Art Pengriffin & The Curse Of The Four

By Norman Revill

Arthur Pengriffin’s a normal kid with normal problems – crushes, bullies, zits, a restless mother who’s on another planet. When his band rips the school concert on the eve of his 14th birthday and a record producer parent wants to sign him, it’s happy days. Until mom Egrainne announces they’re leaving the Welsh town of Celidon to which they’ve only just moved.

Egrainne finally tells Art her great secret - his father was the wizard Merlin and she is King Arthur’s sister. Merlin was killed by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse – hideous Angel of Death, battle-scarred W.A.R., snot-dripping Plague and skeletal Fest - for denying them his magic powers. The wily wizard had gifted them to Egrainne to hold for Art until the boy is 14. She fled Camelot with baby Art in a time machine and they hid in the 21st Century. Now the Horsemen have found them. They want Merlin’s powers. Time to go.

Art thinks his mum has completely lost it, until he finds himself back in time with unsuspecting Megan, seeking a sword and a stone. Camelot’s under siege and King Arthur imprisons them as Art realizes his mother loathes all magic. She wants the power to die in her so that Art will then stay a normal boy. But Art's not sure that's what he wants. His father's powers are a chance for Art to be a hero - and anyway, aren't they his destiny? But if the Four Horsemen get them, they'll use them to destroy the world. Art needs to decide and fast - his 14th birthday is only hours away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norman Revill
• Release date: Mar 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465865267

Norman Revill

Norman Revill was born in Liverpool and educated at Quarry Bank High School (John Lennon's alma mater). After playing in bands and living in Zimbabwe, he moved to London and became a creative director in advertising. His play DEAD BEAT IN DAKOTA - about John Lennon in New York - has had three productions to date in Liverpool and Southport. He is married, lives in north London and is currently writing the second book in the ART PENGRIFFIN series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Midnight.

It was bitterly cold.

Thick, dank mist clung to the sleeping trees like a suffocating blanket. An owl shivered and gathered its feathers ever closer. Down below, an anxious hare leapt trembling through the frozen grass. The frost-hard ground was shaking as the sound of pounding hooves grew ever louder. Four shapes were forming in the mist; four great black horses, their sleek coats gleaming with sweat. But what in hell’s name was riding them? The owl stood rooted, too scared now to even shiver.

Four black-shrouded figures were emerging from the clinging mist.

Black riders at night? Not good. Not good.

The mounted figures came together and halted, their glistening horses pawed the ground restlessly. Then silver chains clanked as one rider pushed to the front and stared ahead into the darkness.

Which way now?

The voice was muffled and sinister. Then without waiting for a reply, the figure suddenly turned its horse, back the way they had come.

Hell’s teeth! Are we total fools? He lied! He’s deceived us!

A black-clad arm lifted and long, viciously sharp, gloved fingers flashed in the darkness. A silver death’s-head skull dangled from its wrist as the figure pointed.

That way. They’re escaping! it shrieked.

The four spurred their steaming horses and galloped off, their shapes soon lost in the shrouding darkness of the bitterly cold night.

Chapter 2

Her Royal Highness, Princess Egrainne Pen-griffin moved as quickly as she could, but then she knew the secret passageways of the castle better than the builders themselves. Merlin had designed most of them and she’d helped him draw up the plans. That was how they had fallen in love. A beautiful princess in a castle full of dolts, until the cleverest mind in the kingdom had observed her skills with a pen and instead of laughing at her scribbles, had asked her to help turn his rough sketches into detailed plans. Merlin had told her of his ideas, of all the wondrous machines in his mind and how they would work and move. And now he had left her, holding their new-born baby.

Egrainne felt the warmth of the precious bundle in her arms and pressed on. Concentrate girl, you’re doing fine. Getting out of Camelot should be easy. But then what? Ah, but he had planned that for her too. What had he said… she would travel in time? Merlin had always wanted to do that and Egrainne was sure he’d worked out how to do it. Something about space/time continuum and light regression? It meant nothing to her but if Merlin could change base metals into gold (and the piles of gleaming coins in the castle cellars was proof of that) he could surely move two living, breathing bodies through the time warp he’d built himself by the underground lake in his secret cave?

Princess Egrainne would never normally have agreed to go with him of course – it was far too risky and princesses are by nature conservative creatures who never like to wander too far from home, especially when home is the grandest castle in the kingdom and you are the King’s sister. But these were not normal times.

They will come for him. I can’t stop them now! Not even me. You must take the child and go! he’d said. And now Merlin was…

She faltered. She was sweating in her heavy cloak and felt weak and light-headed. Weak? She had just had a baby. But she should have seen Merlin one last time and said her proper goodbyes. Yes, she was a fool, but the deed was done and now Egrainne had to move fast, for all their sakes. She listened. Was that… horses’ hooves? No, surely? It couldn’t be! Not yet. They couldn’t be coming so soon, could they?

She looked around but it was pitch black, no trace of light. No matter. Even in her thick felt boots, she knew every flag and cobblestone she had moved over. They were under the river now; she could smell the damp, almost taste it. She concentrated hard and felt for the secret curve in the stones. And as she found it, she heard them again.

Horses!

Much louder now. Four of them at least and getting closer. Merlin must have failed, so… was he really dead?

She banished the thought from her mind, bent her shoulders and squeezed through the curve in the stones, carefully shielding her tiny new son from the cold dollops of slime that dripped from the river above. Not far now but those horses were travelling fast. At the speed they were moving she would be caught and she knew what would happen then.

Gripping her baby even tighter, Princess Egrainne staggered on, stumbling and gasping for air, her breath coming in short, painful bursts. Dripping with sweat and almost exhausted now, she brushed into thick, wet laurel leaves and stopped. Pale moonlight filtered down. She felt cold air on her face and knew she was on the other side of the river. Merlin’s cave was not far now. But she could hear horses snorting.

She held her breath.

Voices too?

She was imagining things, surely? Even if they knew of Merlin’s cave and had managed to find their way in, it was an underground maze. Caverns and tunnels spread for miles in all directions. It was dark and riddled with potholes. There were sudden drops, passageways that doubled back on themselves and jagged outcrops of rock to cut and scar any unwary traveller who blundered into them. So, once inside, she would be safe. The thought settled her.

She eased into the thick, wet leaves and then peered out cautiously.

Four enormous black shrouded riders stood between her and the narrow entrance to Merlin’s cave.

Egrainne gasped.

They were already here. She was trapped.

Beyond the riders, the ground up to the cave was covered in loose flint and sharp gravel stones – crunchy and very noisy gravel stones Merlin had put down to warn of intruders. If she tried to run now they’d hear her, even if they couldn’t see her.

As Egrainne squirmed back into the laurel bushes, fighting the panic she felt rising in her throat, great gobs of moisture slipped off the smooth leaves. Cold drops hit her face and tickled her nose. She shook her head and a large dollop of wetness plopped down on to the baby’s face. The tiny crumpled eyes opened, his mouth moved and he gurgled.

Ssshhh sproglet, no!

She touched a finger to his lips. What was that spell Merlin had used? She closed her eyes and concentrated.

One Portato, two Dementer, three Mercator, four, she sang, as quietly as she could.

And at that moment, right in front of her, an owl hooted. One of the horses suddenly snorted and reared, clearly agitated. A hare had appeared from nowhere and was running between its legs. The hare rushed on, in and out of the legs of the other horses. Soon all four of the spooked beasts were crunching and slipping on the gravel, as their riders fought to control them. One horse shied away, reached firmer ground and galloped off as its rider tried desperately to pull it back. The other three soon followed. The Princess was stunned.

Had she done that?

Egrainne didn’t know, but her way now suddenly clear, she didn’t hesitate. She ran out of the laurel bushes and scrunched up the gravel into the safety of Merlin’s cave.

Chapter 3

Egrainne moved carefully in the gloom, easing down a narrow winding passage between the jagged stone walls. In front of her, rock formations rose up from the floor or hung down dangerously from the uneven roof. She hurried on and when the passageway suddenly broadened and split into three, almost without hesitating, she took the pathway on the far right.

Moving on, ducking and weaving through needle-sharp rocks, it grew lighter as she entered a much more open space. Not far now. She was entering the area that bounded the great underground lake. The Princess stumbled on, towards where she knew Merlin’s workshop lay hidden behind an outcrop of rock. Then suddenly, she stopped.

Something had moved. Was that a sound?

She held her breath. Something was coming towards her.

A shape.

Four dark shapes.

Egrainne froze. Coming towards her out of the gloom were four of the biggest hounds the Princess had ever seen – four enormous mastiffs, their huge heads dark and menacing. Moving fast for their great size, they spread out and surrounded her, pushing and prodding her to the side of the lake. Four massive sets of jaws opened and growled angrily. Vicious rows of sharp white teeth flashed in the darkness and moved in closer. Four sets of jet black eyes were now watching her every move.

But how had they got back in so quickly?

And how fiendishly clever to morph themselves into dogs.

Come on then, fiends! Do your worst. Kill a defenceless mother and her new-born child, she shouted.

The lead dog barred his teeth in response. His muzzle, nose and ears were jet black, but was that a white flash below his left eye? Egrainne caught her breath.

A familiar white flash?

She raised a hand. The great dog snarled. As she went to move forward, slowly, he growled once more and moved to her.

Sarsen?

She closed her eyes in relief. This was no shape-shifting demon. Egrainne quickly knelt in front of the huge hound and held out her son.

Look I’ve brought someone to show you.

The dog flinched, then moved forward, rolled out its long pink tongue and gently lapped the baby’s forehead. The tiny bundle gurgled as the three other huge hounds relaxed and sat on their haunches. Egrainne reached out and lovingly caressed Sarsen’s ears.

I trust he left you enough meat and clean water? It can’t be much fun for all of you stuck down here.

The massive hound rolled its head to her touch and licked its lips.

Egrainne looked around. Merlin’s workshop was just ahead of her now. Inside it was the incredible machine that was now her only escape, assuming it worked. Unless she decided to stay in the cave with her new guardians for some well-earned rest. The horsemen would surely never find her here and Merlin would have left cheese and oatcakes in a muslin bag in his workshop. Maybe there was no need to escape right now?

But Sarsen was growling. All four hounds were suddenly back up on their huge paws, alert, restless, ears pricked, their teeth bared.

What is it, Sarsen?

Egrainne looked at the enormous hound, then turned and listened.

Hoof beats.

The horsemen?

But… how could they have followed her? How had they got their horses through that maze? She shushed the dogs and stood watching, too afraid to move. And to her sheer horror, pushing into the narrow entrance of the cave, were the four horsemen, moving in single file down the rock-strewn path. In the silence, their horses crunched noisily across the uneven floor, their steel-clad hooves kicking away any loose stones.

The harsh voice of the lead rider echoed in the cave.

They’re in here. But beware! Merlin will have left a nasty box of tricks.

And as the voice died, vicious double-bladed battle-axes smashed down out of hidden slots in the jagged walls. A heavy blade just missed the first horse. It reared in shock as sharp beams of light suddenly criss-crossed in front of it. The horse behind stumbled, throwing its rider as heavy rocks crashed down from the roof. The second rider fell heavily to the ground. Without breaking stride, the lead rider raised both arms and pointed and two blazing red beams shot out from sharpened fingertips. The criss-crossed beams of light were extinguished in a puff of acrid smoke. The fallen rider got up, ripped out one of the fallen battle-axes, remounted, and swinging the great blade from side to side, chopped the other axes to pieces to clear a way through.

More rocks fell, but hardly touched the four riders as they came steadily on. They were through the narrow entrance now. They could see Egrainne and the dogs. The Princess stared, almost mesmerised, as the demonic figures came ever closer. The mastiffs growled and bared their teeth as she turned to their leader.

Go, Sarsen, go. And god speed! she cried.

The four hounds leapt forward as one, gathering speed as they moved past the lake.

Egrainne couldn’t look. She had to escape now with her precious son. She slipped past a jagged outcrop of rock and ran as, behind her, the cave filled with the sounds of growling hounds, neighing horses and grunting gasping evil. Merlin’s old workshop was just ahead, but there was no time now to linger and recall happier times. She rushed in past the familiar shelves and benches, and stopped at last, her heart pounding.

Merlin’s time-warp was a machine made out of beaten metal, in a shape not unlike the carriage King Arthur used when attending jousting tournaments. Silver pipes stuck out of its sides and at each corner it had a wheel with a centre that even in the darkness of the cave, shone as bright as a knight’s polished breastplate. Each wheel was edged with a smooth black substance Merlin had filled with air and painted as white as a mummer’s face. On each side of the machine was a low door with a metal handle. Egrainne grabbed one now and the door opened, gliding easily on its goose-greased leather hinges. Placing her baby on the neatly folded cloak Merlin had left on the soft leather bench behind the front seat, she climbed into the seat behind the polished wooden wheel he’d ‘borrowed’ from one of Arthur’s barges, tapped its brass markers, and steadied herself.

***

Outside in the cavern, the hounds were attacking. Fangs bared, they rushed at the advancing horses. As the hounds closed in, one rider reached down, swung an arm and opened a clenched mailed fist. Out flew a heavy silver ball with spinning, razor-sharp blades that flashed in the dim light. The ball flew straight at the first of the attacking hounds.

And hit it full on, right between its eyes.

The great dog stopped in its tracks as the spinning blades sliced and crunched through its headbone into its brain. As the hound stumbled and fell, the lead horse stamped over it and kicked out and its pointed steel-clad hoof thudded into the soft belly of the second dog. The momentum knocked the great mastiff back and the top of its head hit a needle-sharp outcrop of rock. The hound collapsed, blood pouring from its sliced belly.

Oblivious to the fate of its companions, the third hound hurled itself at another of the riders. A dagger flashed in the twilight and its blade slammed straight through the dog’s open jaws and sank deep into its throat. The startled hound stumbled and choked as its mouth filled with blood, and it fell, gasping.

Now only Sarsen remained. The brave hound snarled and bared its fangs at one horse. As the animal reared and unseated its rider, Sarsen didn’t hesitate. He hurled himself at the dismounted figure and the hound’s huge jaws sank into the horseman’s arm. They bit deep, but the rider’s other arm simply locked its gloved fingers around the mastiff’s throat. Sarsen strained, moved his head and again his jaws bit home.

Aaaggghhhh!!!

Screaming in pain, the dismounted rider lifted his arms and hurled the huge hound away. Sarsen smashed heavily into the jagged rock wall. And as he fell groaning, a heavy bone-handled dagger smacked into his soft flesh and pierced his heart. The great hound tried to rise, but the effort was too much. He kicked and struggled helplessly as another rider leapt off his horse, ran eagerly to him and grabbed the dying hound by an ear. With vicious skeletal fingers, the rider ripped off Sarsen’s ear, held up the soft flesh in the pale light.

And gobbled it down hungrily.

***

In the workshop, Egrainne tried to ignore the screams and cries of battle. Crouched in Merlin’s machine, she concentrated on the row of glass phials she could see through the spokes of the barge wheel. They each contained different coloured liquids and were covered in various markings. But where was the main one, dammit?

Oh, there it was – and only half filled with green liquid! How far into the future would that take us? Typical. Merlin probably hadn’t thought too much about that. Calculus and geometry bored him. They were far too precise and unpredictability was what made magic so exciting.

What had he said? Several hundred years or so, give or take a century or two, maybe three?

But if Egrainne needed more liquid, it was too late now; the foul-smelling stuff was locked away in a heavy straw-covered bottle behind the workshop. This would just have to do. She turned to her son sleeping peacefully behind her.

And realized it was suddenly deathly quiet.

What had happened to Sarsen and the other dogs?

And then she heard the chilling sound of steel-clad hooves, echoing in the vastness of the cavern. Hooves that were coming closer. Surely… were the hounds dead? Did the horsemen know where she was?

Aaarrrhhh!!!!"

The loud squawk made her jump. Behind her, the baby wriggled his nose, refilled his lungs and began to howl.

Aaaaaarrrrrrrhhhhhhh!!!!

Egrainne turned in her seat. She couldn’t reach him without getting up and she had to get this damned contraption moving. Once they were travelling in time he could howl as much as he wanted.

Ignoring the wails, Egrainne grasped the regulator lever Merlin had fashioned from an old hickory walking stick and pulled it as hard as she could. The machine grunted and shook. So she took a breath and pulled again. This time the green liquid started to bubble, the machine trembled and was soon making more noise than the baby.

Outside in the cavern, the four stopped their horses as they heard the strange rumbling sound. Their leader looked around, then pointed.

Over there!

Spurring their horses, the riders moved forward.

Egrainne heard the shout. Any moment now and they would see the workshop. She watched as the green liquid crawled agonisingly slowly up the long tube. The sound of pounding horses came ever closer.

C’mon, c’mon, please!

What to do now? Wait. Concentrate. On something… anything. Names. Yes. Her baby needed a name.

In front of her, a horseman came round the jagged outcrop of rock and saw the work-shop. A black-clad arm swung out and a silver-bladed ball sped through the gloom.

Just as the green liquid reached the top of the tube.

Egrainne released the hickory lever and stamped her booted feet as hard as she could on the wooden barrel set into the floor of the machine. The vehicle coughed and wheezed like an old man with a bad chest. It hiccupped, coughed again, sneezed, and, releasing a huge cloud of foul-smelling black smoke, suddenly disappeared.

At precisely the same moment as the spiked silver ball sliced into an enormous, hanging stalactite. The huge rock shuddered, split and its pointed tip crashed down.

Into the empty space in the middle of Merlin’s workshop.

The riders coughed and gasped for breath as foul, black smoke engulfed them. As the smoke slowly cleared, all they could see was the gloomy flatness of an underground lake that disappeared into darkness and an endless vista of tunnels and caves.

A dead, muffled voice screamed into the grey twilight.

Princess Egrainne Pengriffin… don’t for one moment think that you and your spawn can escape us! You are hereby cursed! As sure as I am the Angel of Death and I ride with War, Famine and Plague… wherever you are… wherever you go… cursed woman and your brat, we will find you. If it takes us for all eternity, we will hunt you down and take what is rightfully ours. Ours!!! You hear me, Princess Bitch?

Her curse shrieked off into the gloom. It echoed and then was lost in the unfathomable depths of Merlin’s empty cave.

Chapter 4

Pen-griffin! Pen-griffin! Art! Art! Art!

It was always the same. Once they knew his name was Pengriffin, sooner or later would come a titter, a sly grin, a pulled face and Art would be the butt of jokes and bullying. Why couldn’t we change it, by deed-poll or whatever, to Smith, or Wilson, or Smart? (Well maybe not. Art Smart wouldn’t be clever, now would it?) If it had been Hughes or Jones or Evans he would have had no problems; the little Welsh coastal town of Celidon was full of people called Evans, usually with an ‘isn’t it?’ tacked on at the end (as in ‘so your name’s Evans, isn’t it?’). But no. His mother wouldn’t hear of it. Pengriffin was a proud old Celtic name she would say. It was their name, and had been, for generations of proud Pengriffins before them. How could they even think of changing it and betraying their family history (about which, of course, Art knew precisely nothing, but then that was his mother for you, always too busy fiddling with something or other)?

So Pengriffin it was.

And as a result, Arthur Pengriffin was now lying flat on his back on the hard concrete of the school playground. Two sweaty bodies were pressing down on top of him, his back hurt like hell and his sandwiches were a flat, squashed mess.

Pen-griffin, Pen-griffin, Pen-griffin!!

The chanting rose to a crescendo. Another kid ran forward and threw himself on the squirming, wriggling pyramid of bony arms and legs. Jeering kids had formed a circle around the mess of tangled limbs and were urging more bodies to pile on.

Stop that! Stop that at once! Shouted Mr Lippitt as he strode over.

And at the sound of the teacher’s angry voice, the circle magically disappeared. Poof! Gone. Kids turned away as if nothing had happened. The three boys on top of Art pushed and shoved and freed themselves, treading on him and prodding each other as they pulled faces and fought back giggles.

Ow!

Ouch!!

Gerroff!!!

A foot scraped Art’s hand and a bony knee pushed into his back as the boys finally got to their feet and backed away.

You all right, Pengriffin?

Art looked up and smiled innocently.

Sir?

The teacher held out a hand.

Get up.

But Art ignored Mr Lippitt’s hand and stared instead at the huge rip that had been torn in his trousers. The teacher stood self-consciously, half bent, hand out. Then he saw the sandwiches on the ground, still wrapped tightly in their cling-film. They looked as flat as a folded pancake. With his outstretched hand, Mr Lippitt reached down and picked them up.

These what they were after?

He handed the sandwiches to Art, who took the flattened mess but said nothing.

They could have done you a serious injury, Pengriffin. You should take more care of yourself. Mr Lippitt turned away and walked off across the crowded playground.

Art brushed himself down, tried to straighten his tie and rubbed his torn trousers. Shiteroonie! He’d only had them three weeks! His mother would go spare. He shook his head in frustration and stepped back.

Hey. Watch it!

The voice made him jump.