Category: Grimmon Darkly

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

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

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 9

Above the roiling storm clouds, tumultuous winds tossed the bed about like a dandelion seed in a tempest. Grimmon and I clung on as the four-poster heaved and shook, its wooden frame creaking and groaning in protest. The soaking wet bedclothes slapped liked wildly flapping wings against its sides and the canopy billowed like a ship’s sail.

As the bed pitched and rolled, I caught a glimpse every now and again of the seething black cloud-tops below us, their mounds and curves burnished by the silvery light of the moon.

“It’s even worse up here! This is all your fault!” shouted Grimmon.

Technically, he was right. I was responsible for where we were. But I wasn’t about to tell him that when I’d hugged the bedpost and said “fly like a bird”, I’d thought I’d been encouraging the bed to fly across the river, not to take off into the heavens.

“Stop fretting!” I gave him a manly clap on the shoulder. “It was a brilliant idea of mine to take us above the storm, safe and out of harm’s way. Down there it’s all raging floods and chaos.”

Despite my quaking innards, I put as much bravado into my voice as I could muster..

The wind chose that moment to spin us around. I slid across the bedcovers, my arms windmilling.

My eyes bulged as I tipped over the edge. Icy fingers snaked up my spine. In a fraction of a second I would fall, plunge through the clouds and smash into the ground far below.

Grunting with effort, Grimmon grabbed the hem of my jacket and hauled me back onto the mattress.

For once, I was grateful for the mind swap. Igor was shorter and his build lighter than mine. I’m not sure the goblin would have had the strength to do what he had if I’d been in my own body.

Grimmon glared at me. “That settles it. Tell the spell to take us back down right now!”

Pretending I hadn’t heard him, I said, “I think we should go below the clouds so we can see where we are.”

“That’s what I just–”

He broke off  as we lurched in a violent gust. A pillow whirled away, dropping into the murk. Another gust sent the bed bucking like a wild bull. With the cracking of splintering wood, the canopy tore loose and sailed into the distance.

“Down!” I shrieked at the bed. “Go back down!”

With one of the bedposts at the front wobbling in an alarming manner, the front of the four-poster dipped and we careened downwards.

The moment we entered the clouds, the moonlight vanished. Grimmon, and what was left of the bed, were grey shadows against an inky backdrop.

My heart in my mouth, I held onto the headboard with a vicelike grip.

Plummeting with all the elegance of a cast-iron drain cover, accompanied by the groaning of tortured wood, and an awful noise like the wailing of a demented banshee, we burst through the base of the clouds.

Huge raindrops smashed into my face and hands, sinking into my already sodden clothes. I blinked to clear my eyes and ducked just in time to avoid being brained by the loose bedpost which had worked free and shot towards me. It crashed into the headboard, which cracked from top to bottom in a spray of wood chips.

The awful wailing cut off as I gulped a great chestful of damp air. It hadn’t been a banshee after all, but me yowling in terror.

The bed’s dive became shallower, turning to a swoop as we began to level off. The black shapes of treetops flashed past an arm’s length underneath us as we hurtled on.

“Look!” cried Grimmon, pointing in the direction we were heading. “Lights!”

Ahead, the dim glow of lighted windows and street lamps of a town had come into view through the misty, rain-drenched air.

My hair flew about my face, and the two halves of the broken headboard rattled and banged in the slipstream as we dropped lower.

The bed jolted and a shower of leaves erupted behind us as its legs ploughed furrows through the treetops. With a loud bang, the pieces of headboard broke free and vanished, torn away by the vibrations shaking the bed-frame.

Another bedpost tore loose, somersaulting away like a circus acrobat.

The shaking became less violent as we left the trees behind and swept like a rickety comet over the rooftops at the edge of the town.

With an ungraceful roll, we swerved around a steeple and dropped further. I glanced to the side. Our heads were level with the upper storey windows of a row of houses lining a street.

The yellow light streaming from the windows and street-lamps banished the darkness, allowing us to see the bed more clearly.

My heart skipped a beat.

Not much of it remained

Our poor mount had been reduced to a soggy aerial mass of flapping bedclothes and a mattress, to which Grimmon I clung like shipwrecked sailors on a raft as we sank lower.

I looked ahead and my blood froze.

We were heading hell for leather towards a junction. On the opposite side of which we were faced by the forbidding wall of a rather large warehouse.

“Slow down!” I screamed at the bed.

Perhaps the spell didn’t hear me. Or perhaps it was dissolving away, diminishing little by little with each lost fragment of the bed until barely any of it was left.

With a dull thud like a belly-flopping whale, the remnants of the bed hit the cobbles of the street.

Shrieking in unison, Grimmon and I struggled to stay on the mattress as it bounced and skidded in a cloud of feathers down the street, across the junction…

And slammed into the wall.

The impact catapulted me into the air. I didn’t have time to scream before I smacked against the side of the warehouse and dropped to the unforgiving pavement.

How long I lay there – winded, sore, and dazed – I do not know.

I may have been concussed, for the next thing I remember was an odd conversation.

“‘Ello, ‘ello. What ‘ave we got ‘ere?” said a voice.

“Looks like a burglary wot went wrong, sarge,” said another. “There’s the culprit snoozing on the pavement.”

“You think ‘e stole that bed? It don’t look in good enough shape to warrant bein’ thieved.”

“People will steal anything these days, sarge.”

This was followed by the sound of the sergeant sucking his teeth.

“Well, constable… ‘spose we’d better nick ‘im then.”

This was followed by grunting and heaving and the world swaying as somebody – the constable, presumably – picked me up. His shoulder pressed into my stomach as he threw me over his shoulder.

It was too much to take in my weakened state and I slipped into unconsciousness.

When I came to, every inch of my body ached. I was lying on my side on a hard floor.

I pried my eyelids open, my head thumping.

When the world stopped spinning, my eyes swam into focus.

A few paces away from where I lay was a barred door.

I groaned and pushed myself into a sitting position.

Around me were bare stone walls. In one was a tiny barred window.

My heart sank. I was in a cell.

“Release me at once!” My voice was croaky and hoarse. “I have to get to my castle before it’s too late!”

*** Continued in episode 10 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 8

By the time I’d walked down the grand entrance hall to the front door, my tongue had returned to its normal size. For the first time since I’d cast Montefort’s tongue extending spell, I could press my lips together. I grinned and worked up some saliva to moisten my dry mouth.

That was a mistake. My guts heaved. I gagged and spat out a ball of fluff.

Once I had recovered my dignity, and finished scraping my mouth clean of hairs and a collection of unmentionable things my tongue had picked up during its foray across the sitting room floor, I straightened my back and swung open the door.

Outside, the night was as black as coal, thick and heavy with the energy of a mighty storm.

Rain pouring from the seething sky pelted the front steps, splashing voluminous silvery drops over my shoes. Water gushing out of a broken drainpipe nearby fell onto the sodden ground, which was beginning to resemble a small swamp.

Lightning flashed, and for a second or two the view outside the countess’s house was a frenzied mass of swaying trees, their gale-driven branches lashing back and forth like witches fingers.

“It looks nasty out there,” I said.

There was no reply. I turned around, expecting to see Grimmon standing behind me, but of the goblin there was no sign.

I huffed and returned to the sitting room to find him sitting in Virrellenta’s chair, his legs dangling like a child on a swing.

“What are you waiting for?” I said. “We’ve got to get back to the castle and put an end to Virrellenta’s evil plan.”

Grimmon stared at the ceiling. “I’m not going out in that storm.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I smacked my fist into my palm. “We don’t have time to waste! We have to get back before it’s too late!”

“How do you suppose we’re going to get there?” Grimmon sniffed. “Let me remind you: your countess friend has taken the coach and horses. There’s no chance I’ll walk back with you in that downpour out there. We’ll be soaked through in seconds and die of the chills before we’re halfway.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but I wasn’t going to admit it to Grimmon.

“I have a plan.” I lied, making a brushing motion with my hand as though his words were of no consequence.

“Which is…?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” I said, raising my forefinger. “Come with me and all will be revealed.”

I was hoping that by wandering around the house I’d see something that would inspire me, and a plan would click into place. A plan I could pretend I’d had all along.

Grimmon scowled. “No thanks. I think I’ll stay where I am, comfortable and dry.”

“Well… if you can’t be bothered to come with me, I’ll… I’ll call you when I’m ready!” I whirled around and stalked out of the room.

As you may have guessed, I wasn’t keen on poking around the place on my own. I’m not normally scared of big empty houses, but this one was the house of a vampire, after all.

I trotted around the rooms downstairs, humming a tune to cheer myself up, hoping for inspiration. Apart from a thick layer of dust they were empty. Even the kitchen had nothing to offer, with its vacant cupboards covered in grime along with the ever-present dust.

I dashed back to the entrance hall and went up the stairs.

A minute later, I struck it lucky.

Standing proudly in the middle of the floor in the largest bedroom, was the solution to our problem.

“Grimmon!” I called. “Come here!”

I could hear him mumbling what were undoubtably complaints as he trudged up the stairs.

“Ta da!” I said, extending an arm as he entered the room.

His eyes widened as he took in what I was pointing at.

“A four-poster bed?” he said. “What good will–”

He broke off and stared at me in horror.

“No! Not another spell!”

“What are you worried about? My last one worked a treat!”

“That may be, but it was revolting.” Grimmon shook his head. “Anyway, that’s besides the point. You know as well as I do that most of your spells go wrong.”

I wasn’t about to let his negativity put me off. “Nonsense! In any case, what I have in mind is too simple to go wrong. A straightforward locomotion spell will have this bed trotting down the road on its little wooden legs in no time.” I grasped one of the bedposts and gave it a firm shake. “It’s nice and sturdy. The canopy is in good condition and will shelter us from the rain. What’s more, you can get under the covers to keep yourself warm.”

I clicked my fingers to keep his gaze from straying to the mouldy state of the bedclothes.

His brow creased. “Well… I suppose–”

He broke off as I grabbed him under the arms and plonked him on the bed by the pillows, raising a cloud of dust. Before he could protest I leapt up next to him and gabbled the spell I’d remembered when I’d clapped my eyes on the four-poster only minutes ago. In my mind’s eye I could almost see its words in my spellbook, which was lying on my desk back at the castle.

“Forward!” I shouted, pointing at the open door.

The bed lurched and started moving over the floor.

“How are we going to fit through the doorway?” shrieked Grimmon. “The bed’s too wide!”

“Don’t worry. The spell will take care of that.”

I shuffled down to the foot of the bed, staring ahead in anticipation. With the four-poster’s legs tapping on the floorboards with every step it took, we scuttled across the room. When we reached the door, the entire wall became hazy and melted away. I shouted in triumph as we scurried onto the landing and headed for the stairs.

I glanced back. Behind the bed – and Grimmon’s round-eyed face -, the wall reappeared, like solidifying mist.

The grand old house’s staircase was broad enough for the bed. Down it we went, bouncing and skidding like a giant four-legged beetle, while Grimmon and I held on like sailors on a storm-wracked ship.

At the front door, again the wall turned to mist, and the bed staggered down the front steps onto the driveway.

“Straight on,” I yelled.

With barely a pause, the four-poster trotted towards the gates. The dull thudding of heavy rain on its canopy, accompanied by rolls of thunder, almost drowned out the sound of its running legs splashing on the muddy ground.

Through the gateway we sped.

“Turn right,” I shouted.

The wooden bed legs scrabbled for purchase as we swerved to the right out onto the road. Within seconds we were hurtling along, the roadsides barely visible in the darkness.

“What did I tell you?” I shouted above the noise of the downpour, and turned my head to give Grimmon the benefit of the gloating expression on my face. “We’ll be home in no time!”

A bolt of lightning lit the landscape and Grimmon’s mouth dropped open. His gaze was fixed over my shoulder at the view ahead.

I whipped my head around to see what had caught his attention. My blood froze. The final moments of the lightning flash revealed a raging torrent of water cutting across the road ahead.

I dimly remembered the coach going over a stone bridge over a river a few minutes before we’d arrived at Virrellenta’s house. All that remained of that bridge were the broken ends on either bank. There was a large gap where the bridge’s middle section had been, washed away by the flood.

And the four-poster was galloping towards it at a reckless pace.

Any thought of throwing ourselves off the bed vanished when I looked down over the side. The river had burst its banks. We were splashing through swiftly flowing water that came right up to the bed’s base.

If I commanded the bed to turn it would get stuck in the muddy ground at the sides of the submerged road… Or fall into a ditch…

If I told it to stop, it would get washed away…

I did the only thing any sensible person would do in the same situation. I screamed.

With a clattering of wood on stone, we reached the stub of bridge on our side of the torrent, and rattled up its slope.

My guts clenched. In seconds we were going to hurtle over the broken end and plunge into the raging waters below.

But instead of tipping into the water when the bed’s front legs went over the edge, we carried on upwards at the same angle. With a last little shove, the rear legs left the broken end of the bridge.

Onwards we went, soaring through the air above the turbulent waters.

I crowed in delight.

The spell was doing exactly what it was supposed to.

Just like it had done with the walls inside the house, the bed had taken evasive action.

I grabbed the nearest bedpost and hugged it tight. “Oh, you beauty! Fly! Fly like a bird!”

In answer, the bed’s angle steepened and we shot upwards into the blackness of the boiling clouds.

“You blithering idiot!” screeched Grimmon’s voice from the murk. “Now look what you’ve done!”

The bed rocked in the wild air, climbing higher and higher. A gust spun us around in a wobbly pirouette.

With all the grace of an inebriated turkey, we burst through the top of the clouds into the clear night air.

I scrambled to the end of the bed and looked down.

The ground was completely hidden by cloud.

I had no idea where we were or in which direction the castle lay.

*** Continued in episode 9 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 7

I couldn’t believe it. How was it possible the vial was empty? Surely, the antidote couldn’t have all spilled out when Virrellenta had dropped the tiny bottle on the floor?

“Are you certain?” I said. “There must still be a drop in there!”

Grimmon held the bottle close to the lamp and took another look inside it.

“Like I said,” he said. “All gone. Empty as a beer mug at closing time.”

My gaze darted to the floor under the table where the vial had been lying. A handful of tiny pools of blue liquid were scattered across the floorboards.

“Get a spoon and scoop up one of those,” I said, indicating the spilt antidote with my eyes.

“A spoon? Where do you suppose I’ll find one of those? This is the house of a vampire, remember? They don’t exactly sit down at tables laid with cutlery when they feed themselves.”

He was right. And though Igor probably would have eaten with utensils, he would have lived in one of the other buildings I’d seen around the estate when we’d arrived. It would take ages for Grimmon to search all those, assuming he could even get into them.

We didn’t have time for that. I had to return to the castle and warn the others about Virrellenta, and get my own body back.

There was only one choice left to me…

“Montefort’s tongue extending spell!” I said.

Grimmon’s eyebrows shot up. “No! Don’t even think about casting a spell!” He looked at me in horror. His eyebrows dropped and he frowned. “In any case, that spell is intended for entertaining party guests. It’s not meant to be used for anything serious.”

“Extreme situations demand extreme measures! All I need to do is get my tongue over to the drops under the table. When it touches one, the antidote will be absorbed into my system and I’ll be able to move again.”

“It’s a bad idea! Things always go wrong when you tinker with magic!”

“Tinker? How dare you? I don’t tinker!”

“Look, remember what happened last time when–”

I interrupted him by reciting the spell.

Instantly, my tongue swelled like a gorged leech and the tip slid out of my mouth. I went crosseyed, my heart hammering as I watched my tongue grow longer and longer. In the space of a few breaths, the end slipped down my front, over my legs and onto the floor.

I’d cast Montefort’s spell a few times in the past, mostly at children’s parties when I’d been a boy and – as is the way of boys – keen to revolt the other kids and any sensitive adults nearby.

I’d forgotten how disgusting it was to have one’s tongue slithering along a floor like a giant pink worm. Even recently swept floorboards have a thin layer of dust and fluff. But judging by what my wandering tongue encountered on its merry way, Virrellenta’s sitting room floor had seen neither brush nor broom in years.

Still, needs must.

The thing about this particular spell was it demanded concentration. The extending tongue was guided by the eyes… so wherever I turned my gaze, that’s where my tongue would go. A rapid double eye-blink would stop the tongue getting longer.

I dared not blink at all, just in case. My eyeballs burned as I forced my lids to stay apart, aiming my pupils directly at the small blue puddles under the table in the centre of the room.

Grimmon squatted next to the table and leaned forward to watch.

I panted in anticipation. In a few seconds, the end of my tongue would reach its target. Above and below my elongated tongue, my lips widened in a feral grin.

Dust raised by the slithering puffed into the air.

With my tongue an inch away from the nearest drop, Grimmon sneezed.

Startled, I couldn’t stop my eyes swivelling to look at him.

Following my gaze, my tongue changed direction and smacked into the goblin’s face with a meaty thunk.

“Yuk! Get off me!” he said, batting his hands at my snakelike appendage. It seemed to have a mind of its own, sliding over his face and wrapping itself around his head.

I half gurgled, half screamed, as a medley of revolting tastes overwhelmed me. I was sure ear wax and rat fat were among them.

“Aaargh!” yelled Grimmon, jumping to his feet. “Make it stop!”

That was exactly what I wanted too, but in my distress, I’d forgotten how to end the spell.

It was hard to concentrate when all I could think about was the dreadful greasy flavour and scabrous texture of the goblin’s scalp.

At least one tiny part of my brain must have been working for after another yell from Grimmon, the answer popped into my head.

I blinked twice.

My tongue stopped writhing like a ravenous python, and began to grow shorter, slipping away from Grimmon’s head and thudding onto the floor by his feet.

I gaped in horror. The end of my shortening tongue lay on the floor to one side of the blue drops, a handspan away from them. In only a few heartbeats, it would be too short to reach the antidote. And it would continue to shorten until it returned to its normal length.

I tried to shout at Grimmon to alert him to the crisis, but with my mouth filled by my engorged tongue, all that came out was a strangled noise that sounded like, “Waaargle!”

I don’t know if he understood, or reacted out of revulsion, but he snarled and gave my tongue a resounding kick.

It skidded sideways through the dust and its very tip brushed against the nearest drop of antidote.

The drop wobbled.

I held my breath.

Then, like water soaking into a sponge, the vital blue liquid sank into my flesh.

A raging storm of sensations washed over me. From neck to toe, it was like a swarm of fire ants were sinking their pincers into my skin. The legs of my chair clattered on the floor as waves of fierce tremors rattled my bones.

As suddenly as they had started, the convulsions stopped.

I shook my head to clear it. Had the antidote worked?

Tentatively, I flexed my hands.

They moved. They felt normal.

I stood. My legs were wobbly, but they held.

Despite my shrinking tongue dangling to my waist, I looked down my nose at Grimmon.

“Leth go! ‘E ‘ave oo thtop them!” I said.

Throwing my tongue over my shoulder, I marched out of the door.

*** Continued in episode 8 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes