CHAPTER 3
THE CASTLE AT LAST
“Here we are folks,” said Basil cheerfully as the golden turrets of the Castle hove into view; he was far too tired and stressed to sound overly excited.
“Well, we can thank heaven for that,” said Caroline; she sounded exhausted but much relieved. “And I never want to go thorough anything like that again, Basil,” she said and narrowed her eyes at him. “And definitely no more detours!”
Basil thought it best not to say anything in case he should in one way or another inflame an already combustible atmosphere in the car. But if Basil, or for that matter anybody else in the family, thought they were now out of danger, they were wrong, very wrong indeed!
Basil turned off the highway and onto a broad, cobbled, private road that twisted and turned like a snake as it made its way up the mountain towards the Castle; its towers glowed majestically in the distance.
A neatly-trimmed hedgerow about one yard high grew handsomely beside the road; it formed a nearly impassable barrier between the road and a line of golden poplar trees that stood rigidly at attention as they passed by.
Beyond the trees, at the base of the mountain, lay a vast expanse of manicured lawn and well-tended flowerbeds of brilliant petunia, dahlia, chrysanthemum, and other flowers; they were a delight to behold by man and beast alike. Some of the latter were watching the goings on with a great deal of interest and they made their plans.
In the distance was a series of extensive natural lakes. Closer still were several artificial ponds of gigantic proportion; thick limestone walls encircled them, and each sported a large Royal Doulton fountain in the centre. A thick mist shrouded each fountain and within the mist hung a dazzling rainbow upon which colourfully-dressed fairies swarmed and played merrily.
“What a beautiful fairy!” said Basil happily as a pretty little thing dressed in a really delicate, sparkling, gossamer dress fluttered down and touched his big red nose - probably to see if it was real.
Goby was outraged at the liberty taken by the fairy on the person of his very best mate in the entire world and brandished his gnarled little fists in her direction; the fairy giggled, waved goodbye and vanished in a blaze of stardust. But Goby wasn’t finished; he stuck-out his tongue and let off a disgusting series of raspberries for good measure.
“I told you Deep Wood was full of weird and wonderful creatures!” said Basil, chuckling under his breath.
***
Basil stopped the car next to the same old drawbridge that he’d stopped next to many times before; he grinned as he gazed up at the smooth walls, square battlements, and pointed turrets, which cut deep troughs in the bottom of the heavy clouds.
“Well, that should keep those nasty, big forest trolls where they belong,” Basil said with a self-satisfied expression on his face.
They were all very relieved to have reached the Castle safe and sound and overjoyed at the prospect of meeting the Doctor and Violet, Basil’s parents, again; and taking time-out to stroll in Deep Wood, do a spot of fishing, sleeping-in, and eating plenty of healthy fresh forest fruit.
“I don’t think the Doctor likes strangers!” said Caroline as she cast her eyes over the formidable fortress once again; she always said that, perhaps she was right?
“You could be right I suppose dear,” said Basil diplomatically but the tone of his tone suggested what she’d said was a load of old twaddle. “Well, there are lots of strange beasts in Deep Wood these days you know!” He said and pouted his lips defiantly. Caroline rolled her eyes.
“You’re right on that score at least Basil,” she said with a grin.
“I want everybody to take something with them and I won’t take no for an answer!” Basil shouted as Mathew and Zoë jumped from the car.
Mathew, unfortunately, jumped right into a large pile of something thoroughly disgusting but regrettably common in Deep Wood; it was green and very foul-smelling.
“Holly shit!” Mathew shouted angrily as he inspected the sticky mess hanging from his shoe.
“It’s probably troll shit,” Basil suggested. Mathew glared at his father and poked at the offensive mass with a long stick.
Violet appeared on the drawbridge. “Hello there,” she said cheerfully as Caroline approached. “How are you my dear?” Caroline hitched up a brief smile, but she looked sick and tired. “Another Basil Day, I suppose?” Violet asked needlessly and put a comforting arm around her daughter-in-law’s shoulders as she led her across the drawbridge and into the Castle.
