Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 51

Herbert had been awake for most of the night. He had too much on his mind for him to sleep properly. He was watching the ghostly light from the fire flicker and dance on the wet surface of the cold grey rock, when it occurred to him, that during the card game back at the scrap yard, Basil appeared to know exactly what cards his opponent held in his hand, before he had played them. Until now he hadn’t even been aware that Basil could play cards, let alone win against a seasoned shark like John Rummage.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he reached out from his sack and tapped his sleeping friend gently on the shoulder. “Basil. Are you awake?” He whispered.

Basil groaned… “What is it?” he croaked groggily.

“How did you know what cards Rummage had in his hand?”

Basil rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up on one elbow.

“You noticed then?” he said.

“Not at first,” Herbert admitted, “but as the game progressed, I did think there was something odd going on.”

Basil took a mouthful of cold tea from his mug and explained to Herbert how he and Catherine Wheel had stumbled upon the secret of the Optician’s glasses. He told him, how during the card game with Rummage, he had used their special powers to his advantage.

“Here, try them for yourself,” he said, reaching into his pocket and passing his glasses to Herbert. Herbert took the spectacles and put them on.

“Blimey!” he exclaimed, “I can read your mind.”

“Precisely!” Basil replied.

Eager to see if his own glasses had the same magical properties, he began searching through the contents of his lapsack and when he eventually found them, he put them on and turned towards his sleeping brother.

Basil watched in silence as Herbert, crawling on all fours, moved in close and hovered over Harry’s expressionless face. Suddenly, aware of his brother’s presence, Harry stirred and opened his eyes.

“Aw, what a disappointment,” Herbert announced. He was trying his best not to smile. “Mine don’t seem to work. There’s absolutely nothing going on inside his head at all!” and

with that, he slapped his drowsy brother playfully on both cheeks and began to laugh out loud at his mischief.

“Get off!” Harry grumped, pushing his brother to one side and retreating into the depths of his lapsack.

Still giggling, Herbert turned his attention to the Constable.

I wonder what’s going on inside his head. He thought to himself. Now that would be interesting! but before he got there something mid way up on the cliff face caught his eye.

Through the thick ivy that clung to the rock face, he spotted a small round portal. Was it a window, or perhaps a ventilator shaft? He wasn’t sure.

“Basil,” he whispered. “Look. Up there, where I’m pointing. Can you see something?”

Basil followed Herbert’s line of vision until eventually his eyes settled on the partly obscured opening on the cliff wall. “Blimey, there is something,” he said…

By now, all the commotion had awakened Sherlock and when he looked up, he could see it too. Together, with their eyes fixed firmly to the spot, the three observers rose to their feet and moved in for a closer look.

Harry was in a foul mood. Herbert’s tomfoolery had awakened him and now he couldn’t get back to sleep. “Paff! Might as well get up then,” he grizzled and, dragging himself out of his lapsack, he put the kettle on.

He was sitting by the fire, sulking, at what he considered to be his brother’s ill conceived joke regarding his empty head, when the unfortunate incident occurred.

WHOOSH! Without any prior warning, the ivy parted and a thick green, sticky slime rained down from the mysterious opening above. Harry looked on aghast, as the sickly goo cascaded down and covered his friends from head to foot.

“Cor, instant karma!” he said out loud, his face positively glowing with pleasure. “That’ll teach them not to get twiggy with me!” He chuckled.

While Basil, Herbert and Sherlock staggered around blindly, trying to clear the slime from their eyes, through blurred vision, they could see dozens of giant snails crawling from the undergrowth and out of cracks in the rock. They were all happily lapping up the sickly green jelly that settled in large puddles on the ground.

“Oi! Get off our dinner at once! You never know where you’ve been,” the largest of the gastropods hissed as it slithered angrily towards the startled Treewoods.

In spite of his vulnerable state, Sherlock took umbrage at the slippery creature’s attitude. Under no circumstances was he prepared to tolerate arrogance of this nature and, not least, from a snail!

“Listen matey, let me inform you, that I always know where I’ve been!” the officer replied firmly. He couldn’t immediately think of anything else to say.

