Behind the door he found himself between an upended wooden table and the stone of the wall. The top edge of the table was resting against the wall to form a kind of triangular tunnel. The gap was only just big enough for him to squeeze into so that the table pressed against his chest and restricted his breathing. Though his left arm had to remain stretched out ahead of him he could just get his right arm around to push against the edge of the door to drive himself further into the space. Soon he came to a halt. He could no longer use the door’s edge to push himself forward and the smooth table offered no grip or purchase. He tried to get further with wriggling alone but soon realised he was making no progress. He decided to back out so as to try a different approach but then found that no amount of kicking or pushing could extract him. Panic started to set in. Trapped in the cramped space with hands flailing and heels skidding on the smooth stone he began to whimper.

He was just about let out a pointless cry for help when his left hand struck something lying on the floor out of sight. It clattered across the flagstones but bounced off the wall behind him and came skittering back. The unexpected noise curtailed his panic briefly. He reached out his hand and was just able to touch the object with his fingertips. Careful not to push it out of reach he managed to grip it between the sides of his fingers and draw it close enough to get a good grasp. The feel and weight of the cool metal in his hand calmed him still further. Investigating the object in the darkness of his wooden tunnel he realised it was some kind of knife with both blade and hilt made as a single piece. Despite its likely age and obvious abandonment it felt keen and solid in his hands and somehow it conveyed a feeling of freedom and salvation. Suddenly his mind cleared and he knew what he must do. He gripped the handle tightly in his left hand and placing his right hand over the flat butt drove the knife forward as hard as the tight space would allow. The tip was still sharp and bit deep into the wooden table top. Trivian now pulled hard and was able to drag himself forward a little before the wood splintered and released the blade. He swung again and drew himself forward a little more before he had to repeat the cycle a third time.

It was at the fifth or sixth swing that the blade struck empty air so that his wrists slammed against the end of the table making him drop the knife. He almost began panicking again until he realised that he could now pull himself out easily using the edge of the table. Soon he was clear and able to stand again. He looked around and, seeing the knife lying on the floor, picked it up. It had been made from a yellowish metal that had been drilled and cut with intricate shapes. It sat heavily in his hand and conveyed an odd sense of gravitas. Trivian decided he would keep it as his first piece of treasure. He slipped it into the back of his belt where the metal grip pressed coolly against his spine through his thin cotton shirt. Trivian began to investigate the other contents of the hallway.

It was obvious that the current arrangement of furniture had happened in a hurry. As the heaviest furniture had been dragged to and piled up against the entrance door many objects had clearly spilled to the floor where they now still lay in scattered abandon. Other lighter pieces of furniture had been shunted or knocked during the bustle and stood at odd angles along the wall. He picked his way through the chaos and debris. Other than the knife he had already found there was little worth picking up and still less worth keeping. The once grand tablecloths, upholstery and wall hangings had been reduced to colourless rags and those bowls and goblets that had not been smashed were of wood or earthenware. The one metal plate he did discover was neither particularly large nor jewel encrusted and it felt light and worthless in his hand. He threw it away in disgust. It landed noisily with such an unexpectedly loud clatter that it sent clashing echoes up and down the hallway.

The sound made him freeze with the sudden fear that someone or something might now be alerted to his presence. Perhaps even now the occupants of this place were rousing to come and seek him out. His skin crawled as images of horrifying creatures filled his head. He waited, unsure whether to flee or hide. The echoes died away into silence and nothing moved. He waited still. There was only silence. No distant thunder of approaching vengeance. The spasm of fear subsided to leave behind a vague feeling of chill.

Why wasn’t anything coming?

What had happened to leave this place so deserted and empty?

If there was no monster walking the halls then perhaps the place was cursed. He shivered as a cold chill rippled through his body. Perhaps he should leave before it was too late, before whatever had befallen the people that used to live here, befell him. He turned back towards the blocked doorway but then caught himself. This was ridiculous, he was not leaving without some treasure. Discovering treasure was always dangerous and scary and so far the biggest scare he had had was from a tin plate. He straightened himself and stiffened his resolve. He considered the corridor with its junk once more.

What had he been thinking?