“Now look what she’s done,” Basil said as Violet flashed a none-too-welcoming glance in his direction. “In the bad books before I even get across the drawbridge!” Mathew was closest. “And you, you little hooligan; you’re going to be the death of me!” Having got that off his chest, Basil turned swiftly on his heels and sloped off towards the Castle in a huff.
“Tell you what, Basil,” said Mathew, catching up to his father. “If you can catch me before I reach the Castle, I swear I’ll be an angel for the rest of the holidays. Now that’s what I call a real challenge.”
“Which angel did you have in mind?” Basil asked and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
Mathew laughed. Basil looked intently at his son; he didn’t need to say anything because his eyes spoke passionately for him – love mixed with bemused concern for his son.
Basil did a quick mathematical calculation and realised he had no hope of reaching the Castle first. His forehead furrowed, Basil stroked his chin thoughtfully while his brain worked overtime to solve the problem.
“Now look here Mathew,” he said sternly as they stood toe-to-toe and eyed one another. “You’re at a distinct advantage, given my weight and physical condition; and furthermore, I’m far too old for this type of caper. So you’ll just have to give me at least a five minute head start. What do you say to that, eh? Scared stiff I suppose?” Mathew laughed his superior, haughty, irritating laugh.
“All right then Basil; you’ve got five minutes from now to reach the Castle before me!”
Basil took-off like an overweight geriatric with a severe case of gout and haemorrhoids and steamed towards the drawbridge as fast as his condition would allow – which wasn’t very fast at all! His little mate sat on his shoulder like a jockey and tweeted excitedly; one minute gone, three minutes, five minutes, and then his worse nightmare.
“You weren’t thinking of raising the drawbridge before I crossed it, were you, Basil?” Mathew yelled as he pelted past his father and grinned broadly when he heard Basil yelping after him at the top of his voice.
Totally exhausted and his legs trembling like a quivering jelly Basil staggered ever onward, gasping and spluttering like a chronic smoker. “Five more steps,” he wheezed. “Three more, one more”; and he collapsed, a scruffy heap on the drawbridge moaning miserably while his little mate frantically fanned him.
“Thanks, Goby mate,” Basil moaned; as he struggled back to his feet; he looked as pale as death itself.
From within the Castle he could hear the muffled sounds of cheerful music and laughter; surely he wasn’t dead yet. He pinched himself; it hurt. Yes, he was still alive, he decided; and summoning up all of his remaining strength, he staggered through the portal and into the Castle, down the long corridor, turned right, and fell head over heels through a solid oak door that had taken five elves a week to build.
Mathew shuffled over and casually looked down at the near-lifeless corpse of his father. “So you finally made it, eh, Baz mate,” he laughed drolly and threw a buttered piece of scone at the Goblin-fly, who only just managed to avoid it. The Goblin-fly wasn’t amused one little bit and, shaking his little wand high above his head, threatened to change Mathew into something awful if he didn’t behave himself.
“So what kept you then, Baz mate?” Mathew said, smirking, and his eyes twinkled roguishly; he ignored the weird Goblin-fly.
Caroline laughed and answered for her husband. “Probably fifty-eight years of extra good living!” Everybody in the room laughed except Basil and his best mate.
“Feeling better now, Baz mate?” chirped Goby; his eyes welled worry tears. “Yes, thank you, Goby mate.” He croaked back weakly and attached a delicate grin.
“Take it easy, Basil,” said Mathew, hunkering down next to his father. “I’ve got some really good news that’s absolutely certain to make you feel incredibly happy,” he said with a wide, toothy grin.
“Oh yes, and what would that be then?” Basil groaned like death warmed up; he fixed his bloodshot, tired eyes on his wayward son; somehow Basil knew that what he was about to hear wasn’t going to please him one little bit and he wasn’t wrong.
