The Golden Acorn Chapter 8.

Chapter Eight.

 

On to Wilford.

 

Babbin was not in the inn.

“He’s down in the village,” said one of the foresters. “I think he was heading for the blacksmith’s forge.”

Inga found Babbin sitting on the edge of the forge hearth. He was holding a small leather bundle. He looked up as she entered.

“This is one of the saddest things there is,” he said quietly.

Inga frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“The only time a smithy fire goes out is when the blacksmith dies,” Babbin explained. “When a new man takes over, he has to prove he’s a true smith by getting the fire to burn again. I had to do it when old Wilf left me the smithy back home.”

“What have you got there?” asked Inga, nodding at the bundle.

Babbin unrolled it. Inside was a set of small, delicate tools.

“These are jeweller’s tools,” he said. “They were just lying on the bench.”

“Perhaps the smith here made jewellery,” said Inga. “You did.”

Babbin shook his head.

“These weren’t his.”

“How can you tell?”

“Look around,” said Babbin. “This smith was tidy. Everything has its place, and everything is in its place. But these tools were just thrown down. And…” He sighed. “I can tell he had no sons.”

“How?” asked Inga.

“All the tools are still here. If he’d had sons, they would have taken their father’s tools when they fled. That means he had no family to carry them on.”

He stood and walked to a rack of hammers. He picked one up.

“The smith here was a very strong man. He worked iron with brute strength.”

“You can tell that from his hammer?” Inga asked.

Babbin nodded.

“I can feel his hand on the handle. He made this himself. I couldn’t use it, it feels wrong to me. All his tools would feel wrong. That’s how I know the jeweller’s tools weren’t his. His touch isn’t on them.”

Inga nodded slowly.

“I understand. My father has his own leather tools, and my brothers have theirs. They hate anyone touching them. But my father’s tools were his father’s before him. Wouldn’t these tools be used by the next smith?”

“Yes,” said Babbin. “No one throws away good tools. But it takes a long time to make them your own.”

A forester appeared in the doorway.

“Ah, there you are. We’re ready to leave when you are.”

“I think I’ll buy these,” said Babbin. He tucked the leather bundle into his belt, took a few coins from his pouch, and placed them on the anvil.

“That’s a fair price.”

Inga had wandered to the bench. She picked up an apple‑sized lump of something.

“What’s this?”

Babbin took it and smiled.

“Wax. The kind I used to make the mould for the acorn. I can use it if we ever get home.”

Back at the inn, Prince Rogan was waiting.

“I’ve sent two men to warn my father, and two more to Barsham to warn them about the Wraiths. We need to reach Wilford, the clockmaker must be warned too.”

They climbed into the cart and left the deserted village.

The next village, Bilton, was as empty as Siddley. They found a note pinned to the stocks, exactly the same as the first. They camped in the deserted inn.

The next morning, the two foresters sent to Barsham returned.

“The people are still there,” they reported.

Prince Rogan frowned.

“Why are these two villages deserted, yet Ingford and Barsham untouched?”

There was a map of the kingdom on the tap‑room wall. Rogan walked over to it. Inga joined him.

“Is this map accurate?” she asked.

“As accurate as most maps,” said Rogan. “Why?”

“I think I know why Ingford and Barsham weren’t attacked,” said Inga. “And if I’m right, Wilford is safe too.”

Rogan studied the map and shook his head.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Trees,” said Inga.

“Trees?” Rogan looked puzzled.

“Trees,” repeated Inga, grinning. “Look, the deserted villages are all surrounded by forest. The places not attacked are out in the open. You said Wraiths can’t stand the light. Even with armour, they’d prefer to hide under trees.”

Rogan nodded slowly.

“That makes sense. It also helps us predict which places might be attacked. I’ll send a message to my father.”

“Not a moment too soon,” said the sergeant. “Look at the sky.”

He was right. The sky had turned suddenly black. Within seconds, rain poured down. The soldiers pulled waterproof capes from their saddlebags. Inga wrapped a tarpaulin around herself and Babbin. He sat beside her now, no longer so weak he had to lie down. He looked at the chain, then quietly slipped it into his pocket.

s Prince Rogan had predicted, the rain slowed them down considerably, but it hardly seemed to matter. Babbin grew stronger with every mile.

After four days of sloshing through muddy puddles and hauling the cart out of holes, they reached Wilford. They stopped outside the clockmaker’s workshop. Inga could hardly wait.

Prince Rogan held her back.

“We must warn the people here about the Wraiths before anything else.”

“Yes, of course,” said Inga. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I understand,” said Rogan kindly. “I’ll send my men to speak to the town elders. Then we can see my clockmaker friend.”

He paused at the shop door.

“You should know something about Jack Crankin. He was born with a deformed back. He suffers terrible pain, and it sometimes makes him short‑tempered. He hates pity, so treat him as you would anyone else.”

Inga and Babbin nodded.

Rogan led the way inside. The shopkeeper bustled forward.

“Your highness! Good to see you again.” His face fell. “There’s nothing wrong with the clock my son made for your father, is there?”

Rogan laughed.

“No, it works beautifully. It’s just been a long time since I visited. The trouble with the Wraiths and Magalan has kept us all busy.”

