That’s where his money goes. Mistress Margrit gave him a flea in his ear when he tried courting her.’

Karl thought a minute and decided he needed Andreas’s superior take on the sexual mores of their world. He explained what he had seen when he had walked in on Serge and Willi the previous afternoon.

‘Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? They’re Knabenschändern, men who lie with other men.’

‘What! Like those men hanging round the Conduit you warned me never to talk to?’

‘No. Those were bad Knabenschändern, just as bad as those pimps and drunks who beat the whores in the streets. My lord Serge and my lord Strelsau are just really, really good friends who love each other the way boys are supposed to love girls.’

‘What, like us?’

‘No, not like us. They join their bodies. Do you want to know how? It involves their pintles and bottoms.’

Blushing furiously and squirming, Karl replied ‘I think I can guess.’

Andreas noticed the embarrassment and gave a smug grin. ‘You walked in on them doing it, didn’t yer.’

‘No ... no, but I think they had been. There’s always a funny smell in my lord’s chamber when they sleep together. Their bedding can be a mess too.’

‘Then don’t walk in without knocking.’

‘Is it ... y’know ... wrong what they do?’

‘Depends who yer talks to. I’m sure Father Waxmann at the Veronkenkirche would say it was very bad. Didn’t stop those friars in that reformatory last year when we was rounded up during the plague. A couple of them took advantage of the prettier lads. That’s why we had to run for it. I didn’t like the way they was looking at yer, that and the beatings. Did they try it on with yer?’

‘No. But they were really creepy. My lords Sergius and Strelsau don’t ever behave like that.’

‘That’s ‘cos they’re only interested in each other. They’re good men. You know that. And now I do too. Happiest day in my life when I arrived at the Sign of the Angel. It gets better all the time too, even though I have to shepherd my lord Boromeo around and clear up after him. He’s not the brightest star in the sky either. Also he’s going through the change.’

‘The change?’

‘He’s got hair on his upper lip and around his pintle and his voice has cracked. He’s shooting up faster than a weed too. I keep checking between my legs for the signs, but not so much as a wisp yet. Still, it hits most boys around thirteen or fourteen, though not the street boys so quickly. Remember Wolfgang at the Shambles? Sixteen and still not so much as fluff on his upper lip, with a voice like a girl. That’s what happens when you don’t get to eat enough for years. But me, I’m putting on weight and muscle. Can’t be long now.’

‘Fascinating,’ said another voice behind them. They jerked round, and perched on the rails above them sat Jonas Niemand, grinning fit to bust.

***

The Great Hall of the Marmorpalast was full of blue uniforms and gold lace as Prince Henry entertained the officers of his brigade in lavish style. Willi had absented himself, though that was impossible for Serge in his role as aide-de-camp.

Still, he had used the opportunity to formally present his brother to the prince, and Boromeo had managed the court bow without tripping over his feet. He even murmured a fitting response when Prince Henry made a few complimentary remarks about the boy’s performance on the field that afternoon. It seemed that the all-seeing eye of the prince had actually marked Boromeo’s place in the day’s manoeuvres.

Serge was discovering that senior army officers could be very tedious company, though it didn’t seem to bother the prince particularly.

‘So, sire. I think you’ll agree that today went very well, very well indeed.’ Colonel Britzenfeld was apparently prone to congratulate himself merely if the sun came up. ‘All that play acting at the end though, mere stuff. Real war, sire, is not dramatics.’

‘Really, sir?’ Serge smiled. ‘Don’t we hear of the theatre of war?’

He got a cold look in response, and the colonel snorted through his moustache. Serge had clearly been judged to be no more than a court popinjay and general hanger-on. He did not resent the judgement. It was not far off his own feeling about his place at the table.

The prince stirred himself. ‘Well, Britzenfeld, the people of Strelsau certainly appreciated the touch of drama judging by their cheers for the troops. The time may soon come when today’s performance might persuade young fellows that war could be a worthwhile occupation, while their elders might see some return for the taxes they pay, especially after last night’s unfortunate business on Gildenfahrbsweg.’

‘What d’you say, sire?’

Serge was beginning to recognise the warning signs in Prince Henry’s demeanour, and alarm bells began ringing in his head. The prince’s features had gone fixed and cold. ‘The Burgomeister and Ratsherren of the Neustadt, sir, waited on my father first thing this morning, after the riot and looting by men of a Mittenheimer regiment in the city last night. They were not happy at the damage, theft and injuries. Any more than was I.’

Colonel Britzenfeld went blithely on, though his colleague Von Meiningen gave the prince a sharp look and caught Serge’s eye.

‘Eh? What? I heard there was some fuss, sire. But what of it? When you’ve had as long as I in the profession, sire,’ said the old man, ‘you’ll realise that soldiers must have their chance to blow off steam. Theirs is a brutal life, and it attracts brutes. Back in the forties the chances of the sack of cities was all that kept them in the field. You learned to turn a blind eye to their peccadilloes, as long as they fell in for duty the next morning.’

‘You’re right sir,’ said the prince, ‘I have not yet seen exactly how soldiers conduct themselves in the field and have much to learn on that point.’

The old man gave what was intended to be an affable laugh. ‘Oh sire, I’ve no doubt you’ll conduct yourself in the field with all the courage your forebears have always shown.’

The prince turned to Colonel von Meiningen. ‘I believe none of your men were involved in last night’s riot, colonel, tell me how that came about.’

The younger colonel cleared his throat uneasily. ‘Well sire, I forbade my men the city and stationed a provost marshal with reliable lieutenants and sergeants with halberds along the Hochstrasse of the Südlicher Vorstadt, where the men who’d earned the privilege were allowed the taverns and ... er ... licensed whorehouses.’

‘Ah! So that’s how it’s done. What say you, Britzenfeld?’

‘Eh? What? Soldiers aren’t schoolchildren, dammit, they need their fun.’

The prince was frowning magnificently at his wineglass, but when his gaze shifted full in the face of Britzenfeld it was with a look of fury. The old man recoiled. The prince’s voice was still controlled when he spoke however, which perhaps made his fury all the more frightful.

‘Fun needs paying for. You will have your regiment parade in the Platz at dawn tomorrow, Britzenfeld. You’ll know where as a gallows is being erected on the spot as we sit here. The ten rioters who were apprehended by the city authorities in the course of their theft, assault and rapine have already been convicted at the Arsenal before a court martial. They will be hung tomorrow in full sight of their comrades. And among those apprehended was a lieutenant caught in the act of rape, you might know him. He carries the same name as you.’

‘What! My God! My cousin’s boy! No sire, this is not possible.’

‘I believe it is indeed him. He currently resides in the Osten Tor. He will be tried tomorrow before the city magistrates and if found guilty he too will be executed, though I believe it will be in a manner more appropriate to his station and profession.’

The old man was now horror struck. ‘Sire, you must intercede. These fat burghers take their money bags too seriously.’

‘I agree with you, sir,’ said the prince, a slight smile now cold on his lips. ‘The problem is I take their prosperity and the peace of the city seriously also. Ruritanian soldiers ... Ruritanian, sir I said ... may not treat their capital as an occupied city. The dreadful world of pillage and massacre which tainted your youth, sir, is not ever to return. War must learn rules, and soldiers must be brought to respect them. I may be as young and inexperienced as you accuse me of being, but I’m no damned fool. It seems that this change in the world’s mood has passed you by, as indeed did the events of last night. How is it, sir, that you seem unwilling to take responsibility for what passed last night, involving troops under your command, and have failed to register the absence of your kinsman in today’s review?’

He got no answer, and the prince continued. ‘So, Britzenfeld. I may be moved to intercede for the man, and perhaps the city authorities may listen to me, but to earn that favour I will require you to resign your colonelcy tonight. I believe there are a couple of likely younger men who may be willing to take it off your hands, though in the circumstances I rather fear that it will be at a loss to you. Now sir, perhaps you may wish to visit the young man. I hope so, as I sincerely want your damned face out of my sight. I do not believe we will meet again.’

The prince’s table had gone deathly quiet as the old man staggered to his feet and made his unsteady way out of the Great Hall. The prince looked around the pale and strained faces. ‘Now gentlemen,’ he said equably, ‘I think you may know better now what sort of army I will lead. Those of you not acquainted with the Gallic Wars should perhaps take a copy up. You see, it is possible for even a boy such as I to learn some useful things from between the covers of the right sort of book. One of them is the cardinal importance of discipline in the military art, a lesson I am glad to say our good Colonel von Meiningen here has thoroughly demonstrated for your benefit. My compliments, sir.’

