CHAPTER TEN

THE SOUTH BANK LION

The bus finally arrived in central London and they all went quiet as they took in the first sights of the regal city. London was a multi-cultural maze of pristine buildings and proud tradition. It was difficult to differentiate the landmarks from the non-landmarks as everything was so well kept. Every building looked a hundred years old and brand-new at the same time.

The teenagers aboard the bus pointed to the landmarks they recognized as they drove past them—Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, the Tower of London, and Tower Bridge.

“This is the most proper place I’ve ever been in my life.” Conner nudged Bree. “Just being here makes me feel like I should be dressed up.”

The bus stopped in a place called Trafalgar Square, near the passengers’ hotel. The square was filled with tourists taking photos of the impressive statues and fountains in front of the National Gallery, which stretched across the back of the square like a grand backdrop. The teenagers raced off the bus to be amid the tourists outside and Conner and Bree exited with them.

Once they were on the street, the first thing Conner did was find an ATM.

“Forgive me, Bob,” Conner said as he looked down at the credit card Bob had so kindly given him. He stuck it into the machine and took out the maximum amount of pounds in the maximum amount of transactions it would allow at a time.

“That’s a lot of money—in any country,” Bree said. She covered him from any onlookers as he stuck the money in the pockets of his jacket and pants and then put the rest of it in his suitcase. “But it’s smart of you to take out a bunch of cash so no one can use your transactions to trace you. They do that to find suspects in the crime books I read.”

“Oh, I never thought about that,” he said with a shrug. “I just took out as much as I could because it was my first time using an ATM.”

The first thing Conner bought was a map from a street merchant. He opened it up and scanned the tiny print depicting the streets and attractions around them.

“There’s one!” he said happily, pointing at something on the map.

“What were you looking for?” Bree asked him.

“A library,” Conner said. “We’ll go to the library and look up where to find the Red Lion Brewery.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to look it up on the Internet with my phone?” Bree asked.

Since Conner had never had a smart phone before, he hadn’t considered this possibility. “No, I don’t trust those things,” he said. “I’d rather do it the traditional way—we’re in London after all.”

“Suit yourself,” Bree said.

They followed the map a few blocks west, to the closest library, which was tucked away in the corner of St. James’s Square. Conner and Bree walked up the front steps and pulled open its wooden doors. Conner had always found libraries intimidating and that feeling was heightened by being inside one in another country.

“Are you members?” a librarian at the front desk asked them. She glared at them over her thick-framed glasses. Conner always thought librarians could read minds and was afraid this one was going to prove his theory correct.

“No, but we’re interested in joining,” Bree said calmly. “May we have a look around?”

The librarian granted her request with a gesture for them to continue inside.

“Baggage is not allowed inside the library,” the librarian said when she saw their suitcases.

“Oh, of course,” Bree said. “May we leave them to the side here?”

She put her bag down near the front door and Conner placed Betsy beside it. The librarian permitted it with a nod and they continued inside. Conner and Bree found a table in the back of the first floor.

“I’ll be right back; I’m going to find some books,” Conner said, and disappeared into the rows of shelves. Bree sat down and made herself comfortable, looking at her phone while she waited. Conner returned twenty minutes later with a stack of heavy books.

“Look what I found,” Conner said. He showed Bree the first book in his stack.

“Breweries of Britain,” Bree read. “That’s great, Conner, but I looked up the Red Lion Brewery on my phone and apparently it was demolished in 1949.”

“You can’t trust anything the Internet says,” Conner said. He frantically flipped through the book until he found a page written about the Red Lion Brewery. “Oh no, according to this, the Red Lion Brewery was demolished in 1949.”

“Shocking,” Bree said sarcastically. “I don’t mean to be a downer but I don’t think the lion we’re looking for is around anymore.”

Conner let out a defeated sigh but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He pulled out another book from his stack, titled The Statues of London, and began flipping through it. After a couple minutes Conner started fidgeting with excitement as he read.

“Check this out,” Conner said, showing Bree the section he had just read.

The South Bank Lion

13 tons, 13 feet wide

As silly as it would be to say a statue has lived, of all the statues in London the one known as the South Bank Lion has lived many different lives. The statue was created in 1837 by W. F. Woodington, and was constructed of artificial Coade stone. The lion lived his first life as a symbol, guarding the Red Lion Brewery facing the River Thames in Lambeth, London. An intriguing aura of mystery surrounds the lion as it was one of the only sculptures in the area not severely damaged in the bombings of World War II, and when the Red Lion Brewery was eventually demolished in 1949, the lion was recovered from the demolition completely unscathed. King George VI took a liking to the lion and had him moved to Waterloo station. He spent his second life on display at the station for several years before being moved to his current resting place on Westminster Bridge in the South Bank area of central London. The remains of a secondary lion statue were also found in the demolition of the Red Lion Brewery. It was pieced back together and painted gold, and can now be seen at Twickenham Stadium.

Conner and Bree were both bubbling with excitement.

“That must be it! That’s the lion we need to find!” Bree said.

Conner looked over the map at all the bridges crossing over the River Thames. “I found Westminster Bridge!” he said. “It’s right by Big Ben and it’s walking distance from here.”

“Great,” Bree said. “Let’s go see the lion!”

The duo finished in the library just before wearing out their welcome. They collected their luggage and walked briskly through St. James’s Square and followed the map to Westminster Bridge. They passed countless statues and sculptures of lions as they went, each looking more regal and ferocious than the last one. Conner grew anxious thinking about meeting the thirteen-ton, thirteen-foot-long South Bank Lion. He hoped the lion wouldn’t be too frightening to approach—enchanted objects were always unpredictable.

Westminster Bridge began at the Houses of Parliament, at the base of Big Ben, and stretched across the River Thames to just below the giant Ferris wheel known as the London Eye. The bridge was busy with hundreds of tourists and citizens alike. Multitudes of cars and red double-decker buses continuously drove across the bridge as well.

Conner and Bree reached the end of the bridge and looked across the street. In the midst of the pedestrian chaos just below the towering London Eye, they found the South Bank Lion. He was massive and pale gray and stood on top of a tall pedestal. Something about him was different from all the other lions they’d seen in the city, and Conner and Bree picked up on it as soon as they laid eyes on him. Rather than a vicious and threatening scowl on his face, the South Bank Lion had a genuinely concerned expression. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open.

“That’s got to be him,” Conner said.

“What makes you so sure?” Bree said.

“Because I make that face whenever Mother Goose tells me a secret, too,” Conner said.

Bree looked around at the crowds. “Are we supposed to walk over there and talk to him in front of all these people?” she asked.

“No, we’ll have to come back later when they’re all gone,” he said. “We might have to wait until after midnight.”

They left the bridge and got a bite to eat at a local pub. Bree insisted they have an authentic English experience and forced Conner to order fish and chips with her. After they were done eating they camped out in St. James’s Park and waited until after nightfall before returning to the bridge.

They lingered across the street from the South Bank Lion until the traffic of cars and people was almost nonexistent. Then they crossed the street and stood directly below the lion.

“Say something to him,” Bree said. She nudged Conner.

“What am I supposed to say?” he asked.

“I don’t know, aren’t you used to these kinds of things?”

“Enchanted statues in the middle of crowded cities? No, I can’t say I’m an expert,” he said.

“I have faith in you.” Bree smiled at him.

Her smile made his rosy cheeks a bit rosier. He figured he had nothing to lose, so Conner took a deep breath and addressed the lion like he would anyone else.

“Hello up there!” he called. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but my friend and I were wondering if we could speak to you.”

The lion didn’t say a word or move an inch. There was nothing to indicate Conner was anything but a crazy person talking to a statue.

“You must be exhausted,” Conner called. “You’ve been on your feet for, like, what, a century and a half?”

Buttering up the statue didn’t help. Knowing what an idiot he must look like talking to this statue didn’t help matters, either.

“So, you like London?” Conner asked. “We just got here today and whoa—what a neat place!”

Bree grew impatient with both of them and stepped closer to address the lion herself. “Listen, pussy cat,” she hissed. “We’ve got questions for you! We know you can talk, we know you’re friends with Mother Goose, and we’re not leaving here until you give us the answers we need!”

“What are you doing?” Conner whispered. “You think he’s going to talk to us if you treat him like that?”

“We’re playing good cop, bad cop,” she whispered back. “Trust me; it works every time in my crime novels.”

Conner rubbed his fingers through his hair, convinced this strategy was a dead-end. But when he looked back at the lion, he could have sworn the lion’s face had changed; he looked more concerned.

“Bree, do you notice anything different about the lion?” he whispered.

She looked closer and her eyes lit up. “Yes.”

“Say something else about Mother Goose,” Conner instructed. “I think he’s afraid of her.”

Bree nodded and spoke to the lion again. “Hey! Mother Goose told us that you would talk to us, but if you’d rather talk to her yourself, she can be here in five minutes.”

There was no doubt about it: The lion was moving! They watched the South Bank Lion’s face grow more fretful the more they mentioned Mother Goose. Eventually the statue couldn’t take it anymore and shifted from its solid position.

“No, please don’t call Mother Goose!” the lion begged, coming to life before their eyes. It startled Bree and she jumped behind Conner. It was her first magical sighting. Conner was used to seeing magic at its finest, but it never got old. He stared up at the lion with an amazed smile.

“So you can talk,” he said.

“Yes, I can talk,” the lion admitted. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, just please don’t call that woman here.”

Conner found his dislike of Mother Goose wildly amusing. “Why are you so afraid of Mother Goose?”

“I’m not afraid of her; it’s her stories I can’t stand.” The lion shook his head. “Over the years she’s told me some outlandish secrets that I never wanted to know—and she never spares any of the details! If you knew half the things I know, you would look differently at her, too. It’s too much for one lion to bear!”

“Is that why you look so concerned all the time?” Conner asked.

“That’s part of it,” the lion said, and his face suddenly grew very sad. He whimpered, like he was about to cry. “I’m also afraid of heights and these people keep putting me on top of very tall things! And they separated me from my brother when the Red Lion Brewery was demolished and I don’t know where he is!”

The stone lion sniffled into his large paws.

“Oh, you’re talking about the second lion statue,” Bree said. She had regained her confidence and stepped out from behind Conner. “He’s still around! They painted him gold and put him on display at some sports arena.”

The South Bank Lion was happy to hear this and looked a little less concerned than before. “That’s such a relief,” he said. “He always loved sports.”

“Can he talk and move like you?” Conner asked.

“No, he’s just a normal statue, but we’re made of the same artificial stone,” the lion said. “I was the only lion Mother Goose enchanted.”

“Why did she enchant you?” Conner asked. They had several important questions to ask but he couldn’t resist hearing the story.

“In the mid-1800s Mother Goose used to visit her friends at the Red Lion Brewery every Sunday night,” the lion told him. “Around the same time she had just started training that horrible gander of hers to fly her around. He was a horrible flyer and every so often they would crash right into me on the roof. One night they were a little too careless and hit me so hard I was knocked off the roof and shattered into pieces on the ground. She magically put me back together and cast an invincibility spell on me so I wouldn’t leave such a mess the next time they knocked me off the roof.”

“Ah, so that’s why you stayed in such good condition during the war and the demolition,” Bree said.

“But that doesn’t explain why you can talk,” Conner pointed out.

“Well, after a few years Mother Goose’s brewery friends started dying off,” the lion explained. “She wanted a friend who would stick around and give her an excuse to come back to the brewery. And unfortunately she chose me. Although I still don’t understand why she gave me the ability to speak when all I ever did was listen.”

“Speaking of listening,” Conner said, “do you remember her mentioning anything about the Brothers Grimm and sabotaging a portal?”

The lion scrunched his forehead and tried to remember. “It rings a bell,” he said. “Was this the same time she led the French soldiers into a trap?”

“Yes! That’s it!” Conner said with a happy jump.

The lion’s eyes grew wider and he nodded his giant stone head. “Oh boy, do I remember that story,” he said. “I wish I could forget it! It gave me nightmares for fifty years!”

Conner knew he needed to be very clear and careful as he got the information out of him to avoid making any mistakes later.

“Do you remember where the portal was that she trapped the soldiers inside?” he asked.

“I do,” the lion said confidently. “It was deep in the Bavarian woods, between twin trees that grew between twin medieval castles. The only reason I remember is because I’m a twin myself.”

“Where is Bavaria?” Conner asked.

“It’s an old country that’s now a state of Germany,” Bree said. “Two trees between two medieval castles seems pretty easy to find.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t find the trees and the castles anymore,” the lion told them regretfully. “They’re gone.”

“What?” Conner and Bree said together. “What do you mean they’re gone?”

“After the Brothers Grimm tricked the soldiers into entering the tampered-with portal, Mother Goose grew paranoid that the soldiers would find a way out, back into this world, so she asked her friend Ludwig for a very large favor,” he said.

“What was the favor?” Conner asked.

“She asked Ludwig to build one of his elaborate castles on top of the portal, so if the soldiers were ever to re-emerge from it they might be tricked into thinking they had arrived in the fairy-tale world.”

“He built a castle for her?” Conner asked in disbelief. “That is a big favor.”

Bree gasped and clutched her hands together. “Wait a second, are you talking about King Ludwig II of Bavaria?” she asked.

“That was his official name, I believe,” the lion said. “Mother Goose always just called him Ludwig or Wiggy.”

Conner was the only one who had never heard of Ludwig. “Who was he?” he asked.

“Haven’t you ever heard of the mad fairy-tale king?” Bree asked. Conner shook his head. “He was addicted to building lavish palaces for himself, all inspired by other palaces he had visited around the world.”

“He sounds like someone Red Riding Hood would be friends with,” Conner said, but he dropped the subject when he remembered he was the only person there who knew her.

“The last home Ludwig built for himself was Neuschwanstein Castle,” Bree continued. “It was inspired by all his favorite childhood stories and looks like something you’d find in a storybook. It’s considered one of the wonders of the modern world.”

“Wait, is considered, meaning the castle is still around?” Conner asked.

“Oh yes,” Bree said. “It’s easily one of the biggest tourist attractions in southern Germany. It’s always been a mystery why Ludwig built the castle, but it makes sense now.”

“But what happened to the portal? Is it somewhere inside the castle?” Conner asked.

“I’m assuming so, but I wouldn’t know,” the lion said. “I’ve lived within a five-kilometer radius my whole life.”

“Do you know how we can check the portal to see if it’s open or not?” Conner asked.

“Let me think, let me think,” the lion said, and he closed his eyes while he remembered. “Yes! The Bavarian portal is accessed when a person of magic blood plays eight notes on a special ancient panpipe.”

Conner made a mental note of this crucial information. “If it has to be played by someone of magic blood, then how did the Brothers Grimm open it for the French soldiers?” he asked.

The lion scrunched his nose; it was the part of the story he didn’t like telling. “Mother Goose took a dagger and made a cut in her hand and one in Wilhelm Grimm’s hand,” he said. “They held their hands tightly together and let some of the magic from Mother Goose’s blood flow into his. I really wish she had kept that part to herself—the thought of blood makes me incredibly squeamish since I don’t have any myself.”

“And where can we find this panpipe?” Conner asked.

“I believe it’s with the rest of Mother Goose’s Otherworld belongings in a vault in a Monégasque bank,” the lion said. “And I only know that because she measured me one day to see if I would fit in the vault, too. Thank goodness I was too big.”

“So, where is the bank?” Conner asked.

“Monégasque means it’s in Monte Carlo,” Bree said.

“Right,” Conner said. “So where in Monte Carlo is this bank?”

The lion thought about it and seemed very disappointed when he couldn’t come up with its location. “I don’t remember,” he said with a frown. “If only my mind were as concrete as the rest of me.”

Thankfully, this was the only question the lion didn’t have an answer to. Conner paced the sidewalk, concentrating carefully—the lion’s words reminded him of something Mother Goose had said in the past. He felt he should know where the bank was.…

He opened his suitcase and dug around until he found his lucky poker chip from Mother Goose. He looked closely at its design. The chip was dark blue and the symbols of the houses of cards circled around the edge: a heart, a spade, a diamond, a club. But in the very center of the chip, instead of a number to mark its value, there was an image of a small golden key.

“I think I know where to find the vault,” Conner said eagerly to Bree. “What time is it?”

Bree looked at the screen of her phone. “It’s almost four in the morning,” she said. “Wow, time flies when you’re talking to an enchanted statue.”

Conner looked up at the lion gratefully. “Thank you so much for all your help, but you’ll have to excuse us now,” he said. “We have to get to the train station as soon as possible.”

The lion seemed sad to see them go and his face returned to its trademark concerned expression. “Good luck,” the lion said. “And next time you see Mother Goose, please tell her I understand she’s a busy woman and there’s no need for her to visit me… ever again.”

Conner took off along Westminster Bridge, speed walking as fast as he could. Bree said good-bye to the South Bank Lion and caught up with him.

“So where are we off to next?” she asked him with bright eyes.

“We’re going to the Lumière des Etoiles casino,” Conner replied.

“Where is that?”

“Somewhere in Monte Carlo, I guess,” he said.