Search for the Sunlight

When the shenanigans were finally over and everyone had calmed down, Basil became aware of a subtle change in the early morning light. At first he thought that perhaps there was something wrong with his eyes, but when he looked out across the horizon, he could see patches of what appeared to be clear blue sky.

“Is it my imagination, or is it getting brighter?” he asked the Constable.

Sherlock sat up and looked out in the same direction as Basil.

“Perhaps it’s the sunlight,” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders and laughing at the unlikely prospect.

Herbert glanced at the officer. “If it is the sunlight, how will we know?” he remarked innocently.

“Huh! How will we know?” Harry exhaled a single laugh. “How will we know if it’s the sunlight?” he repeated sarcastically, scoffing at his brother’s seemingly stupid remark.

“No - listen, listen!” Herbert insisted. “I know it sounds dumb, but can any one of us, hand on heart, honestly remember what the sun looks like?”

He turned to each of his critics and waited for their reply.

“The only references we have,” he continued, “are a bunch of fading memories from a long time ago, so how can we be sure?”

Silence descended on the party as they grappled for an answer.

“He has got a point,” Harry finally conceded when he tried, but failed, to recall in his own mind what a sunny day looked like. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see,” he concluded…

“SEE? Not vithout zees you von’t!” said a thin shrill voice, with an indefinable foreign accent. The voice appeared from nowhere and took the Treewoods completely by surprise.

“Who said that?” the Constable enquired, releasing the safety catch on his truncheon, ready to defend himself and his friends should the need arise. It was then, from behind a large moss covered rock, that the most bizarre creation emerged.

Momentarily forgetting their manners, the travellers stared to the point of rudeness at the ill-conceived life form that stood before them.

In addition to the bizarre and numerous oddities that, at a glance were instantly apparent, the stranger held five neatly wrapped brown paper packages in his hand.

As an entity, he - if a gender could be assigned to such a creation - could only be described as a giant magnifying glass.

Measuring a little upwards of three imperial feet, the stranger wore a large airtex, pneumatic-soled, spring step leather boot. The boot protected a single foot, which was attached to what appeared to be an ornate lathe-turned rosewood handle. His head and face consisted of a perfectly round glass lens - precisely twenty one and three eighths of an inch in diameter he later boasted - which was held firmly in place by a highly polished, quality brass hoop.

In the centre of the lens, one enormous and unnaturally magnified, deep green eye peered out. The eye was exaggerated further by the presence of long wispy lashes and a single bushy eyebrow - akin to the tail feathers of an Ostrich - that arched from one side of what could be construed as his forehead, to the other.

In spite of having no visible mouth, this strange monocular being was able to communicate clearly and concisely by some unfathomable means of telepathy, of which he was a master.

“Good morning to you all,” the stranger said politely, “My name is Leonard Volkenschpeigle and Eye, am ze Optician,” he said, in what Basil now recognised to be a Bavarian accent. “And eye can zee everyzing,” he added robotically.

“Aye, aye,” Harry replied. He was being his usual silly self.

The stranger turned quickly on his single boot and leapt gymnastically into the air whereupon, performing the most amazing triple somersault, he landed skilfully on the horizontal trunk of a fallen tree and peered directly into Harry’s face. His intimidating actions made the young Hawthorn step back a pace.

“Eye, have been ex-specting you!” The Optician frowned, causing his solitary eyebrow to curl up at one end. “And let me tell you my little Treevood friend, zis is no time to be taking me by ze leg. OK?”

The stranger leaned backwards, then forwards again, focusing his solitary eye directly on Harry’s blushing red face.

“I have been vatching you all very closely,” he continued, spinning round two full turns on his toes as he spoke. Sherlock noted that were it not for the direction of his boot, there was no obvious means of telling which way round he was.

“I vatched you when you virst left ze forest,” he continued. “I vatched you enter ze desert. I even vatched as you defended yourselves admirably against ze giant Peckvoods and how I laughed ven I vatched ze bats box your ear,” he said winking at Herbert with his big green eye.

“Remember vot I am telling you. Eye am ze Optician and Eye can see everyzing and so far - he paused for a moment to brush his eyebrow from his face and sneezed - you have impressed me greatly,” he said nodding his lens in approval.

“Gesundheit!” Harry called out, smiling proudly at what he considered to be his clever use of the Optician’s native tongue.

The travellers were curious as to where this strange encounter was leading, not least Sherlock who was itching to know what was inside the packages that the little Bavarian held tantalisingly in his hand, especially the one with his name written on the label.

“Come and warm yourself by the fire, while Harry makes some tea,” the Constable insisted, beckoning the Optician down from his perch on the fallen tree.

Harry rinsed the teapot and tipped the contents out onto a wilting juniper bush that was struggling to survive in a crack in the rocks then, warming the pot by the fire, he added six heaped woodspoons - almost all that remained - of the Largonian Blue Tip.

“One for each and one for the pot,” he muttered. They had a guest after all and his reputation as a master brewer was of paramount importance.

The Optician was a creature of few words. His presence was intimidating to the point of distraction and when challenged, on virtually any subject, he appeared to know everything there was to know. In addition, he made no obvious effort to ease the uncomfortable atmosphere that his very being commanded.

Nobody was sure what to say to their visitor, or whether it was worth saying anything at all for, if as they all suspected, the little fellow could see into their minds, then he probably knew what they were going to say before they had said it!

Things weren’t quite so uncomfortable for Harry. In order for him to avoid embarrassing eye contact or awkward conversation with their guest, all he had to do was keep his head down and get on with the business of tea. But for the others, it was a long and arduous wait.

Eventually though, and not a moment too soon, Harry served up five mugs of the finest infusion to hand and, after a few sips, the general mood changed from one of polite discomfort to a more calm and relaxed state as the excellent tea hit the spot.

By now, Sherlock was unable to contain his curiosity any longer. He was desperate to know what was inside the brown paper packages that the optician held tightly in his hand.

“Pardon me,” he said, looking directly into the little Bavarian’s eye. “I don’t wish to appear too forward, but I simply have to know what’s inside those packages that you guard so closely.”

“Aha, at last! I zought you vould never ask,” the Optician replied, smiling as he laid the parcels down one at a time, on the ground in front of him.

“Zees, my chosen friends, are ze spectacles…”

He paused for dramatic effect and looked at each of his subjects in turn.

“Not just ze ordinary spectacles,” he continued, “but ze spectacles of truth and zey are my gift to you.” He paused again and this time looked up at the Constable.

“Zey have ze very special properties you know, vich, in ze fullness of time, you vill learn to use. But, for ze moment, ve must concentrate solely on ze first, and at zis stage ze most important function … Ze Sun Spectacles! Or how do you say? Ze Shades!”

The Treewoods were puzzled. No one had seen the sun for more than a hundred years, so why on earth had this odd character, who calls himself the Optician, suddenly turned up with sunglasses?

The little Bavarian gathered up the packages from the ground where he had laid them only moments before and handed them, one at a time, to each of the Treewoods.

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted. “Why are there five packages?”

“Ah, how very astute you are young sir,” the Optician replied. “If you must know, and I suppose you should, ze fifth package vas intended for a certain Charles S. Treevood.”

“Wow! that’s Basil’s grandfather,” Harry exclaimed. “Have you seen him then?”

Len shook his head and tutted loudly. “My friend. You are not hearing vat I am zaying to you. “Eye … am ze Optician and Eye ... can see everyzing! and eventually, so vill you, but for ze moment, zere is no time to vaste. Just do vot I am telling you and ze rest I vill explain later. Now, open ze parcels before it becomes too late!”

“Before what becomes too late?” Sherlock enquired.

“Please, too many questions!” The little fellow was becoming visibly agitated.

“Just trust me and open ze parcels immediately! OK?”

Harry opened his first. “Wow, quality shades!” he exclaimed, as he tore the wrapper from his package, to reveal a pair of satin finish, gunmetal grey ‘Forester Grunt’ sunglasses. He put them on and, with a whiplash smile, curled his lip up at the edge and turned to face the others. “Look, Marlon Bramble in that film, what was it called again?” He paused for a moment to think. “The Wild One. That’s it!” he proclaimed, snapping his twiggy fingers whilst extending his lower jaw out, Marlon Bramble style.

“Yeah, great movie,” Herbert replied, tearing into his parcel.

With a little more finesse, Basil and Sherlock removed the wrapping from their glasses and slipped them on. Sherlock looked at Basil and smiled. His likeness to Elvis Parsley was uncanny.

“Quickly now. Ve must Move ze injured officer over zere,” Len gestured, pointing urgently to a shaded hollow behind some large boulders. “Zere is very little time left now!”

The drama intensified as the Optician looked at his watch and began to count.

“Five… Four … Three … Two … Vun…” WHAP! Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light followed by a blast of radiant heat so intense, that the few remaining leaves and needles that were left clinging to the Treewoods twiggy limbs crackled and curled up at the edges. All four covered their eyes with their hands, as a huge fireball burst spectacularly across the horizon.

“Now listen carefully to vat I am saying,” the Optician ordered.

“You vill pick yourselves up from ze ground and slowly take ze hands avay from ze eyes, but under no circumstances do ve remove ze spectacles. Not yet. Ok? Do not, remove, ze spectacles.” He repeated the words slowly and concisely. “I sink zis might just be vot you are looking for,” he said.

The travellers followed Len’s instructions and rose shakily to their feet.

“I - I think we have found the sunlight.” Herbert stammered, removing his hands slowly from over his eyes. The others simply stared silently into the great blue yonder.

“Now do ve see?” said the Optician.

Humbled by the splendour of God’s fine artistry, the travellers gazed in awe at the masterpiece set out before them. See? They certainly did…