“Well, Basil” said Mathew; “I thought I’d just remind you that I’m here for the long haul, for at least the next fifty years! Now doesn’t that gladden your heart to the point of happy little Goblin-fly tears?”
Basil swooned with a loud, deflating hiss. His little mate rushed over to give support.
The Doctor glided into the room at that moment; he looked very happy and carried such a broad grin that it divided his face from ear to ear; until he saw Basil that is.
“What happened to Basil?” he said sharply, and hurried over to his fallen son’s side; he carefully examined him from head to foot. As he did so, he mumbled to himself continuously in some strange and difficult-to-understand language, stopping only long enough to cast reproachful glances around the room, and especially at Mathew.
Having finished his examination the Doctor pulled himself to his feet and in a sombre tone announced his diagnosis: “Well, to the best of my knowledge, and on the balance of probabilities, it appears to me that Basil is having a nervous breakdown!” He took an energetic swipe at the bizarre fly sitting on Basil’s shoulder - it rocketed out of harms way and returned moments later.
“Perhaps he needs an enema?” suggested Mathew. “He looks a little constipated to me.”
The Doctor’s bright blue eyes narrowed disapprovingly; he turned to face Mathew. “I don’t think that will be necessary, thank you all the same, Mathew,” he said frostily. “And your obvious lack of concern for your father’s well-being is simply appalling.”
The Doctor helped Basil to his feet and guided him unsteadily towards the cosiest chair in the room which, unfortunately, belonged to Mr Thomas, Violet’s huge, muscle-bound ginger tomcat; and he still had all of his bits and pieces attached.
As motionless as a coiled snake Mr Thomas watched Basil’s approach; his nostrils flared, his ears flattened back onto his head, and his lips curled to reveal enormous, curved, fangs.
Basil staggered on and with each step he came closer to Mr Thomas. The latter let out a deep, warning growl and extended his needle-sharp scythe-like claws; he readied himself for battle - just one more step!
Violet shrieked, clapped her hands to her cheeks, and rushed between the two. She looked awfully stressed. “Sit over here, Basil,” she said with a rising tone in her voice and pushed Basil unceremoniously in the direction of a rather down-at-heel, shabby, chair tucked away in the corner of the room where she hoped nobody would ever see it.
“Mr. Thomas gets very upset if somebody sits in his chair!” she said apologetically.
Basil’s nostrils flared with rage and pulsed with each breath that he took; he glared daggers at Mr Thomas - who beamed back at him.
Zoë pulled her chair next to Basil. “Are you feeling any better now, Daddy?” she said with genuine concern. Zoë was worried that Basil was about to have a stroke as well as a nervous breakdown, because several large veins had blown up like balloons on his forehead and were threatening to explode at any moment.
“Yes, thank you very much, Zoë,” he whimpered and managed to support his fib with a fragile grin. Zoë smiled and tried to cheer him still further. “You know, Daddy” she said, trying to sound as merry as possible. “You remind me a lot of Mathew; you’re just like peas in a pod.” Well, Basil wasn’t at all cheery with Zoë’s observation. “Peas in a pod!” he shouted in a fury and glared at Zoë with fire in his eyes.
“All I meant to say, Daddy, was that I wish we were all as perfect as you are.” Zoë dragged her chair back to where it had stood before and threw herself into it with a loud thump. Violet hurried over with a pot of tea and a plate of scones.
Mathew laughed and took Zoë’s place next to Basil; he studied his father for a minute or two in silence. “You know, Basil,” he began his speech like a politician. “On deep reflection vis-à-vis you and I, I am of the same mind as Zoë; but I think you and I are even closer than peas in a pod - we’re kindred spirits!
And furthermore, we’re both misunderstood and fail to be appreciated by those who ought to know better!” he said, and cast an accusing eye at the Doctor, Violet, Caroline, and Zoë, who chuckled between slurps of sweet tea. Mr. Thomas hissed at the unacceptable level of noise in the room; he was in the middle of a catnap.
