Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 59

Harry was up early. He was preparing the breakfast brew, when the sound of splashing caught his attention. He stopped what he was doing and followed the noise down through a narrow gorge between some rocks and there, to his astonishment, sitting in the midst of a deep puddle, was Smelly Brian. He was having a bath.

“Cup of tea?” Harry enquired. His surprise at stumbling upon the bathing mog was such that he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Eh…yes please,” Brian replied casually, as if there was nothing in the slightest way odd about a cat bathing in a puddle. “No sugar.” He added.

Unphased by his experience - for he’d just about seen it all now - Harry walked the short distance back to the camp fire and returned minutes later with a large mug of steaming hot breakfast tea.

“Just leave it on the side,” the cat instructed him, signalling with his paw towards a large flat stone nearby. He was far too busy trying to remove a sticky black lump of something unsavoury from between his toes, to engage in idle chit chat or small talk. “I’ll be over when I’m done,” he concluded.

When Harry returned to the camp, the others up and about and in his absence they had helped themselves to a brew.

“Good morning all,” he said, addressing his colleagues collectively, but before anyone could reply, Brian appeared from the undergrowth and shook himself, like wet animals do. His unexpected appearance caused Sherlock and Herbert to look up with a start and when they saw him, they could hardly believe their eyes.

The previously smelly mog was almost unrecognisable. His once grey and matted coat was now as black as jet and the pads on the soles of his paws were polished and shining like pink patent leather.

“Wow, you look great!” Basil exclaimed, “and what’s more you smell great, too!”

“Nice of you to say,” the cat purred, fluttering his long eye lashes and generally posing at every available opportunity. “What do you think?” he said, hands on hips and head held high, as he gave his captivated audience a confident twirl.

“You wouldn’t look out of place on the cat walk!” Harry replied, entertaining himself, as usual, with his own wit.

Everyone agreed that the transformation was indeed remarkable and that now, it really was a pleasure to have their new feline friend on board.

“What’s on the agenda today, then?” Brian asked, making a conscious effort to divert attention away from himself and back to the more pressing matter of their quest.

“Well, obviously we have to move on,” Basil said, “but there’s a problem.”

“And what might that be?” The cat enquired, while moving in close to the fire and styling his damp fur with both paws in the event that it should dry frizzy.

“Well, if you can forget your vanity for a moment and look over to your left, you’ll see there are two paths.”

“So?” said Brian.

“Well, one goes off to the east and over the hills, while the other disappears into the glen somewhere.”

“And your point is ?” Brian enquired further.

“My point,” Basil replied firmly - he was becoming a little impatient with the cat’s cocky attitude - “is which path do we take?”

Brian stood up tall and confident, on his hind legs. He drew in a deep breath, puffed his chest up like a turkey and to everyone’s surprise, burst into song…

“You tak the high road,

and I’ll tak the low road,

and I’ll replace the sunlight afore ye.”

Basil’s jaw dropped like a portcullis. He instantly recognised the melody and the lyrics as one of his grandfathers favourite Highland renditions.

“Why that’s an old Harry Logger song!” he exclaimed. “Where on earth did you learn that?”

Brian stopped singing. “Oh, I dunno,” he said. “It was a long time ago. I learned it from an old traveller. In fact, come to think of it, he was a Scots Pine like yourself. Yes, I remember now. Charles S. Treewood that was his name.”

Basil sat up immediately. “But he’s my grandfather!” he exclaimed. “He left the forest a hundred years ago, to look for the sunlight, and never returned.”

Basil looked at Sherlock. “Surely this must be a sign that we are on the right track,” he said excitedly.

“It would appear so,” the cat interrupted, “but getting back to your original problem, regarding our choice of path. Well, quite simply, there isn’t one.

Basil was puzzled. Did the cat mean there was no problem, or no path?

“What are you talking about?” he enquired.

“I’m talking about the witches’ wok,” Brian replied. “We can fly!”

“What do you mean, we can fly?” Sherlock snapped, his condescending tone casting doubt on the cat’s sanity. Brian remained silent for a moment. “I mean exactly what I said,” he reiterated. “We can fly! From the air, we will be able to see precisely where each of the paths lead, and so long as we give the wok clear instructions, it will take us anywhere we want to go. Look! Watch this.”