You couldn’t expect to find treasure lying around in a hallway. Valuable stuff would be locked up safely, in a chest or something. Yes, a treasure chest that’s what he needed to find. That would mean far more exploration, deeper into this strange place. An odd thrill ran through his body at this thought. A little ahead was an opening through which most of the available light was coming. He remembered the façade he had bewondered from outside. Of Course! A Great Hall or perhaps even a Throne Room. That would be a far better place to find treasure. He strode forward and determinedly turned the corner. The sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks and drove an icy cold chill so deep into his body that it completely extinguished all his bravado.

The chamber into which he had so purposefully strode was indeed truly awe inspiring. The high walls were covered with every manner of decoration from sculptures and carvings to now faded and tattered drapes, wall hangings, tapestries and paintings. There were even mirrors in ornate frames that, though milky and at times even splintered with age, continued to reflect gently dappled patterns of light around the hall. High above his head the walls eventually bent together to form a vaulted ceiling covered in a filigree of arches and embossments. This all served to frame and accentuate the high gable end that was the inside of the tracery windows he had seen from outside. These window openings were so contrived that their light served not only to illuminate the hall in general but also to form a hallo around a high dais upon which the Monarch’s throne had no doubt once rested.

It was a sight that had been contrived and constructed for exactly one purpose, to strike awe and submission into the hearts of everyone that entered. Trivian did not know it but time and again it had served its duty without failure so that everyone from the lowliest of peasants to great Kings and Emperors had, if even for the briefest of moments, halted exactly where Trivian was now standing in order to take it all in. The only difference this time was that the spectacle of the great hall went completely un-noticed by Trivian. He noticed none of the grand architecture with its subliminal propaganda. Something quite banal and mundane on the opposite side of the chamber had transfixed him and now held all his attention.

Against the far wall stood a large ornate fireplace. Though the artwork of the sides and mantelpiece were impressive enough and could easily hold their own against the rest of the room even they went largely unnoticed by Trivian. The matter in hand was that a small but lively fire was burning in the hearth. In his fear frozen state he could just make out the whisper of the flickering flames in the otherwise silent hall. The pale yellow flames danced and twisted but otherwise nothing else moved. Still as a statue he let his eyes slowly scan the room looking for any other signs of life.

Nothing.

He listened for the slightest noise that might betray movement of any kind. Still nothing. He remembered back to the clattering plate and forced himself to relax. He had already been through all of this. He already knew there was nothing going to rush at him. If there had ever been the chance of an attack, it would already have happened. No doubt his artless clattering had actually scared off whatever timid soul had made the fire or perhaps, even more likely, it had simply been left to burn out by some crew that had sheltered here during a recent storm before setting sail again days ago. This idea filled him with a thrill of excitement.

Secret sea farers on clandestine travels?

Had he perhaps stumbled upon the hideaway of pirates?

This threw the possibility of a treasure stash into a whole new light. After a further moment’s thought he shrugged. If they had only been sheltering from the storm it was unlikely they would have left their hoard here. Furthermore, they might already have scoured this place for valuables and made off with them. Oh well, perhaps his chances of finding treasure had actually diminished, but a pirate camp was still an impressive find. Perhaps he could still find something worth keeping that he could show off to Wallic later. He stalked slowly over to the fireplace. Stood close to the grate with its back turned to him was a gigantic high backed arm chair. It looked very much like it might once have been the throne itself and had been dragged here from the dais to make best use of the warmth from the fire. As he crept closer he imagined that the Pirate King was still sat there and that he was about to capture this terrible cutthroat so that he could ransom him for all the pirate gold. He remembered the dagger and drew it from his belt so that he could brandish it threateningly. He was now within a couple of paces of the chair and so got into position and tensed ready to leap around the throne and surprise his unsuspecting villainous victim. In one bound and with a cry of victory he rounded his objective and made a flamboyant swipe with the knife. This was directly followed by him letting out a yelp of surprise and staggering backwards almost into the hearth itself.

"Hello" said the man in the chair calmly. Trivian’s breath was suddenly coming in whimpering gasps as his eyes roamed the room. He wanted to run, but the chair blocked his direct path to the door and any detour might lead him to who knew what horrors in the shadows. Trapped in this dilemma he remained crouched with his eyes flitting back and forth restlessly between the old man and the rest of the room. The old man regarded him briefly before asking, "What exactly is it that you keep looking around for?"

"The rest of your band!"

"My band?" ’

’Yeh, you pirate kings always have a band of cutthroats!"

"Pirate king? Band of cutthroats?" The man gave a soft chuckle, "Please, be assured that no band of cutthroat pirates is going to appear. You and I are quite alone." His gentle matter of fact tone had a slightly calming effect on Trivian. He stopped scouring the hall for potential attackers and concentrated on the man before him. He was dressed in a capacious cloak of dark material with an edge of faded brocade and elegant stitching. Though it was done up tightly with a clasp at his throat the hood had been thrown back to reveal a bald head and pale, almost white, skin that was drawn tightly over the bones of his face. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes, though bright blue and clear, were sunk deep in their sockets. He hardly looked alive at all. There was a brief pause before the man shifted his weight slightly in his chair.

"Don’t try anything or I’ll cut you with my knife!" Trivian yelped as he waived the blade in a manner that he desperately hoped appeared sufficiently threatening. The man raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Your knife?" Trivian had the unnerving feeling that the man had seen straight through the lie but he decided to try and bare face it.

"Yeh, my knife. I’ve had it for like ever!"

"Really?" The man sounded quite unconvinced, ’’Are you sure? Ever is an exceedingly long time." He let this thought hang in the air before continuing, "Well maybe you have. I only mention it because I’m sure I saw a very similar one out there in the corridor some time ago." He raised a hand and waved vaguely in the general direction of the door through which Trivian had entered the hall. "Perhaps they are a matched pair, now wouldn’t that be ironic!" and he leant forward to take a closer look. Trivian didn’t like this at all and so thrust the knife at him again.

"I’II cut you!" He threatened again. The man remained un-alarmed, perhaps thanks to the three or four paces that lay between him and the quivering blade tip. Nonetheless, he sank back with a sigh.

"And why would you want to do that?" He held out his hands, palms upwards, "I am not only quite clearly un-armed but also very old." Trivian had to accept the facts. His hands certainly were empty and he did look positively ancient. Trivian was sure that, in a pinch, he could easily outrun him if he had to. Furthermore, the band of pirates he so feared stubbornly continued not to appear. His resolve began to sink and with it the blade at the end of his outstretched arm. "You know, it’s very rude to go around threatening complete strangers. Why don’t you introduce yourself properly so that I know who is holding me prisoner?"

"My name’s Trivian." The old man nodded in understanding, "Ah, yes so YOUR Trivian. I did wonder. And where is your friend?’’

’’My friend?"

"Yes, your friend, you didn’t come here by your self did you? It really is a very long way to come all alone." The old man seemed genuinely concerned.

’’Do you mean Wallic?"

"Did you come with him?"

"Well yes, at least he rowed me here, but he isn’t my friend!" Trivian felt it was important to make this point clear as soon as early as possible.

’’He isn’t?’’

’’No, he’s a liar and a cheat!"

"He is?" Trivian nodded in confirmation. "What has he been lying and cheating about?" Trivian quickly explained the whole situation and how it had led to the bravery contest and him ending up being here now. The old man nodded wisely. ’’It appears to me that you need help, and I mean both of you, in order to resolve this matter and I think I know what kind of help it is you need." Trivian was listening intently. "Clearly, you won’t be able to sort out this mess with the marbles and everything by yourselves. No. What you need is an arbitrator." Trivian’s brow furrowed at this un-familiar word. The old man smiled kindly and explained, "An arbitrator is someone who can end the fighting so that both sides can be friends again."

"I don’t want to be friends with Wallic. I want to beat him so that he has to leave the village forever.’’

"Ah! Yes, I understand. Well, an arbitrator could help with that too. You see they can pick winners and losers. So if you got an arbitrator to say that Wallic was indeed the loser then you would get what you want and he would have to go away." Trivian found this a very attractive idea.

"So where could I find one?"

"Well, as luck would have it, you’ve already found one. You see, that’s exactly what I am, an arbitrator."

"Are you any good?"

"Well, before I came here to this place there was terrible fighting. Look around, no one is fighting now!" This argument was good enough for Trivian.

"Go on then!"

’’Go on then, what?"

"I mean, say that I’m the winner and Wallic’s the loser."

Next Chapter: Chapter 6.