The response, or lack of it, was too much for Mathew to put up with, especially when Basil and his Goblin-fly mate also laughed at him; he slowly pulled himself to his feet like a geriatric with a bad case of old age and sloped from the room.
“The boy’s very sensitive you know,” said Caroline, her eyes big and bright with sincerity. “He’s just like his father.”
“What was that?” shouted Basil; his eyes were ablaze with passion. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never been sensitive in my entire life!” He pursed his lips like a spoiled child.
“See what I mean,” whispered Caroline and craned her neck towards Violet - she curled her lips and nodded glumly.
The Doctor leaned towards Caroline and mumbled something through the palm of his hand; he’d cunningly clamped it over his mouth so Basil wouldn’t know he was talking about him. Basil looked on suspiciously, and cupped a hand to his ear.
“I didn’t want to mention this in front of Basil,” the Doctor whispered, “but there’s a queer-looking insect thing dressed in a blue jacket, pink cap, and red shoes, sitting on his shoulder!” Caroline glanced at Zoë and they burst-out laughing.
“You’re nearly right, Doctor,” said Caroline still laughing. “It’s a goblin masquerading as a fly; heaven only knows why?” She laughed. “But Basil’s convinced himself that it’s a Civil Service goblin who’s doing a time-and-motion study on him, would you believe?”
The Doctor’s brow puckered and his eyes lost some of their sparkle. “I wonder,” he said uneasily. “A goblin masquerading as a fly, you say?”
It was clear to all in the room that the Doctor was worried about what that meant.
“And what do you wonder, dear?” Violet asked in a casual tone of voice. “A goblin masquerading as a fly isn’t abnormal in Deep Wood, is it?”
“I don’t know,” he answered thoughtfully. “But I intend to discover the answer to that question before it’s too late.”
“What do you mean by too late?” asked Caroline nervously. “Has anything strange happened in Deep Wood recently?” She didn’t mention the ghostly figure that they had seen earlier in the day.
The Doctor didn’t answer; he was too absorbed with his own deep thoughts.
Violet cleared her throat and smiled; she could see that Caroline was terribly ill at ease about something; it was time to change the subject.
“You know, dear,” Violet said nonchalantly. “The Doctor and I do the same old thing day in and day out. We go for our daily walk in Deep Wood; we gather wild forest fruit; we do a little painting and pottery; we’ve always got something to do, you know.” Violet suddenly stopped what she was saying and turned her head towards her husband; he was still lost in deep thought.
“The wild folk have definitely been very nervous lately, don’t you think, dear?”
The Doctor rallied; however, he still looked uncharacteristically grave. “As a general rule,” he said almost casually, “Deep Wood folk are a pretty laid-back lot.” He pushed himself back into his chair. “But lately I’ve noticed that they’ve begun to move about in small groups and to speak in hushed tones; and they always seem to be looking over their shoulder, as if expecting something horrible to jump on them at any moment!” He stroked his chin and frowned; and looking from Violet to Caroline, Zoë and Basil said, chillingly: “I fear that there’s something horrible creeping about in Deep Wood!”
“Do you have any idea what it is?” asked Violet unflappably; she poured herself another cup of tea and stirred it vigorously in a strictly clockwise direction because Deep Wood is in the Northern Hemisphere.
“No I don’t,” he said with a heavy sigh; “but I wish I did know, because we, and all the wild folk in Deep Wood, might be about to face the most dangerous and most evil and thoroughly horrible life-form to ever set foot in Deep Wood!
I met old Rumpold the troll by the crooked stream the other day.” He said and paused for a moment’s reflection. “And to tell you the truth, he was absolutely scared stiff about something; and it takes an awful lot of dark doings to frighten a troll!”
“Did he say what was troubling him?” Zoë asked, wide-eyed. The Doctor nodded. “He said the gate to Kingdom has been opened! But I’m not sure if that’s true?”
