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    The Six Crowns: Trundle's Quest
    The Six Crowns: Trundle's Quest
    The Six Crowns: Trundle's Quest
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    The Six Crowns: Trundle's Quest

    By Allan Jones and Gary Chalk

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Trundle doesn't think he's an adventurer. He's a lamplighter. He likes everything safe and cozy, and that's the way things are in his peaceful part of the Sundered Lands.

    Until Esmeralda barrels through his door.

    Esmeralda, a princess with a knack for magic and for finding trouble, is convinced that Trundle is the only one who can help her find the six crowns. Lost and scattered long ago, the crowns could unite the Sundered Lands once again. But not if the pirates find them first.

    Suddenly, Trundle is on the run. He becomes a stowaway, a drifter, a thief's accomplice, and a swordsman.Trundle may find that he is a true hero, after all . . . and that this is only the beginning of an epic journey.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateApr 5, 2011
    ISBN9780062098399
    The Six Crowns: Trundle's Quest
    Author

    Allan Jones

    Allan Jones is an award-winning British music journalist and editor. He was editor of Melody Maker from 1984 to 1997 then launched Uncut magazine and for 15 years wrote a popular monthly column called Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before, based on his experiences as a music journalist in the 70s and 80s, a prosperous time for the music press. His book, Can't Stand Up For Falling Down, was the Sunday Times' Music Book of the Year 2017.

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    • 2/5
      An okay fantasy book for younger readers. Will be part of a series.

    Book preview

    The Six Crowns - Allan Jones

    Prologue

    The legends say that once—long, long ago—there was a single round world, like a ball floating in space, and that it was ruled over by six wise badgers. The legends also tell of a tremendous explosion, an explosion so huge that it shattered the round world into a thousand fragments, a vast archipelago of islands adrift in the sky. As time passed, the survivors of the explosion thrived and prospered and gave their scattered island homes a name—and that name was the Sundered Lands.

    That’s what the legends say.

    But who believes in legends nowadays?

    Chapter 1

    The Lamplighter of Shiverstones

    Trundle Boldoak smiled as he lifted his candlepole to light the final lamp of Market Square.

    Evening was coming on fast, but Trundle’s job was done—all the lamps of Port Shiverstones were burning now. From Docking Street to Gatherer’s Turnpike, the yellow flames flickered behind their glass panels, illuminating the highways and thoroughfares of the small trading town.

    Leaning on his candlepole, Trundle gazed up into the darkening sky. Far away he could see the twinkling lights of the few islands that floated within eyeshot of Shiverstones. Beyond them, the darkness was sprinkled with the opening eyes of a hundred thousand stars.

    And now to home, Trundle murmured to himself as he headed across the Market Place. The end of his candlepole clicked sharply on the cobbles as he passed the great stone fountain with the granite statue of the founder of Shiverstones at its center. Furrowman Plowplodder, the first animal to bring cabbages to the flat, windswept island—farmer forefather of all the endless acres of cabbages that were now Shiverstones’s principal crop.

    Windships came here from far and wide, trading Shiverstones cabbages for earthenware pots and cast-iron pans, for candles and cheese and cloth and hoes, for buttons and buckets and boots and stoves, and for everything else the farmers and merchants of Shiverstones might need.

    Trundle had spent all of his short life in Port Shiverstones, as had his parents and his grandparents before him. All his relations were dead now, and Trundle was quite alone, but he didn’t mind that so very much. He had his work to do. The hereditary job of Lamplighter was not a glamorous or an exciting one, but it earned him ten sunders a day, which was enough for his simple needs.

    Good evening, Mistress Gleet. Good evening, Farmer Gossage, he called cheerily to passing townsfolk as he made his way toward Lamplighter’s Lane and the small cottage that he called home.

    Good evening, young Trundle, they replied as they hurried along. The wind’s up tonight!

    It was always good to get out of the stiff, chill winds that blew across the land of Shiverstones. Even in high summer, through the toasty months of Greengrow and Beetime and Sunhover, the Shiverstones nights could be cold and bleak.

    Now that Trundle had finished his evening rounds, he was looking forward to a cup of cabbageleaf tea and a warm bowl of cabbage broth. And then a quiet evening with his feet up and his snout in a good book.

    He always went to bed early with his alarm clock set for dawn; by sunrise he needed to be busy with his snuffing staff, putting the lamps out again. Then he would spend the morning trimming the wicks and polishing the lamp glass and topping up the oil and happily passing the time of day with friends and neighbors. Yes, all in all, his was a good life, and he was contented with it.

    He ambled down the center of Lamplighter’s Lane. The two yellow lamps above his front door flickered and danced as he approached, as if they were the eyes of the house, sparkling with joy to see their master returning.

    He stepped onto the porch and lifted the latch. As he pushed the door open, he could already smell the broth that he had left warming over a low flame.

    Peace and quiet, he said happily, stepping over the threshold.

    Suddenly he heard a swift patter of feet behind him. Before he even had time to glance over his shoulder, something hit him hard on the back, and he was sent sprawling forward across the flagstones of his parlor floor. He skidded helplessly, gathering rugs as he went, spluttering and gasping under a heavy weight that pressed down on his back and knocked all the breath out of his body.

    He came to a halt with his snout almost in the hearth.

    You’re smaller than I expected, said a voice. And where’s your sword?

    Breathless and befuddled, Trundle managed to squirm onto his back. A strange girl hedgehog sat squarely on his stomach, looking down at him with a critical gaze.

    She had a mischievous face, grubby and unwashed, but enlivened by a pair of bright, flashing eyes. The shabby dress she wore might once have been a deep red color, but now it was so stained and dirty that it was more gray than anything else.

    Trundle had never seen her before in his life.

    Get off me! he gasped. What are you playing at? Who are you?

    The girl clambered off and held out a helping paw. He scrambled up, ignoring the offer of assistance.

    I’m Esmeralda Lightfoot, the Princess in Darkness, she said cheerfully. And you’re the Lamplighter!

    So what if I am? Trundle said angrily. That’s no reason to jump on me like a Windrush hare! He dusted himself off a little. What do you want? Be quick. I’m busy.

    "I want you, Esmeralda said. Time’s wasting. Come on, we have a windship to catch."

    Trundle looked warily at her. The girl was clearly mad, but she needed careful handling. Now that he was on his feet and his brain was unscrambling, he noticed that her dress was Roamany. He’d never actually been face-to-face with a Roamany before—the romantic Roamany caravans never came to Shiverstones—but he had seen pictures of the Roamany folk in books. And he’d read about them, too; enough to know they were the only people in all of the Sundered Lands who had

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