George's Mysterious Christmas Pipe

GEORGE’S MYSTERIOUS

CHRISTMAS

PIPE

Nicola Jane Buttigieg

Illustrations by Akihiro Matsushima

Copyright © 2012 by Nicola Jane Buttigieg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Chapter 1 Another December Morning

Chapter 2 Stumbling Upon The Puddle

Chapter 3 Finders Keepers

Chapter 4 New Ways In Veturlia

Chapter 5 Mysterious Morning Happenings

Chapter 6 Sylthastrean Vengeance

Chapter 7 Pagan Pipe Patterns

Chapter 8 Lost Veturlia Light

Chapter 9 Hiding A Secret Message

Chapter 10 The Runaways’ Meeting

Chapter 11 Discovering The Half-Way World

Chapter 12 Elf Betrayal And Bargaining

Chapter 13 The Elf Traitor’s Comeuppance

Chapter 14 The Uman-Disguised Grawkin Stakeout

Chapter 15 An Odd Visitor To The Wilkins House

Chapter 16 Confiscated Or Stolen?

Chapter 17 Mischief In Store Displays

Chapter 18 Being Stalked At Dinner

Chapter 19 Returning To An Apprehensive Veturlia

Chapter 20 The Pipe’s Strange Effect

Chapter 21 George Gone Missing

Chapter 22 Falling Into The Pudl

Chapter 23 Chaos At Willowood Hall

Chapter 24 Saved By The Veturlia Earth

Chapter 25 Veturlia Under Threat

Chapter 26 Discovering The Trapdoor

Chapter 27 Finding Anthony

Chapter 28 Young Uman Capture

Chapter 29 Returning To The Palace

Chapter 30 New Rule In Veturlia

Chapter 31 Arming The Elves

Chapter 32 The Half-Way World Rescue Attempt

Chapter 33 The Grawkins Storm Veturlia

Chapter 34 Veturlia In Battle

Chapter 35 The Grawkin King’s Comeuppance

Chapter 36 An Uneasy Journey Home

Chapter 37 A Different Christmas Morning

Illustrations & Music

Veturlia Map

Mildreth And Jessamae Race Back To Veturlia

George Falls Through The Pudl

George Is Brought To The Grawkin King And Sylthastrean

Konrad Threatens The Sylthastrean Outside The Fortress

Konrad And Anthony In Battle, Grawkin King Escapes With The Sleigh

Anthony And The Children Escape Through The Pudl

Grawkin King’s Music Box Theme

for George

who continues on his journey

"Until one feels the spirit of Christmas, there is no Christmas. All else is outward display—so much tinsel and decorations. For it isn’t the holly, it isn’t the snow. It isn’t the tree not the firelight’s glow. It’s the warmth that comes to the hearts of men when the Christmas spirit returns again."

—Author unknown

VETURLIA MAP

Chapter 1

Another December Morning

Putney, London, 2010

13923.jpg loud, static-filled eighties Christmas song woke George abruptly, sending a tingle through his spine right down to his toe tips. He immediately reached over to hit the snooze button on his clock-radio, but irritatingly the synthetic sleigh bell jingling and electronic church chimes continued to echo up from the kitchen radio downstairs. He hated the song. And he hated remembering there were still a few days of school left until Christmas break. It wasn’t coming soon enough.

Come on George, his mother called in a nagging, all too familiar tone, your breakfast is getting cold. You’ll end up chewing cold marmite on toast!

George felt the horrible cold air as he lifted off his bedcovers. He let them drop back again to seal in the warmth. Downstairs in the kitchen his mother sang along spiritlessly and out of tune to the Shakin’ Stevens timeless festive classic, which never failed to surface each year. "It’s the sea-son, love and un-der-stand-ing. Mer-ry Christ-mas . . ."

George despised the Christmas songs that circulated air time during December. They had now become poison to his ears and he loathed the memories they stirred.

Although his mother was understandably on autopilot these days, she seemed quite happy to sing along the way she always had, so he never said anything about his feelings towards the songs. Nor did he ever mention disliking the jazz CDs she often played in the living room, which bothered him equally as much. The unpleasant smell of burnt toast wafted up to his room. The thought of going to school and chewing cold marmite on toast bothered him. Immensely.

George headed towards the river to cross over Putney Bridge. His bus stop was on the other side, on Putney High Street. It irritated him that he had to cross the bridge to get to his bus stop. Any other bus came via the bridge past where he lived, virtually on the edge of Fulham. But no, not his bus to school. Of course not.