***

The two boys shot up, and though Brunhild didn’t climb to her feet she reared back her neck to examine the sudden new arrival.

‘Jonas!’ shouted Karl and Andreas together. ‘Why’re yer back?’ Andreas asked, then realised his remark might be misconstrued. ‘... I mean not that we’re not glad to see yer.’

The elven boy hopped down lightly from his perch. ‘It’s time for us all to have a discussion, and time for you to learn some things you’ll need to know. But not here.’

‘Oh?’ Karl registered. ‘Then where?’

‘I’m gonna take you where that old wizard tried to go, and maybe show you what he was looking for.’

Karl’s heart skipped a beat. ‘You mean, you’re gonna take us to Faërie, the land of the Elven King?’

‘Er ... sorta,’ Jonas replied.

‘Oh! I’ve heard of it,’ Andreas declared. ‘But boys who go there come back after it seems only a night had passed to them to find years and years have gone by in the everyday world, and all their friends are old and grey.’

‘Umm ...,’ Jonas was clearly finding it a little difficult to explain himself. ‘Time behaves oddly there, it’s true, but so far as my acquaintance with the place goes, it works the other way. Anyway, you up for it?’

‘Yes!’ Karl cried decisively, his eyes shining, and then he sagged. ‘But we can’t leave Brunhild and Jennet. We’re supposed to be looking after them and the stable tack.’

‘Eh? You mean you want me to bring the horses with us?’

‘Can you?’

Jonas looked a little dubious. ‘I suppose. But I’m not sure what it’ll do to them. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried that before.’

Andreas nodded. ‘We don’t want them hurt.’

‘It’s not so much they’ll be hurt, it’s that they’ll be changed, and I’m not sure how much. Fine. Take the blankets off them, and all your clothes off too. No bridles and saddles. Clothes and any sort of gear make the crossing trickier.’

Karl caught Andreas’s eye, and put all the passionate longing he felt to follow Jonas into the unknown in his gaze. Andreas caught it, nodded and quickly began undressing. Then they led the horses out into the cold March night under the stars, shivering. Jonas swarmed up on to Brunhild’s back and pulled Karl up behind him, Brunhild’s coat rough against his bare thighs and buttocks. Andreas climbed up on Jennet. The horses seemed very wide awake for the late hour.

Pressing into the elf’s warm back and clasping him around his waist, he felt moved to kiss Jonas’s shoulder. ‘I love you, Jonas,’ he whispered in the boy’s perfect shell of an ear. ‘I know you’ll keep us safe.’

Then the elf dug his ankles into the horse’s flanks and they began galloping across the dark field towards the fence opposite, going full tilt. Karl’s heart hammered. They were riding hard on to the fence, and the mares showed no inclination to slow down and shy at it, as if they were gathering themselves to leap. But before they crashed into it light flared around. For a moment it was as if they were galloping along a rainbow, until the horses drew up suddenly in full daylight on a lawn under a sky of a blue so luminous it was as if it were carved out of a vast, world-spanning sapphire. It was warm and the woods around the lawn were alive with birdsong. A broad, clear and sparkling stream was chuckling past them over many-coloured pebbles.

‘It’s beautiful!’ cried Andreas. ‘Unbelievable!’

***

Karl lay back on the soft and fragrant grass of the strange place to which Jonas had brought them. Not far from his head Brunhild was happily feasting on the herbage, her teeth ripping and crunching the grass. Andreas and Jonas were joyously playing in the water, shrieking and splashing each other. Jonas was teaching Andreas to leap from a rock and cannonball yelling into a deep pool below. Andreas had clearly lost any lingering doubts he may have had about the elf.

