1. Beyond the Cellar Door

‘Wait for me, Simon,’ said Katy. ‘One of my trainers has come undone.’ She hopped around trying — without success — to tie her lace, then went down on one knee on the huge flagstones that covered the kitchen floor.
Her brother looked on impatiently from the passage beyond. ‘Well, hurry up,’ he said. ‘Mum and Dad have nearly finished down here. I think they’re going to look over the upstairs now.’
‘All right,’ said Katy. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ As Simon walked off down the passage, she got back to her feet, straightened her jeans and took one last look round the room before preparing to follow him. But it was then that she noticed something in the far corner of the kitchen that everyone else seemed to have missed. Set back in one of the walls of the recess just beyond the big wood-burning stove was another door.
‘Simon,’ she called, in a puzzled kind of voice. ‘Come back here a minute.’
‘Now what’s the matter?’ asked Simon crossly, coming back up the passage.
‘Nothing’s the matter,’ said Katy. ‘I was just wondering where that goes?’
‘Where what goes?’ He followed her gaze but could see nothing.
‘That,’ said Katy, pointing. ‘Come and see. There’s another door — over there in the corner.’
Simon walked across to her. ‘So there is,’ he said. ‘I can’t think how none of us spotted it before.’ He went into the recess for a closer look, and Katy followed him. ‘Anyway, it’s locked,’ he said, as he tried turning the handle.
‘Yes, but look,’ said Katy. She stood on tiptoe and took a large key from a hook on the wall. ‘I bet that’s for here.’ She passed it to her brother. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Try it.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Simon doubtfully. ‘Maybe we should ask Dad first.’
Alistair Buckley was a famous painter of watercolours. He had bought the new house because it was big enough to give him all the space he needed for his work while still providing a home for them all — Simon and Katy, their mother and himself.
The house wasn’t really new; it was just new to the Buckleys. The children’s father said that parts of it dated back to the reign of Charles I — which meant that those bits were about three hundred and fifty years old — but parts of it had been rebuilt or added on over the years. It’s last owner — a strange, reclusive old lady — had died there in 1986 and for all the years since the building had been standing empty.
It was a huge rambling place set in the heart of the English countryside, far from the city in which Simon and Katy had, until now, spent their lives. Hidden from the road by a small coppice of beech and oak, it stood at the end of a long, overgrown track hedged with hawthorn, holly and dog rose. The children had both loved it from the moment they first set eyes on it, but Katy had been a little afraid of it too. ‘There could be magic here,’ she had whispered to Simon. ‘And,’ she had added, ‘I bet the old lady who lived here was a witch.’ But Simon had told her not to be foolish. ‘Magic and witches are only in stories,’ he had said scornfully.
Now, as he held the rusted, iron key, he was not so sure. There crept over him the strangest feeling that something lay beyond the door — something that not only knew that they were there but had actually been waiting for them.
‘Dad won’t mind us just looking,’ said Katy. ‘Go on. Try it. See if it fits.’ Then, as Simon continued to hesitate, she said. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Simon. And he knew he had no choice but to open the door. Anyway, the peculiar feeling was leaving him now. So he pushed the key into the lock and turned it. Then he tried the handle. Silently, the door swung open. Beyond it, disappearing down into the darkness, was a flight of worn stone steps and, above the steps, following the line of their descent, a low whitewashed ceiling.
‘There must be a cellar down there,’ he said.
‘And there’s the light switch,’ said Katy. She reached in and pressed down a little brass lever on the right hand wall. At once, the remaining steps became visible in a dim light which came from somewhere beyond; and they could see, at the foot of the steps, the beginnings of another stone flagged floor like the one in the kitchen.
‘Come on,’ said Katy. ‘Let’s explore. There might be treasure!’
‘Treasure!’ said Simon derisively. ‘There won’t be any treasure. It’ll be just another empty room.’ But then, not wanting to give Katy another opportunity to accuse him of being scared, he added, ‘Still, if you want us to have a look, we can. Just be careful of these steps, though. There’s no handrail.’
Leading the way, and steadying himself by pressing his hands against the walls at either side, he made a cautious descent. Katy followed on behind him. ‘There,’ he said, when they had reached the bottom. ‘Like I told you, it’s empty.’
So it was. The room was not very big — about fifteen metres long and ten metres wide — and it was completely bare, except for a dusty, dim light bulb hanging on a piece of frayed, brown flex from a beam in the ceiling. It smelt rather musty and, in places, the whitewash was peeling off the plastered walls. And it was very cold. Simon zipped up his anorak as he walked to the far end and Katy trailed after him looking disappointed.
‘It was probably used as a pantry,’ said Simon. ‘Food would certainly keep fresh in here. And, look, you can see where shel—’
He was about to say that you could see where shelves had been fixed to the walls, but at that moment two things happened. First, there was a click as the door at the top of the stairs closed behind them; and, second, the light bulb flickered and then went out.
The darkness was absolute and the shock of being suddenly plunged into it was so great that, for a few moments, neither of them could speak. Then Simon gathered his wits.
‘Katy, are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Katy in a shaky voice. ‘But I want to get out of here. I don’t like it in the dark.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll be out in a minute,’ said Simon. ‘Where are you?’
‘Just here,’ said Katy.
Guided by her voice, Simon found his sister and took her hand. ‘Now, let’s get our bearings,’ he said. ‘The steps are somewhere at the far end. Let’s edge over to our right until we can touch the wall and then we can feel our way along until we reach them. At least we know there’s nothing in here to bump into.’
His arm stretched out at the side of him, Simon shuffled sideways, still holding on to Katy. ‘There,’ he said. ‘I’ve found the wall. Now let’s walk forward. It can only be about a dozen paces to the steps. One — two — three —’
Soon he had reached twenty and then he stopped counting. ‘I can’t understand it,’ he said. We should have reached the end by now. And we can’t have missed the steps — I’ve been touching the wall all the time.’
‘Maybe we were facing the wrong way when we set off,’ said Katy. ‘Maybe we’re having to go all the way round the room to get to the steps.’
‘That must be it,’ said Simon; but he sounded unconvinced. ‘The thing is, I don’t think we’ve turned any corners. Anyway, let’s keep going.’ He began counting again. ‘Twenty-one — twenty-two — twenty-three —’
By the time he reached forty, Katy was very close to tears. ‘It’s no good,’ she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. ‘We’re never going to find our way out. The room has caught us and it’s never going to let us go.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ said Simon. ‘Look. You stay here and don’t move. I’ll carry on walking round the room, touching the wall. Once I’ve found the steps, I’ll call out to you — or, if I get back here without finding them, I’ll know I must have missed them in the dark.’
‘Well — all right,’ said Katy. ‘But be quick, won’t you.’ She sniffed. ‘I wish we’d never come down here.’
Simon was tempted to reply that they wouldn’t have come down if she hadn’t goaded him into opening the door; but, hearing the tremor in her voice, he resisted. Instead, he said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find the steps or be back here before you know it.’ Then, touching the wall with his right hand and holding his left hand out in front of him, he moved off into the darkness.
On and on he went, expecting, every moment, to encounter another wall or the start of the steps, but he encountered nothing. And it suddenly struck him that, for some time, the wall to his right had been feeling very strange. It was rough and uneven and very cold — not at all how a whitewashed, plaster-covered wall ought to feel. ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked himself, fighting down his own fears. ‘Perhaps I’d better stop and go back the way I’ve come.’ But just then the wall came to an end.
Relief flooded over him. ‘Thank goodness,’ he told himself. ‘At last I’ve found where the steps begin.’ He turned and moved forward to where the first step ought to be, both hands now stretched out in front of him in case he tripped. But, as he did so, the fingers of his left hand brushed against something and his heart almost stopped with fright. For what he had touched was a garment of some kind. And the garment had someone, or something, inside it!
‘Steady on, now, Drimwort!’ said a quavery, high-pitched voice. ‘No need to panic. It was bound to happen — you know it was. Put an animal of nervous disposition on guard duty at night in Salamander Cave; forbid him to use his tinderbox so that he can have neither fire nor candle to give him light; set him thinking about the cave behind him and what the old tales say about it — and of course he’ll feel hands plucking at his jacket! That’s how the imagination works. If you don’t get a grip on yourself, you’ll be hearing things next!’
Simon listened in growing bewilderment. An animal? A talking animal? On guard duty? In a cave? At night? Had he fallen down the cellar steps and banged his head or something? Was this really happening? Was Katy really back there in the darkness? What would happen if he spoke to the creature in front of him? Would he wake up and find himself lying on the cellar floor? Or — more likely — in bed? That must be it, of course. He was asleep and dreaming. Dreams were full of odd things like the creature in front of him; and if he was in a dream no harm could come to him by going along with what was happening. Indeed, trying to talk to the creature would probably bring the dream to an end.
Relieved, but feeling rather foolish, he cleared his throat. ‘Please,’ he said, trying to sound as natural as if he were asking directions of a shopper in an unfamiliar part of town. ‘Can you help me? I’m afraid I’m a bit lost. Can you tell me where I am?’
But the dream did not come to an end. Instead, the creature became even more agitated.
‘There!’ it exclaimed in an even shakier voice. ‘What did I tell you? I said it would be voices next! I knew it, I just knew it! But what can they expect if they put rabbits on sentry duty? If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times — rabbits are just not cut out for this sort of work. We’re far too sensitive, too impressionable, too highly-strung. We simply do not have the temperament to make good soldiers. Poets, artists, musicians — yes, that’s what we are. But leave us alone in a cave at night and what happens? We feel hands touching us, we hear voices speaking to us! Of course we do! We’re rabbits. I dare say that if I were to turn around right now (not that I shall, of course) I might even see something that isn’t really there! It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.’
‘But I am really here,’ cried Simon. The idea that he was in a dream was forgotten now that his own existence was being so strenuously denied.
There was silence for a moment, then the voice — with just a hint of bravado in it — said, ‘P— P— Prove it, then!’
‘All right,’ said Simon, ‘I will.’
As the rabbit had been nervously talking to itself, Simon had found in the pocket of his anorak a little torch which Katy had given him on his last birthday. (‘How stupid of me not to have remembered it sooner,’ he thought.) Now he brought it out, switched it on and walked round until he and the rabbit (who was standing on its hind legs) were face to face.
‘You see,’ said Simon, ‘I’m just as real as you!’ Then he shone the torch on the creature in front of him.
The rabbit, though about five times larger than any ordinary rabbit, made a sorry sight. Its eyes, behind a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, were wide with astonishment and fear, and its teeth had begun to chatter. It let its weapon — a short, straight sword — go clattering to the ground, and it bobbed up and down, bowing to Simon.
‘S— S— Sir!’ it stuttered. ‘Oh, piecrust and pumpkins, what can I say? A Son of Tellus! A real, live Son of Tellus — here, in front of me! So the old tales were true! Well, bless my soul!’ Then the creature began to get a grip on itself. ‘Oh, Sir,’ it said. ‘Forgive me for waffling on. What a welcome! But I am, as you see, only a rabbit. I shouldn’t really be here at all. We rabbits are not soldiers, you know. Temperamentally we are just not suited for this job. Poets, artists, musicians — that’s what we’re cut out for, but —’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Simon. ‘I heard you saying all that before. But, look — you’re mixing me up with someone else. You can stop all the “Sir” and “Son of Tellus” stuff. I’m Simon — Simon Buckley — and my dad’s name is Alistair, not Tellus. And there’s no need to be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you. Honestly, I’m not. I just want to know where I am and how to get out of here.’
‘Where you are?’ said the rabbit, straightening his glasses and regaining his composure somewhat. ‘Why, you’re in Shalanor, of course. Where else would you be? Or, if you want me to be more precise, you’re in Salamander Cave — on Witton Heights, you know. It’s my turn on the night watch here this week — though I wish it wasn’t. My name’s Drimwort, by the way — Private Drimwort of the Witton Heights Light Infantry.’ He gave Simon an apologetic little smile. ‘I’m supposed to arrest anyone who tries to come through the cave.’
‘Come through it?’ said Simon. ‘Come through from where?’
‘Who knows?’ said Drimwort. ‘Other worlds, they say. No one ever has come through it so far as I’m aware, but the old tales said that one day someone would — two people, in fact: a Son and Daughter of Tellus.’ At this, the rabbit once again bowed deeply towards Simon, then began to recite.

‘When crown departs from Arwendal
And darkness starts to fall,
Look for a Son of Tellus
To lift the tyrant’s thrall.
Look to the Cave of Salamand
And see Earth’s Daughter come
To give blind Olrik back his sight
And bring the exile home ...

There’s more,’ he said, ‘but that’s the important bit. The rest is about the Second Golden Age which will begin when the monarchy is restored.’
‘Well, what’s so terrible about all that?’ asked Simon. ‘Why should it make you want to arrest and detain this Son and Daughter of Tellus — whoever they might be?’
‘I don’t want to arrest anyone,’ protested Drimwort. ‘Far from it. But that’s the order. And it comes from’, he dropped his voice to a nervous whisper, ‘the General himself!’
‘The General?’ said Simon.
‘General Morlok, the Father Protector of the Bestial Republic of Shalanor,’ whispered Drimwort. ‘Don’t you see? He’s the tyrant the prophecy talks about, and “the crown” is Queen Emeline. Once, from her throne at Arwendal Keep, she reigned over all Shalanor, but now she’s in exile in the Isles of Mist. She was banished there by General Morlok after he had deposed her and proclaimed the Republic. But the prophecy says that, when a Son and Daughter of Tellus arrive through this cave, everything will change. The General’s power will start to fail and the throne will be restored to Queen Emeline. So, of course, the General will do all he can to prevent that happening.’ Suddenly, Drimwort picked up his sword, straightened his jacket and said in a far less friendly tone of voice, ‘And that’s why I’m here.’
‘I see,’ said Simon. ‘And do you really think that a Son of Tellus will try to come through this cave?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Drimwort coldly, ‘but one already has, hasn’t he?’ He was avoiding Simon’s eyes. ‘You are what they call a “boy”, aren’t you — a human child? I know you are. And that makes you a Son of Tellus — a Son of Earth — see? And it means that I — I —’ His voice faltered and he cleared his throat and started again. ‘It means that I’ve got to arrest you.’
‘Arrest me!’ exclaimed Simon. ‘But that’s ridiculous; you can’t arrest me!’
‘Maybe he can’t,’ said a voice from the shadows, ‘but I most certainly can.’ Then, before Simon knew what was happening, his torch was snatched from his hand, he was caught in an iron grip and his arms were tied behind him. ‘Welcome to the Bestial Republic of Shalanor, Son of Tellus,’ said the cruel voice. ‘General Morlok at your service!’ And Simon was spun around to face an enormous grey wolf who was smiling at him hungrily through its yellow teeth.