There were numerous puddles on the road from the storm the night before, most with ice forming around the edges. He studied the reflection of the grey sky in one as he passed and kicked at a nearby stone, hitting the puddle and sending ripples through it. Putney Bridge soon came into view and he dreaded the thought of crossing it, knowing the wind would bite into his face. He pulled his hat down and wrapped his coat more tightly around him.

It was an average morning register call at his school, Willowood Hall, which was located on the northern edge of Wimbledon Common. There was an average school dinner followed by an average maths lesson, taught by the usual teacher who also happened to be the School Principal, Mr Rutherford. He was tall and stern with sinister dark glasses and quite savvy about young adolescent behaviour.

George sat in his usual place next to his friend Konrad, whom he had known since pre-school, and whose company he had always been fond of. Konrad was slightly taller than George. He had fair hair and very prominent, convincing blue eyes, that quite often allowed him to get away with just about anything when complemented by his cheeky grin. He liked getting his own way but did not like being cheated, nor see others being cheated. He had grown somewhat more streetwise than George over their schooling years. George, being an only child, had always found a brotherly companion in Konrad, so their friendship endured.

Konrad, being typical Konrad, passed George a note under the desk. George pretended to drop his pencil. As he picked it up, he snatched the note from Konrad.

Don’t drop your pencil George! Konrad blurted out. You’ll break the lead!

You want to be just a little more obvious, Konrad? George mumbled under his breath.

What’s all this chatter about? demanded Mr Rutherford from up the front. Do you two boys need separating?

Caught out, Konrad went silent and tried to look as innocent as possible.

Konrad, move to the desk down the front please.

Konrad rolled his eyes towards George and reluctantly gathered his books to move. He had it well in him to challenge a teacher’s authority, however his attempts to try this in the past with Mr Rutherford had landed him in detention several times. Either that or a phone call was made directly to his mother.

Mr Rutherford returned to the papers on his desk.

George opened the note discreetly to find a sketch of Mr Rutherford with the body of a dragon. His face had fierce eyebrows exploding from a pair of exaggerated dark glasses. He glared in the direction of a pile of maths books, burning them at a distance with his angry, flame ridden breath. George contained his laughter as Konrad looked back towards him, pleased with the result. George was suddenly aware he was being watched.

George, what is that you have there? Bring it to me please! ordered Mr Rutherford.

Sorry you had to move desks today, said George, as he rode home with Konrad on the school bus. It had already passed the edge of Wimbledon Common and come down the hill towards Putney High Street. I honestly didn’t mean for him to see the note.

Who cares, he probably likes the idea we think he’s a dragon. He certainly roars like one. You’ve seen what happens when someone gets in trouble with him.

The bus continued down the High Street. George avoided looking out the window at the decorative shop fronts and upcoming flashing fairy lights wired around the façade of the ‘Putney Exchange’ shopping arcade.

Konrad spied a charity collector Santa Claus holding a donation bucket outside. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, had a very cheap-looking fake white beard hanging over his natural black goatee and was rather tall and lanky. What’s with the beanpole Santa they have out here? said Konrad as he opened the bus window on impulse and yelled out, You been cutting back on the Chrissy pud this year old boy?

Konrad don’t! Shut up! insisted George as he pushed the window closed again, and looked back at the disappearing Santa wannabe shaking his head in the direction of the bus.

Much to George’s relief, the closed window dampened the sound of another all too familiar Christmas tune blaring into the street.

Konrad started to shake and bop in his seat to the Mariah Carey song. He crossed his legs in a lady-like way, poked out his chest and batted girly eyelids as he imitated the singer’s famous high-pitched melismas. "Make my wish come truuuuuuuue. All I want for Christ-maaas is yoooooooou! Ooooooh baaaaaaby!"

His moment in the make-believe limelight ended quickly when he spied something and pointed through the opposite window. Hey look, the big Christmas tree’s up by the church with the blue clock!

George, and several other students on the bus who overheard, looked out where Konrad was pointing. A beautiful, healthy looking evergreen pine stood by the church bell tower with the landmark blue clock at the end of the High Street.

That’s been up a while. Did it have those lights last year? asked George.

Yeah it did, remember we went to the church market that night on our way back from the wharf with your dad and— Konrad cut himself short. He cursed himself for bringing George’s father into the conversation. It had been almost a year now.

They sat in silence looking out at the tree flashing in the dusk. Konrad knew George loved things that glowed and twinkled. So did Konrad, who was a real danger to be around on Guy Fawkes Night.

That tree’s going to look great each evening, said Konrad.

