The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 10

I didn’t see another soul for days.

When I was awake, I’d either lie on the shelflike bed attached to the wall, raging and weeping, or stagger across to the door, my head pounding, and drink the water in a tin mug that had been pushed into my cell between the bars of the door while I slept. I’d also nibble on the greasy lumps of food in a bowl next to the mug.

Sometimes, hoping to attract a guard’s attention, I’d wheeze a few hoarse-throated words into the corridor. The only responses came from the other cells. Mostly, they consisted of yells telling me to shut up, or words to that effect.

It wouldn’t be long before my head would spin. Seized by dizziness, I’d slump to my knees.

With nausea clawing at my gut, I’d crawl back to my bed over the thin scattering of straw on the floor, and fall asleep.

The dimming and brightening of the daylight coming through the small barred window above my bed, and the refilled mug and bowl, were my only measure of the passing of days.

A time came when I opened my eyes and felt normal.

Well… as normal as anyone can feel who’s had their mind shoved into someone else’s body.

Heaving myself into a sitting position, I bent my neck forward. My fingers gingerly explored the tender lump on my skull where my head had hit the warehouse’s wall.

Feeling thirsty, I shuffled over to the door, picked up the mug, and caught sight of myself in the reflection on the water.

Igor’s face stared back at me.

My blood boiled.

I dropped the mug, water splashing across the dirty floor, and shook the door to my cell.

“Let me out!” I shouted. “I’m not a burglar!”

My heart leapt when I heard a door opening down the corridor and heavy footsteps approaching.

A broad-shouldered, red-haired young man came into view, wearing a uniform like the ones I’d seen other burly men dressed in on the day we’d arrived in this world.

“There’s been a terrible mistake,” I said. “I shouldn’t be locked up in here.”

He grinned and rubbed his hands together.

“The bed thief’s recovered, sarge,” he called over his shoulder. “Talkin’ like normal.”

From the sound of his voice, he was the constable I’d heard speaking after the flying bed had crash-landed.

“Wot?” came a voice through the doorway at the end of the corridor. “Are ye sure?”

Footsteps shortly followed and another thickset uniformed man – this one with a ruddy face, a handlebar moustache, and sergeant’s stripes on his shoulder – came into view.

He scowled when he saw me standing at the door, my white-knuckled hands gripping the bars.

“Wot’s yer name?” he said.

I nearly told him a name I made up on the spot, but stopped myself at the last moment. I remembered how the cafe where Grimmon and I had been drinking coffee had emptied of patrons when Virrellenta had arrived. They had obviously know who and what she was. That meant there was no point in lying about my identity because the people of this town would probably also know her dastardly sidekick, the man whose body my mind was in.

“Igor,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes. “We weren’t sure ‘oo ye were when we found ye with that stolen bed.”

“But I recognised ye when we got ye back to the station,” said the constable. He nudged the sergeant with his elbow. “Told ye ‘e was the countess’ servant, didn’t I? Ye didn’t believe me, but I was right.”

He held out his hand, palm up, towards the sergeant who grunted and gave me a scowl before taking a coin out of his pocket and dropping it on the constable’s outstretched hand.

The constable winked at me. “We ‘ad a bet, y’see.”

My mouth dropped open. If they’d suspected I was the countess’ employee and not a common thief, why hadn’t they taken me to a doctor instead of throwing me in a cell?

But I swallowed my resentment. I wouldn’t do myself any favours if I got aggressive with these two men. I needed them on my side.

“I’m happy to have cleared things up,” I said. “Now, let me out my good fellows. The countess will be wondering where I am, and I’m sure you don’t want to cause her any more distress.”

“Do ye think she’s distressed?” said the constable, raising his eyebrows at the sergeant.

“Not likely,” said the sergeant. “Her ‘ouse is empty an’ she ain’t been seen since the day we arrested this villain.” He fixed me with a cold stare. “Wot ‘ave ye done with ‘er body?”

“Eh?” My mouth dropped open.

“Ye’ve murdered ‘er, ain’t ye?,” he continued. “We knows ye done it, so ye may as well admit it.”

“No!” I pressed my face between the bars. “I didn’t kill her. She’s… she’s gone to visit her aunt for a few weeks.”

You might be wondering why I didn’t tell them where she really was. It was all down to rule number three: Never Tell the Locals the Truth About the Castle.

The rules concerning how to behave in the worlds the castle visits are tried and tested. Believe me, I’ve broken a few in my time and regretted the consequences.

If I’d told the police where Virrellenta had really gone, they would inevitably ask more questions and I’d end up having to invent a quagmire of implausible answers.

Nevertheless, my hastily cobbled together story about Virrellenta visiting her aunt would crumble once the sergeant started asking questions. I needed to try a different approach.

“You do know the countess is a vampire, don’t you?” I said. “If I really have killed her, you should be thanking me, not prosecuting me.”

The sergeant frowned. “Course we know wot she is. Murder’s still murder, though.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “But she must have slaughtered loads of people. Me killing her would be doing you a favour!”

The sergeant’s eyes lit up. “Ye ‘eard ‘im constable. ‘E’s just confessed ta murderin’ the countess.”

“No, I didn’t!” My eyes grew round.

“That’s it then.” The sergeant twirled his moustache. “I’ll write up ’is confession immediately. Once that’s done e’ll be ready for ‘anging.”

It was like a bucket of iced water had been thrown over me. “Hanging?”

The constable grinned. “Yep. Tomorrow.”

“At dawn,” added the sergeant.

“But I’m not a murderer!”

The sergeant snorted. “Tell it to the ‘angman.”

With that the pair of them chortled and walked back down the corridor.

“Wot d’ye think of the new ‘angman?” said the constable, keeping stride with the sergeant.

“Seems a decent sort. I s’pose ‘e might ‘ave to stand on a chair to put the noose around the murderer’s neck, but I reckon ‘e’ll manage.”

Their discussion was cut off by the slamming of the cell-block’s door.

To the jeers of the prisoners in the other cells, I trudged back to my bed and sat down.

At that point I could really have done with a spell popping into my mind. Something that would turn the constable, sergeant, and all the jeering prisoners into blobs of toe-jam. And another spell to blast a hole through the wall so I could escape.

But my memory for spells was blank.

That’s the thing with me. I’ve never been able to remember the words of spells like other people do. When I need a spell, the page on which its written appears in my mind’s eye and I read it out loud.

Maybe it was due to me knocking my head against the wall all those days ago, but I couldn’t even visualise my spellbook’s cover, never mind the pages inside it.

Forlorn and dejected, I sat with my head in my hands. How could they hang me? I hadn’t even had a trial.

Pushing its way through waves of self pity came the realisation that I didn’t have a clue how long I’d been locked up.

Had two weeks passed already? Had Castle Silverhill already left this world, stranding me here forever?

Well… not forever so much.

With my stomach curdling at what awaited me at dawn, I curled into a ball and cursed my fate.

*** Continued in episode 11 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes