The Farfinagle Fairy Tales: Book One:Adventures of the Ables

By Dawn Ray

Adventures of the Ables is the first book in the Farfinagle Fairy Tales series. A young boy named Jeremy discovers a secret door that opens into a different world. Following a path, he eventually ends up in an establishment called the Farfinagle Inn. The hour grows late and Philligus Twigg, the innkeeper, persuades Jeremy to stay the night. After a communal dinner, several guests gather to share in music and storytelling. An enigmatic traveler named Sirius Pirate begins the session by recounting the adventures of the Able family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 23, 2009
• ISBN: 9781450003179

Dawn Ray

Dawn Ray was awarded the Melanie Hook Rice Award in the Novel in 2020 and has gone on to publish works such as War of Waves and Diggy’s Rainbow. She often draws inspiration from times when the mind drifts while trying to work, and from her crazy family, who she adores. 

Book preview

FARFINAGLE

Long ago, in an autumn wood

A tall and stately oak tree stood

On its trunk a wondrous sight

Appeared in the day’s waning light

For there a wanderer’s eye did catch

The outline of a curious latch

Connected to a secret door

That wasn’t seen there just before

If you passed through that door today

Inside, a path would lead away

To an inn, where you might stay the night

In the warmth of dancing firelight

And share a daring tale or two

With weary travelers just like you

They’d spin a yarn or lend a fable

In a far-off place called Farfinagle

Prologue

The Door

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It was late afternoon, and the sun’s rays slanted through the thinning leaves clinging to the high branches in the forest. The days were getting shorter now. A chill breeze stirred some of the red and yellow mounds on the path as Jeremy walked. As the sun dipped lower in the west, gold shafts of light pierced the woods. A beam of sunlight skimmed across an old oak tree in the clearing up ahead. It was one of the largest trees Jeremy had ever seen. He thought if he stood with arms outstretched, it might take four of him to circle the width of the trunk.

Jeremy was eleven and had sprouted an extra four inches in just one year. He was almost as tall as his mother. Before long, he would begin to grow into a young man, leaving his childhood behind. He loved the forest that lay on the outskirts of his parents’ farm. It had been his secret world. Jeremy had grown up as an only child. Living far away from the city and having no children his age to play with had sometimes been hard. Over the years, the forest had been many places and things to him. He had always found companionship among the tall trees. Sometimes he lingered for hours, watching animals go about their daily business. If he got bored with them, he conjured up imaginary playmates to explore with. They would follow along as he fought fierce dragons or built fortresses in the trees.

He walked forward into the small clearing and came up next to the tree. The angle of the sunbeam had changed a little. Now, it shone directly on the bark, drawing shadow lines behind the raised parts. A funny outline appeared. It looked almost like a latch on a door. The sunlight was dimming from gold to red when a large rectangular outline appeared in the bark. Jeremy blinked and looked again. His eyes had not played tricks on him. There stood what looked like a door. His hand traced the outlines, lingering on the funny bump that looked like a latch. As his fingers pressed down, the bump moved slightly. Jeremy’s eyes were wide. He pushed down harder, and the latch gave with an audible click. The door swung outward.

Inside he saw a landscape that looked nothing like the autumn forest. He stepped through the door. The sun was shining directly above his head, while outside the door it was getting noticeably darker. The plant life looked rather odd. Mushrooms the size of open umbrellas grew on either side of a small dirt path. Two zebra-striped butterflies fluttered by him. He could hear the far-off call of an unfamiliar bird. The scritch screech of cricket legs came from some dense brush a few yards away.

What is this place? he asked himself, going a few steps farther. Suddenly, a gust of wind from outside blew the door shut. The small rectangle of twilight disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place.

What sort of odd goblin do we have here, babbies? a voice purred. Jeremy was so startled he almost jumped right out of his shoes. He whirled around, coming face-to-face with the strangest animal he had ever seen. It was pink, with small gray spots and a raccoon mask across its eyes. Three lighter gray stripes ringed the end of its long flat tail.

Whu . . . what? he stammered.

The pink thing tipped its head, studying him. A whuwhat? it mimicked. Never heard of one, no never.

Jeremy came to his senses. I’m a boy. My name is Jeremy, he responded.

Another silence. It seemed to be considering something.

A boy-oy, it answered, stretching the word. It had a very strange accent, and the word boy-oy came out sounding more like bye-eye. Jerrrremy, it continued, purring and rolling the r sound over its long red tongue. Don’t look like anyone arrrround here, it don’t. What d’ye think it ’tis? it asked.

Jeremy had lost his fright. Look, he said, I came through a door in a tree. I’m not from here.

Doorrr? it asked, craning its neck as it looked up and down, back and forth. Fibber you are! it spat.

No, really. I was walking in the woods, and I found a door in a big tree. The wind blew it shut, he added lamely.

Neverrrr a doorrr, it said, shaking its head. We must tell the innkeeper . . . the twig, it replied. Then it loped up the path toward the rise of a hill, breaking into a lopsided run.

Wait! shouted Jeremy, but it was already too late. Within minutes, the animal had disappeared. Had it said twig? He thought that was what he heard, but the thing had such an odd way of talking. Jeremy turned around again, looking for the door. Outside it was getting very late, and his mother would be angry if he wasn’t on time for dinner. All he saw behind him was blue sky and miles of the same landscape. A panicky feeling swept over him. How was he supposed to get home? He was getting hot standing under the bright sunshine. He shed his sweater and rolled up the long sleeves of his flannel shirt. What to do now? Well, he had to do something besides stand here. He made up his mind to follow the large spotted raccoon and set off up the hill.

It turned out that the path went on for several miles. By the time he reached the inn, he was thirsty, sweaty, and out of breath. The foreign sun was beginning to dip into the west. He approached the entrance and climbed up half a dozen cobblestone steps before reaching an arched door. A weathered wooden sign perched above it. Bold green letters rimmed in black proclaimed the words FARFINAGLE INN, est. 1733. The door had a large brass knocker set directly in the center. He picked it up and was going to rap on the wood when it was whisked open. He let go quickly and took a stumbling step inside, almost colliding with a gray-bearded man about his same height. The man put a hand in the center of Jeremy’s chest to keep him from toppling over.

Whoa! he cried, smiling at his new acquaintance. Ye’re like to pitch forward onto yer nose if you dunna watch yer step! Jeremy righted himself, regarding the innkeeper. C’mon in, son. Have a draught of water. Ye look all done in, said the man. He steered Jeremy to a stool standing next to a well-worn counter. He reached underneath it and brought out a pitcher of water and a cut glass tumbler.

Jeremy drank until his parched throat was cooled and set the glass down. The old man stuck out a hand. Welcome, son. We haven’t had one of yer kind here in a panthacoon’s age!

Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up. A panthacoon? he asked. The innkeeper was about to reply when the pink spotted animal appeared.

Fie, fibbergus! it said, pointing an accusing claw at the man. One of us is as old as a stone, and ’tis not I! Best tie yer tongue lest it tie you! With a baleful glare, it turned and scampered up a flight of stairs.

That’s it! exclaimed Jeremy, That’s the animal I ran into when I first came through the door! Er . . . what is it?

Exactly what I said, replied the innkeeper. A panthacoon. And an ornery one at that! He seemed to remember his manners and stuck his hand out again. Jeremy took it and shook it. Philligus Twigg, at your service, the man said, smiling broadly.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, said Jeremy in response.

And ye are . . . ? the man asked.

Oh. My name is Jeremy.

Well, Jeremy, ye’ve come a long way. Make yerself welcome. Ye’ll be staying the night, ’a course.

Jeremy looked around uncertainly. Uh, I ought to be getting home. I’m sure my parents are worried about me by now.

Now, not to fuss and fret, replied Twigg. There’s no harm done in spending one night. Besides, it’s too late to go wandering back to where ye came. It’ll be dark soon.

He was right, of course. Jeremy looked out at the purple hued sunset. He sighed. Okay, he relented. But promise me you’ll help me find my way back tomorrow.

Of that ye can be certain, Twigg nodded.

