Keeper of the Realms: Crow's Revenge (Book 1)

  MARCUS ALEXANDER

  Crow’s Revenge

  PUFFIN

  Contents

  1. Mr Crow

  2. Cookies, Croissant and a Dark Visitor

  3. An Angry Giant

  4. A High Dive

  5. New Companions

  6. An Education

  7. Tree Song

  8. An Introduction to K’Changa

  9. Troubled Thoughts

  10. Uninvited Guests and a New Arrival

  11. The Delightful Brothers

  12. The Passing of Friends

  13. Sylvaris and the Jade Circle

  14. The Truth

  15. The Willow Tower

  16. A Moonlit Chase

  17. The Awakening

  18. Questions and Answers

  19. Lady Dridif, the Royal Oak

  20. Two-faced

  21. The Isiris Bracelets

  22. The Spinnery

  23. An Agreement

  24. Betrayal on the Bridge

  25. A Night to Forget

  26. Where There’s a Will There’s a Way

  27. A Glimpse of Trafalgar Square

  28. The Morning After

  29. The Breakout

  30. A Midnight Trade

  31. Nowhere to Run

  32. A New Companion

  33. Nibbler

  34. Bad Debts

  35. A New Master

  36. Words of Wisdom

  37. Penance

  38. The Law Comes Knocking

  39. A Courtroom Fiasco

  40. A Dark God

  41. A Case for the Jade Circle

  42. Crow Gets His Wings

  43. Planning Ahead

  44. A Reunion of Sorts

  45. An Education

  46. Dark Schemes

  47. A Conversation with Constantina

  48. The Challenge

  49. Confrontations

  50. Words of Encouragement

  51. Family Squabbles

  52. An Ill-fated Zephyr

  53. Tough Training

  54. The Arrival

  55. Crow’s Revenge

  56. Farewells

  57. Final Preparations

  58. The Silent Duel

  59. Unleashing the Will

  60. Round Three

  61. The Face-off

  62. Battle Royal

  63. The Long Scream

  64. A Break Well Earned

  65. The Next Step

  66. The Portal

  After several incident-filled years of travelling the world, Marcus Alexander decided to pack in all serious attempts at reaching maturity, and instead embraced the much more suitable world of parchment scribbling for a living.

  Marcus has a fondness for causing mischief, knows how to run really, really fast when he’s in trouble and knows how to duck out of sight when someone points the long, bony finger of blame.

  Find out more about him and Charlie’s adventures at

  www.keeperoftherealms.com

  For my parents and the naughty Moll,

  for their burning love,

  their devotion …

  and for always picking me up when I stumbled,

  tripped

  or plummeted screaming

  over the cunning tripwires and sneakily hidden booby

  traps of life.

  You’re the best.

  xx

  1

  Mr Crow

  The house sat at the end of the small London street and it looked wrong.

  Not wrong in itself, although it was a peculiar-looking house, but wrong for the neighbourhood. Big, cranky and ancient, it squatted between its smaller neighbours and glared down the narrow backstreet as though daring anyone to say anything about its battered appearance.

  Yet beneath the grime and bird droppings were small scraps of evidence that pointed to grander times. Worn silver lining could be glimpsed on the window frames, bronze gilt hung in shreds from the oak front door and carvings of dragons peered out from beneath the creeping ivy. The building had been old even when London was young, but was now in dire need of renovation. Or demolition.

  Charlie Keeper was well aware of how it looked. As she gazed out of her small bedroom window, she knew that her house was a source of discomfort for the wealthy locals, and that her neighbours complained about its scruffy appearance. But she didn’t care. The place felt like home, felt like a part of her and, more importantly, reminded her of her missing parents.

  Trying to put thoughts of her grumpy neighbours aside, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and did her best to pat her messy blonde hair into something that resembled a ponytail. Stuffing her feet into a pair of scuffed sneakers, she stomped her way to the bathroom to clean her teeth. She slapped some toothpaste on to her brush and began to scrub furiously.

  Charlie wasn’t happy.

  In fact, she wasn’t happy most days. It wasn’t that her neighbours were always rude to her – thirteen-year-olds knew how to put up with adult foolishness. It wasn’t even that she got bullied at school, returning home with new bruises every day. And it wasn’t that life appeared to be stacked so unpleasantly against her.

  After all, there were good things going on too. She got to live with her grandma, and although her elderly relative suffered from amnesia she was, in Charlie’s mind, a wonderful woman with a kind heart. Her best friend, Tina, even lived down the street. And Charlie was, of course, a Londoner. She loved the grimy city. Her favourite afternoons involved sneaking off to watch the b-boys and freerunners practising along the south bank of the River Thames, and she got a secret thrill out of deciphering the twisted graffiti and loudly coloured street murals that decorated the capital.

  Life would have been bearable. Really it would have … apart from one thing. One person. Mr Crow. Since her parents had gone missing, he was (according to her family’s estate, will and testament) her lawyer, her custodian and the house steward. He held all the purse strings, had control over her grandmother’s health care and sent Charlie to the strictest of schools. And, although Charlie couldn’t prove it, she had a niggling feeling that Mr Crow had been selling antiques and furnishings from the house for his own financial gain.

  Charlie, without a doubt, hated him. And to make matters worse he was due at the house any moment now. She rinsed out her mouth and stomped back to her seat at the bedroom window.

  As her forehead creased up and her mouth twitched at the mere thought of the man, she saw him turn into the street with his customary black cape flapping behind him. Charlie’s neighbours hurriedly ducked out of sight. While they could ignore the house, it was altogether another matter ignoring the lawyer.

  Mr Crow homed in on the house like a venomous snake striking its prey, his long, skinny legs carrying him down the road. He used his rolled umbrella to prod an unfortunate passer-by who was too slow in making way.

  ‘Get out of my way, you clumsy fool!’ snapped the miserable lawyer. ‘Can’t you see I’m on important business? Make way!’

  Crow stalked up to the house and slammed through the front door, pausing to let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light inside. He took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and called out as he made his way to his study, ‘Charlie, my filly, my pretty filly. Come to Uncle Crow. There’s work to be done and papers to be signed. Come, come.’

  ‘You’re not my uncle,’ Charlie growled under her breath. But she knew better than to keep him waiting. Hurrying to the lawyer’s study, she walked straight up to the large leather-bound desk, lifted the pen that rested on its surface and, without needing to be asked again, signed the papers that Crow held out to her. As usual Charlie h
ad a sinking feeling that she was signing away more of her inheritance, but what could she do?

  The fiercer part of her soul wanted to scream out in protest or at least question him about what she was signing. But the other part of her soul – perhaps the wiser part – kept her mouth shut. She remembered the first time she’d dared to ask, how his face had changed and how he had beaten her back and forth across the study until her skin was black and blue. Now she always signed. Quick and easy was better than battered and bruised.

  She had told her grandmother, who was only too willing to help, but halfway through confronting Mr Crow her amnesia would kick in, she’d lose track of the conversation and end up asking him for tea and biscuits. Charlie had tried to tell the teachers at her school, but because the lawyer paid them so handsomely they simply wouldn’t hear a bad word said against the ‘charming Mr Crow’. All in all, Charlie honestly had no idea what to do. And apart from sticking her tongue out at his back and the few occasions she had gathered up the nerve to put ink in his tea (Crow would walk home with blue lips and an odd feeling that people were laughing at him) she didn’t feel as though this was a situation she could fix.

  The lawyer’s words pulled her back to the present.

  ‘Thank you, dear Charlie,’ he purred, with a look of ill-disguised greed. ‘That was easy, wasn’t it? Never let it be said that work should be hard! And now, my little filly, I must ask you to leave me in peace, as I have much to do. Oh yes! Crow’s work is never done!’ And, so saying, he ushered Charlie out through the study door.

  As soon as the door was shut, she promptly screwed up her face and stamped her foot. She hated him! He took her money but wouldn’t arrange to fix things and he certainly didn’t pay for the heating in the winter – Charlie always froze. But, worst of all, he wouldn’t get the right medical treatment for her gran.

  Furious, she turned her back on the study and headed into the depths of the house.

  She had known from a young age that her home was different from most buildings. Since her parents had disappeared, it was the only place that she ever felt safe, but it didn’t obey the rules that all other houses were inclined to follow. Charlie was pretty sure that it was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Much bigger. She had been running riot around the house all her life, yet she was still discovering doors that led into new unexplored parts. Fortunately her grandmother stayed to the front of the house and never strayed, which meant that Charlie could wander to her heart’s content.

  Now she found herself striding through dusty corridors and along deserted hallways that echoed with the sound of her footfalls. She stumbled down stone staircases carved with strange and ornate mythical animals, and passed marble archways and cavernous rooms full of ancient and eroded statues. Emblems and old signs of chivalry and heraldry stood proud on the walls and doors. Lions, unicorns, griffins and even stranger-looking creatures were depicted with such skill that they appeared to wriggle and writhe as she walked past. But Charlie, used to these everyday wonders, ignored the intriguing surroundings and stomped deeper and deeper into the house. Every once in a while, unable to contain her rage, she would shout, ‘It’s not fair!’ and kick the wall. Midway through yet another shout of, ‘It’s not fair!’ and halfway through a wall-kicking a voice rudely interrupted her rampage.

  ‘Child, wotcha think yer doing? Don’t go kickin’ the wall. It’s bad for the house, bad for business and also, methinks, bad for yer feet!’

  Losing all composure and kicking grace, Charlie squawked and spun round.

  Standing there was a man quite unlike any she had ever seen before. His rich brown hair was tied into a topknot that danced merrily above his head. He wore a green sleeveless shirt, olive shorts that reached just below his knees and a pair of wooden sandals. His big beak of a nose was pierced with a shell and a large plumed feather was stuck through his topknot. But strangest of all was his skin. It was a glorious dark green and polished with oil so that it glinted in the light. Charlie, who wasn’t tall by any means, was only a little smaller than the man and she couldn’t help noticing that he smelt of vanilla and unusual spices. And as odd as it was to find such a stranger in her house, strangely Charlie didn’t feel alarmed. His friendly appearance calmed her more immediate concerns, and for some unknown reason she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew his face from somewhere. It was as though an old, old memory was trying to float to the surface of her consciousness.

  Being a reasonably polite girl, she did her best not to comment on the man’s strange appearance. ‘I, uh, I was letting off steam,’ she replied with an embarrassed look. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any damage, honest.’

  ‘And why were ya letting off steam?’ the stranger enquired. Wooden bracelets clattered when he moved and his large ears were pierced with sandalwood hoops. ‘Ya don’t look like a steam engine or a new-fangled locomotive. So tell me, wot’s got ya so angry that ya’ve gotta go stompin’ around like an angry Hippotomi?’

  Charlie had never heard of a Hippotomi, but she was getting more and more inquisitive. Regaining her composure, she began to reassert some of her natural curiosity.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in my house? Did my gran let you in?’

  ‘No, no, lass. I let meself in,’ the stranger replied.

  ‘Say what?’ choked Charlie in disbelief. ‘You can’t go around sneaking into people’s houses – that’s crazy!’ She was about to demand that he leave, but once again her curiosity got the better of her. ‘Where are you from anyway? And why’s your skin that colour? And while I’m at it, why are you wearing those funny clothes? Don’t you get cold?’

  ‘Oh, jeez, ya ask a lotta questions, don’t ya?’

  ‘Well, you’re the stranger in my house, so I think the least you owe me is some answers.’

  ‘Ah, good point.’ The stranger grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, me skin is dis colour cos I was born with it. And I wear these clothes because I look good in them and also cos it’s real warm in Bellania at the moment.’

  ‘Bellania?’ muttered Charlie to herself. She mulled the word over a bit in her head, like a new sweet on her tongue, one she didn’t know whether she did or did not like the taste of. ‘Bellania,’ she said again. ‘That sounds really familiar. Where is it?’

  ‘Wot? Ya mean ta tell me ya’ve never been ta Bellania?’

  ‘Hmm … well, I went to Paris once when I was younger, with my parents, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to Bellania. Is that in Europe?’

  ‘Europe? Oh, bless me Glade and cripple me Sapling!’ shouted the stranger, slapping his hand to forehead. ‘Hippotomi, we clearly gotta have a little chat. Yer very, very far behind in yer upbringing. Yer education is sorely lacking.’

  Charlie didn’t know whether to be amused or angry. Just what was the proper procedure for addressing a green-skinned stranger who sneaked into your house and then insulted your schooling?

  ‘My education is fine, thank you very much.’ She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. ‘You know you’re almost as bad as Mr Crow, telling me I’m not good enough. Seriously, though, why is your skin that colour? And don’t just tell me you were born with it. I want a proper explanation.’

  ‘Yer an insistent little lass, aren’t ya?’ chuckled the man. ‘Do ya always cross yer arms and do that thing with yer feet when ya want questions answered?’

  ‘My house,’ reminded Charlie. But she did stop tapping her foot, although her arms remained firmly folded.

  ‘Oops, how could I have forgotten so soon?’ The stranger straightened his lips in an attempt to stop smirking at Charlie’s scowl. ‘Well, lass, me skin is green because I’m a Treman.’

  ‘Huh? A what?’

  ‘A Treman,’ repeated the stranger. ‘Do ya honestly mean ta tell me that ya’ve never heard of a Treman?’

  ‘A Treman? What’s a Treman?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘I’m a Treman, lass. Who’s yer teacher? Whoever he is, he ain’t doing a proper job.
Tell me, little Hippotomi – and don’t stomp yer feet at me – do ya know wot a Stoman is, or a Human?’

  ‘Well, of course I know what a Human is! I’m one. But I’ve never heard of a Treman or a Stopman.’

  ‘Stoman,’ corrected the stranger. ‘She knows nothing! Nothing!’ he mumbled to himself. ‘So, were ya gonna tell me wot had ya so upset in the first place?’

  ‘Well, it’s … it’s Mr Crow. He’s so horrible, he always makes me sign things I know I shouldn’t sign, he doesn’t help my grandma, he steals and if I don’t do what he tells me to do he beats me. It’s not fair!’ She stopped suddenly, worried she’d said too much. If this stranger was in the house, then maybe he was friends with the lawyer.

  The man grimaced in sympathy. ‘Well, if he’s the one in charge of yer purse strings, then it comes as no surprise yer education has holes in it. That man is a nasty piece of work. But tell me now, would ya be Charlie?’

  ‘Uh, yes,’ said Charlie, surprised to hear the stranger use her name and also relieved that he shared her views on Mr Crow. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Ha! We been hearing lotsa things and we been hearing of ya for a long time. I’m surprised I haven’t bumped inta ya before now. Nice pendant by the way. Is it an egg or an acorn?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Charlie replied. Her fingers subconsciously rubbed the beautiful pendant that hung from her neck. ‘It was a gift from my parents.’

  ‘Well, look after it, lass. A stompin’ Hippotomi like yerself could lose something precious if she wasn’t careful. Now,’ he said, looking around, ‘I gotta run, cos I’m late. But not ta worry – now that I know ya I’ll be sure to make time to see ya.’ And, so saying, the stranger promptly walked off down the hallway.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Charlie. ‘You didn’t answer all my questions. What’s your business? What are Treman and … and … and Stoman, what are they?’ stuttered Charlie.

  But the figure continued to walk briskly away, topknot and feather bouncing along in time with his footsteps. ‘I’ll tell ya next time!’ he shouted back at her.

  ‘When’s that?’ asked Charlie, hurrying after him as he disappeared down the corridor.