The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 4
The air in the castle’s laboratory was thick with the reek of what smelled like burnt straw and wet dogs. I paused in the doorway, pressed the crook of my arm to my mouth, and breathed through my sleeve. The midmorning light coming through the windows sprinkled a pale sheen across the jars, bottles, and gourds crammed on the shelves lining the walls.
My eyes were drawn to Trewla who was standing at the scarred and stained workbench, its surface cluttered with an assortment of containers and chopped pieces of what looked like bone. She hadn’t seen me, and I gazed silently at her, my mouth stretching into a fond smile, as she waved her hands over the mixture in an iron pot which was probably the source of the noxious stench corroding my nostrils and burning my throat.
My heart skipped a beat as a green glow burst from the mixture. At a snap of her fingers, vapour curled up from the pot and wove around itself in eldritch patterns.
She moved her hands away, then lunged forward and grabbed hold of a gleaming shape wriggling in the coils of green mist.
It squeaked and tried to squirm free, but pinched hard between Trewla’s forefinger and thumb, it didn’t stand a chance.
“At last!” she exclaimed. “Got you!”
The vapour around Trewla’s hand melted away, revealing a tiny green figure which was kicking her fingers and beating them with its fists. Squeaks came from its downturned mouth and sparks flew from its eyes.
She held it aloft, her eyes glittering. As she opened her mouth to speak, the tickling in my throat got the better of me and I coughed.
Her head snapped around and she stared wide-eyed at me. The little green creature in her hand screeched, tipped its head forward, and sank its tiny fangs into Trewla’s thumb.
She yelped, and dropped the wriggling thing back into the pot.
With a gurgling like dishwater pouring down a drain, the vapour vanished and the mixture turned brown.
Trewla growled and turned the full heat of her stare my way, holding her injured thumb in her other hand.
“You idiot!” Her eyes were like chips of ice. “Do you know what that was?”
I shook my head. My mouth was too dry too talk so I pointed at my throat and the pot to indicate it wasn’t my fault because if it hadn’t been for the awful smells coming from said pot, I wouldn’t have had the need to cough.
Ignoring my attempts at mime, she said, “It was a retrospective sprite, that’s what! Finally, after a year of trying, I caught one.”
I had no idea what she was going on about, but I raised my eyebrows and nodded thoughtfully as though I did.
She must have seen through me, for she said, “Retrospective sprites can see into the past! I was about to question it about the spell, but then you went and ruined everything!”
The spell she referred to was the one cast centuries ago by my thieving ancestor, Geoffrey. It moves the castle from one world to the next every couple of weeks. A year ago, it had plopped the great fortified pile of crumbling masonry on her world. She and her fellow elves had been curious about the castle – moat and all – that had materialised in their landscape and she had volunteered to investigate. While she had been engaged in that task, the castle had moved to the next world, taking her along with it. The rest of us too, of course. But that’s always the case. For Trewla, it had been the first time.
Ever since then she had longed to return home.
I’m not sure if the castle has ever been to the same world twice. Trewla hoped it would visit hers again, but just in case, she spends much her time in the laboratory trying to figure out how the spell works. If she’s successful, she plans to tweak it so that it takes her home. It wasn’t a prospect I was keen on. She’ll leave and I’ll never see her again.
“Sorry,” I croaked, trying to work saliva back into my mouth.
“Sorry? Twelve months of effort destroyed, and all you can say is sorry?”
“Well… I, um…” Hoping to distract her, I flapped the page I’d torn from my notebook. “I wrote you a poem.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You challenged me to write one, remember?” I said. “Well, here it is.”
“I can’t believe you thought that was important enough to interrupt my work.”
“It’s a good poem.” I held out the sheet of paper towards her. “The best.”
She dropped her head so her chin was on her chest, leaned forward and put her hands on the workbench. Her shoulders heaved as she took deep breaths. After a few long seconds, she raised her head once more.
“The best, huh?” she said.
I smiled and nodded.
“The only way it could be the best would be if you had help.”
My face reddened. “As a matter of fact, I did have help!” I blurted.
Those words had come out before I could stop them. Inwardly, I cursed. I’d hoped to steer her towards believing the poem was all my own work.
“Ah. It was Grimmon who helped you,” she said.
“Don’t be ridiculous! What would a goblin know about poetry?”
“Who then?”
“A book in the castle’s library. It told me what to write. I mean, it helped me. Not that I needed any help. I just, sort of…”
“So, you copied a poem from of a book you found in the library?”
“I didn’t copy it. There was someone locked in the book – a brownie, I think – and he may have helped me a little.”
Trewla frowned. “You’re telling me you found a brownie locked inside a book? A poetry book?”
“Well, not a poetry book exactly. It was more like a manual about how to write, um, romantic poetry.”
Trewla snorted. “Really?”
“Yes.” I waggled my finger in the air. “And it gave off a pink glow when I picked it up, so I knew it was about romance and stuff.”
By the odd look in her eye I could see I had her interest. Better still, she seemed to have forgotten about being angry with me.
“A glow…? That’s unusual. What was the title?” she said.
“I’m not sure. It was hidden by all the string wrapped around the book. And a label which was pasted over the top.”
She stared at me and said in a quiet voice, “What did the label say?”
“Oh… I don’t know. Some sort of warning not to read the book.” I gave her a smug look. “Obviously put there by one of my unromantic ancestors who didn’t like poetry.”
“And you ignored the warning…” She shook her head. “How so like you.” She looked into my eyes. “I take it you cut the string and opened the book. What happened then?”
“The words kept moving around on the pages… They wouldn’t stay still and I couldn’t read them, and after a while, there was a flash and all the pages became blank because the words had gone inside a brownie who’d appeared.” I looked down my nose at her. “Who, I might add, is called Cosferas and is very nice.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe it…”
“It’s true! He is nice! And helpful.”
Trewla’s eyes misted. “All that time I’ve wasted in the laboratory when the very thing I needed was in the library all along.” She glared at me. “You have no idea what you found, do you?”
“A poetry manual. I told you.”
“No.” A sigh escaped her lips. “It was the book of spells Geoffrey stole. And you’ve let every one of those spells escape.”
*** Continued in episode 5 ***
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