Category: Grimmon Darkly

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

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 6

Little by little, the spiralling green mist in my mind thinned.

Something was blocking my mouth. I wheezed and air streamed through my nostrils into my lungs. My tongue felt too thick… and my head ached.

I took another shuddering breath and, as the last wisps of green cleared, I opened my eyes.

My vision was blurred but I could see I was no longer sitting directly opposite Virrellenta.

Had she moved my chair while I’d been under the influence of the mist?

It didn’t seem so for the chair I’d been in earlier was still in the same place. The countess was leaning over a figure sitting in it. A man. He looked familiar. Her arm hid his face as she undid a strap which held a brass bowl on his head.

I blinked rapidly, and my vision cleared.

The man in the chair was wearing my clothes.

The strap came undone and she lifted the bowl. Lit by the half-light of approaching evening, when she moved her arm out of the way I could see him clearly.

He had my face.

My stomach lurched as realisation hit me…

Igor’s machine had worked.

My eyes bulged. That man she was standing next to was me.

Which meant…

I looked down at my lap, trembling at what I would see.

Grubby suit… Calloused hands… I was in Igor’s body…

Dizziness, and a weird sense of dislocation, swept over me.

The moment passed and I looked up to see Virrellenta undo the string holding the wedge in the man’s – my! – mouth.

She bent low and looked in his eyes. “Igor?” she said.

“Yes, my Lady,” said the voice that came from my body. The fact that he sounded exactly like me made my stomach churn.

Virrellenta nodded. “Good. You have done well. I am pleased.”

I ground my teeth on the wooden wedge as I saw a satisfied smile appear on my face.

“The antidote, my Lady?” said Igor.

“Of course.” Virrellenta took a small glass vial filled with blue liquid from her pocket and uncorked it. Igor tipped his head back and she let a drop from the vial fall on his tongue.

It was eerie seeing my body, a few paces away, convulse.

Moments later it stopped shaking, and the hands twitched, followed a breath later by the feet. I had to keep telling myself it was Igor in there – in my body – as the paralysis left him. With a soft groan he moved his arms, shifted his legs, and stood on his feet.

“All is well, my Lady,” he said. “The antidote has worked. I can move normally.”

Virrellenta dropped the vial on the floor. It rolled away under the table, liquid spilling from its open neck.

“Matters have proceeded as planned,” she said. “Let us begin the next phase. Ready the coach and bring it around the front of the house. I will get the goblin and meet you outside.”

Igor nodded. “Very good, my Lady.”

Virrellenta tutted. “You must stop calling me that. It will arouse suspicion. When we get to the castle we will be posing as friends. From now on you will use my name when speaking to me.”

“I… I understand, um… Virrellenta.”

“Vir. You must call me Vir.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Igor swallowed, an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Yes, Vir,” he said.

“Good. Now go.”

With a nod, Igor walked stiffly out of the door.

Virrellenta turned her gaze on me.

“Goodbye Ignatius,” she said. “Take care of Igor’s body.”

She laughed, and accompanied by a flash of lightning which threw a bat-like shadow of her onto the wall, she left the room.

I moaned and tried to force my arms to move, but they remained where they were, as heavy as lead.

My heart thundered at an awful thought which sprang into my mind. Virrellenta had said the potion paralysing me would wear off over the next two weeks. But I would be dead from thirst long before then. She hadn’t thought to leave a jug of water within reach. Or anything to eat, either.

So much for her plan to keep me alive so that the spell affecting the castle would continue to work.

She hadn’t even bothered to unstrap the bowl from my head, or remove the wooden wedge from my mouth.

I bit on it in frustration.

It moved.

My eyebrows shot up.

Before we’d swapped bodies, Igor had put a wedge in his mouth but hadn’t tied it with string to stop it coming out.

I opened my jaws as wide as I could and pushed the wedge with my tongue. It scraped across my teeth and fell out.

“Virrellenta!” I croaked in Igor’s voice. “Come back, you demon!”

What with the rain pelting the window, and the crashes of thunder, I doubted she’d heard me.

Yelling like a madman, I jerked my head from side to side hoping to dislodge the bowl, but all I succeeded in doing was tipping it forward over my eyes.

Blinded and helpless, my neck drooped and I lapsed into bouts of moaning and cursing my idiocy in accepting Virrellenta’s invitation. If I’d politely declined, and returned to the castle, none of this would have happened.

I must have been exhausted, for after an hour of useless raging against the gods, vampires, and evil laboratory assistants, I fell asleep.

The next thing I became aware of was someone fumbling with the chinstrap holding the bowl in place.

My heart lifted. Virrellenta had returned to remove the bowl and, hopefully, leave water and food.