Philligus motioned him on, leading him down a back hallway and up a narrow, winding staircase. At the top stood a small roundish door with a big brass knob positioned directly in the center. He fished about in his pocket, grabbing up a large brass ring that must have had at least two-dozen keys hanging from it. Most of the keys looked identical, and Jeremy wondered how Philligus kept track of which key fit into a particular door. Philligus’s nimble fingers flipped through them one by one, stopping short about halfway through. Aha! he crowed. There it is! With a flourish, he stuck it into the lock, turning it a quarter turn counterclockwise. Jeremy heard an audible click. There ye be, said Philligus, pulling the door open wide. The cramped room held a small cot and an even smaller fireplace. The linen on the bed was clean, but otherwise, the room looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

This room doesn’t have any windows, mused Jeremy.

Yes, answered Philligus, drawing out the word. ’Tis true enough. But if ye look upward, ye’ll see a skylight.

Jeremy looked up. A round window shaped much like the door took up most of the ceiling. Through it, he could see the first stars appearing in the darkening sky.

Why is the window in the ceiling? he asked, craning his head upward.

’Cos, as ye well can see, there’d be no room for one on any wall, answered Philligus. ’Sides that, ye’re at the tippy top of the inn. If ye go through yon window, ye’ll find yerself in a turret on the top of the roof.

Jeremy thought about this for a few minutes. But . . . why would there be a turret on the roof?

Philligus looked somewhat exasperated. He was about to say something then seemed to change his mind.

All in good time, young master, he said. ’Tis enough for tonight. Wash up and rest yerself for a spell. Dinner is at half past seven in the big room downstairs. With that, he walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

At three quarters past six, Jeremy made his way down the winding stairs. He followed his nose toward the bustling great room where travelers of every kind had congregated to share the evening meal. Heavenly scents wafted up from a bubbling pot situated over the fire. A dozen loaves of fresh bread sat cooling on a sideboard. He found an odd stool and pulled it up to the end of a long plank table made of a dark burnished wood scarred from constant service. A cup and a plate were handed down to him. The innkeeper scurried in and out, bringing draughts of ale in large tin pitchers that he sat at intervals along the table. A few shakers of salt and saucers with sweet butter finished the setting. Down at the table’s other end, a small bespectacled man in a conical red hat stood up. Gradually, the buzz of conversation died down as the travelers looked expectantly at him. Ah! Verner Grell! exclaimed Twigg. Would ye be steppin’ up to offer some grace on our modest fare tonight? He nodded at Twigg solemnly. Various travelers removed their hats, and all bowed their heads.

O Great Father, intoned Verner, we come to share in sustenance, story, and song. May the food be good, and the night be long. Amen!

Amen! echoed the diners.

What a strange prayer, thought Jeremy.

Heaping bowls of stew and plates of bread were passed around, and each took their fair share. Jeremy had not realized how hungry he really was until he took the first bite. It tasted heavenly. Nobody had silverware, but it didn’t seem to matter. He watched as the visitors tore off hunks of bread and scooped the thick stew into their mouths. He followed suit and had soon wiped his bowl clean. Then, he drained the cup of ale. It tasted of apples and ginger and something else he could not identify. Someone filled his cup again, and he drank it down. A third time it was filled. As he finished the third cup, his body relaxed, and his head began to swim. What was in that stuff? As the pitcher was passed again, he held his hand over the top of his cup. Enough of that for now.

Philligus returned bearing a platter full of small round cakes with baked berries on the crusted tops. They were passed along without ceremony. The visitors set about finishing them off with great relish, smacking their lips and licking their fingers greedily. Jeremy held his in his hand. It was oven warm with a soft, crumbly texture. He took a bite. It reminded him of strawberry shortcake and corn bread all mixed into one. It was delicious. He licked the stickiness from his fingers, looking for a napkin. There were none to be found. He licked his fingers again and wiped them against his jeans to clean them as best he could.

Now that the meal was done, he took a good look around. The room was dimly lit. A fire popped and crackled in a large hearth on the far wall. Candles of every size and color festooned the long table, and lanterns were haphazardly hung from the rafters. He was used to having electric light at night and hadn’t realized how different things looked in the soft and flickering glow. Shadows played along the guests’ faces. The small man in the red hat who had said grace got up from the table. Soon, he was joined by a small band of men in similar dress who helped to clear the dinner dishes. A few of the guests excused themselves and went up to their rooms for the night.

Before long, there were just half a dozen people left at the table. Those that remained moved closer to one end, and several guests pulled up knapsacks or small wooden boxes with various instruments in them. There were two with strings. One was held and played like a violin but had the shape of a lute. A small drum and a reed flute were also brought out. Someone produced a pitch pipe, and there was plinking and plucking for a few minutes until the instruments were all tuned up and ready to go.

What proceeded then was the strangest music Jeremy had ever heard. The lute violin made a warbling sound, with notes that darted in and out of a melody being played on some kind of small harp. The drummer pounded out an offbeat on the drum skin with the palms of his hands. But the music emanating from the reed flute was the most astounding of all. The slender flute was played by a small nut-brown man dressed in a moss-colored tunic that matched the color of his eyes. A secret smile played about his lips as he blew into a small opening at one side. It made a sighing sound like the wind, first high and shrill, then low and deep. And as its music dipped and danced, Jeremy could also hear odd, whispered words. He couldn’t quite make out what they were and closed his eyes to concentrate. They rolled and tumbled along, first sounding like a hushed secret, then picking up the tune, like the words sung to a song. He opened his eyes as the notes came to an end. The nut-brown man regarded him quietly. And what is it ye’re hearin’, laddie? he asked. His voice was low and soft.

Just like the wind voice in the song, thought Jeremy. It was a voice, he answered, and it sounded a lot like yours. How did you do that?

There were looks among the other musicians and nods of approval. Aye. ’Tis my story voice. Those who hear it are storytellers themselves, so they are. It is well that you found your way here, and no accident, I’m thinking. We storytellers carry the soul of the world, and we’re needed to tend its magic. There are grand adventures within our words. We use them to build castles in the air and plant the seeds of imagination. Never forget the power of words. Within them lies the stuff of dreams.

The room quieted, and the guests settled more comfortably into their seats as the musicians put their instruments away. Jeremy looked around at the little group. Besides the nut-brown man, there was a hawk-nosed maid with plaited braids the color of straw, two fierce-looking dwarves, and a gray-bearded traveler bedecked in a red woolen cape and a three-cornered leather hat that cast his eyes into shadow. He sat silently, looking on as the others made polite small talk. Eventually, the conversation faded away. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind in the trees, the hearth fire, and an occasional pop as burning wood sap ignited and sparks flew. Now, the atmosphere seemed strained as the guests shifted in their chairs. Only the red-caped figure sat absolutely still. If it had not been for the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, Jeremy would have taken the man for a statue.

Another minute went by and the figure seemed to rouse itself, as if from a reverie. The voice was low and melodious. I expect you’re wanting to hear an adventure, he said. There was a murmur of assent. Very well, then. You shall have one. But first, I would like to share names about. He pointed to each person as he spoke. Balfour and Barnaby Bend, he said, inclining his head toward the dwarves. Hannigan Fitz, he said to the nut-brown man. Ah, and the Lady Tamryn, he finished. But who is the young one? He lifted his head slightly. Jeremy saw a pair of gray eyes regarding him. They were neither young nor old. He tried to speak, but nothing came out but a small squeak. It sounded like a door with a rusty hinge. He cleared his throat and tried again.

My name is Jeremy, he replied, and I’m not from here.

The traveler gave a slight nod.

That I am aware of. You are from the world called Ells Terra, and you found a doorway. It was not so much a question as a statement. Well, then. Let us begin.

Wait, said Jeremy, holding up a hand. You haven’t introduced yourself.

The man’s eyes widened slightly at Jeremy’s impudence, and he raised his brows. The guests whispered amongst themselves. Clearing his throat, the nut-brown man intervened. Young master, meet Sirius Pirate, friend and relative to the famous Thelonius Pirate. Second cousin, twice removed, I believe. Jeremy had no idea who the famous Thelonius Pirate was