The three 13-year-olds, Bessie, Khulekani and Turnaya asked the Queen to give them the same bed-chamber. Right now if they followed her generosity to split up in such a big castle with countless rooms, they’d have been at a disadvantage because they needed to come up with a plan together. Preferably by the time they saw her again at breakfast. A plan to get the pen she entrusted them – the most powerful pen in the world, to its creator, The Penmaster.
And the Queen knew just the room
Six large springy beds- they’d love it and have fun
And windows that let in the entire moon
They’d sleep soundly till the rising sun.
“Now, you three should get some sleep,” the Queen advised. “Ariel, the butler will show you to your room.”
She waved goodnight without another word. The man who’d been standing beside her chair the whole time ceremoniously motioned them out of the reception room and up to a pair of doors down a corridor. He opened them and the three friends were plunged into more of the castle’s splendour. Pink and cherry coloured silk tapestries on the walls and curtains. With more paintings and ornaments.
“Wow…. I could really get used to this.” Khulekani confessed. They all could…
They bid goodnight with an agreement to set out through the Great forest. An enchanting array of uprooted trees that floated vertically inverted afoot the grass and bug littered floor just a short walk from the castle if they used a secret passage. Turnaya would lead them – she knew the passage as well as where The Penmaster resided.
Upon reaching his abode a little to noon the next day, Bessie, Khulekani and Turnaya found the owner snoring like a faulty drone with the living room door wide open.
“Well, that’s just great. Is he dead?” Khulekani sighed.
“What. No,” Turnaya shook her head. “Why would you even think that? He’s snoring.” “Well, can we look around while we wait then?” pestered Khulekani. Mooning around like a poltergeist.
“Look around for wha- no, no, no, Khulekani don’t touch-”
Chancing upon a wardrobe, Khulekani whispered “What do you suppose is in here?” His hands already prying on the handle.
“Don’t open it, Khulekani. Are you mad?” Turnaya gasped.
“What? He’s asleep.” Drooled Khulekani.
He turned the knob and they all jumped as the wardrobe burst open. Mayhem let loose as Khulekani stumbled back and the strangest of things to have in a wardrobe emerged. About a dozen African owl pigeons flew out of it pelting like bullets. The birds flapped around excitedly and perched on the desk by the window, or anywhere they could. Bessie squeaked when one of them tried to land on her shoulder, waking the Penmaster.
“What-what is it?” he blinked the sleep away. “Who opened my wardrobe? Quick, close the door!”
One of the birds seemed to have heard this because it quickly flew past them towards it. Turnaya didn’t reach the door in time and it zoomed out.
“No-no-no-no.” the Penmaster ran after it. For a moment he looked like he’d dropped his marbles running around the front yard begging the bird not to fly away. Bessie, Khulekani, and Turnaya stared at them both. Not sure whether to feel guilt or humour.
“Get me the book on my desk,” the Penmaster yelled.
“Which one?” Khulekani was the nearest to the desk.
“The one I was writing in,” replied the Penmaster.
Khulekani picked the one nearest and quickly handed it over. He’d been right. The Penmaster flipped it a few pages back and stopped at one. Khulekani noticed they were all poems.
The Penmaster read out the last two lines. “Uh….ok ok, don’t go,” he said to the bird. This was bizarre. He was scratching his head, and the bird seemed to be listening and waiting too.
“Ok…you’re the sonnet,” the Penmaster went on, “Da da da for new make-up kits….”
“Penmaster, what’s going on?” Turnaya shrieked.
He was mumbling and seemed to look right through her.
“Yes!” he said, “for new make-up kits. Sweet fairies nesting in either cheek… Snow White’s genes gleam in your teeth… Uh… Creation without you would be incomplete … Imperfection … is … imperfection is a myth. You’re-where-wind-and-air-meet!” He shut the book and raised his hand to proclaim the ending. Also soliciting the bird to confirm something.
The bird seemed to be thinking and considering a reply.
“Come on,” he begged.
After a moment of uncertainty, the bird flew back into the house.
“Phew. Get inside, get inside all of you. He closed the door and handed the book back to Khulekani.
“Penmaster, we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to go through your things.” Turnaya said. Her eyes pointed at Khulekani to give the man a clue about who the culprit was.
“Oh, don’t worry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I had a long night,” he glanced at his desk. “These are my poems. That one was T’illa, I’ve a sonnet for your bonnet.”
He was looking at the bird that had flown outside and walked around to all of them one by one. “This is Black Medusa…, this is Cupid’s Chemist. That one is Dawn’s Yawn…those two are …uh…I haven’t come up with their titles yet. That bunch on the table are short stories not poems. They have more words and are heavier, that’s why they just sat there. They can’t fly very much.”
“Your poems take bird form?” asked Bessie.
“Well, yes. They’re unfinished works. That way they make my mind race when they fly around.”
“Wow!”
He walked to the desk and set the book down.
“It’s something, isn’t it? They’re already out so I might as well just leave them there.”
The Penmaster disappeared to
The kitchen and returned with a tray and saucers too
Filled with seed
For the birds to feed
He placed it on the floor
Whispered ‘breakfast’ and said no more.
The birds descended on the saucers and began to peck away. Rather peacefully.
“Wow, that’s amazing,” Bessie exclaimed.
“Yes, they are. You kids can find something to eat in the kitchen.”
“How come they’re so well behaved, except that one outside?” Turnaya observed.
“T’illa, the sonnet. She’s always been reckless. I had to finish the poem or she’d have flown off… And I’d have been very distraught.”
“So now you’ve finished it?”
“What happens next?”
“I’m sorry to say, but we eat them. Mary makes the most scrumptious dishes with them. Whatever she wants really. It can be rabbit, chicken, game, anything.”
“Who’s Mary?”
“My wife. She should be here any minute now from the garden.”
“I didn’t know you had a wife.” Croaked Turnaya.
“And what’s that supposed to mean, young lady?” The Penmaster grilled.
“Nothing, nothing,” she quickly asked for the pen from Khulekani. “We have something for you from the Queen.”
“You mean my sister, Lullenda?”
“Yes.” Turnaya nodded and handed him the pen.
The Penmaster gazed seriously at it, slightly hesitant.
“She said it was a weapon like no other?” Bessie pondered.
“It is. But even more than that, it is power. Unmatched and unrivalled.” The Penmaster vowed. “Power the world isn’t ready for.”
The Enchanted Pen won third place in the 2021 Wakini Kuria Prize for Children’s Literature.
Click to read The Millionaire Orphan – 1st place winner
Click to read Tea Time with Tito – 2nd place winner
Click to see the full list of the winners
