Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor

By Charles Palmer

‘Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor’ is the first in a two book series, inspired by the characters in the old English counting rhyme. The stories are a blend of traditional and modern and are designed to thrill, chill, and — above all — entertain.

Recommended for smart children (8-12) and canny mums, dads, aunties, uncles and grandparents (24-100).

The Tinker and the Pool of Oblivion: How is the Tinker going to find his Bronze Age princess when he doesn’t even know he has lost her? And if that wasn’t problem enough, his rival is a powerful sorcerer with a very nasty plan for his permanent removal from the scene!

The Tailor and the Changeling: The Tailor is a thoroughly modern 14th century designer and entrepreneur, so he is not at all amused when his baby daughter is stolen by goblins. It’s just so ‘Dark Ages’! Can he outsmart them or does he have to resort to ‘old school’ swords and sorcery methods to rescue her?

The Two Soldiers: Walter is greedy but the only way he can survive in the snow-bound mountain pass is to give his enchanted food and drink away! Worse still, there is gap in the path and a long drop, and his brother Boris is missing.

The Sailor and the Sea Witch: The Sailor’s habit is always to hesitate and calculate the odds. So will he be able to make the quick decisions needed to save his young daughter from the Sea Witch? Especially when he discovers she holds a very powerful bargaining chip.

Bonus story: The Chichi’s Last Dance: The Chichi is beautiful, vain and arrogant ... but will his conceit be his downfall?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Palmer
• Release date: Aug 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476474212

Book preview

TINKER, TAILOR, SOLDIER, SAILOR

All stories copyright © Charles N. Palmer 2012

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Acknowledgements

The Tinker and the Pool of Forgetfulness

The Tailor and the Changeling

The Two Soldiers

The Sailor and the Sea Witch

Bonus story: The Chichi’s Last Dance

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor: Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my sisters, Anna and Ismay, my fellow adventurers in our childhood quest to discovering where fantasy ends and reality begins.

I would like to thank my mother who was a voracious reader and who inhabited an extraordinary, imaginative world which she shared with us.

I would also like to thank Julie Lewthwaite, my editor, for her encouragement, her practical advice in solving problems within the stories and her constructive criticism. All self-published authors need a good editor. Julie is a star.

http://www.mlwritingservices.co.uk/

Finally, I would like to thank Steven Miscandlon who designed the dust cover and nailed both the illustration and the font at the first time of asking.

http://stevenmiscandlonbookdesign.weebly.com/

The Tinker and the Pool of Forgetfulness

The young tinker halted at the foot of the mountain and looked up. High above the meadows on the lower slopes, the rough surface was punctuated with huge grey boulders. Around the summit, exposed to the wind, snow and ice glittered in the gullies.

Not long now and he would be there again.

The tinker tapped the top of his wide-brimmed hat and took a deep breath. A few strands of straggling black hair fell down on to the nape of his neck. Bright eyes illuminated his dark face. He took a firm grip on his knapsack, set his sights on the distant rocks and began the slow ascent.

Grey clouds had begun to heap themselves around the tops of even the smaller hills. A thin drizzle enveloped the surrounding countryside and a mist descended over all. The tinker pulled his collar up and his hat down and hunched his shoulders. The wind buffeted and numbed his face and ears. Then, sensing that he was close to journey’s end, he quickened his pace, peering anxiously at the looming rocks ahead.

A great boulder rose up out of the mist. He skirted it and, temporarily sheltered from the wind, spied two more boulders. At the base of these nestled the pool he had been looking for. The other pools reflected the iron-grey sky, but this pool was bright and golden and shot through with light. The sunbeams, dancing just beneath its surface, mocked the joyless day above.

A year before, in bright sunshine, he had stumbled across this same pool and had been surprised by the deep ebon blackness that set it apart from its neighbours. He had looked down into it and realised with a shock that the pinpoints of light that gleamed beneath its surface were stars.

What strange sky was mirrored here?

He ran his fingers along the fissures in the rock, gazing at the pool, warmed by its golden glow. He had made no plans. It had called him, drawn him to it, and for now it was enough to be there.

Above him, the wind had caught the clouds and the mist was thinning rapidly. Patches of blue began to appear. It was still early, but the tinker knew by nightfall there would be a frost in the air.

He put down his knapsack, gathered kindling and twigs, and expertly coaxed a small fire into life. Over this, he rigged a metal frame from which he hung his pots. He took potatoes and a hunk of bacon from his knapsack, and these were soon bubbling cheerfully in one pot while water for his tea boiled in the other.

The climb had given him an appetite. He ladled the steaming food onto a tin plate and quickly spooned it into his mouth. By contrast he drank his tea slowly, gazing out over the countryside from his high vantage point, his attention drawn occasionally back to the long pool.

Evening came early. Already the pool had grown opaque. The tinker dropped his blanket beside it and propped himself up on one elbow. The wind scarcely disturbed its surface. No stars shone in the other world that evening. There, he thought, the skies seemed bluer and the nights softer. In his world it was cold, but despite that he slept well.

The stars were just beginning to fade when he woke. His attention was immediately drawn to the pool. Its brilliant surface was shot with yellows, reds and golds. All around, the rocks glowed in the unearthly light.

And then, suddenly, he became aware of a figure, a young woman, beneath the water. She wore a long gown of green which was belted at the waist with a golden cord. Her fingers were slim and she wore gold rings on each hand. Her long hair blew gently in the wind and a band of gold circled her forehead. Her face was pale, and her dark, sad eyes gazed directly into his.

It did not occur to him to speak or move. And then, as the light from the pool began to fade, and the sky grew brighter, her form became less distinct, airy, ethereal, until she, too, faded away into nothingness.

The tinker spent most of that day walking amongst the hills and thinking of the young woman in the enchanted pool. For as long as he could remember he had felt a sense of incompleteness, a