In the meantime, Herbert had turned almost as green as the slime that covered his entire body. The smell and the viscous nature of the sickly effluent made him feel decidedly ill.

“What is this horrible stuff?” He gagged.

“It’s not horrible stuff!” the snail snapped indignantly. “It’s very tasty and nutritious, and it’s our lunch, so get off at once! What’s your business here anyway?” the creature demanded.

“If you must know, we’re on a quest to replace the sunlight.” Basil replied, scraping more of the slime from his face. The snail almost choked.

“Sunlight? Don’t be daft!” it said, coughing and spluttering. “We don’t want stuff like that around here. Dries out the skin you know. Sunlight and snails? Behave yourself!”

With that the creature turned its back on the travellers and burped loudly, emitting a dense cloud of smelly green gas into the air.

Harry was still sitting by the fire. He could hear the conversation clearly and the arrogant attitude of the ill-mannered invertebrate was beginning to affect his concentration. It was interfering with his brewing program and that was definitely not on! Besides, nobody spoke to his friends like that and got away with it.

With his patience nearing its limit, he rose to his feet, walked the short distance to the rock face and confronted the bitter and twisted creature, head on.

“Excuse me,” he said, making his presence known. “Since you’re so full of wind - and your own importance - perhaps you would like to tell us all where you come from?” All the while, he was desperately wishing for the snail to provoke him further, allowing him the opportunity to pour boiling water onto the fat slime ball’s tail, which he hoped would result in the most painful termination of its seemingly useless life.

Caught off guard by Harry’s unexpected intervention, the snail stopped chomping for a moment and looked up quizzically.

“Don’t you lot know anything?” it enquired. “Let me explain. We live here as the favoured guests of Petronella Orvak and Endor Brek. Known collectively as The Witches of Slate Hill. Feared by all who encounter them, they are renowned for their evil spells and life changing sorcery. One of the basic ingredients in their infinite repertoire of magic potions is essence of powdered snail, of which, it just so happens, we are the primary source.

In return for three good meals a day and a comfortable bed for the night, from time to time we have to draw lots. We use a simple number system whereby we draw three numbers each, from a hat, add them together and the looser, i.e. the snail with the lowest score, ends up in the pot.”

“But that’s dreadful!” Basil interrupted.

“Mmm, not necessarily,” the creature replied coldly. “A large one of us goes a long way and such a sacrifice only takes place once in a blue moon. So, all in all, we consider it a fair price to pay for good food and comfortable accommodation. Now clear off and let me finish my dinner in peace!”

The snail belched loudly again, delivering another cloud of smelly gas into the already polluted air.

“Despicable!” the Constable muttered, shaking his head and turning away in disgust.

The gastropods continued to binge on the green slime until it was almost gone and with their gluttonous appetites satisfied, they slithered off on their bloated bellies, back into the undergrowth and the cracks in the rock where they had come from.

“What a sad and unsavoury bunch!” Basil remarked.

“That may be,” Harry replied, “but inadvertently, they have revealed some very valuable information.” The Constable rubbed some more green slime from his eyes and looked at Harry. “And what valuable information might that be?” he enquired.

“The Witches, stupid! Didn’t you listen to anything the snail had to say?”

Sherlock had to confess, that under the sticky circumstances, he hadn’t been paying attention like he ought to and although he was a man of many talents, like most males of his species, multitasking was not one of them. He had been so preoccupied trying to remove the green slime from his face and eyes, that he had missed much of the general conversation.

“The snail said that he and his companions lived here as guests of Petronella Orvak and Endor Brek, known collectively as The Witches of Slate Hill. Now, assuming that this obstacle that stands before us is Slate Hill, then that suggests to me that the witches can’t be very far away. In fact, the snails are probably informing them of our presence as we speak!”

Sherlock considered Harry’s theory for a moment and quickly concluded that a confrontation with witches could only result in trouble of the nastiest kind. So, assuming the worst, he suggested they pack up and move on immediately.

Harry extinguished the fire while the others busied themselves tidying up the site and in less than fifteen minutes, there was no sign of them ever having been there at all.

Armed only with faith, optimism and their glasses of truth, the travellers looked up in silence at the giant mound that blocked the way ahead.