The bus stopped opposite the church by the bridge. George parted company with Konrad and started to make his way home. He turned his back immediately on the High Street which was busy with Christmas shoppers in the hour before closing. Painful memories arose of dipping in and out of the familiar stores. He had been doing his Christmas shopping with his mother and father in the same street almost exactly a year before. He renounced the cheerful spirit of the street and its continual stream of decorative coloured lights and Christmas paraphernalia. It gave him great discomfort. What was more, he felt an even greater discomfort about what was awaiting him at home.

Now that his grandmother had come to live at the house, he was constantly hearing her aggravating encouragements towards his mother to get on with everyday life, the sooner the better if she was not going to give up the house and make a new start elsewhere. His mother and grandmother often quarrelled, usually over housework, and their regular altercations were becoming all too familiar to George, who dared never to interrupt. He knew his grandmother meant well, but it was not really her house, even though she had become the one to run it these days. Sometimes he wished he and his mother had decided to move away, preferably to a distance further than his grandmother would be willing to travel regularly. But he didn’t really want to leave all his friends in the area, even though he was so utterly miserable. Everything in sight reminded him of his father. He especially hated being there at Christmas time, the season he blamed for the family holiday trip that took his father away forever.

George had second thoughts about going home so soon. He stopped halfway along the bridge and turned back to look at the twinkly Christmas tree outside the church again. The festive High Street bustled and sparkled vividly behind. Maybe his grandmother had a valid point.

He took a deep breath and started to walk back towards the High Street. George, just like his mother, had many fears to conquer staying in this part of town. At present, facing decorative Putney High Street was by far the biggest issue for him. He would have to pass it regularly during the same season every year and there was really no way of avoiding it. He impulsively decided he would walk back over the length of the street, right up past the Putney Exchange to the train station, then loop back down again towards home. As a compromise, he would walk at a faster pace, staring at the ground most of the way. He decided he would make himself get off the bus a few stops earlier at the station from now on, and walk down the length of the street towards the bridge each day. He knew it was the only way he might ever get over his festive High Street fears.

As George approached the Putney Exchange shopping arcade, he leapt ahead and stomped in the puddles along the pavement to amuse himself, cracking any unmelted ice on their surfaces. Reaching the side street just before the Putney Exchange, he felt a cold chill sweep across his ear. It was peculiar, as the chill was not accompanied by any wind. He pulled his warm hat over his ears, absently looking into the side street as he passed.

Further down the abandoned side street, ‘Gillespie Street’ as it was called, he noticed an unusually large puddle spilling over a storm drain. It looked almost like a little pond. A shiny glint caught his eye and he noticed something protruding from it. A dead fish maybe? No way, it couldn’t have been. He wondered if fish might be able to live in such a large pond-like street puddle, providing it did not freeze over and trap them.

Chapter 2

Stumbling Upon the Puddle

River Thames Crossing, Putney, 1823

13925.jpg t was almost dusk. A dashing young gentleman in a once crisp and elegant but now dishevelled waistcoat and suit jacket stumbled over his own feet as he hurried through wet, muddied woodland towards the Putney river crossing. Blood dripped from his hands as he held his side tightly, pressing down on a knife wound under his silk shirt that was now stained red.

Gruff voices of the law, officials on horses following not far behind, called out and warned him to surrender. He would not, for the sake of his trusting wife back in London, whom he loved and could no longer afford to keep. Without her knowledge, he had gambled away her dowry and found himself needing to provide her with jewellery for an upcoming London ball at which the King would be present.

In desperation, he had approached the provincial residence of a new gentleman acquaintance and his lady. Arriving earlier that day to supposedly discuss a business opportunity during their shooting house party, his visit was really a ploy to steal a pearl tiara he had seen the lady wear to a recent wedding. Whilst the couple and their guests were occupied elsewhere in the mansion, he had snooped around upstairs to find the lady’s room and relieve her of the prize pearl tiara. He was discovered by her maid and then stabbed by the cook with a kitchen knife when a wild chase ensued, after which the law was informed.

The young gentleman was in agony, his side stung and he was drastically losing pace as he crossed the bridge. He continued to stagger on, fearing the repercussions of his father-in-law’s reputation being harmed should he be caught. He looked down at the murky water flowing under the bridge and wondered if jumping in was the more ideal option, as he would soon be venturing into unknown woodland territory on the other side of the river.

The voices of the officials drew closer, Maximilian! Give yourself up!

Maximilian crossed the bridge and continued on to the safety of the woodland, stopping behind a large tree and peeking back around to see the men coming on horseback. They rode eagerly across the bridge, discussing which direction to take upon reaching its end. He discreetly edged his way deeper into the trees, but still in view of the track, so as not to lose his way. He could hear the panting of the men’s horses drawing closer and closer.