“We’ve had no problems here,” said the shopkeeper. “I hope you’re not here because we’re in danger.”

“No,” said Rogan. “Wilford seems safe for now. I’ll speak to the elders after we’ve seen Jack.”

“I’ll call him out,” offered the shopkeeper.

“If you don’t mind,” said Rogan, “we’ll go to him. I’d hate to cause him pain.”

Jack’s father smiled.

“I think you may be very surprised when you speak to him.”

He led them into the back room. A young man bent over a workbench turned as they entered, and a huge smile lit his face.

“Prince Rogan! Wonderful to see you.” His voice was bright and cheerful. He started to stand.

Rogan held up a hand.

“Don’t get up for me. I know it hurts you.”

Jack burst out laughing.

“Not anymore! I’m free from pain, for now.”

Rogan looked puzzled. Jack explained.

“My wife, Annie, the ballerina from the music box, came to life when her spell broke. She knows how to make a potion that cures my pain. I’m only sorry she’s away visiting friends.”

“I see,” said Rogan. “And about that lump of metal I brought you, was there an acorn made of solid gold inside it?”

Jack nodded.

“Yes, and a beautiful piece of work it was.”

“Oh please,” said Inga, stepping forward. “Do you still have it?”

Rogan realised he had not introduced them. He did so quickly and explained Babbin’s spell.

Jack nodded.

“I know all about spells on people. My wife and I have had our share. But no, I no longer have the acorn.”

Inga and Babbin both sighed.

Jack continued,

“It was the perfect size and weight for a pendulum in a clock I’d just finished. I completed it four days ago. It worked perfectly.”

“That’s when my heart started beating again!” shouted Babbin. “That’s what she meant, it had to stop and then start again!”

“Where is the clock now?” demanded Inga. “Do you still have it?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Jack. “It was delivered two days later, after I tested it.”

“Who bought it?” asked Rogan.

“A friend of yours,” said Jack. “Baron Astel.”

“Please tell us he lives nearby,” begged Inga. “I don’t think I can face another long journey, not in this weather.”

“He lives at Rougham Hall, just outside the town,” said Jack. “But I doubt you can reach it today. Listen to that rain. Prince Rogan knows the Hall well.”

“I do,” said Rogan. “My brother and I spent many happy hours there. And Jack is right, we won’t reach it today or tomorrow. The ford over the river will be impassable.”

“I’m afraid so,” Jack agreed.

“Please,” begged Inga. “We must get the acorn back. Even though Babbin’s heart is beating now, Calizone said the spell is weakening. If it fails, he will die.”

“I’ll send a man to check the ford,” said Rogan. “But if it’s as bad as usual, we cannot cross.”

“We could do with a bridge,” said Jack. “But the town can’t afford one.”

He hesitated.

“I’m not sure the Baron will be pleased if you take the pendulum out of his clock. He waited a long time for that timepiece.”

“He won’t refuse if he knows a life depends on it,” said Rogan. “He is an honourable man. Still, there must be a way.”

“Find something that weighs the same as the acorn,” said Jack. “Take the acorn out and put something else in.”

Babbin nodded.

“I made the acorn from a single gold coin. Magalan, not Calizone, gave it to me for shoeing her horse.”

He turned to Inga. “I’m sorry I kept it instead of giving it to you. I wanted to make you something special.”

“A gold coin,” said Rogan, pulling one from his pocket. “Like this?”

“I think so,” said Babbin.

“Allow me,” said Jack. He weighed the coin in his hand, then placed it on a set of scales.

“That’s about right. The acorn had a ring on top so it could be fastened to the chain in the clock.”

Babbin’s eyes lit up.

“I can make something with that coin, if you have a way to melt it. I have the tools.”

“I certainly do,” said Jack. “A small furnace hot enough to melt gold.”

“Good,” said Babbin. “I’ll need clay as well as wax to make a mould.”

The two men moved to the back of the workshop. Inga smiled for the first time in months.

“I doubt we’ll get any sense out of them for a while,” she said to Rogan. “Is there an inn? I feel like eating, and if I’m to call on a Baron, a bath and clean clothes would be nice.”

Rogan bowed.

“It will be my pleasure to escort your ladyship to a suitable establishment. And I must speak to the elders about the Wraiths.”

He offered his arm, and they left. Neither Jack nor Babbin noticed.

Much later, Babbin crawled into bed beside Inga. He mumbled an apology and fell asleep at once. Inga leaned over and listened to his chest. His heart was beating, but fainter. The spell was weakening again.

When she woke, Babbin was gone. She dressed quickly and hurried to the clockmaker’s. The shopkeeper greeted her with a grin and opened the workshop door. Babbin and Jack were bent over the bench, completely absorbed.

“I doubt you’ll get any sense out of them,” said the shopkeeper.

Inga nodded and returned to the inn for breakfast.

Two hours later, Babbin emerged from the workshop. Inga and Prince Rogan were talking outside the inn. The rain had stopped, and the day was bright. Only a few puddles remained in the square.

Halfway across, Babbin suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed. Inga screamed and ran to him. Rogan followed.

“My heart… my heart,” groaned Babbin. “It has stopped again.”