Karl in the meantime was more engaged with his surroundings. They’d been playing on the lawn for what seemed to have been over an hour, yet the golden sun had not moved in the sky. He was wide awake and full of energy, yet it was late evening in the world they’d apparently just left. The birds zipping overhead were jewel-bright with colours, their songs more tuneful and elaborate than those of the birds he knew. And he had this odd feeling that he could hear another tune underlying theirs, as a rich organ tone underlay the chants of the choirs he had heard in the Dom and Salvatorskirche. Many such thoughts and strange images were welling up in his boy’s mind, and he remembered what the strange lady in the abbey had told him about the ‘clear sight’ that came to those who kept company with the spirit he had named Jonas Niemand.

Brimming with that unnatural energy, Karl stood up and went over to embrace Brunhild around her neck. She snuffled at him and he caught something from her mind that told him silently she too was registering and relishing the strangeness of this place.

He then padded over to the stream and watched the other two boys, elf and human, wrestling and playing grab-ass in the water, screaming with laughter. It seemed that Jonas was living his happiest dreams. Soon Karl was dragged into the water by his ankle and recruited to pin Jonas down. Not an easy thing as the boy was as lithe as an eel, though Karl assumed the elf wasn’t using all the power available to him. Eventually, panting and exhausted, the boys let him go and just floated in the warm waters of the pool.

‘That was so much fun,’ sighed Jonas, now perched up on a blue boulder. ‘I knew it would be.’

‘But fun wasn’t why we came here,’ Andreas observed. The two horses had followed Karl over, and now were drinking deeply from the stream, apparently with some relish.

‘True,’ Jonas said. ‘There’s one more game to play though. In this place it is possible for you to use no more than the power of your thoughts to create things. It’s one reason why that mad old Graf wanted to break into here. What his thoughts could have created, I don’t like to think of. But though your thoughts may not be so powerful, they’ll be healthier.’

Andreas’s eyes widened. ‘What, anything?’

Jonas nodded. ‘Pretty much.’

‘Castles? Palaces? Jewels? Servants?’ asked Karl, ‘just like in the stories?’

‘Probably yes, but I wouldn’t try anything so ambitious. They wouldn’t be ... safe.’

‘Safe?’

‘Once begun,’ Jonas said, ‘they’ll start their own stories, and anything apparently living you created would have no soul. There can be no evil here, but there would be lost and confused creatures without purpose but to serve, and no one to serve as you’ll be gone soon.’

‘I know!’ Andreas shouted, and his face took on a straining expression.

‘You pooing in the pool?’ Karl asked, and then, catching Jonas’s eye, they dissolved into laughter. But Andreas was by now pulling himself up on the bank and running up on to a mound. He danced about and waved to his friends to join him, and when they did they found a big brass cannon sitting on the grass, primed and ready to fire. Andreas ran over, grabbed the lanyard and with a whoop, he pulled it.

The boom of the detonation echoed and re-echoed as the great cannon leaped back with the recoil. The birds above them burst skywards like an exploding rainbow. The ball could just be seen at the top of its arc and then it ploughed into the red soil far on the other side of the stream, sending gouts of turf into the trees.

The boys danced with delight on the grass. Each took his turn on the lanyard and sent his shot into the sky. Then they sat down. ‘Your turn, Karlo!’ Andreas demanded.

‘Er ... right then.’ He closed his eyes, held out both hands and concentrated. When he opened them across his palm lay a fine sword in an expensive sheath. He offered it to Andreas. ‘This is for you, Ando, so we can both ride out as gentlemen.’ Then he had second thoughts. ‘Oh! Jonas! But can we take these things back to our world?’

The elven boy gave him a very soft smile, reached over and caressed his cheek. ‘Only those things created in love and for others. They can return to the mundane world. And when they do, they will be no common objects. You’ve given Ando a very great gift indeed. Another sword was once created in this place that preserved a kingdom and unleashed legends of bravery and glory men still tell, and always will.

‘Well, you two have not disappointed me. You’ve used your power for honest merriment and in love, and this place will bless you accordingly. And now a gift for our other companions.’

Jonas stood and pulled his friends up. ‘Look!’ he ordered.

Brunhild and Jennet’s heads went up and they twisted around as if looking for something assailing them. They flexed their spines as they writhed, and they screamed. Great wings burst from their shoulders in a vast span and beat, lifting their hooves from the ground.

Jonas stood with his hands on his flanks. ‘Bet none of you expected that! Now we can go hunting elementals in style!’