The officials split up, two of them keeping to the track. Maximilian grabbed onto branches of low lying trees, pulling himself forward. In trying to lose them, he did not realise the blood on his hands and shirt was staining the leaves as he passed.

One of the officials spotted a bloodstain and called out in a gruff voice, We know you’re injured, you won’t survive out here. This is your death wish!

Maximilian stopped to rest a moment, considering what he had heard. He checked that the tiara was still safely tucked inside his jacket and lifted his shirt to inspect the wound in his side. As he suspected, it was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, which made him feel faint. A voice suddenly grabbed his attention.

He’s up here! One of the officials had ventured ahead unnoticed and spotted him among the trees.

There was a heavy thudding of hooves and mad rustling of leaves as the officials took off in his direction. Maximilian knew his lead in this chase was just about over. He took a deep breath and made a dash for the open track, the men on horseback hot on his heels.

He turned onto the muddy track and was disappointed to see a large puddle spilling right across his path. He felt a strange chill hit him and wondered if his loss of blood was taking its toll.

The ground near the puddle was very soft on his approach. As he trod on the puddle’s edge, the ground immediately gave way and he was sent crashing down directly into its centre. To his utter shock the ground continued to give way as he fell through the puddle’s gushing surface into what seemed like the depth of an entire lake underneath.

The officials, who were gaining on him, raced onto the path. They halted immediately in disbelief. The man had completely disappeared. All they saw was a mere storm puddle rippling gently in front of them.

Maximilian was surrealistically pulled downwards through the puddle, into a cold atmosphere that no longer felt like water and in which he could surprisingly breathe. The daylight colours around him changed to foggy violet tones as he lost all orientation. His fall soon lessened to a slow drift and the strange violet fogginess led him to a sparkling white surface below, lit up in patches by what looked like clusters of tiny little stars. Looking above, he noticed all the water from his clothing and body being drawn upwards into droplets, floating back to the surface of the puddle, where he could still see a shrinking patch of daylight. Though he was still very cold, his body soon felt entirely dry. The violet fogginess around him started to clear and he finally landed on soft, undisturbed silvery-white, snow-covered ground with vine-like plants growing along it. Looking around he noticed the vines blossomed with what looked like beautiful glowing violet-pink flowers flickering brightly from the inside like fire.

Maximilian picked himself up and gazed around a mysterious twilight atmosphere. There was a softly lit violet ‘sky’ above. It seemed somewhat closer directly above his head, where the puddle he had fallen through appeared to float, its undersurface a prominent shimmering patch. The strange sky slanted upwards higher and higher into the distance ahead. He wondered if what he saw was real or whether he was hallucinating due to his weakened state. He turned and looked behind where the sky extended downwards until it met with the snowy ground some distance away. Gazing full circle again he finally figured he was under a huge dome—a skydome. The puddle was in fact a rippling surface-hole existing near the skydome’s lower edge. Had he fallen through a portal of some kind? What was this place?

The glowing flowers grew thick and bright around him but as they stretched into the distance along the ground they became thinner and sparser. He noticed their inner flames also grew weaker the further away they grew. In the soft twilight he could see the outline of forested mountains in the distance, peaking above a widely ascending terrain of foothills he was standing at the bottom of. Straining his eyes to see in more detail, he thought he could make out dark patches in these foothills, perhaps caves ensconced within.

Way behind the mountains shone a vibrant yellowish glow, likely the light of a town, he thought. He was astonished. Where exactly was he? He wondered how he would get back to the puddle surface above. He was truly on his last legs and the pain in his side was unbearable. Holding his side tightly, he had no choice but to start towards the mountains to see what was on the other side and wondered if he would survive long enough to reach them.

As he made his way forward he could hear an eerie high-pitched echo, like the sound of an animal’s wild bellowing or braying. He stopped to listen, wondering if there were dangerous animals living on the mountains. The sounds stopped and warily he continued to shuffle across the snow in discomforting silence. He felt a bitter chill creep up behind him, almost as if there was a living presence or spirit. The eerie, distant bellowing sounds started up again and were joined by a mysterious whispery surging noise, which grew louder. He anxiously turned sideways to see what looked like two of the fiery blossoms floating mid-air in the distance. He squinted in the twilight again, to make out the shape of a mansion, or small castle of some kind behind their floating glow. The surging sound was like that of tidal sea waves, which of course was impossible, as there was no ocean in sight. Its ongoing ebbing and flowing presence around him stayed close, though he could see nothing apart from an atmospheric rainbow twinkling in the light of the fiery blossoms by his feet. The chill around him was unbearable.

