Category: Grimmon Darkly

The Ghastly Exchange – Final Episode

“There,” I said, standing back from the workbench and wiping my hands on my apron. “What do you think?”

Grimmon squinted at the human-sized figure lying on a sheet atop the workbench.

I was proud of my handiwork. Toiling in the workshop, it had taken most of the day to shape the figure from sticks, binding and glueing them together with cords of dried grass and melted beeswax.

“It doesn’t look much like Trewla,” he said. “I’m not sure the countess will be fooled.”

“Don’t be so negative. I haven’t cast the spell yet.”

“Ah.” The goblin’s pointed, black tongue slithered out and moistened his lips. “Look, I really don’t think relying on one of your spells is a good idea.”

“Oh? You’ve a better one, have you?”

“Yes. Like I’ve been saying all along, we should go right now and tell Trewla she’s in danger and she needs to hide.”

“And like I’ve said each time you’ve brought that up, we can’t do that because she’ll panic.” I shook my head firmly. “No, we won’t tell her anything until a few minutes before sunset.”

We both glanced at the workshop’s window. The sun was already close to the horizon.

“Not long to go,” said Grimmon. “You’d better hurry.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Don’t worry. I just need to cut off the sticking out bits, then we’ll take this beauty to Trewla’s apartment and bring her up to speed.”

Grimmon and I had spent a couple of hours collecting the materials for the figure. I’d been a little put out how particular the spell’s requirements were, nevertheless I’d followed them to the letter. Well, apart from using driftwood sticks to construct the figure seeing as there weren’t any hazel trees on the island. And I was convinced the beeswax I’d found in the workshop’s storeroom was superior to the tallow stipulated by the spell. And who would use stinging nettles for the bindings when there was plenty of tough beach grass available? Not that there were any nettles on the island, anyway.

With shaking hands, I sawed off the ends of the sticks poking out from the figure’s otherwise rounded contours, then looked at the window again. The sun was a hairbreadth above the horizon.

“Finished! Time to go,” I said, wrapping the sheet around the figure. “I’ll hold the head, you grab the the feet and help me carry it.”

Trewla’s apartment was not far from the workshop, and in less than a minute of shuffling along the corridor holding the wrapped figure between us, we were knocking on her door.

“What are we going to do if Trewla isn’t here?” said Grimmon.

“It’s a bit late to bring that up now!” I said, a little annoyed I hadn’t thought of it myself. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

He was saved from having to answer when the door swung open and Trewla looked out at us.

“What do you want?” she said. Her brow creased when she spotted what we were carrying. “And what in Yewliyamala’s name is that?”

“We’re here to save you,” I said. “You’re I dreadful danger. Let us in and I’ll explain.”

Trewla’s frown deepened.

“He’s telling the truth,” said Grimmon. “For once.”

I gave him a dirty look at that last statement, but bit my tongue. His words had the right effect, though. Trewla stood aside and waved us in.

Closing the door, she glared at Grimmon and me. “Start explaining. It had better be good.”

“Please, whatever you do, don’t panic,” I said. “I’ve got everything perfectly under control.”

Trewla folded her arms. “Not a good start.”

Grimmon’s ears jiggled about in agitation. “What he’s trying to say is, Virrellenta is a vampire and she’s chosen you for her first meal.”

“A vampire?” Trewla raised an eyebrow.  “Really?”

“Yes!” I said. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan to save you. She’ll be here soon, so please stop asking questions and let us get on with things.”

Trewla’s face darkened. “I’ll ask all the questions I like! Starting with: what have you got in that sheet?”

While she’d been talking, I’d noticed the door to her bedchamber was open. I tugged the sheet to get Grimmon’s attention and gave a nod of my head in the door’s direction. In a flash, the two us had scuttled through it and placed the figure on the bed.

Before I’d straightened my back, I heard Trewla’s footsteps close behind me.

“What’s going on?” she said. “What is that thing?”

She reached past me and flipped the sheet aside. Her eyes widened when she saw the figure of sticks.

I’d intended ask permission for the next step, but to save time, and more arguments, I took the opportunity to pluck a hair from her head.

“Ouch!” She jumped back out of reach, her eyes flashing. “This time you’ve gone too far, buster!”

“You’ll be thanking me soon,” I said, laying the long, golden-brown hair on the figure’s chest. Before she could respond, I intoned the words of the spell.

I took a step back from the figure as the sticks it was made from thickened, merging into one another to create an unbroken surface, like a mannequin carved from wood. The hair I’d laid on it swelled, spreading out like melted wax to cover every inch of the mannequin’s surface. With that, a ripple passed over the figure and it became a lifelike copy of Trewla, lying on her back, clad in a green dress identical to the one the real Trewla was wearing.

Grimmon’s jaw dropped. “It worked!”

I ignored his fatuous comment and said. “Stand back! The spell is active, so whatever you do, don’t touch the figure.”

A strange look crossed Trewla’s face as she stared at her doppelgänger lying on the bed. “I wouldn’t touch that thing with a bargepole.”

“Good!” I said. “Virrellenta will be here soon. We need to hide.”

I looked around the room and, in the last rays of the setting sun coming through the open window, spotted a large, ornate wardrobe. I strode over to it and tugged open the door.

“Quick! Get in!” I said, beckoning the other two.

“Are you out of your mind?” said Trewla. “I’m not doing anything until you tell me what you’re up to!”

Weren’t you listening?” I said, fixing her with an earnest stare. “Virrellenta is coming to suck the blood from your veins!” I gestured at the figure on the bed. “I made that decoy to save your life!”

“He’s telling the truth!” said Grimmon.

Despite the suspicion written all over Trewla’s face, the urgency in Grimmon’s tone seemed to sway her, and she climbed into the wardrobe after Grimmon.

Once we were all inside, I pulled the door partly closed, leaving it open a crack so we could see out.

Peering into the darkening room from the confines of the wardrobe, my pulse pounded at the sensation of Trewla’s shoulder pressing against me. If it hadn’t been for Grimmon’s ripe odour I would have felt like I was in heaven.

I was brought back to earth by the flapping of leathery wings at the moonlit window. A bat the size of a cat flew into the room and fluttered around the bed like a demonic dishtowel caught in a whirlwind.

Worried it would scare off Virrellenta, I was about to leap out and shoo the thing back out of the window, but held back when it landed on the floor. In a heartbeat, the creature’s wings shrank while its body lengthened. Shadowy and indistinct at first, it resolved into a slender, pale woman in a long black dress.

My eyes widened. Virrellenta had arrived. And in style, at that.

Baring her fangs, she stretched out her arms, curled her fingers like talons, and leaned over the fake Trewla.

I held my breath.

In deathly silence, she sank her fangs into the figure’s neck.

Like a striking cobra, the figure sprang to life and wrapped its arms around the countess. She cried out and stood up straight. But the figure went with her, its arms, torso, and legs sprouting thickets of flexible twigs and cords which whipped around her body and bound her in unbreakable bonds.

“Ha!” I crowed, springing from the wardrobe. “The trap is sprung! Got you!”

Still on her feet, the cocoon of sprigs and stems holding her arms and legs tight, Virrellenta fixed me with a menacing stare. “Igor! How could you betray me? Release me or face the consequences!”

I gave her a smug smile. “No. And I’m not Igor. It’s me. I’m back.”

The countess strained against her bindings. “Ignatius? It can’t be!”

“What’s she talking about?” said Trewla. “Who’s Igor? And are you really called Ignatius? Who has a name like that?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “I’ll tell you later.” I faced the countess and struck a heroic pose. “Your evil plan has failed. We’re going to put you, tied up as you are, outside the castle. When we leave this world, you will remain.”

As I spoke, a few twigs and pieces of cord peeled from Virrellenta’s bindings and dangled loosely. There were still plenty of others firmly in place, so I didn’t pay them any notice, and kept my steely gaze on the countess’ face.

Grimmon tugged at my elbow. “Your spell is going wrong!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “It’s falling apart.”

“He’s right,” said Trewla. “I don’t like the look of this.”

“Don’t be silly. I used only the best materials. It’s merely–” I broke off as, with a hiss like sand pouring from a jug, Virrellenta’s bindings peeled away and dropped to the floor.

She flexed her arms. Her lips stretched into a mean smile and her eyes burned with an unnatural crimson glow as she stared into mine.

“Nobody crosses me and lives to tell the tale,” said the countess, stepping slowly closer. “I am going to enjoy drinking your blood. Savour every last drop.”

I backed away until my back bumped into the wardrobe. Grimmon crouched and squeezed behind my legs.

“You can’t kill me!” I said, holding my palms out towards her. “The castle won’t move any longer if I’m dead. You told me so yourself. Remember?”

It seemed she was beyond caring for she didn’t bat an eyelid and continued her approach.

A flash of movement to one side caught my eye. Trewla was springing at the countess, her arm raised to deliver a blow.

Not taking her eyes off mine, Virrellenta waved a finger. Trewla stopped in midair like she’d hit a wall, and fell in a flurry of limbs.

I quaked in my boot as the countess opened her mouth wide, exposing her unnaturally long canine teeth.

From among the torrent of terrifying thoughts racing through my mind, an image of a page from my spellbook popped to the fore.

Instinct took over. My lips parted and a spell I’d skipped over while searching through my spellbook that morning, issued from my mouth.

My jaw snapped shut and the aether trembled with magic. Virrellenta screeched as her body shook then exploded in a dark cloud of tiny dots which whirled up to the ceiling and circled above our heads, filling the air with their angry buzzing.

“Bees?” shrieked Grimmon, staring at me in horror. “Are you insane?”

There was no time to answer, for in a hurricane of tiny wings, the undead swarm swept around the two of us.

Trewla had climbed to her feet and while Grimmon and I howled, hopping about and slapping at the furious insects, she picked up something that had fallen from Grimmon’s pocket.

It was Igor’s crystal device. The goblin hadn’t left it in my desk drawer after all. He’d probably thought he could get a few shillings for it from some gullible chump at the alehouse.

While Grimmon and I danced about, waving our arms, the bees stabbing their stings like white hot needles into our flesh, Trewla examined the device. She read the label, then turned it over and read the other side.

“Don’t waste your time with that!” I yelled. “It’s useless!”

From my point of view, I would rather she helped with chasing off the bees before their poison overcame me.

I yelled as much at her, but she ignored me and raised the device above her head.

At that, every bee in the room soared upwards, formed into a large ball, and hurtled at Trewla.

Without blinking, she lifted her free hand to the device and twisted the crystal.

Searing white light burst from it and I covered my eyes to shield them.

A second later, the light winked out. I dropped to my knees and took my hand away from my eyes, expecting to see the worst.

But Trewla was still standing. Unhurt.

“Well, that’s that,” she said in a satisfied tone.

There was not a single bee to be seen. The floor around Trewla was coated in dust.

Groaning with pain, I clambered to my feet.

“How did you know the device would do that?” I said, pointing at the dust.

“Didn’t you read the label?” she said.

“Of course I did. It said ‘Twist to activate’.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. What are you getting at?”

Trewla sighed and handed the device to me. “Here, take this. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone. I’ve had enough for one day.”

While I gaped and struggled to think, Grimmon took hold of my arm and pulled me out of the room. Once we were out in the corridor and Trewla had closed her apartment door, my brain clicked back into gear.

By the light of a nearby torch on the wall, I looked at the device in my hand.

The crystal had gone. All that remained was an indent in the base where it had been mounted.

I read the label again.

“Twist to activate” I read out loud. “Just as I said. There’s nothing here about what it does.”

“We didn’t read the other side,” said Grimmon.

I turned the label over. On the other side were the words: “Crystallised sunlight. Lethal to vampires.”

I snorted and tossed the device over my shoulder. “My spell was better. Not nearly as messy.”

“But it didn’t work,” said Grimmon.

“It mostly did,” I said. “Anyway, I’m hungry.” I patted the top of Grimmon’s head. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’m sure Cook must have made dinner by now.”

*** The End ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 16

After Virrellenta left, I returned to my room and sat on the edge of my bed, my stomach churning.

I had to stop her. But how?

There wasn’t anyone I could turn to for help. The only person who knew what kind of creature Virrellenta really was, was me.

I curled my hands into fists. There was no way I could take anyone else into my confidence. They would panic, and who knows what foolish things they’d do?

There was no doubt I was the only one who could be trusted to stay cool in a crisis.

So, what were my options?

I dimly recalled reading about heroes dealing with vampires by driving wooden stakes through their hearts while they slept. Vampires hunted at night, so presumably they slept during the day. But, where did Virrellenta sleep? On the other hand, what if a stake through the heart didn’t do the trick? What if it did nothing but annoy her?

The only sure way forward was to cast a spell. One that would turn her into a lizard, or a… a kitten or something. I ground my teeth. The trouble was, ever since I’d been knocked on the head when the four-poster bed had crash landed, I hadn’t been able to remember a single spell.

I expect you’ll be wondering at that seeing as only hours ago a spell had come from my lips and produced an ogre. The thing is… that spell hadn’t appeared in my mind in the usual way. I hadn’t visualised a page from my spellbook like I normally do. Instead, my thoughts had filled with a gaudy mauve mist and the spell had issued from my mouth without any help from me.

I suspected that had something to do with that interfering wizard, Wenzel, and his missing spells.

My brow creased. I didn’t have time to ponder about that. There were more important things to do, like go to my studio and take a look through my spellbook for a way to take care of Virrellenta.

The studio door’s hinges creaked as I opened it and furtively peeked into the corridor. There was no-one in sight. With another glance around, I stepped out and tiptoed past the empty rooms on the top floor of the keep, heading for the stairs.

The place had been built to impress and there were plenty of guest bedrooms, but I didn’t reckon Virrellenta would be snoozing in any of them. Based on what I could remember of those stories I’d read as a boy, vampires slept in crypts. Even so, it seemed safer to creep along as silent as a mouse, while telling myself I wasn’t doing so because I was afraid, but because I didn’t want to alert anyone else to what I was up to. Like Trewla for example.

She was bound to ask awkward questions.

On the ground floor, I snuck past the laboratory and the kitchen, and took the spiral stairs to my studio at the top of the tower. As I’ve mentioned before, due to a magic-induced disagreement between gravity and reality, when you take the stairs to my studio you seem to be going down them even though you’re actually climbing up them.

But that didn’t bother me. I was used to it. The thing that did concern me, though, was bumping into the countess. What if I was wrong about her sleeping during the day? What if instead she was roaming the castle?

I gave a little sigh of relief as I reached my destination without encountering her.

As I stepped into my studio, I experienced the momentary disorientation which grips everyone when leaving the stairs and the normal directions of up and down resume.

In that moment of confusion, something smashed into my back between my shoulder blades. Staggering like a drunkard, I toppled face down onto the floor, wheezing for breath.

Half senseless, spots spinning in front of my eyes, my arms were pulled behind my back. By the time I’d recovered my senses, my wrists had been tied.

“Ha!” screeched a voice. “Got you, Igor!”

I rolled onto my back, my slowness of thought evaporating, and lifted my head.

Grimmon was waving around a wooden club almost as big as himself, hopping from one foot to the other, grinning at me.

“I’m not Igor, you fool,” I said with a groan. “I’m me!”

“Don’t give me that nonsense.” Grimmon patted his chest. “I know you’re Igor!”

“No! I really am me! Igor’s mind has gone! Mine is back in my body!”

“Is that the best you can do?” Grimmon shook his head. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it just sort of happened by itself. Without your mind-swap device, I mean. Which, by the way, I know you didn’t bring with you.”

I struggled up into a sitting position. “It did happen without Igor’s infernal machine! When the castle moved, my head was on the end of the viaduct… and all the magic sloshing around must have undone the mind swap.” A thought occurred to me. “And I have a bone to pick with you, you beastly traitor! When the spell started, you ran into the castle and left me lying injured and helpless on the road!”

His eyebrows lifted. I could see the cogs turning in his head as he realised Igor wouldn’t have known that.

But his suspicious nature won, and he narrowed his eyes. “If you are who you say you are, then answer me this: how did we travel to the castle?”

“In a donkey cart.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, until you drove it into a ditch and made me sprain my ankle.”

Grimmon scratched his nose. “So… you really aren’t Igor?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” I glared at him. “And also that I can’t believe you abandoned me! If I hadn’t dragged myself to the viaduct, I’d still be stuck in Igor’s body on that world!”

“I didn’t abandon you.” He looked down and shuffled his feet. “You’d lost your stick, and I couldn’t carry you on my own, so I went to get help. I tried my hardest, but the castle moved before I could find anyone.”

It almost sounded plausible, but I know what a self-serving hypocrite he is. I opened my mouth to say so, but stopped myself. For now, I needed him on my side.

“At least you tried,” I said, my tone dripping with fake sincerity. “But enough of that. I have business to attend to. Untie me, there’s a good chap.”

“What business?” said Grimmon, dropping the club and fiddling with my bindings.

“I need to find a spell to get rid of Virrellenta before tonight! She’s spitting mad the castle’s moved to an uninhabited island. There are no locals for her to feed on so at sundown she’s going to slake her evil thirst on Trewla instead!”

“How do you know all this?”

“Virrellenta told me so herself. She still thinks I’m Igor.”

Grimmon’s brow wrinkled. “Have you warned Trewla yet?”

“No! She might do something silly. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

The goblin raised an eyebrow at that, but he kept his mouth shut and finished untying me.

When my hands were free, I went over to my desk and was pleased to see my spellbook was still in its customary position. I’d worried Igor might have thrown it out.

I picked it up and leafed through its pages, mumbling as I went.

“Swarm of bees…? No. Melted candle wax…? Not really. Shrinking…” I turned the book sideways to better view the illustration. My eyebrows shot up. “No. Definitely not.”

I turned to the next page and a small sheet of paper fluttered down to the desk. That was odd. I hadn’t put it in there.

“What’s this?” I said, picking it up.

A sentence was written across it in neat handwriting. I read it aloud. “Look in the desk drawer.”

“Eh?” said Grimmon. “I take it you didn’t write that?”

“No.” I frowned and drew open the drawer.

I’d half expected to find a wooden stake and mallet resting on the papers in the drawer, but instead my eyes were greeted by a crystal mounted on a base of brass gears and springs. A label attached to it read: “Twist to activate”.

Grimmon stood on tiptoe and peered into the drawer.

“It looks like something Igor would make.” He grabbed hold of the device and held it close to his face. “What does it do?”

“Put it down! That’s the last thing we need.” I turned my attention back to my spell book.

While I continued to search for an appropriate spell, Grimmon examined the device. I sneered, and ignored him. The damned thing wouldn’t be of any use to us.

I turned a page and gasped. Stabbing my finger at the illustration, I said, “This one will do nicely! Ha! The countess won’t stand a chance!”

I committed the spell to memory then slammed the spellbook shut, laid it on the desk, and strode for the stairs.

“Follow me,” I said. “We have preparations to make.”

*** Continued in Episode 17 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 15

“Good morning,” I said, striding into the kitchen, my chest out and my chin high.

The delicious aroma of pancakes made my mouth water. I always experience a twinge of guilt when Cook makes those seeing as she was as flat as one herself, which may or may not have been caused by a misfiring spell I will never admit I cast.

Cook looked up from the pan she was standing over. “Oh, you’re out of bed. Are you feeling better?”

Her words made me pause.

I’d been so focussed on returning to the castle and righting the wrong inflicted on me by Igor’s fiendish device, I hadn’t spared much thought about what he might have been up to since he’d swapped bodies with me.

And in the half an hour since our minds had swapped back to our original bodies, I hadn’t given an iota of consideration to how Virrellenta would react when she found out Igor’s mind had gone and mine was back where it belonged.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. When I’d been a boy, I’d read a fair few tales of vampires. The bloodthirsty monsters were prone to fly into a rage when their plans went awry. And judging by the lurid illustrations accompanying the tales, things didn’t go well for those who got in their way.

Icy fingers crawled up my spine. If Virrellenta was exposed as the monster she was, the most expedient way for her to achieve her plan to take over the castle would be for her to get rid of anyone who might object. Like Trewla and Cook and… well, every Denizen too.

For the sake of everyone’s lives, I needed to keep the foul countess from finding out her faithful servant’s mind had left my body, and my mind had returned.

To achieve that, it was vital I pretended to everyone that I was Igor.

The trouble was… Igor would have been pretending to be me.

I massaged my temples.

So… I had to pretend I was Igor pretending to be me.

It made my head spin.

“Well?” said Cook, taking the pan off the stove. “Are you feeling more like yourself again this morning?”

I stared at her in dismay. Had she seen through me already?

“I really am him… I mean, me,”  I said.

Her brow creased in puzzlement.

I was saved from explaining further when the door opened.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw who was there.

With her hair pulled back in a braid exposing her charming pointed ears, her lovely face glowing in the morning light, Trewla came into the kitchen, the hem of her green dress brushing the floor.

Her eyebrows rose when she saw me.

“You must be feeling better,” she said.

Feeling better? Cook had used those words too.

My eyes widened as it dawned on me what was going on. Igor must have found it impossible to emulate my charismatic personality. To avoid him being caught out, Virrellenta must have ordered him to feign sickness and take himself to bed.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m feeling much better. Just like my old self.” I licked my suddenly dry lips. “That is, um, not exactly myself… but, um… someone like it.”

“He shouldn’t be up and about. He’s delirious,” said Cook.

Trewla put her hands on her hips and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure… He seems more like himself than he has since he returned to the castle with that dreadful woman.”

My stomach dropped. If Virrellenta heard that, she’d put Trewla right at the top of her list of undesirables.

I gave a brittle laugh. “Dreadful is rather a strong word, don’t you think?”

“Not strong enough.” Trewla glared at me. “And you’re just as bad.”

“Eh?” I squeaked.

“What really happened to Grimmon?” Trewla fixed me with a piercing stare. “The two of you went out on a jaunt together, and you returned with that obnoxious woman in tow, but without Grimmon. And don’t give me that nonsense again about him deciding to stay on in that world.” She folded her arms.

I gaped at her as I tried to figure out what to say.

I’d seen the traitorous goblin entering the castle after he’d abandoned me on the road, so I knew he was back. But Igor wouldn’t have known. So… as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t defend myself.

My scheme to pretend I was Igor was unravelling already.

There was only one thing I could do: make a tactical retreat.

“Oh dear,” I said, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead. “I’m not feeling well.”

Before she or Cook could ask any more awkward questions, I hastened out of the kitchen.

Back in my bedchamber, I kicked off my shoes, jumped into bed and pulled the covers over my head.

I needed time to think.

Seconds later, someone gave me a rough shake. I pulled down the bedclothes to see Virrellenta standing over me. I hadn’t heard her enter.

“It worked, Igor!” she said, her eyes glinting. “We’ve moved to another world!”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Tonight I’ll feast on fresh blood!” She licked her lips. “What is this new world like? Have you looked outside yet?”

Earlier, when I’d found myself once more in my own body, I had rushed to the window to check if I really was back home, but what with all the excitement, I hadn’t taken note of anything except the castle’s rooftops.

“No,” I said. “I’m supposed to be unwell, remember?”

“Don’t be a fool!” Virrellenta yanked the covers off me. “Go to the window and tell me what you see.”

I puzzled for a second why she didn’t look herself, until I remembered something from those vampire stories about the creatures’ dislike of direct sunlight.

I went over to the window and gazed out.

On the other side of the moat was was a beach. Waves rolled in from a blue sea which stretched to the horizon.

I opened the window and leaned out. The beach curved around the castle. Apart from some tufts of grass growing on the shore on one side and a rocky outcrop on the other, the view was much the same.

“Well?” said the countess. “Are we near a town? Can you see any people?”

“Not exactly… We’re right next to the sea.”

She snarled. “What’s to the rear of the castle? Go and check.”

I hurried out of my chamber, crossed the corridor into one of the empty rooms on the other side of the keep, and looked out its window.

“What can you see?” said Virrellenta from behind me. I hadn’t heard her follow me.

I turned away from the window, unsure how she was going to take the news.

“Um… There’s a beach on this side too. We’re on an island in the middle of an ocean,” I said.

She bared her teeth. “Any people?”

“No. The castle covers the entire island. It’s uninhabited.”

“It can’t be! Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Her face darkened. “It will be another two weeks until the castle moves again… I cannot wait that long! I need to feed soon!”

I held up my hands in a placatory manner. “I’m sure Cook could rustle up something for you.”

“You know me better than that!” She curled her fingers like claws. “I need fresh blood.”

She stalked up to me and thrust her face close to mine. “I will dine at sundown on someone in the castle. Who do you think will be missed the least?”

“Ah… Well, there’s a certain goblin who–”

“Goblins don’t have red blood, you idiot!” Her eyes glinted. “But I’ve just thought of someone ideal.” Her nostrils flared. “Nobody could possibly like that busybody elf. She asks far too many questions.” She smiled and my insides turned to ice. “Trewla will be my victim tonight.”

*** Continued in Episode 16 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 14

With my heart thundering like a steam hammer, I pushed myself up on all fours and almost fainted at the spear of  agony which erupting from my throbbing ankle.

The pain faded and I looked around for my crutch, but couldn’t see it. It must have fallen into the long grass at the roadside.

“Grimmon!” I shouted, my head spinning. “Find my stick! Help me stand up! We don’t have much time!”

He didn’t answer. I looked behind me.

The road was empty. There was no sign of the goblin.

“Grimmon?” I said, looking around. “Where the–”

I broke off when a movement on the viaduct caught my eye. Grimmon, running hell for leather, was nearly all the way across it. In seconds he would be at the castle’s gate.

My blood boiled. “Traitor!” I howled. “You can’t leave me like this!”

He gave no sign he’d heard me, and as the aura of magic surrounding the castle expanded a little and grew more intense, he reached the gate and vanished inside.

Seething with outrage, I shuffled on hands and knees as fast as I could along the road after him.

The hard-packed dirt was like sandpaper scraping at my skin. I tried to ignore the stabs of pain exploding from my sprained ankle with each lurch of my hips, and kept my gaze fixed on the castle – my home! – on the far side of the moat.

I panted with effort, pushing myself forward with every ounce of strength I could muster.

Luminous clouds of red, blue, and green streamed out of the castle’s aura, swooping and billowing around the ancient walls as the great world-hopping spell built towards a crescendo.

My guts clenched. At the pace I was going, there was no way I would make it to the castle before the spell completed. Even so, desperation; panic; fear – call it what you will – spurred me on. Gasping and whimpering, I scrambled onward.

The dirt of the road under my hands gave way to the stone of the viaduct and my heart leapt. All I needed to do was scurry across it and I’d be home.

But, at that moment, the clouds of magic shot outwards, expanding in swirls of translucent colours that swept over the moat.

I was too late. The spell was a heartbeat from completion and I was still outside the castle.

Wailing like a lost soul, I flopped to the ground, my head on the viaduct and my body on the road.

Red and blue cloud flowed over the viaduct and covered my head. A deafening roar shook my bones. My brain jiggled about in my skull like a die in a cup.

I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears with my hands.

It didn’t help. I couldn’t shut out the roaring. Worse, I knew I was lying on hard ground – I could feel it pressing into my cheek, my chest, and my knees – but what my inner eye saw was terrifyingly different: I was falling through a seething shroud of green fog.

With a bang like a slamming door, the noise shut off and the fog vanished. I could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing.

I was a bodiless speck floating in a cold, black void.

A distant spark appeared in the emptiness. Like a mote of dust in a gale, helpless to stop myself or change direction, I accelerated towards it.

It grew larger and larger as I sped closer, taking on colour and form until it resolved into a whirlpool of dark green vaporous strands.

Powerless to do anything but watch in horror, I plunged into the hole in its centre like mouse dropping down a dragon’s gaping maw.

I slowed and came to a halt. The spinning green mass around me faded to black.

Feeling returned.

My body tingled with pins and needles. Breath shuddered into my lungs. Blood stirred sluggishly in my veins.

I was lying on my back on a soft surface. My hands clutched at something warm laid over me.

I sat up.

I was sitting on a bed, the pale half-light of predawn seeping in through a window in the wall opposite me.

Was I dreaming? I pinched myself and yelped at the pain. I wasn’t asleep and my eyes weren’t fooling me… The bed was mine. The hands clasping the blankets were mine, not Igor’s.

Could it be true? Was I really back in my home? Really back in my own body?

Trembling with excitement, I got out of bed and went to the mirror next to my wardrobe. Even in the dim light it was plain that every inch of the virile, manly figure – wearing tasteful burgundy pyjamas – reflected in the mirror was me.

The light grew brighter. I rushed to the window and gasped with joy as I looked out. The rooftops and battlements of Castle Silverhill gleamed in the rays of the rising sun.

My mouth dropped open. How was all this possible?

The mind-swap device was a world away, sitting on a table in Virrellenta’s house…

Could the castle’s powerful world-hopping spell have undone the ghastly effects of the device? It must have… What other explanation was there?

Inside the castle’s walls, most of us were so accustomed to the mild sensations caused by the spell we were barely aware of them.

But this time I had been at the spell’s outer edge, at the far end of the viaduct…

When the castle had been in the process of moving to the next world, I’d been shaken, deafened and blinded by an awful turbulence. Was that what had torn my mind from Igor’s body and returned it to its rightful home? And, I imagined, returned Igor’s mind to his body at the same time?

I didn’t know. But, at that moment, the how wasn’t important.

What did matter, though, was that I was back and had to get rid of a vampire. But first I needed to find out what had happened since said vampire and Igor had arrived at the castle.

Igor, pretending to be me, would have vouched for Virrellenta, and I had no doubt she would have charmed any doubters into accepting her. Of course, she would have omitted to tell them who she really was.

I sat on the end of my bed and thought furiously.

My stomach rumbled and I bounced to my feet.

Deciding what to do could wait until after breakfast.

Humming a cheery tune, I changed into my morning attire and headed for the kitchen.

*** Continued in episode 15 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 13

“This way,” said Grimmon, beckoning me to follow as he turned into a lane not far from the police station.

I limped after him, every inch of my poor abused body aching from the treatment I’d received at the hands of the sergeant. The lane was about half the width of the road we’d left, and as dark as hades apart from a ribbon of moonlight reflecting off the water trickling down a gutter in its centre.

When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out the shape of a beast hitched to a small two-wheeled cart.

My feet came to a stop.

“A donkey?” I glared at Grimmon. “You told me you’d get a horse.”

“They’re tricky to steal seeing as they all get locked away in stables at night. When I found this beauty roaming free in a rag-and-bone-man’s yard, I knew I’d struck gold. I couldn’t believe our luck when I saw this cart there too. It couldn’t have gotten any better!”

I grabbed his collar. “A horse would have been better!”

“I’m a goblin,” he said. “A donkey’s easier for me to handle. Anyway, she’s a fine filly. Better than a horse.”

“Rubbish! It will be faster for us to walk back to the castle!”

“No it won’t! If we walk, you’ll need to rest every five minutes.” He patted the donkey’s neck. “This beauty will keep a steady pace all the way.”

I ground my teeth. I wasn’t about to admit it, but he was right. The condition I was in after two weeks of concussion or whatever it had been, and the awful jail food, had left me weaker than a politician’s promises.

“I think we should ride in the cart,” I said as though he hadn’t spoken, “If we walk through the town at this time of night we’ll look like a couple of vagrants. If we’re in the cart, people will think we’re delivery men or something.”

Grimmon gave me an oily smile and clambered into the cart. “So, you’re agreeing with me.”

“I’m just saying we’ll use the cart until we’re out of this godsforsaken town.”

He sniggered and flipped the hood of his cloak over his head. Although he was dressed in the hangman’s outfit he’d worn when he’d come to visit me in my cell, I was glad to see he’d got rid of the mask and those ridiculous red gloves.

I climbed up and sat next to him on the board that passed for a seat. He flicked the reins and the donkey plodded  along the lane and out into the main road.

It was a clear night, with a full moon, and only a few wispy clouds drifting across the sky. What with the moonlight and the streetlamps, Grimmon had no difficulty guiding the donkey along the route we’d taken when we’d come to the town all those days ago.

The last thing we wanted was to attract attention, so it seemed best not to talk as we travelled. People tucked up in their beds would likely sleep through the gentle clip clop of the donkey’s hooves and the low rumbling of the cart wheels as we passed them by, but voices have a way of waking even the heaviest of sleepers.

I didn’t have much to do except keep an eye out for vampires in case Virrellenta wasn’t the only one of their kind who had hunted in this town. What we’d have done if one appeared, I don’t know, but none did, and within half an hour we were ambling through the countryside, the town slowly receding behind us.

For the first time since meeting the countess, I relaxed.

It was good to sit there and let the donkey do all the work. Grimmon seemed to have forgotten what I’d said about abandoning the cart and walking once we were outside the town, and I decided not to mention it either.

At the rate we were going, we would get to the castle in an hour or so. Or, at least, the location of where it had been…

The muscles in my neck stiffened and my jaw clenched.

What if the castle had gone?

I’d always believed the castle would never leave without me. Every lord of the damned thing since the casting of the spell that moved it from one world to the next had been of the same opinion.

But was it true?

I’d never dared to test it. As far as I knew, no previous lord had dared to either.

I couldn’t stop myself fretting about that while we trundled along in the moonlight, Grimmon making encouraging noises to the donkey and me tapping my fingers in impatience.

An hour crept past.

I twitched in anticipation when the road took us into some woods. When we’d been going in the opposite direction, we’d passed through a few acres of woods shortly after we’d left the castle.

Would the next bend we rounded bring the castle into view?

As I fidgeted and shifted about on the seat a thought scurried like a cockroach into my mind. My blood ran cold.

“You forgot to bring the mind-swap device,” I said.

“What?”

“How am I going to get my own body back when we get to the castle? Igor’s cursed device is still in the sitting room at the countess’ house! You didn’t bring it with us!”

Grimmon turned his head to glare at me. “Why is that my fault? You could just as easily have brought it.”

“You were sitting right next to it when I called you upstairs. You should have picked it up.”

“Ha! Funny how you didn’t say anything when you saw me without it.”

“Don’t make excuses! It’s all your–”

The cart lurched. There was a sickening crunch from the wheel on the left and that side of the cart dropped like a stone. Grimmon screeched as he and I slid off the seat and tumbled to the ground. I landed with a thump and a fierce pain shot through my ankle.

I groaned and sat up. We were lying on the grass next to a ditch at the side of the road. The cart was tilted at a steep angle, its righthand wheel on the road, the left wheel nothing but a mass of snapped spokes sticking out of the mud at the bottom of the ditch. The donkey was still hitched to the cart’s twisted shafts, and was standing on the road looking over her shoulder at us.

My ankle was throbbing like a drum and I cautiously touched it with my fingertips. It was beginning to swell and the slightest movements of my foot sent barbs of agony up my leg.

“You idiot!” I said, looking daggers at Grimmon as he got to his feet. “You’ve run us into a ditch!” The cart’s ruined and you’ve sprained my ankle!”

“It’s not my fault!” He waved his arms in the air. “You distracted me when you blamed me for not bringing your stupid mind-swap device!”

Holding on to the side of the tilted cart, I hauled myself up and stood on my good leg, holding my injured leg off the ground.

“Now what are we going to do? I can’t hop the rest of the way!” I held my head in my free hand. “Not that there’s any point seeing as we don’t have the device!”

“You can ride the donkey.” He shook his head. “As for the device… Once we’re back you’ll have to find a way to persuade Igor to make another one.”

Both good ideas, but he’d only get swollen headed if I told him so.

Fired with new determination, I said, “Unhitch the donkey. We need to get a move on.”

Muttering under his breath, Grimmon jumped over the ditch. He went up to the donkey and undid the straps while I painfully crossed the ditch on one leg using the cart for support.

I reached the other side as he lifted the yoke from the donkey’s neck. What with all my exertions, my ankle felt like it was on fire and I leaned heavily against the cart. It gave a loud creak and the already strained axle snapped with a sound like a pistol shot.

The donkey cried out and bucked, tearing Grimmon’s hand from her reins. Panic stricken brays filled the air as she galloped away and vanished amongst the trees.

“Why’d you let her go?” I yelled. “You’ve ruined everything!”

Grimmon’s eyes flashed and his face darkened. “I’ll find a stick you can use as a crutch. If you don’t like it, you’re on your own!”

It was one of those times when the goblin’s dark nature came to the fore. If you’ve ever had dealings with his kind, you’ll know what I mean. As small as they are, in that moment, it’s like they’re a heartbeat away from tearing you to shreds.

I swallowed and nodded, trying to look like he hadn’t scared me.

“I remember these woods,” I said. “They weren’t far from the castle so I’m sure I’ll manage the rest of the way with a stick. Make sure it’s a stout one.”

He snarled and looked like he might say something, but kept his mouth closed and stalked off into the woods. He returned a minute later and, without a word, handed me a thick stick as long as I was tall.

Wrapping my arm around the stick, the top part clamped between my body and upper arm, I hobbled a few steps.

“It will do,” I said. “Come on. We need to hurry.”

We set off, Grimmon scuttling alongside me.

Ten minutes later, the trees thinned. We crested a low rise and my heart lifted. Half a mile ahead at the bottom of a broad, shallow valley, basking in the pale light of the moon, was the castle.

“We’ve made it!” I said. “Come on!”

I hurried down the slope, every thump of my good foot and tap of the stick sending pain flashing through my injured ankle.

The pain didn’t matter. My home was ahead and every step brought me closer.

We were fifty yards from the viaduct that spans the moat when a faint sound, like the thunder of a distant waterfall, lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.

“The spell!” I cried. “It’s started!”

I sped up, half hopping, half skipping in my haste.

Almost immediately, my stick caught on a stone. I yelled as my leg twisted and I fell.

I found myself lying on my front, my face in the dirt. I lifted my head.

A faint aura was fading into view around the castle.

In about a minute, it was going to jump to another world.

*** Continued in episode 14 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 12

Take it from me, it isn’t easy to talk when you’ve got an ogre’s hand around your throat and he’s lifted you so your toes are barely brushing the floor. Not that I was in the mood for conversation, you understand, but I did have a rather pressing concern to rid him of the notion I was to blame for him magically appearing in my jail cell.

The best I could manage was a strangled noise that sounded like waaaaargle, while beating at his muscled forearm with my fists.

I might as well have been punching a block of stone.

“Answer me!” he bellowed.

By means of gestures and eye rolls, I tried to convey to him that my vocal ability was somewhat hampered by his fingers which were clamped around my windpipe.

The only result of my efforts was a tightening of his grip.

My heart pounded against my ribs as though attempting to batter its way out of my chest. I spluttered and wheezed, my face burning as I struggled to draw air into my aching lungs.

A red haze was creeping across my vision and I became even more frantic, kicking and flapping my arms like a demonically possessed wyvern.

Penetrating the fug in my head came the sound of shouting.

The pressure around my neck abruptly eased.

Like a card falling from inside a gambler’s sleeve, I dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath.

The shouting continued, and as my head cleared, I could make out the words.

“I’ll not tell ye again!” rang out a voice from down the corridor. “If you don’t shut up I’ll come down there and make things a whole lot worse for ye!”

Even in my groggy state I recognised the sergeant’s voice. Grimmon had said something about him living in an apartment over the police station. He must have heard the ruckus caused by the ogre.

The haziness left my eyes and I lifted my head. The ogre had turned away from me and was staring at the cell’s door. In the dimness, the blue skin of his thickly muscled back was striped with moonlight coming between the bars across the window.

He growled. “Who dat shoutin’?”

Like a drowning man clutching at a straw, I said, “He’s a wizard!” Each word was accompanied by a rasp from my bruised throat.

The ogre glared over his shoulder at me. “A WIZARD?”

His booming voice shook a sprinkling of dust from the ceiling.

“Yes.” I pushed myself painfully to my feet, speaking quickly so as not to give him time to think. “He’s the one who cast the spell that brought you here.”

The ogre spat an egg-sized ball of phlegm out the corner of his mouth and snarled. “Don’t like wizards!”

In one swift movement he stepped forward and grabbed hold of the door, a bar in each hand. There was a brief shriek of tortured steel as he tore it loose and tossed it aside.

Bricks tumbled from the sides of the doorway into the corridor as he forced his huge body through the gap.

“Gonna get you, wizard!” he bellowed.

“No!” I yelled. The last thing I wanted was him stomping around the police station, thirsting for revenge, instead of opening doors so I could escape. “You have to get outside before the wizard turns you into a… a little blue kitten!”

I’m not sure whether he heard me, for he didn’t pause and headed down the corridor past the other cells. I staggered after him. The door at the end was shut. Most likely it was locked too. From the noises coming from the other side it sounded like the sergeant was dragging furniture in front of it.

Undeterred, the ogre barely slowed. With a grunt, he slammed his shoulder into the door. It must have been thicker and heavier than it looked for the wood creaked, but held.

Baring his impressive canines, the ogre stepped back, raised his leg and kicked the door with the sole of his bare foot.

With a sharp crack, the door flew from its hinges. I caught a glimpse through the doorway of a desk and cupboard skidding across the polished tiles on the other side and crunching into the opposite wall.

Another blow from the ogre’s foot widened the gap, sending crumbled masonry flying. He shouldered his way through, and taking care not to trip over the rubble, I slipped after him.

Was there a door to the outside in this room? I squinted around through the dust-hazed air.

The left wall supported a flight of stairs leading to the upper floor. Standing on the bottom step, lit by lamplight from the floor above, was the sergeant, his huge moustache trembling. Clad in a blue dressing gown and slippers, he would have looked comical if hadn’t been for the heavy, studded club clasped in one of his meaty hands. He was staring open mouthed at the ogre.

Straight in front of me, across the rubble and grit strewn across the floor, alongside the cupboard and desk crumpled against the wall, was a stack of shelves and a coatrack. No sign of a door.

I looked to my right and my heart lifted.

Flanked by a couple of shuttered windows was the station’s front door. At this time of night it would be locked, but that wouldn’t present a problem to my ogre friend.

“This way!” I called, heading towards the door. “Quick! Break this down and you’ll be free!”

The ogre ignored me. He growled, stretched out his enormous arms, and lumbered towards the sergeant.

“No!” I screeched. “Over here! The door, remember?”

I have to hand it to the sergeant. I expected him to scurry to safety up the stairs, but instead he loosed a blood-curdling yell and faced the oncoming ogre, brandishing his club.

With a fearsome howl, he leapt forward and lifted his club high. The ogre snarled and pulled back his arm, his fist poised to smash the sergeant’s moustache right through the back of his skull.

Time slowed. Mauve mist appeared from nowhere and swirled around the ogre.

The sergeant’s club arced down in slow motion. Before it could connect, the ogre vanished.

My eyebrows crawled upwards as realisation hit me. The spell which had summoned the ogre must have had a built in time limit and had returned him to wherever it was he’d come from.

The mist faded and time sped back to normal.

The club crashed into the floor.

A look of surprise shot across the sergeant’s face, but he recovered quickly. His gaze swept the room and settled on me standing like a gaping idiot in the middle of the floor.

“Ha! I should have known you were responsible!” he shouted, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me, his face purple with fury.

I shuffled backwards as he came for me, his club poised to strike.

“I’ll not let ye get away!” he roared.

I swivelled around and scrambled for the front door. My skin crawled at the sound of the sergeant’s slippers slapping the tiles too close for comfort behind me.

I stooped, picked up half a brick and tossed it behind me.

He ducked and it sailed past him. Cackled like a madman, he came on.

I reached the door. Hoping he’d forgotten to lock it, I yanked the handle in desperation but the door stayed firmly shut.

Instinct kicked in at a tiny noise behind me and I threw myself to the side.

The sergeant’s club smashed into the door where I’d been standing. There was a faint sound of splintering wood. The door juddered and rattled in its frame.

With an incoherent cry, he whipped his club around in a vicious horizontal swing aimed at the side of my head.

I ducked. The club swished over my scalp, ruffling my hair.

The sergeant’s wild attack had unbalanced him. He stumbled, his slippers skating on the grit for half a dozen paces before he fell on his backside.

Had his first blow weakened the door? I whirled around, grabbed the handle and shoved. The door creaked but stayed obstinately closed.

At the sound of a harsh laugh, I looked over my shoulder.

The sergeant was back on his feet.

My heart hammering, I faced him and held up my hands in a futile gesture of surrender.

“I’ve got you now!” he screamed.

With a bloodthirsty howl, his bloodshot eyes fixed on mine, he came at me, holding his club two-handed above his head.

Before he reached me me, his foot whacked into a brick and he tripped. He roared in surprise and hurtled unbalanced towards me, his feet scrabbling, his arms windmilling, the club tumbling to the floor.

Out of control, he rammed into my chest. The wind erupted from my lungs and my back thudded into the door.

Under the force of our combined weight, the already damaged door flew open.

The sergeant clung to me like a lover as the pair of us soared through the air over the front steps, executing a slow half roll that put him underneath.

We crashed into the cobbled street and his breath exploded out of his mouth, spraying garlic laced spittle over my face.

In the sudden silence, it took me a few moments to realise we’d come to a stop. I groaned and rolled off of the sergeant.

He didn’t move as I pushed myself painfully to my feet. Swaying unsteadily, I looked down at him. He’d treated me abominably and I can’t say I felt sorry for him lying there senseless on his back, a rivulet of saliva dribbling from his open mouth.

“There you are at last,” said a voice from the shadows next to the station’s steps.

I whirled around.

Grimmon stepped into the moonlight and scowled at me. “What took you so long? I’d almost given up waiting.”

Still groggy, it took me a second to remember he’d said he’d meet me outside the station at midnight.

But this was not the time for back-slapping reunions. I grabbed his shoulders. “How long was I locked up in there?”

“Two weeks… give or take.”

“Give or take? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I lost count after a week or so.” The goblin shuffled his feet. “I’d been marking the days on a piece of paper. It was in my pocket and I, um, forgot what it was and blew my nose on it and… threw it away.”

My stomach sank. “So you’re saying we’re too late? The castle’s gone already?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“There’s only one way to find out! We need to hurry! Where’s that horse you promised?”

“Ah,” he said. “About that…”

*** Continued in episode 13 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 11

I stirred at the sound of the door at the end of the corridor opening, and footsteps approaching. They stopped outside my cell and I sat up on my bed to see two figures standing there. One was the constable, his face made ghostly by the late afternoon light coming from the tiny window in my cell. The other was a diminutive figure, dressed entirely in black, his hooded head no higher than the constable’s chest. His obviously too long trousers were rolled up at the ankles. A baggy cloak was wrapped around his top half with the hood pulled up to cover his head. The only spot of colour in his outfit were a pair of knitted red gloves of the sort a child would wear.

What froze my blood was that his face was hidden by a mask. All I could see were his eyes glittering through two ragged holes in the otherwise blank cloth hiding his features.

A key rattled in the lock, and the constable swung open the door, its hinges squealing like stuck pigs.

“The ‘angman’s ‘ere to see ye,” he said. “Needs to check yer collar size.” He grinned at me and added. “For the noose.”

“Yes,” said the masked figure stepping into my cell. “It wouldn’t do to have him slipping out of it tomorrow morning, eh constable?”

His voice was gruff and a little hoarse but something about its tone rang a faint bell.

That thought slipped from my mind as he walked towards me. Seated as I was, our heads were at the same height. He exuded an aura of menace as he came closer, staring fixedly at me through the eyeholes in his mask. The blood drained from my face.

“That will be all, thank you constable,” he called over his shoulder.

“Righto.” The constable shut the gate and twisted the key in the lock. “Call me when ye’re finished.”

He walked off, whistling a merry tune.

The hangman turned back towards me.

“It isn’t fair, you know,” I said, my mouth dry. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He snorted. “Haven’t done anything wrong? Don’t make me laugh! You’ve done plenty to deserve this, believe me. The number of times you’ve–”

The hoarseness had gone from his voice. My eyebrows lifted.

“Grimmon?” I interrupted.

A red-gloved hand came up, pushed back his hood and lifted his mask. My heart leapt when I saw my goblin companion’s familiar features.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d recognised me.”

“Why in tarnation are you pretending to be a hangman?”

“I’m not pretending. There was a notice on the police station’s wall advertising for someone to replace the old hangman who’s retired.” His eyes glowed. “When I turned up dressed like this and applied for the job, how could they refuse?”

I don’t think I’d ever been so pleased to see him. “Ah, I see. You took the job so you could pay me a visit without arousing suspicion.” I patted his shoulder. “Where did you get the outfit?”

“I pieced it together from things I borrowed from washing lines on the night you crashed the bed.” He gave me a dirty look. “I hadn’t seen the notice then, of course, but I needed to cover my face and hands or I’d end up being chased by a mob, or… or put in a zoo, or worse.”

“It wasn’t my fault the bed crashed!” I frowned. “By the way, talking about that, why did you skedaddle and leave me lying in the road for the police to find?”

He wrinkled his nose in that shifty manner of goblins. “We don’t have time to waste talking about the past. The important thing is I’m here now.”

“You’re right.” I stood up and rubbed my hands together. “So, how are you going to get me out of here?”

His brow furrowed. “I dunno. I thought you’d have a plan.”

“Well I haven’t! What in the world is the point of you coming here if you don’t have one yourself?”

“I’m here to measure your neck. I’ve got a job to do.”

My jaw dropped. “But you… you can’t hang me. I’m your friend.”

Grimmon grimaced and shrugged.

“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye,” I said. “But I’ve always been… well, you know, good to you.”

It was his jaw’s turn to drop. “Good to me? Have you lost your mind? You’re rude, arrogant, condescending…”

“It’s just banter,” I said, waving my hand airily. “Surely you see that?”

“What I see is someone who’s going to have his neck stretched at dawn unless…”

“I knew it! You were teasing! You do have a plan!” I grabbed his shoulders and gave him my most earnest-and-forgiving look. “So, tell me! What is it?”

“First you have to promise to treat me as an equal from now on. And promise other things as well.”

“What other things?” I folded my arms and raised an eyebrow.

“We’re wasting time. Do you want to get out of here or not?”

“Yes, obviously. But–”

“No buts. Just make the promise.”

I put my hand behind my back and crossed my fingers. “All right! I promise to… oh, you know, do those things you said.”

Grimmon nodded. “Good. So, here’s what we’ll–”

He broke off at the sound of the corridor door opening and the constable calling down the passageway. “Everything all right in there? You must ‘ave finished measurin’ ’is neck by now.”

Grimmon flipped his hood back over his head and pulled his mask back down. “All done, constable. Thank you.”

“Wait!” I stretched out my arm towards him. “What’s your plan? Are you going to steal the keys? Sneak in tonight and let me out?”

“No. Why make things complicated?” He spoke in a whisper, peering at me through the eyeholes of his mask. “At midnight, you cast a spell to unlock the doors and I’ll be waiting for you outside with a horse. Be quiet, though. The sergeant lives in an apartment above the station.”

I was about to tell him the problem I was having with casting spells but my tongue froze as the constable arrived, twisted his key in the lock and swung open the cell’s door.

It clanged shut behind Grimmon and he and the constable left. My knuckles turned white as I balled my hands into fists.

What was I to do?

I didn’t have a huge number of options. The only chance I had was to get my memory working again.

Hours passed with me pacing up and down, slapping my palms against my scalp in an effort to pummel my mind into recalling the pages of my spellbook once again.

At one point it struck me I hadn’t thought to ask Grimmon how many days had passed since I’d been locked up. The castle usually stayed on a world for two weeks, but it had been known to leave a day or two earlier. Or later.

How long before the castle moved on to another world?

I ground my teeth and paced faster, rapping my knuckles against my forehead.

Time passed with town’s church bells tolling each hour like hollow-voiced prophets of disaster. It didn’t seem to take long before their count reached eleven.

My movements became frenzied as I stumbled about my cell, raging at my failed memory, the countess, Igor, and everything else that had happened since arriving in that godsforsaken world.

The minutes raced past and despite my efforts, no spells came to my mind.

I slumped against the wall.

There was nothing I could do to save myself. I was doomed.

A vein pulsed in my temple. I shouted an incoherent cry of frustration and banged my head against the brickwork.

Lights flashed behind my closed eyes. My mind filled with mauve mist.

I fell to my knees.

And a spell tumbled out of nowhere onto my lips.

I was vaguely aware of mumbling its arcane words and feeling the air in my cell tremble.

The mist thinned and I opened my eyes.

Standing before me, his hunched shoulders brushing the ceiling, his eyes burning with annoyance, was a muscular ogre.

In one swift movement he reached out, grabbed me by the throat, lifted me off my feet, and snarled. “Whaddaya have to go and do dat for?”

*** Continued in episode 12 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes