Colin and the Magic Bookmark Page 4

  Colin could see a glow behind some trees, as he and Sammy followed Robin into a clearing in the forest. A big fire blazed in the middle. Around it stood shelters built of wood and canvas.

  As soon as Robin stepped into the clearing, his friends gathered round to greet him.

  “What news, Robin?”

  “Who is the stranger?”

  Robin called to a very tall man standing on the other side of the campfire. “Come,Little John,” and then he said to the others, “Come, all of you. Meet our new friend Big Colin.” Immediately Colin and Sammy were surrounded by people eager to meet them. It was nice to put faces to the names that he had heard of and read about since he was a very young boy – Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet, Much the Miller’s son, the minstrel Alan a Dale, and of course Maid Marion, who with her long blond hair looked very much like his own cousin Melanie.

  Shortly afterwards Colin was sitting with his new friends drinking mead, which was something he had not tasted before. He thought it pleasant, but a little sweet. He felt extremely happy. A log on the fire flared up, and he looked round at all the friendly faces.

  “We make the mead ourselves,” said Marion. “Friar Tuck is the expert.”

  “Yea indeed. I like to test it very often,” agreed Friar Tuck proudly.

  “Verily!” laughed Little John, pointing at Friar Tuck’s large stomach.

  “Well, Robin, what is new?” asked Marion. “Where did you meet Big Colin?”

  The others fell silent, as Robin told them how he had met Colin at the stream. They laughed when he described how they had both fallen in the water. They laughed even more, when he told them how Colin and Sammy had helped him to capture Louis Leloup, and were amazed at their secret visit to Nottingham Castle.

  “And so,” finished Robin, “we know that the sheriff is planning a tournament at the castle tomorrow afternoon.”

  Friar Tuck chuckled and added, “I heard that every village is asked to send someone to take part, but it costs two gold pieces to enter. The prize though is fifty gold coins!”

  “So it will cost the sheriff nothing, if all the villages enter the competition,” said Marion.

  “Are we going to try to win it?” asked Will Scarlet excitedly.

  “Of course,” said Robin.

  “But what kind of tournament is it?” Marion was always the voice of calm.

  “It’s a golf tournament,” said Robin.

  “Never heard of it,” said Little John. “What is it?”

  “Perchance you could explain, Colin,” said Robin. “You seem to know a lot about it and you saw the sheriff practising at the castle.”

  “Oh it’s easy to explain, but it’s far harder to play.” Colin went on to tell them the basic ideas of golf.

  “That sounds very interesting,” said Marion.

  “It’s better than interesting. It’s fun,” said Colin. “You’ll really like it.”

  The outlaws couldn’t wait to learn to play. Quickly they found some suitable branches, cut them and tried attaching various small objects as club heads. The best were carved out of wood by Dusty Miller and slotted firmly and neatly onto a wooden shaft. The balls were more difficult to make, but Alan a Dale managed to make some by binding strips of leather together.

  Some of the outlaws had dug a few small holes at the edge of the clearing and were practising putting. They were finding it quite difficult, partly because it was quite dark and partly because the balls they had made were not very round. Only Colin seemed to have the knack of slotting the ball neatly home. In fact he had remembered the three small balls he kept in one of his pockets. Sammy liked him to throw them for him to chase.

  “Well, Colin, I think we know who our golf champion is,” said Marion. “It’s you.”

  “Me?” said Colin, surprised.

  “Yea. Thou art verily the best player,” said Robin.

  “I agree,” boomed Little John, slapping Colin on the back in a friendly way and nearly knocking him over.

  Colin frowned. “Then what village shall I being playing for as their champion?”

  “Methinks Nunkergate”, suggested Marion.

  “Oh,” said Colin, pleased. He had recently read about someone from there. “One day a man from that village will be very famous. He will not be a lord, but a working man.

  You would no doubt call him Harold of Larwood, but he will play another game called cricket. If I have time, I may teach you how to play that too.”

  As it was way past midnight, all the outlaws settled in their huts or shelters. Some wrapped themselves in blankets and lay down near the campfire. Some stood guard as sentries beyond the clearing. Colin and Sammy spent the night in Robin’s hut. They were soon fast asleep after their busy day.

  It was a fine sunny day, when they awoke, and gradually the outlaws made their way in twos and threes out of the forest. They had changed their clothes from Lincoln green to ones that were more drab and shabby, so that they would blend in with the poorer folk of the town, for they did not want to be noticed by the sheriff’s men. The crowds of people going through the main gate of the castle were eyed by the guards. Little John was stooping and leaning on a stick to make him look less tall. Inside the castle walls it was like a small village with huts and dwellings on the grass round the main building. All the craftsmen the sheriff needed lived and worked outside and in these huts. There was a butcher, a weaver, and even a cobbler. There was also a pond, which was well stocked with fish for the sheriff and his household to eat. Today there were also gaily coloured stalls offering all kinds of things to eat and drink and one where Louis Leloup’s wife was selling newly made wooden golf-clubs and balls, some of which were not really round, but which many of the townspeople and their children were eager to buy. Louis rubbed his hands in delight. He had almost forgotten about his unhappy adventure at the hands of Robin Hood and Colin. He was also getting money from the stallholders, besides collecting the gold coins from each competing village.

  Colin was standing with Robin and Marion, who had covered her hair with a long blue shawl. Suddenly a trumpet sounded. A herald dressed in a red and gold tunic had sounded the opening of the event. The Sheriff of Nottingham appeared on a dais underneath a brightly coloured canopy. He was wearing a richly embroidered tunic bearing his coat of arms and his green leggings were tucked into highly polished boots with pointed toes. The crowd fell silent to hear what he was about to say.

  “Good citizens of Nottingham and good people of the surrounding villages, welcome to our first golf tournament. There are nine small holes dug around the castle grounds. Each one has a number and the first eight have an arrow pointing to the next hole. I will start at number one. Lord Louis will play next. The game is won by the person, who completes the nine holes in the lowest number of shots. You have not finished a hole until you sink your ball in the hole. The village champions will draw lots for the order in which you will play. The winner will receive one hundred gold pieces, not fifty. Yea, we are being very generous.”

  Colin thought that the sheriff was secretly smiling to himself at the idea of winning so much money.

  “One final thing,” continued the sheriff. “My wife will be the judge. As she walks round, anyone found cheating will go straight into the dungeons. Come on, everyone. Let us play.”

  The sheriff scrambled down from the dais and a servant handed him his best golf-club and a ball, which he placed on a little mound of earth. He stepped back and took a wild swing with his club. More by luck than judgement he hit the ball, which flew off through the open door of the castle kitchen. There was a loud clang and an even louder gasp from the crowd. “Ooh!”

  “That doesn’t count. It was a practice shot!” claimed the sheriff in a loud voice.

  Mrs. Sheriff objected. “In that case everyone could have a practice shot.”

  “No. Only me. Not even Louis.”


  “Oh,” said Mrs. Sheriff quietly.

  The sheriff’s next shot was even worse. It ricocheted off the castle wall and landed next to a tree by the outer wooden palisade. Walking casually up to where the ball lay, the sheriff pretended to slip. His right boot with its pointed toe knocked the ball forward from under the tree. Nobody dared complain. The crowd watched, as he progressed from hole to hole, using his cunning little tricks, but to be fair often his last shot was impressive.

  “That’s called putting,” Colin explained to Robin and Marion. He’s quite good at it. He must really have practised that.” He watched, as the sheriff slid the ball neatly into the final hole.

  “My Lord Sheriff has scored thirty,” announced Mrs. Sheriff.

  “That will be hard to beat,” said Colin.

  Half an hour later it was Colin’s turn. He gave Sammy to Marion to hold. “Play thee well, Colin,” she called. Her cry was echoed by Robin’s disguised merry men, apart from Friar Tuck, who was tasting as many as he could of the excellent cakes and pies that were on sale at the stalls within the castle grounds. He was wearing a large straw hat and a huge blue tunic quite different from his usual monk’s robe.

  Colin found that the bookmark seemed to help him to concentrate. He resisted the temptation to hit the ball too hard, and by measuring his shots, he made good, steady progress around the course. The crowd was cheering him on, but he did not really notice. After the first eight holes he had taken twenty-seven shots. Marion, urging him on, was jumping up and down, clutching Sammy, who didn’t seem to mind.

  Calmly Colin got ready to play the last hole. He struck his first shot. The ball sailed neatly to land on the other side of the large fish-pond.

  “Oh dear!” thought Colin. The crowd groaned. Yes, it would be difficult now. The ninth and final hole lay at the other side of the water and a small tree partly blocked his view. Suddenly Colin had an idea. It could work or it could fail miserably. He remembered when he was a young boy at the seaside with his Uncle Joe. They had been throwing pebbles into the sea. He remembered now Uncle Joe telling him about an incredible golf shot he had seen a friend make the day before. Colin concentrated hard, trying to work out the strength and angle of his next shot. He felt the bookmark glowing in his pocket. With a short backswing Colin struck the ball sweetly, and the crowd gasped, as they saw it skim low across the water, bounce off the surface, and land on the grass to roll perfectly into the waiting hole. The crowd were applauding and shouting. Even the sheriff was impressed.

  “Nunkergate has scored twenty-nine,” announced Mrs. Sheriff.

  Try as they might, the other champions could not match Colin’s score, and so later in the afternoon he received the first prize, a bag of gold coins from the sheriff, who was overcome with admiration for Colin’s golfing skills.

  “Verily your last shot was a miracle.”

  “Indeed, my Lord Sheriff,” said Colin, bowing politely. “And since there is more money here than I expected, I would like to give half to the village of Nunkergate and half to you for you to give to the poor people of Nottingham.”

  The sheriff, surprised, smiled.

  “It shall be done!” he boomed. His smile grew wider, as he realised that it would make him more popular with the people he governed. Only Louis Leloup was not happy. He was scowling angrily and greedily thinking of how he could steal Colin’s gold coins.

  Colin bowed once again and backed away from the sheriff to rejoin his friends. They surrounded him, clapping him on the back, and chattering happily. They began to make their way out of Nottingham, just as the sun was setting in a glorious red and gold sky that matched the colours of the tournament. Unknown to them, however, Louis Leloup and a small band of his soldiers were following them at a distance through the crowds of people returning home.

  Colin was just handing the bag of gold coins to Robin, when they heard shouts. It was Louis Leloup.

  “There he is! It’s Robin Hood! Seize him!”

  The bookmark seemed to tell Colin what to do.

  “Quick, Robin,” he said. “Lend me your cloak.” Colin put the red cloak around his shoulders. There was just time for a quick handshake and for Colin to say, “You go that way. I’ll go another. Farewell, my friends. As you may know, I am from another place and another time, but someday I may return.” With a quick wave he ran off down a narrow alley on the left. The soldiers, eyes fixed on the red cloak and urged on by the raging Louis Leloup, all darted after him. The first two got wedged side by side in the narrow gap between the walls of the houses in the alley. Cursing loudly they untangled themselves and chased after Colin, who had already turned a corner. When the soldiers reached it, they realised they could not see him.

  Louis was red in the face with rage. “That way! No, that way, you fools!”

  They ran hither and thither along the narrow streets in all directions, peering frantically into the shadows, but they did not find Colin. Of course they did not know that Colin, just like Robin and the other outlaws, had arrived safely home.

  Colin was sitting in his favourite armchair with his favourite book on his lap. Sammy was there too. The bookmark still glowed warmly.

  “What an adventure!” said Colin, patting his pockets. Yes, the bookmark was there. Then he looked down at the pages of the book and suddenly noticed something new. There on the pages open in front of him were two large, beautiful colour photographs. One showed the Sheriff of Nottingham and his wife in the room at the castle and in the background Louis Leloup scowling as usual. The other showed Marion holding Sammy and standing next to Robin with the rest of the outlaws ranged around them. “Well, Sammy, no one would believe me, if I told them who those people are,” Colin said. “Hmm. The bookmark must have acted like a mobile phone camera. I remember it pulsed and I thought I saw a flash, but it was maybe just the fire flaring up.” Another thought occurred to him. “I should say these are probably the earliest photos ever taken! It all happened about 800 years ago! Hmm, they are terrific souvenirs though.” He sat thinking a little longer. Then he decided it was time to go to bed, because he had to go to work in the morning. He was about to stand up, when his hand brushed against something soft on the arm of the chair, and he realised that he was still wearing the beautiful red cloak.

  Colin Goes to Castle Zorn

  Mr. Jellysox was in a good mood. In fact Mr. Jellysox was in a very good mood. This was rather strange, as he seemed to be in the story that Colin had just found at random in his special book. The bookmark though glowed reassuringly in his pocket.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Jellysox?” asked Colin.

  “Well, I’m on holiday like you. Just a short weekend break. Oh, hello, Sammy.” He bent down to pat the little dog.

  Colin was puzzled. He checked to see what he was wearing, just to make sure that he wasn’t in a heavy, old-fashioned, diving-suit or some sort of uniform. No, he was wearing his usual sweater and jeans. Then he looked around him. It was a dark evening and they all seemed to be standing outside the large, solid, wooden front door of a quite sinister looking building. It was huge with grey brickwork. Looking up at the roof, he could see a number of turrets towering above the black slates. There were few lights visible in the many windows, and it was deathly quiet. Suddenly an owl hooted.

  “Don’t you think we should ring the bell?” asked Mr. Jellysox.

  “I can’t see a bell-push or a knocker,” replied Colin.

  “What about this rope here?” asked Mr. Jellysox, and he gave it a sharp tug. A bell clanged hollowly somewhere nearby. Sammy barked once. Colin and Mr. Jellysox heard footsteps approaching quite slowly and deliberately. The footsteps stopped and the door creaked open, revealing a huge man dressed all in black in a strange 19th century style suit. He had steely grey hair, beetling black eyebrows and frightening dark eyes.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Castle Zorn.” The voice matched his sini
ster look. It was very deep and yet seemed oddly and genuinely welcoming. “We were expecting you. Come in. Come in!”

  Colin noticed that, like Mr. Jellysox, he was holding a small suitcase in his right hand. So this really was going to be some sort of holiday!

  They followed the giant butler down a short corridor into an enormous reception room.

  “Don’t worry about the cobwebs and spiders,” he boomed. “Most of them are artificial. They are supposed to provide atmosphere. Wait here please.”

  Whilst Sammy was sniffing at something interesting near the large reception desk, Colin looked all around. Attached to the high ceiling was a crystal chandelier in which a few guttering candles cast a feeble light. “I suppose that’s for the atmosphere too,” he said, pointing up at it.

  “Yes,” Mr. Jellysox agreed. “This is one of those new-fangled theme hotels.”

  “More like old-fangled!” laughed Colin.

  “Oh, yes. I like that!” said Mr. Jellysox with a grin. “I thought I was being a bit adventurous, choosing this. You see, I’ m really not very brave, and, you know, I wanted to test myself. This is advertised as a scary holiday. So far I’ve been quite calm. I don’t think I’m going to be afraid at all!”

  The bookmark throbbed once in Colin’s pocket. “I wonder. We’ll see,” he thought.

  At that moment the butler returned with a distinguished-looking old man, who had a disturbingly pale face.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in a firm, pleasant voice. “I understand Fungus has already welcomed you here. The castle has belonged to my family for many centuries, but it became so expensive to run that I was forced to turn it into a hotel. By the way, I am Drac, the thirteenth Count of Castle Zorn. I hope you will be thrilled by your visit. At the moment we do not have a lot of guests. Oh, and enjoy the facilities. They are most unusual. They are designed to be a little macabre. For example, if you would like it, there is thunder available in every room, but it can be turned down or switched off completely so that it will not frighten your little dog.”