“Ha! I knew you’d come back! So, even vampires feel guilt, eh?” I said, as the strap came undone and the bowl was lifted.

“Vampires?” said a familiar voice.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the soft yellow light coming from an oil lamp next to the no-longer-glowing mind swap contraption on the table. My jaw dropped.

“Grimmon?” I said.

“Of course it is.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been as pleased as I was then to see his green features and pointed ears.

“What are you doing here? I thought they’d taken you with them…”

“They’re not as clever as they think. Igor’s potions don’t work on goblins.” He sniffed, looking pleased with himself. “He gave me a potion which he said would cure my upset stomach. Once I’d drank it, he got all smug and told me it wasn’t a cure but a sleeping potion that would knock me out for a week. I pretended to pass out and when he left, I went downstairs after him. I hid in the entrance hall outside the door and heard all about their plan to swap your mind with Igor’s so they could take over the castle.”

“But… But… Why didn’t you come in and stop them stealing my body?”

“What? Little old me take on a vampire and her beefy assistant all on my own? You’ve got to be kidding.” He rubbed his nose. “Anyway, I was distracted.”

“Huh?”

“I spotted a rat in the entrance hall. A really big juicy one. Opportunities like that don’t come every day. And I was peckish.”

“Peckish? You’d been stuffing your face with cakes all afternoon.”

“Yes, but they don’t hit the spot like a rat does. You should try one. I’ve been telling you for years.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake! So while I was being subjected to a fate worse than death, you were scurrying after a snack? I don’t believe it!”

“He was more than a snack!” protested Grimmon. “I mean, really.” He threw his arms in the air. “Anyway, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

I took a deep breath and counted to ten as I slowly let it out.

Making a mental note to continue the current discussion at a more convenient time, I changed the subject.

“What did they do when they didn’t find you sleeping upstairs?” I said.

The countess flew into a rage and stalked outside where you – I mean Igor – was waiting with the coach. They had a row, and when they quietened down they left. I guess they must have come up with a new plan that didn’t include using me.”

“Well, we have to stop them! I have to get my body back! First, we need that vial under the table. It’s the antidote to the potion that’s paralysed me. Get it and bring it here.”

Grimmon crossed his arms and glared at me. “Not until you apologise for being so horrible to me.”

I bit back a sharp reply.

“Sorry,” I said through gritted teeth.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said sorry! Now get that vial before I…”

“Yes?”

“Never mind.” I swallowed and took another deep breath. “The vial. Please.”

“You see?” he said, walking over to the table. “It wasn’t difficult, was it? A bit of politeness goes a long way.”

He bent down, picked up the vial and peered inside it through its neck.

“Oh dear,” he said. “There’s none left. It’s all spilt out onto the floor.”

*** Continued in Episode 7 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 5

We’ve all had times when it feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under our feet, and nothing makes sense.

This was one such time.

Or was my mental sluggishness a side effect of the potion that numbed my body from neck to toe?

I didn’t know. All I was sure of was that Countess Virrellenta and her assistant, Igor, didn’t have my best interests at heart.

With the room half in shadow, lit only by the fading daylight seeping through the window, I watched dry-mouthed as Igor came into my field of vision and placed a side table on the floor between me and the countess. He left and returned a moment later carrying a head-sized contraption consisting of a short, thick cylinder of glass filled with green liquid surrounded by brass tubes, pipes, and wires. He put it on the table, adjusted a dial on its base, then hurried away.

Virrellenta leaned forward, her face bathed in the green glow emanating from the glass cylinder.

“Behold Igor’s masterpiece,” she said. “This beautiful machine will bring about the next step in ushering my plan to fruition.” She ran a finger down its side. “It will transfer Igor’s mind into your body, and your mind into his body.”

Sweat broke out on my forehead. Gagged and paralysed I could do little more than moan in protest.

“You seem concerned.” Virrellenta chuckled. “But rest assured, the machine will work fine.”

While she’d been talking, Igor had returned and was plugging the wires leading from the bowl on my head into the loathsome contraption squatting on the tabletop like a mechanical one-eyed frog from hell.

Virrellenta leaned back and continued talking while Igor dragged another armchair close to the table. “I’ve noticed you haven’t enquired about your uncle Grimmon’s well being.”

If I’d been able to talk, I would have pointed out that I had more pressing matters to be concerned about. She was right, though. I hadn’t spared Grimmon a thought since I’d last seen him in the carriage.

“I imagine that’s because he isn’t your uncle at all,” she said. “How could he be, when he’s a goblin?”

My eyes must have widened, for she said, “Oh, come now. I saw instantly he wasn’t who you said he was. I didn’t even need Igor’s mind-reading device to do so. We don’t have goblins – or any other fairy-folk – in our world, but their memory lives on in folklore, so I had no trouble recognising his real nature. However, you needn’t be concerned about him. He’s an important part of my plan.” She wagged her finger at me. “You gave me the idea yourself when you pretended he was sick.”

My gaze flicked to Igor who was busy connecting a second brass bowl – identical to the one strapped on my head – to the device on the table. Apparently satisfied, he went over to the empty armchair and picked up a small bottle I hadn’t noticed before on the seat. He sat in the chair, placed the bowl on his head and did up the strap. With meticulous movements, he pulled a wooden wedge from his pocket and put it on the arm of his chair.

Finally, he leered in my direction and took a swig from the bottle,

“Ready, my Lady,” he said.

I turned my attention back to Virrellenta as she got to her feet and sauntered over to Igor.

“Can you move your arms? Your legs?” she said.

“No, my Lady. The potion has taken effect,” said Igor.

“Good.” She picked up the wedge and put it in his mouth. “It’s time to begin.”

Turning to me, she said, “I’m sure you understand the need for Igor to take the same potion I gave you. I can’t have you roaming free once your mind is in his body.”

The full impact of what was about to happen hit me. I thrashed my head about and sobbed in helpless rage.

“Oh, don’t fret,” said Virrellenta. “It’s quite unbecoming.” She strolled up to the glowing device. “You must be curious concerning what I said earlier about the idea you gave me. You see, thanks to another of Igor’s potions, your goblin is sleeping peacefully upstairs. Once Igor’s mind is in your body, we’ll take Grimmon to your castle where we’ll tell everyone he’s fallen ill. I’ll pretend to be a doctor and say I have to stay at his bedside constantly to care for him until he recovers. Your friends will be completely taken in because Igor will be there, in your body, vouching for me every step of the way.” She rubbed her hands together. “Poor Grimmon won’t do well. In fact his recovery will be so slow I’ll still be there when your castle moves to another world.”

I moaned.

“What’s that you’re asking?” she said, theatrically cupping a hand behind her ear. “What about you? Oh, you’ll be staying in this world. Your body won’t of course. But, your mind will, what with it being in Igor’s body. You’ll gradually gain the use of his body – or should I say, your new body? – as the potion wears off over the next fortnight. By which time, I’ll be satisfying my appetite on fresh, unsuspecting people in a new world.” She clapped her hands in delight. “The simplest plans are always the best, don’t you agree?”

Ignoring my wails, she pressed down a lever on the machine.

An intense burst of green light streaked from the glass cylinder. The brass bowl on my head pulsed with energy.

I closed my eyes and screamed as pain flooded every inch of my being. My brain vibrated like a plucked violin string. For a breathtaking moment it felt like the entire universe was crammed into my skull.

A yawning vortex filled with swirling green mist, opened beneath me.

For a heartbeat, I dangled like a gnat hovering over bathwater spiralling down a plughole. With a soul-shattering howl, I plummeted like a stone into the whirling emerald morass.

*** Continued in Episode 6 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes

The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 4

“Are you sitting comfortably?” Virrellenta’s chuckle was throaty and not particularly reassuring. “Of course you are. It’s not like you would know if you weren’t.”

She was right. Not being able to move a muscle or feel a thing below one’s neck tended to have that effect.

“Who are you?” My voice came out in a croak. “What are you doing to me?”

“Ah. Two separate questions hurled at me at once. You must be upset.”

“Upset?” I shrieked. “That’s putting it mildly! You’re not who you said you were and your manservant is about to conduct a fiendish experiment on me!”

“It’s not an experiment at all. But we’ll get to that later.” Virrellenta leant back in her chair. She seemed to be enjoying herself. “As to who I am… I told you the truth. I really am a countess and my name is Virrellenta. Although, I confess I excluded a rather pertinent piece of information.”

“Which is?”

She gazed down her nose at me. “I am a vampire.”

My eyebrows lifted. Those oddities I’d noticed made sense now. Her long canine teeth… The patrons at the coffee shop all hurrying away when she arrived…

“You’ll not have a drop of my blood! I absolutely forbid it!” I would have clenched my fists if I’d been able to move my hands.

“Oh, come now. You’re hardly in a position to deny me that pleasure. However, you needn’t worry. I’m after a far greater prize.”

That got up my nose. Whose blood could be more desirable than the noble stuff flowing through my veins? Not Grimmon’s, surely? His isn’t even red for goodness sake.

I grunted as Igor fussed about the upside-down brass bowl he’d strapped on my head. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he appeared to be fiddling with the wires attached to the cursed thing. I tried to ignore him and concentrate my ire on Virrellenta.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“I know you are not from this world.”

My mouth dropped open, but I recovered quickly. It wouldn’t do at all for her follow that line. Things had never gone well on the few occasions the locals of other worlds had come to the same conclusion.

“How dare you? Of course I am! How could I not be?” I put a degree of indignation and disdain into my voice in the hope it would put her off the subject.

She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, I do love how you become even more arrogant when cornered.” She leaned forward and patted my knee, though I couldn’t feel a thing. “We’re going to have such fun.”

She settled back in her chair and crossed her legs. “You must be curious how I know so much about you.” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “I can’t take the credit for finding out. It was all down to my faithful assistant, Igor.”

That worthy bent down so I could see his face below the bowl’s rim. He grinned and waved.

He straightened and resumed fussing around the bowl while Virrellenta carried on speaking.

“Igor and I met under rather unusual circumstances. I rescued him from a mob, which I’m sure you’ll agree, isn’t typical behaviour you’d expect from a vampire.” She chuckled. “Let me explain. The mob had already done away with his master – a mad scientist – and Igor had gone on the run. An hour before nightfall, they caught up with him in my garden, and set about him with sticks and boots. They’d already knocked him unconscious and would have beaten him to a pulp if I hadn’t stepped in.” Her face was the most animated I’d seen it. “Being a vampire certainly has its advantages. They fled as soon as I stepped outside my front door.”

The instant I opened my mouth to speak, Igor shoved a wooden wedge between my teeth. “Don’t want you biting off your tongue when we start,” he said, fastening the wedge in place with a cord he tied around my neck.

“I have to confess I didn’t rescue Igor out of any sense of altruism,” went on Virrellenta while all I could do was moan and roll my eyes in horror. “I did so because I was hungry. What with humans getting more practical year after year, things have become difficult for us vampires. People have become so tiresome. They don’t go outside after dark any longer, which is the only time we vampires can feed. I mean, what are they thinking? It’s so underhand.” She sighed. “Anyway, it was nearly night. My fangs had lengthened and were aching to sink into the neck of the man I’d saved… But I held back. I’d sensed there was something different about him. Something that could be useful to me.”

“You’re mad!” I wanted to say, but all that came out around the piece of wood filling my mouth was a garbled croak.

Virrellenta lifted her arm, extended her forefinger and placed it alongside her cheek. She was clearly one of those villains who admire their own cleverness and like nothing more than to drone on about themselves at length.

“You see,” said Virrellenta, ignoring my outraged expression, “What I sensed in Igor was a rare talent: a rather useful ability to combine science with magic. He was exceptionally unusual seeing as the human society of this world abandoned magic over a century ago.” She regarded me for a moment. “We formed a partnership where he develops devices that lull humans into my clutches, while I keep him safe from harm. Our alliance has worked well for years, but lately things have changed. Humans have developed instruments of their own that counteract Igor’s.”

All claptrap as far as I was concerned. The important thing, from my point of view, was what she and her vile assistant had in store for me.

However, I had no choice but to listen as she continued.

“You can imagine how intrigued I was when Igor informed me this morning that one of his devices had detected a huge burst of magic. Further investigation revealed it had been caused by the arrival of an enchanted castle in our world.” Her eyes burned with zeal. “A castle which jumps from one world to the next every fortnight! Do you have any idea what that means to me?”

I gurgled a rude but unintelligible reply around the wedge, but she nodded and took it as encouragement to continue.

“Exactly! Freedom! I was saved! All I had to do was get rid of you and take over your castle. Then I’d have a continuous supply of fresh prey. Think of it! World after world where people don’t know how to protect themselves from me.”

Had I been able to speak I would have pointed out that not every world has a human population.

Besides which, I think the spell that moves the castle is linked to me… I’m not sure Castle Silverhill will go anywhere without me.

As that last thought ran through my mind, I breathed easier. She couldn’t risk killing me.

Then my heart sank. She wasn’t to know that. Gagged as I was, how was I to tell her?

I tried to attract her attention by moaning and rolling my eyes, but she ignored me and carried on with her monologue.

“When you left your castle this afternoon, Igor’s array of instruments tracked you and read your mind, which is why I knew your name – and more – when we met. After that, your inflated ego made it child’s play to lure you here. It helped that Igor took the precaution of using a device of his making to soothe your suspicions.”

Numbed though it was, by body trembled. The fiendish bowl strapped to my head was going to kill me by frying my brains. I was sure of it.

Virrellenta steepled her fingers. “After reading your mind, I have been forced to accept a small adjustment to my plan. It seems killing you might end your castle’s world hopping behaviour.”

My eyes lit up. So she knew after all. I was saved.

“Don’t be disappointed. Igor has come up with an alternative plan that, I have to say, is brilliant. The instrument strapped on your head is going to swap your mind with his.”

*** Continued in episode 5 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes