Category: Grimmon Darkly

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 8

I’ve always been envious of birds soaring high overhead. Often I’d imagined how omnipotent they must feel, immune to the cares of the world as they gaze down from their lofty height. What could be better than soaring on graceful wings through the realm of the gods, casting your scornful gaze on the miserable, wingless creatures far below crawling like arthritic ants across the face of the earth?

Which was why, after quelling my initial panic at finding myself turned into a pigeon, I’d taken to the air with… well, anticipation.

I won’t blame you for thinking it wasn’t exactly the best time to be embracing the wonders of flight, that instead I should have focussed my concern on the prospect of being clawed to shreds by a murderous warlock in the shape of a hawk.

And, after a few seconds of clumsy flapping, that very concern crashed into my mind with an unwelcome thump.

The plan I’d hatched as I’d launched myself into the air, was for Trewla and me to climb to the heavens. I reasoned Akalemmo would ignore us – a speedy swift and an elegant pigeon – and go after Grimmon, who as a stubby-winged greenfinch, would be easier prey. You may think me heartless, but knowing as I do what a slippery little customer Grimmon is, I wasn’t worried. The goblin would lead him a merry chase and more than likely survive.

That plan soon turned to dust.

My heart sank into my scaly toes as it dawned on me that pigeons aren’t particularly well equipped when it comes to soaring.

My wings were far from graceful, and my body too stout to climb any higher than the altitude I’d been at since taking to the air at the top of the warlock’s tower.

I glanced behind. The hawk was flying only a stone’s throw behind, each flap of his powerful wings devouring the distance between him and me rather too fast for comfort.

With panic flailing at my wits, I scanned the ground, looking for somewhere to hide. Flat desert terrain, dotted here and there with small clumps of spiky grass, and the occasional fist-sized rock, didn’t promise much in the way of concealment. It was like being chased by the scorpion all over again, apart from this time we were airborne and it was a hawk rather than a poison-tailed arachnid who had me in their sights.

Plan B sprang into my head. I could sort everything out by casting a spell. But the pages of the spell-book in my mind were blank. Even if I’d remembered a spell, pigeons’ beaks don’t lend themselves to speech. Reciting the words of a spell was out of the question.

I hastily reformulated plan A.

Instead of escaping to the heights, I could overtake Grimmon. When the warlock slowed to deal with the goblin-greenfinch, it would buy me time to reach the safety of Castle Silverhill. Trewla wouldn’t be in any danger because, being a swift, she would already be far ahead, and would likely get to the castle before me.

Grimmon was a small green dot bobbing about in the air ahead. I couldn’t see Trewla. My spirits lifted. She must already be some distance in front.

Beating my wings faster, I slowly caught up with the greenfinch. When I was close enough to see his individual tail feathers, a small shape swooped from above and circled around us.

It was a swift.

Trewla!

She zipped close to me, her little black eyes boring into mine.

I wanted to yell at her, ask her what she was doing, point out that she could be leagues ahead by now if she’d flown in a straight line, but the only sound that issued from my beak was a strangled peep.

There was no time to be wondering what she was up to. Hoping she would follow my example, I overtook Grimmon.

With a flick of her wingtips, Trewla banked away, and darted upwards out of sight.

Was she annoyed with me? Was that what had sparked her abrupt departure?

No.

An instant later, talons smacked into my back. Tumbling in disarray, my wings tore at the air, the world span, the sun seared my eyes.

And every now and again, in my wild gyrations, I caught glimpses of the hawk directly above me.

Akalemmo was faster than I’d thought. He glared down at me, his eyes burning with hate.

“That was just for starters!” he squawked. “To let you know I’m here!”

The ground, rushing closer with every beat of my hammering heart, felt like a more important thing to worry about than how the hawk was able to speak.

Plummeting with all the aerial grace of a teapot, my sluggish brain registered the uncomfortable fact that screeching like a banshee wasn’t helping to slow me. I clamped by beak shut.

My wings were fluttering likes flags in a gale. With enormous effort, I forced them to keep steady. It took forever, and by the time I righted myself, and took stock of the situation, my gut clenched. I was no longer in the wild blue yonder but skimming over the desert at little more than the height of a troll hunched over to clean his toenails. That is to say, two Grimmon-sized goblins high.

Where was the hawk? I couldn’t see him. Had he lost sight of me too?

My heart leapt at the sight of the tops of Castle Silverhill’s towers a mile or so away. I banked towards them. All I had to do was keep my wings flapping, maintain my altitude, and I’d be there in a matter of minutes. Somewhere in that pile of crumbling stonework I called home, there would be an open window. Once inside, I’d be safe.

Trewla was probably there already.

Trying to ignore the fatigue creeping into my muscles, I pushed myself onward.

I shot over a rise in the ground. On the other side, a column of rock, poking up like a lone organ pipe, sent me veering to one side to avoid turning myself into pigeon paste. At that instant, a bolt of fire shot past me. The organ-pipe-rock erupted in flame and fragments of stone.

“Ha! Lucky escape! I won’t miss next time!” screamed Akalemmo.

He must be flying above me, keeping pace. If I carried on in a straight line, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

With my heart in my beak, I swung to the left, then with a flick of a wingtip, dived to the right. Another bolt of fire flashed past to me and hit the dirt.

Pelted by sand and pebbles, I curved away.

On and on I flew, zigzagging for all I was worth, with fire crashing into the ground around me.

“Stop dodging about, damn you!” bawled the warlock.

My lungs were fit to burst, my jolting heart was about to tear my ribs apart. I couldn’t keep going much longer.

Through my exhaustion-hazed eyes, I saw water below me.

The moat!

I was seconds from the castle.

With my last reserve of energy, I thrashed my wings to gain enough height to pass over the castle wall.

Inch by painful inch I rose.

I didn’t have enough breath left in me to scream when fire blossomed on the parapet. The shockwave pummelled into me and I tumbled down, barely conscious.

When my head cleared, I was lying on my back on the ruins of a guardhouse at the foot of the wall. Too exhausted to move, I could only watch numbly as Akalemmo circled high overhead.

“I’ve got you now!” he called, his voice booming despite how high above me he was. “You’re a sitting duck!”

He appeared to think for a moment, then added, “I mean, I know you’re a pigeon, not a duck. It’s just an expression.”

I nodded feebly to show I understood.

“Right. I’m glad we cleared that up.” An unearthly orange glow filled his eyes. “Back to the business in hand. Prepare to die!”

His eyes brightened fiery red.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Transfixed, I watched as he circled past the lightning rod on the tallest tower, his eyes glued to mine, and gathered his power for a final pigeon-incinerating burst.

His pupils blazed like twin furnaces. He took a deep breath.

I flinched, as I stared death in the face.

A tiny feathered form streaked from the blue and smashed into one of Akalemmo’s wings. The jolt flicked him onto his side, and sent him into a spin. A jet of fire shot from his eyes and set fire to a tree on the other side of the moat.

Whirling helplessly, he fell like a stone.

His shouts of rage turned to cries of terror as he realised what was directly beneath him.

The lightning rod.

For a moment it looked like he would right himself, but he was too late. The lightning rod’s sharp tip pierced his chest.

There was a bright flash, and his body morphed back into a human’s.

The last thing I remembered before blackness took me, was the sight of his corpse, impaled on the rod, swaying gently in the wind.

When I awoke, I was in bed. I was human again.

Had it all been a dream?

I pushed back the covers. I was still dressed in my driving outfit. My coat was stained with dragon’s blood and covered in scorch marks. My hat, singed on the brim, was hanging on the hatstand in the corner of my room.

Not a dream, then.

Akalemmo’s spell that turned us into birds must have had Drucher’s reversal built into it, which is why I had reverted to human form.

I wondered how I’d ended up in bed. Had Trewla and Grimmon carried me there after they’d turned back to elf and goblin respectively?

A roll of thunder caught my attention, and I looked out of the window. Low clouds drifted across a gentle landscape of rolling green hills.

The castle had moved to a new world. That was a relief. I’d had enough of deserts to last a lifetime.

And, seeing as the curse usually moved Castle Silverhill during the night, it must be morning.

On cue, my stomach rumbled. It had been far too long since I had last eaten. A whole day and night, by my reckoning. I pulled on my slippers and went down to the kitchen.

And there they were, Trewla and Grimmon.

Cook was there too, of course. As far as I know, she never leaves the kitchen.

“Um… What’s for breakfast?” I said.

Grimmon ignored me, pretending to be more interested in the rat he was dining on.

Cook opened her mouth to answer, but Trewla cut in with, “Is that the first thing you thought to say after everything we did for you?”

She glared at me, her fists on her hips, the oven’s glow turning her hair into a mane of fiery golden threads.

I racked my brains.

“Oh…” I said. “Good morning.”

I smiled to indicate I hadn’t taken offence at her pointing out my lack of manners.

Trewla called me an idiot, and a few other choice names besides.

I think she was concealing her true feelings because, when it dawned on me that I should thank her for what she’d done and mumbled a few words to that effect, she gave me a look which I interpreted as thoughtful, but which Grimmon later said – once he was speaking to me again – was actually her wondering if I would taste good with onions.

As far as I know, elves aren’t inclined to eat humans, so I’m treating Grimmon’s comment with the contempt it deserves.

Nevertheless, these days I tend to avoid standing near Trewla when she’s holding a knife.

Just in case.

*** THE END ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 7

I’m not fond of surprises, but Trewla appearing at that moment – in fact, at any moment – was…

Well, suffice to say the sight of her sent my pulse into orbit.

But I couldn’t help myself blurting out, “What in the worlds are you doing?”

I mean, I have my ego to maintain, right?

Her eyes narrowed. “Like I said, I’m here to save you.”

“I don’t need saving. I was doing quite well before you came along.” I looked meaningfully at the bent grille lying on the floor under a sizeable chunk of dragon meat. Wisps of smoke curled from the sizzling flesh.

Grimmon came out of the shadows, the points of his ears waving about as he lurched into view.

“You didn’t save us,” he said. “I did. If I hadn’t thrown my rat into the dragon’s gullet, you’d have been roasted and chewed into little bits. The creature would be deep into an after dinner nap by now if it weren’t for me.”

“A mere detail,” I said, waving my hand at him to shut him up. I turned back to Trewla. “What made you think we needed saving, anyway?”

She put her hands on her hips. “It was the sight of a large scorpion scuttling across the viaduct into the castle and morphing into the tourer – without the pair of you in it – once it had parked itself in the garage, that made me think you just might be in a teeny bit trouble.”

“Me in trouble? Nonsense.” I gazed down my nose at her. “Your help is not required. I’ve taken care of everything. The danger is over. We can leave at our leisure, return to the castle, and put this nasty business behind us.”

“Oh, really?” Trewla raised an eyebrow. “What about the warlock?”

“The warlock?” I coughed to give myself time to think. “Well… He’s… um, you know… I mean, what I’m actually saying is–”

I was interrupted by a voice thundering from the darkness at the end of the corridor. “I’m right here.”

With a dramatic flourish of one arm, Akalemmo stepped into the light. His other arm was holding a wet cloth to the side of his head.

“Damn!” said Trewla. “I should have hit you harder.”

“Yes, you should have!” yelled Akalemmo. “You’ll pay for this! Taking advantage of my good nature by pretending to be a mender of pots!”

I gave Trewla a puzzled look. “Eh? What’s he talking about?”

“When I came to rescue you, I disguised myself as a tinker.”

At my still puzzled expression, she continued, “Tinkers can go anywhere. Nobody ever suspects them of anything. And my disguise came in useful. I whacked him on the head with a saucepan.”

“And that’s why you’re going to die horribly,” screeched the warlock. “All of you!”

He began weaving his free hand in the air while muttering words of power. I felt magic building up. A glowing ball of fire took shape in his hand.

I looked around for somewhere to run. The trouble was, the only way out was past Akalemmo, and he didn’t look like he would stand aside to let us pass.

I grabbed Grimmon and thrust him in front of me.

“Let me and the elf go, and I’ll give you the goblin,” I said.

“What?” said Grimmon.

I held him tighter to prevent him squirming out of my grip. “Keep still. I have a plan,” I whispered, keeping my gaze on the warlock.

“Why would I possibly want a goblin?” said Akalemmo. “Especially one so badly in need of a bath.”

“He can cook,” I said. “Well, as long you’re partial to rats. And he can do housework.”

The ball of fire taking shape in Akalemmo’s hand faltered. I could see I had piqued his interest, so I plunged ahead. “It must be difficult to find staff out here in the middle of the desert. I bet you haven’t had the place properly cleaned in years.”

Akalemmo frowned. “That’s true…” His chin lifted, and the fireball steadied. “But you can’t win me over that easily!”

The fireball in his palm was burning like a tiny sun. He raised his arm and drew it back, ready to throw. I flinched and ducked behind Grimmon.

Trewla grunted, whipped a saucepan from her outfit and hurled it at the warlock.

With a loud clonk, it smacked into his forehead. The fireball winked out and he crumpled to the floor, groaning.

“Run!” shouted Trewla, surging forwards and leaping over Akalemmo’s recumbent body.

Holding on to my hat, I ran after her, my legs flying. I heard Grimmon scurrying along behind me.

We hurried up the stairs, Trewla clanking like a knight in armour with the kitchenware attached to her coat swinging like overexcited pendulums.

“This way!” she said, when we came to a fork in the corridor. She charged into the righthand passage and raced up a spiral staircase.

“Are you sure?” I said, my breath sawing in my throat. “We’ve climbed an awful lot of steps. We must be at ground level by now, surely?”

“Stop doubting me! I came down this way minutes ago, remember?”

I kept my mouth shut, and pushed myself up the stairs in her wake. My legs were already tiring. I was panting, and weak from having missed lunch. Briefly, I considered going back for the celery.

Up and up the spiral we climbed. I could barely see my feet in the dimness.

My spirits lifted when it dawned on me there was light ahead. It grew brighter with each turn of the spiral until I was almost blinded by sunlight which was streaming through a doorway at the top of the stairs.

“The front door at last,” I gasped, as Trewla stepped outside.

On shaking legs I dragged myself upwards. Grimmon wriggled past me, impatient as ever, and rushed after Trewla.

Squinting in the brightness, I stumbled out onto paving stones.

My eyes adjusted, and my spirits sank into my boots.

We weren’t at ground level.

A balustrade curved around the edge of the circular paved area on which we stood.

We were at the top of the tower.

And worse, Akalemmo was there, grinning from ear to ear despite the nasty bruise purpling on his forehead.

Trewla and Grimmon were like soldiers standing to attention, their arms pinned to their sides, and their legs held unmoving by bands of blue magic energy.

Before I could take another step, the warlock gestured, and my own tender body was trussed in a similar fashion.

“So foolish of you to think I wouldn’t catch you,” said Akalemmo. “I simply used a spell to make you choose the route to the roof, and another to convey myself here to greet you when you arrived.”

“Let us go, you madman!” I said, sweat trickling down my brow.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” His eyes hardened. “Because it will be far more fun to hunt you down and tear you to shreds, rather than merely burning you to death with a fireball.” His beard jiggled up and down with his chuckling.

Arcane words streamed from his lips, and he waved his arms in a flapping motion. There was a bright blue flash and suddenly I was free.

And, I realised as my eyes cleared, a great deal shorter. I looked at my feet. They were pink and three toed. I lifted my arms. They were covered in grey feathers.

I was a pigeon.

I looked at Trewla and Grimmon. She had become a small, dark bird perched on the balustrade. A swift, I realised when she spread her wings. Grimmon was a rather grubby specimen of greenfinch.

“Fly!” screeched Akalemmo. “Flee if you can!”

He threw back his head and a deep, belly-shaking, less-than-comforting laugh coursed from his throat.

As one, Trewla and Grimmon flapped their wings and took to the sky.

I slowly turned my gaze back to Akalemmo.

He had changed too. A large hawk gazed back at me from yellow, hate-filled eyes.

I squawked, lumbered into the air with a noisy clattering of wings, and took off across the desert after the swift and greenfinch.

“Wait for me!” I shrieked.

*** Continued in episode 8 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 6

If you ever find yourself face to face with a dragon, there are two things you should remember. First: be afraid. Especially if it smiles. Second: you have as much chance of outrunning its fiery breath as your landlord letting you off your unpaid rent.

I feel I have some experience in the matter, what with having been locked in a dungeon along with a dragon whose spine brushed the ceiling.

“Get back!” I shouted shuffling to the rear and waggled the knife which, I was uncomfortably aware, would be as much use as a toothpick against the dragon’s armoured scales.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, but it didn’t stop stalking inch-by-inch towards me.

“Do you know where I was before your spell so rudely brought me here?” it said, its eye ridges arching. Without waiting for me to reply, it continued, “I was sunning myself on a mountaintop, pondering what my next meal would be.” Its lips pulled back in a less-than-reassuring smile. “And, guess what?” Again, impolitely not waiting for me to answer, it said, “Its going to be you.”

“Ha! Think again! You’ll not find me easy prey,” I shrieked in what even I felt was an unconvincing tone.

“Oh, really?” The dragon shook its head sadly. “What can you possibly do to stop me?”

“Magic! I can do magic!”

The dragon chuckled. “Is that all? It’s not like I didn’t know that already. Your magic brought me here, remember?” It sighed. “In any case, I’m a creature of magic so your pathetic spells can’t hurt me.”

“I’ll wipe that smug expression off your face! Spells may not harm you directly, but just watch! I am going to turn this knife into a sword and thrust it through your evil heart!”

I spoke with confidence for an image of a page from my book of spells had popped into my mind. Waving my free hand in a weaving pattern, I raised my fist holding the knife above my head and gabbled the words of the spell I saw in my mind’s eye.

There was a flash of thaumaturgic energy. The knife changed. In triumph, I brandished what I now held.

But the weight was all wrong. And the grip didn’t feel right.

With a sinking heart, my gaze crept up my arm.

Instead of a sword with a long blade of brave steel, my hand was clutching a limp stick of celery topped by a jaunty cluster of leaves.

My eyes grew large. “Oh,” I said, giving the bendy stalk a shake in the hope I was mistaken, and that what I gripped in my paw really was a sword.

But, no. The celery leaves waved merrily and hope fled.

I rolled down my eyes and looked at the dragon.

To my surprise, it had stopped in its tracks, a look of distaste on its face.

“Would you be a good chap and throw that away?” it said, staring at the celery.

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because if I roast you while you hold that execrable vegetable, it will impart an unpleasant taste to your flesh. Contaminate your flavour.”

The creature shuddered delicately. A thread of steam rose from one nostril.

“You don’t like celery?” I said.

“Nobody in their right mind does.”

“Well then.” I straightened my shoulders. “I don’t believe I will do as you ask.”

“Please. For the sake of decency and my palate, be reasonable!”

“No!” I gave the celery a flourish, and treaded backwards. “Stay where you are! Don’t move or I’ll rub this celery all over my body!”

The dragon gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me!”

I took another step to the rear. My heel caught on something and I fell flat on the floor.

Grimmon’s leg, I realised as I groggily raised my head. He was still sitting with his back to the wall, legs straight out along the floor, gnawing on a rat and watching the dragon with interest.

“Ah,” said the dragon, peering out my outstretched arm. “That’s better.”

I looked at my hand. It was empty. A chill shot through me. The celery must have flown from it when I fell.

Turning my head side to side, my heart thumping, I cast my gaze around and spotted the vegetable lying on the floor on the opposite side of the cell. Too far away to reach before the dragon roasted me.

“Oh, I am going to enjoy this,” said the dragon. It nodded at Grimmon. “And a what a delectable addition to the menu. I hadn’t noticed you sitting there until now. Two tasty morsels instead of one.”

Its chest swelled as it drew a great breath. Stretching its neck towards the pair of us, it opened its jaws. I watched in horrified fascination as a fierce glow formed in the fire glands at the back of its tongue, and its throat began to narrow.

There was a grunt from next to me, and Grimmon’s arm whipped out. A rat sailed out of his hand, into the dragon’s mouth and stopped when it lodged in the beast’s narrowing throat.

The dragon coughed. Its eyes crossed and it coughed again. The rat stayed where it was, firmly holding the creature’s throat open.

The glow in its fire glands grew brighter. It sat up on its haunches, snapped its mouth shut, and clamped its taloned front feet across its lips.

A loud pop issued from its nostrils, followed by flickers of flame.

Its eyes widened.

With a sharp crack, every scale on its body became outlined in fire. An instant later, the tower’s foundation shook as the entire creature erupted in a fireball.

Blackness descended on me.

When dragons are about to blow fire from their mouths, Grimmon told me later, they close their throats to prevent the flames igniting the flammable gastric juices of their digestive systems. His accurately thrown rat, he informed me, had wedged the creature’s throat open and therefore been the cause of the its demise.

I didn’t know about that back then, and when I recovered my senses, I could only look around in wonder as I sat up. My ears were ringing, and I was gagging at an awful stench like someone was burning the contents of a drain.

The dungeon’s walls were spattered with blood and lumps of meat. The torch had gone out, and all that lifted the darkness was the light coming from burning dragon scales scattered across the floor. In one corner, Grimmon was pulling himself to his feet, one hand on the wall to support himself, the other waggling a finger in his ear.

Shaking like a leaf, I put my legs under me and stood.

It was then I noticed the grille was missing from the doorway. It lay crumpled in the passageway under a large slab of dragon flesh and bone.

The silence was broken by a clanking sound coming from the passage. I shuffled to the doorway and stared into the shadows, my mouth dry. Somebody was coming down the passage towards us, their every step punctuated by a hollow banging of metal objects knocking together.

When they got closer, the faint light behind me revealed an odd figure wearing a large floppy hat which hid their face, and a long coat which was hung all over with pots and pans.

It seemed an unlikely outfit for a warlock, but even so I reckoned it must be Akalemmo coming down to gloat.

“Go on! Clear off!” I yelled.

“Is that any way to greet someone coming to save your ungrateful hide?” said the cookware-laden person lifting the brim of their hat.

My mouth dropped open.

It was Trewla.

“Well?” she said. “Don’t stand there gawping. Do you want to get out of here or not?”

*** Continued in Episode 7 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 5

Hard stone smacked into my back, replacing the soft sand I’d been lying on. The sunlight snapped out and was supplanted by a feeble orange light, which barely made it through the lung-clogging cloud of dirt whirling around me.

I lifted my head when, moments later, the dust slowed its frantic gyrations and began to settle. Coughing and spitting, I stood, blinking the grit from my eyes as the air cleared.

The first thing my gaze was drawn to was a flickering torch casting a sickly yellow light on the stone wall on which it was mounted. Seconds ago, I’d been in a sunlit desert and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom.

My heart sank.

There were coarse stone walls on all sides, a rough floor, and a stone ceiling. The doorway was blocked by an iron grille, its bars gleaming in the torchlight. Chains dangled from iron rings fastened to the walls.

A sneeze followed by a phlegmy cough came from somewhere near my feet.

Grimmon stirred and sat up, his face covered in dust. Grains of sand, glistening with damp, clung to his upper lip.

“Where are we?” he said.

“We’re in a dungeon by the look of it.” I took off my hat and banged it on my thigh to knock off the dirt.

“Eh? I thought Akalemmo said he was sending us to his tower. Towers don’t have dungeons.”

“There are manacles and chains fixed to the walls. I’m fairly certain this isn’t his guest suite.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, if were you.” Grimmon wiped his nose on his sleeve. “He might be in to that sort of thing.”

“Well, if he is, look what happened to his last guest.” I pointed at what I had at first thought was a pile of rubbish, but now that my eyes had adjusted to the low light I had realised was a skeleton, a few rags clinging to its bones, chained to the wall.

For the space of a few breaths Grimmon and I stared at the dead prisoner. The grinning skull’s eye sockets stared back.

“This is all your fault, you know,” said Grimmon, getting to his feet. He banged his palms against his coat, producing a musty-smelling cloud of dust. “Akalemmo was friendly until you accused him of being a wizard. What in the world possessed you to do that?”

“He was hardly friendly. He accused us of trespassing.” I glared at Grimmon and stepped back to avoid choking on the fetid mass of dust filling the air around him. “And he acted like a wizard. You must have seen him showing off? You know, all that arm waving and making gaudy circles of fire in the air?”

“So what? You could have kept your mouth shut instead of provoking him!” He finished patting the dust out of his clothes, licked his fingers and used the spittle to smooth down the few wisps of hair which trailed across his mottled-green scalp.

“It’s not my fault warlocks have chips on their shoulders. I mean, just because they don’t go to university like wizards do, doesn’t make them idiots. So, why did he act like one?”

“At least Akalemmo seems to know what he’s doing when it comes to magic, unlike you. All you do is dabble.”

“I don’t dabble. I confess I’m still learning, but at least I don’t go around showing off and getting offended every time someone opens their mouth!”

Grimmon shook his head. “You really should take a closer look at yourself.”

I huffed. “Arguing isn’t get us anywhere. We should be devoting our energy to getting out of this mess.”

I strode over to the grille blocking the doorway and gave it a vigorous shake. It rattled but stayed firmly shut.

“Damn you!” I yelled through the bars. “Let us out of here at once!”

The only answer were the echoes of my voice from the corridor that lay beyond the door.

I whirled around, my blood boiling.

“How dare he? I’m beginning to–”

I broke off and stared at Grimmon who was seated with his back against the wall, his jaw moving rhythmically in a chewing action. On his lap was the square of greasy paper his lunch had been wrapped in. And on that lay two blackened, burned rats. The third rat, minus its head, was in his hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked, genuinely mystified.

“It’s lunchtime. I’m eating.”

“We’re locked in a dungeon along with a dead body, and all you can think about is eating?”

Grimmon cocked his head. “I’m hungry.” He looked at me like I he thought my brain had suddenly shrunk and fallen out of my ear.

I was about to give him a good telling off, when I spotted something else lying on the paper alongside the rats.

“You have a knife!” I said. “Why didn’t you say so? We can use it to threaten Akalemmo! Force him to let us go!”

I grabbed it, marched back to the grille and shouted into the corridor. “Ha! You’re a fake! You’re probably not even a proper warlock, never mind a wizard! Come down here and I’ll show you a thing or two about magic!”

Looking over my shoulder at Grimmon, I whispered, “When he comes into the cell, you distract him. I’ll sneak up behind him and threaten him with the knife.”

I moved next to the grille out of sight of anyone who came down the corridor towards us, my back to the wall.

With a thundering heart, I waited.

Nothing happened.

Still I waited. Nothing happened again.

“I can’t believe it! I was sure he would–” I broke off and stared at a rope dangling next to me from somewhere above my head. “That wasn’t there earlier, was it?”

Grimmon’s forehead furrowed. “I’m not sure. I didn’t notice it until now.”

“It must be a bell-pull,” I said. “Look, it has a tassel on the end and everything.”

“If it’s a bell-pull, why is attached to that?” Grimmon pointed at a basket suspended from the ceiling. The rope was fastened to one side of the wickerwork.

“It’s obvious! There must be a bell inside. When you pull the rope, the basket will rock and make the bell ring.”

“I don’t think so. Why would anyone go to all the trouble of putting a bell inside a basket, when they could just hang a bell on its own? I have a bad feeling about it. I don’t think you should touch it.”

“Nonsense!” I gave the rope a sharp tug.

The basket tipped over. Something like a long, heavy piece of cord as thick as my arm, fell onto my shoulders.

“Aaaaaaah!” shrieked Grimmon. “Snake!”

I jumped about and dislodged the ghastly thing. It dropped to the floor and reared. With its cold, beady eyes stared into mine, it opened its mouth, hissed, and displayed its fangs.

“Don’t panic!” I stumbled backwards a pace. “I have a spell that will sort this out!”

“No!” Grimmon jumped to his feet, sending his rats flying. “Please don’t!”

He was too late, for the words of magic were already leaving my lips.

Thaumaturgical particles whirled out of the air and enclosed the snake in a cocoon of blazing blue light. 

“You see?” I crowed. “I’ve trapped it inside a magic stasis envelope! There’s no chance it will escape from that!”

I stepped up to the cocoon and gave it a sharp kick with the toe of my boot. There was a bright flash. My eyes filled with spots and I lurched to the rear.

It took several seconds for my vision to clear.

When it did, I found myself face to face with a rather large and very annoyed dragon.

Rattling the scales along its back, it snarled, bared its teeth, and treaded towards me.

*** Continued in episode 6 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 4

I ran like the hounds of hell were after me, which, in my opinion, wouldn’t have been as horrific as what was actually snapping its pincers at my heels: an enormous mechanical scorpion with a savage thirst for my blood. A pincer snatched at my coattails and, with a squeal, I put on a burst of extra speed.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the scorpion had sped up too and was slowly gaining on me. Despite the heat of the desert, a chill swept over me. My heart was hammering like a demonic blacksmith lashing an anvil, and my legs were pumping like a locomotive’s pistons. I couldn’t last much longer. I was already tiring.

Ahead, there was still no sign of cover, not even a rock big enough to hide behind.

My brain was still processing the image from that glance over my shoulder, and an oddness about it struck me.

There had been a darkish green figure hunched on the scorpion’s back.

I glance back again.

The figure was still there. I narrowed my eyes.

It was Grimmon. And he was holding onto something behind the creature’s head. A lever, I realised.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

As if in answer he pushed the lever forward. Twin jets of steam streamed from the beast’s rear and it picked up speed.

It surged closer, and one of its pincers swung at me. I yelped and leaped to the side to avoid my liver being punctured.

My tired legs had barely enough strength to send me lurching sideways again as the other pincer swept through the air at my fragile flesh. Distracted and not watching where I was going, my foot smacked into a stone, and I tumbled to the ground. A massive, spiked pincer swooped past my head, knocking off my hat.

The scorpion skidded to a halt in a roiling cloud of dust. It raised both its pincers, looming over me like a vengeful butcher with a cleaver in each hand.

“Eeeeeeeeek!” I screeched.

I could see Grimmon’s face looking over the beast’s head at me. He was grinning, which seemed a little odd, and at the exact moment the scorpion’s deadly pincers started to whip down, he yanked the lever backwards. The creature’s metallic body quivered and froze, and the pincers ground to a halt only inches above my chest.

I groaned and rolled out from under the spikes, which were still vibrating like a bishop in a brothel, and lay on my back to get my breath back.

“What the hell were you doing?” I said, lifting my head to glare at him.

“Don’t shout at me,” said Grimmon, giving me a hurt look. “I just saved your life.”

“Oh really? Then why did you make the damned monster go faster?”

“I pulled the lever the wrong way the first time.” Grimmon’s expression wouldn’t have looked out of place on the face of an angel. “You should be grateful. I risked my life to save you.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“When the scorpion chased after you, it went past me and I noticed the steam control lever sticking up at the front by its head. Without any concern for my own safety, I grabbed its tail, climbed onto its back and crawled forward to operate the lever.”

Though I had my suspicions about his behaviour when I’d seen him on the scorpion’s back, I had to admit he’d stopped the foul beast before it had done me any harm.

“Well, I… um… thank you,” I mumbled.

“Could you say that again, louder? I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Once was enough! Besides which, it’s your fault we got into this mess in the first place.”

His eyebrows shot up. “My fault?”

