Search for the Sunlight

In spite of the warmth from the new found sun, Herbert shivered. Something from behind, a presence, made him turn round and to his astonishment, standing tall and upright, mesmerised by the spectacular display of light and colour, was the Constable.

The unexpected sight of the vertical wood policeman made him gasp. Basil turned to see what all the commotion was about and when he saw Sherlock, on his feet, he reached out with a steadying hand. Suddenly the officer came to and, when he realised that he was standing virtually unassisted, he lost his nerve and began to stumble.

Herbert instinctively rushed to Basil’s aid and as the Constable swayed precariously back and forth, they each took an arm and eased him gently to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Herbert asked.

“Y-yes, I think so,” Sherlock stammered, struggling onto one knee, in an attempt to stand up again. “I - I think I’m beginning to get the feeling back in my legs.”

Sherlock’s fragile recovery was of course excellent news, but knowing him only too well, Basil was concerned that he might try to do too much too soon and cause further damage to his already weakened limbs. Such a setback could delay their journey by days, if not weeks.

“I think we should all return to camp now and we’ll see how things are in the morning,” he suggested.

The improvement in Sherlock’s health was indeed welcome, but Harry’s odd behaviour was a matter for concern.

Lost in his new found fantasy film world of the great Marlon Bramble, he had spent the entire morning posing in his shades, seemingly oblivious to all that was going on around him.

“Do something useful will you?” Basil ordered gruffly, flicking his delusional friend hard on the ear. The short sharp pain brought Harry quickly back to his senses and when Basil pointed out that he was failing in his duties as a team player, he immediately pulled himself together and helped escort the Constable back to the campsite.

Drained of what little energy he had left, and searching for a place to rest his tired legs, Sherlock lowered himself down onto the juniper bush where, earlier in the day, Harry had poured the leftover contents of the teapot. A combination of the warm sun and the nutrients in the tea had transformed the previously wilting plant into a thick healthy shrub - the perfect resting place for a convalescing wood policeman.

“That truly was a spectacular show,” the Constable remarked as he lay back on the soft foliage. “And what’s more, my legs are feeling better by the minute,” he added, removing his boots and wiggling his rooty toes freely in the warm afternoon sun.

“Yes, zis is to be ex - spected,” the Optician replied. “Zey vill continue to become stronger as ze sun’s healing rays slowly repairs ze Peckvood damage. Before you know it, you vill be up and about,” he said reassuringly.

No sooner had the Optician finished speaking, than Harry appeared with five mugs of quality tea and passed them round. Basil took his gratefully and sat down beside Len. He was curious to learn more about the little fellow’s encounter with his grandfather.

“How was my grandfather when you saw him?” he began.

“Ahh, your grandfazer,” the Optician replied. “He appeared to be very vell indeed, but a more stubborn critter I have yet to encounter.”

“I’m sorry?” Basil objected. He was a little put out that anyone should refer to his grandfather as anything other than a brave and honourable Treewood.

“What exactly do you mean by a stubborn critter?” he demanded.

“Vell,” said Len, “for a start he vas too proud to accept my gift, you know, ze glasses, ze fifth package? He vas convinced it vas all a scam and ven I asked him to trust me, he called me a fake... Can you believe it? He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he never trusted anyvun who said ‘Trust me.’ Incidentally I know zat you feel ze very same vay, so zankyou for giving me ze benefit of ze doubt.”

From the comfort of the Juniper bush in which he sat, Sherlock had been listening to the conversation. He too had a question for Len.

“Do you have any idea where Charles is now?” he interrupted.

The Optician paused for a moment and like a bear chewing a sour berry, he screwed his face up and began to twitch. A combination of both his big ticklish eyebrow and the sun shining directly on his lens, made him sneeze again.

“Ze last time I ever saw him, he vas packing his lunch box into his sporran and do you know vhat? he had ze audacity to turn his back on me vilest I vas still talking!

Visout so much as a zankyou, he ignored me totally and valked off into ze mist vistling some Harry Alder Highland marching tune or somezing equally stupid! Vell, I ask you, has ze man got no taste in music?”

Len shook his head and began hopping up and down anxiously on his solitary spring step pneumatic boot. It was obvious, that something about Charles S. Treewood had rubbed him up the wrong way.

“Vot upsets me ze most of all,” he continued to rant, “Is, zat I only had his best interests at heart. I vas only trying to help him. But it vould appear zat he knew ze best of all, and so he left!

I called out twice, to varn him of ze dangers ahead, but it vas no good. It vas as if he had been possessed by ze demons. He simply did not, vant, to know about me!”

Now Herbert had a question for Len…

“Forgive me,” he said politely changing the subject. “When we first met, you said, and I quote, “I have been Ex-Specting you.” Were you really expecting us? and how did you know where to find us?”

“Ah, zis my friend, is a very good question.” Len replied, inhaling a deep slow breath of fresh mountain air. “I vill explain,” he said…

“In ze depths of ze great forest, in a very sacred place known only to a select few - myself included - lies Ze Great Trunk Of Treevood History.

Zis ancient trunk is all zat remains of ze grandfazer of all trees. Ze first tree ever to grow from ze first seed sown by ze creator himself.” Len paused for a moment and took a sip of his tea.

“Vithin ze growth rings of ze petrified remains of zis vunce great tree, zare are writings and prophesies dating back to ze beginning of time itself. Zese writings tell us, zat vun day, vithout ze slightest varning, a zick blanket of fog vill cover ze earth and ze forest, and ze sun vill disappear from ze heavens. All life vill become zreatened with extinction. But vun day, an unlikely force for goodness and truth vill break vith tradition and leave ze safety of zeir homes and zeir families and travel east on a quest to find both ze sunlight and ze missing Charles S. Treevood, who vent before zem. So my friends, armed vith zis vital information, and my ability to see everyzing, I simply put two and two togezer and vorked out your approximate vhereabouts. Ze rest involved only a compass, a little common sense and some light surveillance vork.”

Len paused again and drank the remains of his tea in one enormous gulp then, laying his empty mug down on the ground, he spun round a full three hundred and sixty degrees on the ball of his foot and shouted “YES!” really loud, before continuing with his story as if his unprovoked outburst had never taken place at all.

Like Sherlock, Harry noted with equal interest that as the little Bavarian rotated, the back of his face was exactly the same as the front.

“Due to zese unusually dank and murky conditions,” Len continued, “It has become very difficult for me to keep an eye on zings like I’m supposed to. As a result, everyzing has become a little, shall ve say, out of kilter. However, now zat I have successfully made ze contact vith you and passed on ze glasses of truth, like I am supposed to, zings vill soon become very different. But, for ze time being, my vork here is done.”

You could have heard a pine needle drop as the Treewoods contemplated Len’s words. It would appear that he had known of their quest long before they did and for a moment, Basil wondered if perhaps he knew the outcome as well. But he didn’t dare ask.

“Ah, zere is vun final zing,” Len declared. “If you use ze gifts zat I have given you visely, zey vill be of great benefit to you on your journey. Ven ze time comes, you vill know exactly vot to do. Zat is all. Oh, and zanks for ze tea. It vas very good indeed,” he concluded, winking at Harry in acknowledgement of his excellent brewing skills.

The Optician was about to take off when, almost as an afterthought, he bent down and reached into a small studded pocket on the side of his big airtex boot. From inside, he produced a business card and handed it to Basil.

It read: ‘For all your visual requirements, contact Len’s Opticians. P.T.O.’

Basil turned the card over. ‘For free advice and a friendly chat, call in next time you’re passing. Eye vill be ex- specting you.’ With that, the little fellow stood straight and upright on his handle and performing the most amazing backwards flip, he sprung into the air and with a muffled ‘PHUT!’ like a damp squib, disappeared in a puff of pale green smoke.

Harry was beside himself. Here, once again, before his very eyes, another stunning illusion at taken place, this time performed immaculately by their new Bavarian acquaintance, Leonard Volkenschpeigle, Optician extraordinaire.

When the smoke cleared, lying on the ground, where only moments before, Len had stood, was a letter. It was addressed to Basil S. Treewood esq.

Basil picked it up, opened the envelope and read the contents aloud…

“At dawn we wake to find the sun,

That shines a light on everyone.

At night we sleep to cleanse our minds,

Our daytime thoughts, we leave behind.

But sometimes, strange visions appear,

Reminding us that nothing’s clear,

And nothing’s ever as it seems,

Behind the curtains of our dreams.

Relentlessly, we search for proof,

But will we ever find the truth?

Protected from deceit and lies,

My gift will open up your eyes.

Signed: ‘Leonard Volkenschpeigle’

For a while, nobody spoke…

“What do you think it means?” Sherlock finally asked, stroking his stubbly chin with his fingers in a puzzled sort of a way.

“I haven’t got the faintest idea,” Basil replied, studying the verse for a second time before tucking it into his lapsack for safekeeping. For the time being, it would remain a mystery.

Basil looked at his wood watch. It was getting late and with the setting sun, came the cold night air. Herbert yawned, which set them all off. He smiled. It was the end of another eventful day.