The Magic Carriage

The Magic Carriage

by M. P. Grace

Copyright 2013 M. P. Grace

Smashwords Edition

See also... http://magiccarriage.com/

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1 – Magic

Chapter 2 – Emperor

Chapter 3 – Sagamore

Chapter 4 – Gelibolu

Chapter 5 – Gorkhali

Chapter 6 – Destiny

A note from the Author

Glossary

Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated, with heartfelt gratitude to my beloved family and friends, including those no longer with us.

To the loving memory of the late Goldie-Anne Sulski, my kind English teacher who bestowed upon me a lifelong love of literature.

To the blessed memory of the late Dr. Eve Wiltshaw OBE of The Royal Marsden Hospital, Chelsea, London, who saved my life with a fax machine 20 years ago.

To Dr. Rodney Aroney, Oncologist and his staff at Concord Hospital for their dedication, open hearts and minds, without whom, I would not be here to have written this tale.

My thanks to:

My family and friends old and young, near and far, who listened, advised, and encouraged me to create The Magic Carriage.

In particular my thanks to Gary for the website and graphics post-processing; Kerry, Stephen, Evelyn, Edwin and Sue for edits and frankness and especially Frances Madeson for the final edit; and to Elment Coronel for help with the early concept illustrations.

For words that you may find unusual, see the glossary at the end of the book or visit www.magiccarriage.com

CHAPTER ONE

Magic

Not very long ago, nor very far away, in a seaside village where stars twinkle and little boats tinkle, a magical journey began. One warm summer’s night, the moon was so close to Sydney, it could see its own face reflected in the water. The city lay silhouetted against the harbour waterways like an ancient hand stencil. Pinpricks of light dotted the shores here and there, where people in their houses and apartments were still awake. Their windows shone out into the night, like tiny lanterns lit with tea lights. How lovely it is, thought the moon, catching a glimpse of a row of tiny Christmas trees, which lined the foreshore of a pretty little bay at one end of the harbour. A ferry wharf divided the harbour beach, and down by the water’s edge, on the west side, the moon spied a huddle of little penguins. Smiling at the sight of them, it spilt a glittering path of light out across the water to where the little penguins stood. As the tiny sea birds gazed up into the inky-twinkling sky, they wondered what else the lucky moon could see from up so high. They yearned to travel and see more of the world, but they believed they were too little.

Beneath the ferry wharf at Manly is home to the little penguins. Manly is a lively holiday destination to which people come from all over the world. The little penguins love to watch them coming and going, buying ice-creams, and fish and chips and parading around in their brightly coloured cozzies and hats. They prefer the happy-on-holiday-humans to the grumpy-grey-clothed ones, who have the Manly Ferry growl them to work during the week.

Sometimes, late at night, when it is still too hot to sleep, the little penguins totter down to the water. At that hour the beach is safe, with no dogs or birds of prey to trouble them. There are no hopeful fishermen then, with their nasty hooks and snaggy lines. Best of all, they can torpedo themselves through the water, full steam ahead, and whizz and tumble without whirring boat propellers in their way. Down they dive to the very depths, then up they swoosh through schools of tickley silver fish, which love to swirl about in the moonlit water. A penguin’s idea of a very good party is a swim-through-feast of fish.

On this particular night, as the little penguins stood gazing up at the moon, the wicked wind was stirring up some trouble on the other side of the village.

To get to Manly Beach is to take a short walk along the Corso, an open-air mall lined with lovely shops and restaurants. It spills out to the ocean beach at the far end. Here the Pacific laps against a walkway at the base of some steep cliffs. If you go there and bend your head right back and look up, up, up to the very, very top you might catch a glimpse of the Sphinx who lives above the magical place they call Fairy Bower. It guards the fairies, whose ancestors were deported from Britain to Australia with the convicts a couple of hundred years ago. They were kept on the cliff so they wouldn’t make any more trouble. Well, beside the horrible boat trip to get them to Australia, they found themselves very happy to arrive at the seaside in a beautiful place. They did as they wished, as there was no one to trouble, or to trouble them. There was room enough for everyone. Instead of mischief, they turned their attentions to having wonderful parties and in the process they were simply forgotten. That is to say, except for a few people who remember where to find them. Those in the know, know all about their parties and how they sprinkle fairy dust about on midsummer nights. This is what makes Manly one of those enchanted places that always feels like it is on holiday.

The only thing that interrupts the idyllic charm of Manly is bad weather. Often stirred up by the ill-wind, which waits until everyone is having a lovely time, it turns up suddenly to make a right mess of things.

Walking back along the Corso brings you directly to the Ferry Wharf with its colourful flags and ferries that sail to Sydney. These flags are kept busy waving to the day-trippers and commuters who bustle on and off the boats. When the ferries stop at midnight, the flags furl sleepily about their posts after working very hard.

On this evening, the ill-wind was on its way over to Manly Wharf from Fairy Bower to see what mischief could be made. It hissed across the beach strewing sea sand into the streets and over parked cars. At the ferry wharf it shocked the sleepy flags into a sudden dance, and snatched some pages of a Manly Daily newspaper from a nearby bench. One by one the pages took off, blowing and billowing, fluttering and littering, as they joined the flags in the wind’s wild dance.

Grasping the front page firmly the wicked wind flew over the wharf towards the little penguins. The soaring newspaper careened about madly for a few moments, then the wind let go. The paper dived, like a fallen kite, slapping without warning, smack-dab into the little penguins. The force of it skittled them. Over they went, one on top of the other. A few more sharp gusts of wind wrapped the wriggling penguins up in a parcel until only their beaks and claws popped and poked through the paper.

Howling with laughter at its own mischief, the wind took off tearing at the trees as it went. The moon frowned as it saw the little penguins flapping and flailing to free themselves. They did so, and its smile was soon restored as the little penguins began to demonstrate their Peng-Fu skills. Freed of the newspaper, they stood in formation, wings raised defensively, awaiting their commander's instruction to attack. Pip, a tiny little penguin chick, stood beside his father making the fiercest face he could manage. On command they emptied their lungs of air and with a shrill Hee Yah and leapt as one, pinning the perforated paper to the sand. Puffing their feathers victoriously, they then bowed their heads to see what they had conquered.

Holy mackerel – Would ya look-it it, said Flip, (whose real name is Phillip, to give you an idea of how fast little penguins tweet.)

The headline on the front page read:

Royal Carriage at North Head, Next Stop London

The little penguins were looking at a photograph of a royal carriage with great golden wheels. Four beautiful gold and crystal coach lamps were fixed to its corners, and on the roof were lions and a crown. It was all covered in gold.

The newspaper had been tattered, not that it mattered, as the picture was clearly worth a few million words, dollars and pounds.

Wow! exclaimed Fleet, leader of the group.

I once saw photos of the Creamy Pony carriages that used to meet people here at the wharf before there were buses and taxis. Certainly nothing like this masterpiece! I think we ought to get up to North Head and have a look before it disappears forever!

Fleet was first at everything – swimming, waddling, and especially breakfast. He was a fine looking little penguin, very well read and bred. Standing forty centimetres tall he weighed only one kilogramme and looked just as sweet as his own weight in sugar.

Studying the picture closely, the little penguins became very excited. Their noisy chirping and twittering was enough to draw the others from their burrows to see what all the fuss was about. Something so splendidly royal was close by and they all chirped in, enjoying the anticipation of the plans to find the carriage. It had been a special night indeed. The little penguins would often stand on the shore, gazing at the harbour lights and twittering about their dreams to visit London and go to Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guard. They loved hearing about the pomp and ceremony of formal occasions, as they were, after all, the First Royal Manly Squadron.

Fleet was their Commodore. His mind was always working fast. He carefully tweezed the picture out of the paper with his sharp beak, thinking about who might help them find the coach. The challenge now was to find a way to get up the cliffs of North Head, and find out all about the dazzling royal coach. Now they really needed to get some sleep. The clock on the top of Manly Wharf said it was already tomorrow.

Although the sun and the moon had swapped places in the sky and the little penguins had not slept much, they were already up and at it busily making plans with their group Elder, whom they called Flap. The whole waddle of penguins was in agreement that only a small squad should go over to see the coach on North Head. They all understood the dangers around them. Sea-eagles, large gulls, cats and dogs were predators. Rubbish left by people, bottles, plastic, oil from boats and traffic on the roadways all presented problems. However, on this occasion they believed the reward of seeing something so splendid was greater than the risk of life and wing.

Flap had earned the title of group Elder because he was wise and kind. He had retired from the Squadron to help raise his grand-chicks as their dad had been injured by a dog that someone let off its leash.

Having considered the matter of the trip to North Head very carefully, Flap said.

"This is a good idea. We can demonstrate our bravery and our ‘littlies’ will love