Unpleasant Encounters with Fairies – part 10
Flakes of stinging snow lashed against my beak and coated my feathers. I half-closed my eyes and squinted at the landscape surrounding Castle Silverhill. The world the castle had moved to creaked under a mantle of snow and ice. Glaciers, like giant frost-scaled snakes, slithered from distant mountains. Threads of wind-whipped ice crystals streamed from their peaks like the wispy hair of geriatric witches.
I shivered, but I didn’t want to retreat into the warmth of the kitchen just yet. There was something I needed to know. I ventured to the edge of the courtyard and, with a flap of my stubby wings, hopped onto the wall overlooking the moat.
Already, ice was forming along the banks of the moat. The sluggish water stirred and a thick, sucker-studded tentacle emerged from the depths. It waved, as though tasting the air, then sank back beneath the ice-flecked surface.
I couldn’t see Trewla.
Had she found some way to cross the moat before the castle had moved?
But how? The fairies wouldn’t have carried her, seeing as she had angered the queen and she was too large for them to carry, anyway. We have a rowing boat, but it’s locked in the boathouse. And hadn’t she said she didn’t swim?
So, where was she?
The thudding of heavy footsteps came from my left.
“This is all your fault!” Trewla’s face was like thunder. Her boots stamped on the paving stones, which were already crusting over with frost.
I’ve come to know Trewla much better since that day, and if I’d known then what I know about her now, I’d have been a lot more frightened.
The transmogrification spell, which had turned me into a chicken, chose that moment to flip. You might be wondering about that, because like I explained earlier, it’s a bit difficult to say a spell backwards when all you have is beak, or whatever. Luckily for all of us who make a habit of casting spells, to get around that problem, a thousand years ago a wizard called Drucher invented a way to make transmogrification spells reverse themselves after a few hours or so. By sheer good fortune, the one that had lodged in my memory had Drucher’s modification built in.
Which is why, with a sharp snap and a puff of mauve smoke, I morphed back into a three-inch tall human.
My bare feet, which had been quite hardy when they’d been bird’s feet, burned with cold as they sank into the coating of snow on top of the wall. The wind pierced the thin dressing gown that abruptly replaced my warm coat of feathers.
For a second, Trewla hesitated, then lunged towards me.
“I can explain!” I yelled as her hand wrapped around my tiny body and lifted me to her face.
For a moment, I thought she was going to eat me, but all she did was subject me to a full glare. Which, I have to say, was not a pleasant experience. I mean, think about it. A pair of scowling, inhuman eyes bigger than your head, staring at you with murderous intent, would be enough to turn anyone’s bowels to jelly.
“Good,” she said. “Now you can talk again.” Her eyes hardened. “You’re going to tell me how I’m going to get home. You’re the lord of this castle, and I believe what Queen Amabilis said, it’s your fault it moves between worlds. You owe it to me to get me back to my world!”
“I do?”
“Yes! I saved your life.”
At my quizzical look, she added, “Your cook would have chopped off your head if I hadn’t grabbed you.”
“Oh… Right. Look, I’m happy to help, but first, why don’t we go inside?” I gasped when her grip tightened a fraction. “It’s freezing out here, and there’s a lot to explain.”
Her eyes narrowed, then she nodded and carried me back into the kitchen.
When Cook saw me, her eyebrows went up. “Oh. You’re human again. Well, sort of.”
Trewla frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Humans aren’t usually that small. He certainly isn’t.”
“He shrank himself with a spell,” said Grimmon. He was sitting on a table by the fireplace. “It was supposed to shrink me too, but it didn’t. If it had, I could have kept him out of trouble.”
“What?” My blood boiled. “Rubbish! You wouldn’t have-”
“Be quiet!” snarled Trewla.
My jaws snapped shut.
“We came inside so you can explain how you’re going to get me out of this mess,” she continued. “You’d better get on with it before I lose my temper.”
I furrowed my forehead. “Can I speak now?”
“Yes. But don’t try to be clever, or I’ll…” With her free hand, she made a twisting motion in the air an inch above me. I had no hesitation believing she’d wrench off my head if I didn’t do as she asked.
I squeaked. “All right!” With her hand wrapped around my body, she didn’t see me cross my fingers. “I’ll only be able to help you when I’m my normal size again.”
“No. I like you how you are right now. Much easier to control.”
Damn. I hadn’t expected her to argue.
Grimmon grunted. “Well, he can’t do anything here in the kitchen to help you. His book of spells is in his studio.”
“Yes,” I said. “Grimmon’s right. If you put me down, I’ll go there straight away and find a spell to help you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to let you go. I’ll carry you to your studio to make sure you don’t get up to any nonsense.”
“Oh… Um…” My mind raced, and I hatched an audacious plan: I could guide her into the maze of passages in the abandoned parts of the castle, and pretend we were lost. Then, when she tired and put me down, I could-
“I’ll show you the way,” said Grimmon, interrupting my thoughts.
I won’t bore you with the details about us setting off, Trewla complaining about the cold, and Grimmon detouring to pick up a cloak for her from an ancient trunk in the dusty room where a certain ancestor of mine had once lived. He told the elf he was sure the lady whose room it was wouldn’t mind, but the demise of a cobweb-laced oil lamp which lifted off a table all by itself, hung in the air for a second, then dashed itself against the wall, put paid to that notion. Poltergeists, eh?
The rest of the journey was uneventful apart from having to explain to Trewla that, though we were walking down the stairs winding around the core of the central tower, we were actually climbing to the top of the tower where my studio was located. I’m not sure she believed us, but once we got there, she raised an eyebrow when she looked out of the window and saw the bird’s eye view of the snow-covered lands around the castle.
While she was distracted by the view, I glanced at my desk. My heart thumped, and I stifled a gasp of relief. My spell book was still lying where I’d dropped it.
And it was open. Hopefully on the page inscribed with the spell I’d cast to shrink myself.
“Put me on the desk and I’ll look through the book for a spell to sort things out,” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster.
“Not only is that a bad idea because you’re too small to turn the pages yourself, but also, I don’t trust you.” said Trewla. “I’ll hold you over the book so you can see it while I do the page turning.”
“No,” I squeaked, but I was too late. Trewla was already at the desk, holding me over the book.
Her spare hand reached towards the book. I needed to see that spell before she turned the page.
Fighting the panic rising from my gut, I twisted in her grasp, and leaned out as far as I could.
With my neck stretched as far as it could go, I ran my eyes over the spell. I didn’t recognise it, but then, spells are written in a dead language that nobody understands anyway.
It must be the spell of shrinking. It had to be.
Gibbering with haste, I read it out loud backwards. My heart hammered as I spat out each arcane word.
There was a flash and a swirl of orange smoke. Trewla yelled and dropped me.
When the smoke cleared, I was lying on the floor. I felt big again.
“Thatsssssss bether,” I said.
Odd… My voice had a nasty hiss to it. I lifted my head and looked down my body.
It was scaly, long, and completely without limbs.
Grimmon shuffled closer, bent down and prodded my back with a taloned finger.
“Python,” he said. “Or maybe a boa constrictor. Must be at least twelve feet long.” He straightened his back and wrinkled his bulbous nose. “I think I liked you better as a chicken.”
Trewla stalked towards me. Her eyes were diamond hard and her face was like thunder.
With an urgent flick of my tail, I slithered under the desk.
***
The End
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