“Yes. If you hadn’t interfered with my plan to get Trewla to go on a picnic with me, I’d be with her right now – an actual nice person – instead of you.”

“I bet she wouldn’t have jumped on the back of a terrifying creature to save your ungrateful hide.”

“She wouldn’t have had to because, unlike you, she would have made sure the tourer’s water tank was full before we left.”

“Ha! Why didn’t you check it before we left. Why do you leave everything to me?”

“Because I’m a big picture person. I have the ideas, the brilliance, to make things happen. You’re a details person.” I looked down my nose at him, which wasn’t difficult what with me being horizontal. “Anyway, pass me the water bottle. I’m thirsty.”

“What water bottle?”

I smacked my forehead. “I can’t believe it! You didn’t bring one, did you?”

“You’re the ideas person, remember?” He scowled at me. “But you didn’t think to remind me to bring one.”

He had a point, but I wasn’t about to let him know that. “Right. So, we’ll just have to… um… you know…”

“Find someone to help us?”

“Ah!” I seized on his suggestion and pretended it was mine. “We’ll find someone to help us.” I gazed around the barren landscape. “Keep quiet while I choose a direction to go.”

“How about there?” he said, pointing at a steep-sided hill, about a mile away, with a tower perched on top of it.

“I think we should walk to the tower on that hill,” I said, as though I hadn’t heard him. “We’re bound to find someone there who can help us.”

I started levering myself up, only to fall back in astonishment as the ground near my feet erupted in a boiling cloud of dust. Peppered with dirt and pebbles, I could only watch open-mouthed as the dust settled, revealing a bearded man wearing sand-coloured robes and a pointy hat standing before me.

He twisted around, his head snapping from side to side as though looking for something. I coughed, and after a tiny jump, his gaze dropped and settled on my prostrate form.

“Oh, there you are,” he said. He took a deep breath, stuck out his beard, and intoned, “How dare you trespass on my domain?”

“We’re lost,” I said, summoning as much dignity I could muster in my horizontal state. “Who are you?”

He puffed out his chest. “I am the Amazing Akalemmo!”

As he spoke, he waved his arms in a circle in front of him. His hands left a ring of blue fire which hung in the air for a few seconds, then faded away.

I rolled my eyes. “Ah, you’re a wizard.”

His eyes bulged, and his face reddened.

“Wizard?” he screeched. “A mortal insult! You will pay for that!”

“Oh.” I sighed and my heart sank. “Let me guess. You’re a warlock.”

“Correct!” He came closer and placed his foot on my chest. “And you are my prisoner!”

Lifting his head, he directed his gaze at a nearby sand dune. “So are you.”

He waved his hand and muttered. There was a surprised yelp, and something rose into the air from behind the dune.

It was Grimmon. Coward that he is, he must have scurried off when Akalemmo had arrived.

“To my tower, the pair of you!” bellowed the warlock.

With that, the warlock made a peculiar gesture with his hands. Blue sparks flew from his fingers and a thick fog of dust coiled from the sands. It wrapped around us and the landscape disappeared.

The world lurched and my body felt like it turned inside out.

*** Continued in episode 5 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 3

The last words of the spell left my lips and, for a while, the only sound was the rustling of wind through the spiky clumps of desert grass dotting the landscape. The only thing moving was the blue smoke drifting from the steam car’s chimney.

Grimmon opened his mouth to speak, but stopped at a scraping sound coming from the car. Our eyes were drawn to the metal cap at the top of the magnificent vehicle’s water tank, which was slowly unscrewing all on its own. With a final squeal of metal on metal, it came loose and dropped, to dangle from the short length of chain that stopped it getting lost.

The air above the tank shimmered, and twisted, forming into a man-high, conical cloud of vapour with its point at the bottom. As we watched, the tip of the inverted cone thinned into a rope of water which poured into the tank through the opening. Splashing and gurgling like a giant bartender pouring a beer, water continued streaming into the tank until it splashed out of the top indicating it was full. The flow thinned, slowed, shed a couple of final drops, and the cloud of vapour faded away.

The cap swung up on its chain and screwed itself back into place.

“There! You see?” I yelled, dancing about and waving my arms. “I did it! You really should learn to trust me!”

Grimmon’s mouth shut with a click. “I don’t believe it…”

He looked from the car to me and back to the car. A drop of water ran down the side of the tank and splashed onto the mudguard.

I puffed out my chest, and whistling a jaunty tune, strode towards the car. The polished brass of its bodywork gleamed in the bright sunlight, echoing the triumph swelling my breast.

Before I had taken more than two paces, the car groaned. With its water tank full, steam was hissing from the engine’s vents. The wheels slowly started to turn, and the heavy vehicle lurched forward.

“You didn’t close the steam valve before you got out, did you?” yelled Grimmon.

“No… I didn’t think it mattered…” Wheezing like a politician telling the truth, I ran after the car which was gradually gathering speed as it trundled away along the trail.

Grimmon squeaked. “You didn’t think? That’s exactly–”

Whatever he was about to say was lost when the tourer began to exhibit extremely un-car-like behaviour. The front mudguards bulged outwards, lengthening into a pair of articulated arms whose ends thickened and formed into large nasty-looking pincers. The roof dipped and insect-like legs sprouted from the flattening body. They scuttled along the sandy desert floor while the wheels shrunk and vanished. The bodywork morphed into a low, wide, segmented thorax and abdomen. The chimney flowed to the rear and curved forward over the body. With smoke still pouring from the rear, it became a tail with a viciously spiked tip of polished brass.