“Do you mean the
“No, Zoë. I meant exactly what I said.”
Zoë fixed her eyes on the Doctor; she smiled disbelievingly. “Where is Kingdom then?” she asked.
The Doctor grinned; he could see that she didn’t believe him. “Kingdom exists beneath our very feet, dear!” He said laughing quietly. “It’s a totally subterranean Kingdom; and it’s as much revered by its inhabitants as we revere our own
Zoë's grin broadened; she was well aware of a number of previous whoppers that he’d told her and claimed all along that what he’d said was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! Zoë preferred to shorten it to: anything but the truth. Zoë smiled at the Doctor in the full knowledge that if she was to get the truth, she’d have to ask him some really specific scientific questions. She fixed her bright-blue eyes on the Doctor and began her questioning:
“If Kingdom exists beneath our feet, as you claim, Doctor,” she said in a measured voice, “then please tell me how Kingdom gets its air?” The Doctor chuckled quietly to himself; if Zoë didn’t believe what he said before, she definitely wasn’t going to believe what he was going to say next!
“All of the air, and everything else for that matter that Kingdom needs for its survival, is provided by magic!” he said, tossing his head back and elevating his superior eyebrows until they fused with his hairline. Zoë’s lips stretched into a broad, sceptical grin.
“Really Doctor, magic, for crying out loud!” she laughed; this was clearly another of his mega-whopper fibs. He’d have to come up with something much better than that to convince her. “Now I really know that you are fibbing, Doctor!” she said with an accusing look in her eyes.
“It’s the truth Zoë!” he protested; he wanted to look truthful but, alas, he looked too much like a well-known English politician. “Wizards provide Kingdom with everything, and fairies, elves, goblins, gnomes, and trolls do all the hard work!”
Zoë was becoming annoyed. “There’s only one way to settle your really outrageous claim, Doctor,” she said rather brusquely. “I want to see your amazing magical Kingdom for myself; or perhaps that’s not possible at the moment for some equally amazing reason?” The Doctor’s eyes twinkled with amusement and a grin stretched across his face.
“All right then. Zoë,” he said with a quiet laugh. “I’ll take you to Kingdom as soon as it’s humanly possible to do so.” Here we go again, thought Zoë.
“And, as it happens,” continued the Doctor out of the blue, “I know the royal family rather well.” He spoke smugly and without batting an eyelid. Zoë nearly choked on her tea, she was that startled.
“Imagine that,” said Zoë giggling. “The Doctor also knows the royal family.” Violet and Caroline joined her in a giggle; but Basil smirked because he was being ignored.
“Have you really been to Kingdom and met the royal family?” Zoë asked; she was far from being won over by the Doctor’s amazing claims.
“Oh dear me,” said the Doctor with a happy grin, and looked straight into Zoë’s sceptical eyes. “I’ve been to Kingdom many times before, dear child; and as it happens I also have the honour of being Kingdom’s Scientific Adviser!”
“Not that as well!” Zoë said and clamped a hand across her mouth to suppress a laugh. The Doctor cleared his throat and slipped on his reading glasses; he leafed through his pocket diary.
“I’m due to visit Kingdom tomorrow; would you like to accompany me?” he asked in a quiet, measured, voice; and his eyes popped over the rim of his glasses.
The answer was loud and swift in coming. “Yes, please!” Zoë shouted enthusiastically. The Doctor’s lips stretched into a satisfied grin; Zoë really did believe him this time.
“All right, then,” he said smugly. “I’ll send a fairy to Kingdom straight away to arrange things.”
“Did you say you were going to send a fairy to Kingdom, Doctor?” asked Zoë in a rising voice of suspicion.
“I’m afraid he did say that,” Violet said with a toothy grin. “Wizards, goblins, trolls, and gnomes are good for run-of-the-mill tasks like killing things, or frightening tourists half to death; but only fairies deliver notes!”
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