The animal-like bellowing grew closer and more distinct as if coming from the sky behind him. He turned in amazement to see two hoofed animals shoot past him, landing from the violet sky at a galloping pace onto the snowy ground in front. At first he thought they were horses. The animals turned and started to tread towards him warily in a curious but harmless puppy-like manner. He could make out large antlers on their heads. He wondered if they were wild deer, perhaps arriving after him from the puddle. One of the deer bellowed at him, and he recognised the sound immediately as the same as that coming from the mountains. He stepped forward to continue toward the mountains, surprising one of them and sending it trotting to the side to keep a safe distance before bellowing at him again.

To his surprise a human-like voice called out in response to the bellowing, as if telling the animal off. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw coming towards him not the two floating blossoms as before, but rather two hand-held lanterns containing the pinkish blossom flowers, that had likely been picked from vines like those growing near his feet. Two small people came into sight, holding the lanterns. They wore tribal-like clothes. They continued to talk to the deer who bellowed in return. It was clear these small people could communicate with the wild deer in the same manner as a man and his dog.

The surging wave-like sounds returned and surrounded Maximilian. The wild deer immediately grew wary and backed away. They were soothed by the calls of the small people who did not appear in the least bit afraid. He thought he could almost make out words within the ebbing and surging sounds around him, but couldn’t define anything exactly. He wondered if the people had heard this bizarre sound earlier, perhaps from their home in the distance, thus prompting their venturing outside. As they approached in their lantern light, Maximilian could see they were vibrant young men, perhaps in their early twenties, but looked to be less than five feet tall. As they reached him, he could see their shoes and outer clothing were made of tough animal skin and very finely stitched with impressive skill. They wore warm hats made from animal fur.

The men stared up at him curiously, perhaps taken with his height. They looked concerned as he was holding his side and struggling to continue walking. There was something peculiar about the faces of these men. He noticed under their fair hair that their ears were pointed like those of elves in fairy tales, and their eyes prominent, perhaps even slightly oversized, and a beautiful, piercing blue in colour.

As one of the men opened his mouth to speak, the surging ocean-like call addressed him. The men looked up into the violet sky where an eye-catching rainbow swirling shape reflected the light of their lanterns. The rainbow shape turned and bent in the air, like living water. It descended over and around Maximilian before dissolving into tiny glittering particles and shooting away into the air again. It was a truly spectacular sight. The small men simply stood in front of Maximilian unbothered by the strange rainbow presence, staring down towards the angry wound under his shirt. They called out to the wild deer that obediently broke into a gallop, leapt up into the air and flew towards the mountains like wingless eagles.

Maximilian’s side stung immensely. He wondered if he had in fact already passed out and was dreaming all the events happening around him. He decided to seek help. Hello there, can you help me dress my wound? he said optimistically, hoping they would understand.

The two men looked at each other then back at him. They did not.

Maximilian pointed to his wound and tried again. I need water to clean this. I need a doctor.

The two men looked at each other and laughed. One of them kicked aside some snow in front of him and reached down to pick up some earth. Maximilian wondered if he had been misunderstood. The man looked up at him with his piercing blue eyes and smiled a friendly smile. Maximilian smiled back when, to his horror, the man lifted his hand from his side and pushed the handful of dirty earth under his stained shirt directly into his wound.

Maximilian momentarily screamed out in agony, but to his shock, within seconds, the pain left his side. When he lifted his stained shirt, he saw in the lantern light that he had a perfectly healed torso underneath. He poked and rubbed at it several times in disbelief.

The two men, although they did not speak, laughed again. They did not seem to understand why this tall character was so surprised.

Maximilian wondered if this earth was like a rare magical medicine. He did not want to appear ungrateful and so reached into his jacket to pull out the golden pearl tiara he had stolen for his wife. Reluctantly, he offered it to the men, Thank you. I’m grateful for your help. Please, take this in return.

One of the men took it curiously, admiring its shine in the lantern light and wiping at the blood smears on it. He had never seen anything of this colour or shape before. It looked very special, unlike anything in his land. He naturally wanted it. So did his companion who was looking on intently. They admired not only the shining precious golden metal and its pearl setting, but also the pattern and style in which these precious pieces had been fitted together to make a piece of jewellery. They wondered if they could make similar things from other materials they had in their own land which were nowhere near as attractive.

The surging sound returned like an anxious whisper, forming indecipherable words. The rainbow glittering water reappeared, twisting and turning around the men in a vexing manner. They once again were not afraid of it in the least. It was as if they were listening to the dialect it was speaking. As disturbingly surreal as this rainbow, glittery, water-like being was, it was one of the most beautiful visual experiences Maximilian had ever witnessed. He