With light wisps of steam rising gently from his damp fur, the cat approached the wok and climbed inside. As he disappeared beneath the rim, Sherlock noted that by some clever illusionary means, the vessel was much bigger on the inside, than its outer appearance suggested.

Brian positioned himself in the centre of the big metallic bowl and sat down, cross-legged on the non-stick Teflon floor. He closed his eyes and with his front paws raised in the air, he began to recite another incantation…

“Magic wok, shiny and round,

lift me upwards, from the ground.”

On the cat’s command, the vessel rose silently into the air until, at a height of about forty feet it stopped and hovered motionless in mid air.

Brian peered out over the edge, and as his body weight moved off centre, the wok tilted accordingly, giving the appearance that it was bowing to its mesmerised audience below. “Now do you see?” he called down to his doubting friends. “We can FLY!”

Thoroughly impressed by the cat’s unfolding magic skills, Sherlock marvelled at the endless possibilities and the infinite applications that this wondrous, multi-functional utensil had to offer.

Harry was so excited, that he raced back to the camp and stuffed all his belongings into his lapsack. His enthusiasm for the forthcoming flight was such that he didn’t even stop to rinse the mugs!

Like excited children, released early from school, the others followed his lead and ran recklessly towards the waiting vessel.

“Three minutes to lift off!” Brian informed his passengers, as he brought the vessel down to ground level again, for easy embarkation.

Harry was determined to be the first aboard. Like a desperate shopaholic, entering a large department store during the opening seconds of the grand summer sale, he rushed forwards and leapt, head first, into the vessel. It was a little higher than he had anticipated, and with his heavy lapsack acting as a counter-balance, he teetered precariously on the edge of the rim before tumbling unceremoniously into the bowl and landing embarrassingly, on the floor in front of Brian.

Moments later, in a more organised and dignified manner, Sherlock, Herbert and Basil climbed aboard and took up their respective positions, as instructed by the cat.

“It’s a question of balance,” he informed them, placing each of his passengers a measured distance apart.

When satisfied that the load was evenly distributed, Brian took up his position in the centre of the vessel and repeated his incantation.

Just like before, the wok rose up from the ground. The Treewoods held on tightly to one another, eagerly anticipating the forthcoming flight. But suddenly, with a light jolt, the wok came to a halt and hung motionless in mid air.

“What’s the matter?” Basil asked.

“Nothing serious,” Brian replied. “It’s simply waiting for directions.”

Caught off guard, Basil thought for a moment. Then, reaching for his glasses, he put them on, and looked down at the two paths below. Almost immediately, the way ahead became clear. “Fly east.” he informed the cat.

Brian obeyed Basil’s instructions and began to chant the rest of his spell...

“Fly East o’er hill,

through dale and glen,

And gently lay us down again.”

This time, the wok took off like a missile. The aviators could hardly catch their breath as the vessel flew, at great speed, over the tree tops and down the entire length of the great glen, twisting and turning, somehow managing to avoid all obstacles in its path.

Harry pulled the high waist band of his trousers up over his face and screamed at the top of his voice. He couldn’t bear to look. It was the best thing ever!

All too soon their exciting journey came to an end. As if it had a mind of its own, the wok began to slow down until finally, it came to rest on top of a low hill on the far side of the glen.

“Wow!” Herbert gasped, his sap pressure and adrenalin levels far exceeding those deemed safe by the Tree Surgeon General, for a Treewood of his age. Basil and Sherlock simply remained silent. For them, there were no words in the Treewood vocabulary that could properly describe the thrill they had both experienced in flight.

All that remained now was for them to replace out where they had landed.

Brian stood up and peered over the rim of the vessel. There were no obvious signs of life anywhere, at least not that he could see.

“I wonder where we are?” he said out loud.

“You’re on my face, that’s where you are!” a gruff voice Bellowed.

The voice was so deep and loud, that the wok vibrated like a gong, sending the cat sliding down the non-stick sides onto the floor.

“Who said that?” he enquired, fluffing himself up to twice his normal size, whilst looking at the others for reassurance.

“It was I!” the voice replied, calling out louder and a little deeper than before. “Now get off me at once!” it roared.

Terrified, and fearing for their lives, the travellers held on tightly to one another as the wok tilted over on its side and began to slide forwards. Bumping and clattering like a speeding bobsleigh, it finally came to rest against the trunk of a large knobbly tree, the impact of which dented the smooth metal surface and scuffed the shiny red paint work. Fortunately though, there were no casualties.

In the lingering silence, the frightened passengers held their breath and listened carefully for the slightest sound that might reveal where the voice was coming from and to whom it belonged.

“I’m going to eat you for my lunch!” the voice roared.

Harry closed his eyes and clung tightly to his brother’s arm. “I don’t want to be somebody’s lunch!” he cried out. With a mighty laugh that shook the ground and rattled the wok violently, the voice spoke again.

“Only joking,” said a giant, smiling broadly as his huge face peered down at the terror stricken travellers. “I am The Beeble. Welcome to my kingdom!” he said.

The frightened Treewoods gasped in horror at The giant’s enormous proportions. Even the long-legged wood policeman paled into insignificance when compared to this mountain of a man. At a conservative guess, Basil reckoned him to be all of seventy two feet tall!

By now, Harry was trembling so much that his wooden teeth clattered like castanets.

“Please don’t eat us,” he whimpered, clinging even tighter to his brother. “We’re the only family my mother has left!”

“Calm down,” the giant replied, lowering his voice to a more acceptable level.

“I’m not going to eat anyone. I’m a vegetarian, and you lot have got too much human in you.” With that, he yawned and stretched his huge arms, until they disappeared high into the clouds.

“Do you know what?” he said, sighing as he spoke. “Ever since this confounded fog took over, all I seem to do is sleep. In fact that’s how come you caught me napping just now. It’s my normal state these days.”

The Beeble yawned again. “Now, yourselves,” he enquired. “What’s your story?”

Basil composed himself as best he could and stood up.

“I’m Basil S. Treewood, and these,” he said, introducing the others, “are my good friends Harry and Herbert F. Treewood, Sherlock B. Treewood and Smelly Brian, the Wizard cat. How do you do,” the travellers said in unison, whilst looking up timidly at the giant.

Basil was about to offer his hand in friendship, but quickly changed his mind for fear of serious twig damage in the grip of The Beeble’s mighty fingers.

“Well I’ll be,” the giant proclaimed. “Four Treewoods and a Wizard cat eh! It’s not often that a jolly party like this drops in! In fact, come to think of it, the last person I spoke to, prior to your good selves, was a Treewood. Charles S. Treewood, I believe. Not a friend of yours, was he?”

Basil nearly choked. “A friend? Not just a friend,” he exclaimed. “He is my grandfather!

I don’t suppose you know where he is now, do you?” The Beeble thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “Nope, not any more,” he replied, trying, but failing to hold back another yawn.

“He only stopped here for one night. We shared some tea together and he spoke briefly of a quest to replace the sunlight. Later, we both fell asleep by the fire and in the morning, without so much as a backwards glance, he bid me a cold farewell and marched off, over the hills, with his kilt swaying in the breeze. Beyond that? I have no idea what happened to him.”

Harry was in need of a good strong brew to calm his frazzled nerves.

“Would you like to join us for tea?” he asked the giant. The big man looked down at him and smiled appreciatively. “That would be splendid,” he said, “but let me warn you, I do drink a lot!”

Harry stopped for a moment. In his haste to ease the tense situation, he had failed to consider that the giant could probably consume their entire rations in one swallow.

A single mug full would never be enough to quench the big man’s thirst, he thought. But how could he renege on his offer, without causing upset? He looked up at the giant.

“E-Excuse me Mr. The Beeble.” He said hesitantly. “I hope you won’t think poorly of me, b-but it’s just that, well, with the lack of sunlight and the consequent tea shortage, we have barely enough to last us on our journey, and, eh, a big fellow like yourself could easily clean us out in one sitting,” he stammered. The Beeble knelt down before the young Hawthorn and smiled kindly. “One mug will be sufficient,” he volunteered.

Relieved at the giant’s compassionate response, Harry let out a deep sigh and lit the twig burner. Soon the kettle was on to boil.