Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 78

The waiting welcome party surged forwards. They were so eager to see the travellers that, in the ensuing rush, the Wizard had to retreat back into the wok for his own protection.

“Please. Stand back!” a familiar voice called out from somewhere in the midst of the throng. On the command, the musicians stopped playing and the crowd parted.

“I have been Ex-Specting you,” said a thin shrill voice, with a strong Bavarian accent.

At first Hezzerbah though that his eyes were playing tricks on him, for there, standing on the jetty, with his arm outstretched as a means of support, was none other than the bold Leonard Volkenschpeigle. The Optician…

He had taken time out, from keeping an eye on things to join his friends on their homecoming celebrations. Hezzerbah gripped his steadying hand and stepped out onto dry land.

Meanwhile, the heroes of the day lay unconscious in the wok. They were in desperate need of a life saving brew. “Please could we have some help here?” the Wizard asked. On his request, the crowd parted further while a team of volunteers formed a chain and carried the delirious travellers ashore. “Tea!” the Wizard cried, and lots of it!”

On his command, a huge copper urn and four large china mugs were brought to the scene, where the parched travellers drank their fill. It was possibly the best brew they had ever tasted! It wasn’t long until their strength returned, and soon, at the request of a ‘Treewood Tribune’ official, the modest heroes found themselves posing with a large mug in one hand and an arm around each other’s shoulders, grinning from ear to ear, while the paparazzi cameras whirred and clicked, as the reporters jostled for photographic supremacy and the prize of front page exposure in tomorrows papers. How the crowd cheered!

Basking in their moment of glory, Basil, Harry, Herbert and Sherlock posed for more pictures and signed autographs for the well-wishers who stepped forward from the crowd to offer their thanks to the heroes. But something wasn’t quite right.

Sherlock noticed that Basil had distanced himself celebrations. “What’s wrong?” he called out to his friend, shouting to make himself heard over the noise of the revellers.

“It’s my grandfather,” Basil replied. “I just can’t seem to get him out of my mind.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded his head. He knew exactly what Basil meant. Coincidentally, he had been thinking the same thing.

Suddenly the cameras stopped flashing and the crowd parted again, and when the heroes looked up to see what all the fuss was about there, running towards them with their arms outstretched and tears of joy streaming down their knotty cheeks, were Mrs S. and Mrs F. Treewood. They were both beside themselves with joy in the knowledge that their boys had returned home safely.

“Hello mum,” was all that Basil could think to say and, reaching out, they embraced one another with a love that exists only between a mother and her son. “Welcome home!” Mrs S. cried.

Mrs F. on the other hand, had completely lost her composure. Rushing towards her boys like a headless growler, she smothered them both alternately with big wet leafy kisses. “My precious boys!” she screeched, both happy and relieved to see them home and in one piece.

Suddenly, and not to be undersold, Sherlock’s wife Margaret appeared like a whirling dervish from behind a giant hosta and whacked her husband hard around the head with a skillet.

“Where on earth have you been?” she scolded. “Your supper’s ruined!”

The crowd laughed and cheered and threw their hats in the air.

“Typical!” Sherlock grumped, rubbing his aching head to ease the pain. “You only have to go off on a quest to save the world, without telling the wife and this is what you get when you come home. There’s no justice!” he exclaimed.

Sometimes Mrs B. could be a nasty piece of woodwork, but beneath it all, they loved each other dearly!

With formalities over for the time being, the music fired up again and the celebrations continued with even more vigour than before. The pipers played and the drummers drummed, while the good people of Treewood Forest danced and sang, long into the night.