I stumbled to a halt. Any thoughts I’d had about catching up with the car and shutting the steam valve, evaporated. My beautiful tourer had transformed into a giant mechanical scorpion.

Steam erupted from the sides of the beast as it slowed and turned to face us, snapping its pincers.

Grimmon sidled up alongside me, and the pair of us stood rooted to the spot.

It was difficult to see if the scorpion had eyes what with all the steel and brass plates covering its body, but I imagined the glass bits at the front, which had probably been the car’s windscreen, were what it saw out of. I definitely had the impression the creature was gazing at us as though deciding what to do.

“I warned you not to use magic,” said Grimmon. “It went wrong just like I thought it would, and now you’ve stranded us in the middle of a desert!”

Ignoring him, I said, “I’m sure it’s friendly. I always treated it well when it was a car.” I shuffled back a step or two. “Ask it if it wouldn’t mind giving us a lift back to the castle. We could sit on its back.”

“If you’re so keen, why don’t you ask it yourself?”

“You’re smaller and less edible than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know… Nothing in its right mind would want to eat you.”

Grimmon shook his head in disbelief. “You say the most hurtful things. In any case, it’s not true. Lots of things eat goblins.”

“Like what?”

“Like the Gruesome Goblin-Eater of… of Gazpacho.”

“You just made that up.” I put my hand on his back and gave him a helpful shove towards the scorpion. “Go on. Ask it.”

Grimmon staggered, waving his arms to keep his balance.

I tensed as twin bursts of steam streamed from the scorpion’s sides. An enormous pincer lifted, and lunged over Grimmon’s head straight at me. I leaped backwards, ducking to avoid my tender flesh being pierced and, quite probably, minced.

The scorpion’s other pincer swept Grimmon out of the way, while the creature’s eight legs churned the desert floor, sending sand flying. With a fierce rattling of the metal plates covering its back, it surged straight for me.

With a yell, I turned tail and ran.

My boots pounded the ground, my breath burned in my throat, while I held onto my hat and I scanned the way ahead for somewhere to hide. The ground was mostly flat and featureless, with little apart from a few small rocks here and there to break the monotony. A range of low hills, which might have offered some kind of concealment, were too far away for comfort.

A fearful glance over my shoulder sent my legs flying even faster. Pincers snapping, legs blurring, the beast was scurrying after me.

And getting closer.

*** Continued in episode 4 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 2

“You have to admit this is fun, eh?” I said, raising my voice above the noise of steam venting from the huge pistons powering the tourer over the parched, stony ground.

Grimmon was seated in the passenger seat next to me as I steered the great steam-powered car across the desert. In order to see out the front, he had brought a pile of cushions to sit on. What with the uneven terrain, and the car’s hard suspension, he had a tricky time stopping his precarious seat tipping him onto the floor. His knuckles showed almost white through his green skin where he gripped the door handle.

“Look out!,” he said, his pointed ears wiggling in distress. “Watch where you’re going!”

Flicking my attention back to the view through the windscreen, I saw the cause of his anxiety was a rocky outcrop in our path. Hiding my alarm behind a confident smile, I span the steering wheel and the huge car swerved past unscathed.

I’d started out in a thoroughly bad mood when we’d left the castle. It didn’t seem fair that Trewla had turned down an outing with me, lumbering me instead with Grimmon, who even for a goblin, put a whole new meaning on the word grouchy. And to put not too fine a point on it, had an odour that peeled paint of walls. At least with the windows open, the fresh – if a little hot and dry – air made the atmosphere inside the car breathable.

But once we had driven over the viaduct and left the castle behind, my spirits had lifted. Brimming with confidence at my mastery of the mechanical contraption I was driving, and my pleasure at being out in the open, I was soon humming and whistling.

“That looks like a nice spot for a picnic,” said Grimmon, pointing out of the window.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody in their right mind picnics in a desert. Besides which, I didn’t pack a hamper.”

“But you told Trewla you would take her on a picnic.”

“That was to persuade her to go for a drive with me.”

Grimmon sniggered. “How did that work out for you?”

“You know very well how it worked out. Anyway, you can’t condemn me for trying.”

“She’s never going to like you.” Grimmon chuckled and leered at me. “You do realise that, don’t you?”

“It’s none of your business. And you can keep your grubby opinions to yourself.”

Grimmon sighed and stared where he had pointed. “I still think that’s a nice spot for a picnic. It doesn’t matter you forgot the hamper. I’ve brought nibbles.” He patted the greasy paper-wrapped package bouncing on his lap. “Three delicious roasted rats.”

“You must be joking. In any case, we don’t have time for picnics. What we’re supposed to be doing is looking for someone to buy supplies from.”

Grimmon made a big show of gazing around the empty landscape. “Good luck with that. There’s absolutely no sign anyone lives out here.”

At that moment we came to a track. 

“You were saying,” I said, making no attempt to conceal my smugness.

I turned the car onto the track and pulled the lever that increased the flow of steam to the pistons. Slowly and majestically, the car picked up speed.

“You’re going too fast!” The car lurched over a bump, sending Grimmon tumbling from his cushions into the footwell.

“Look at that,” My pulse raced as I glanced at the speedometer. “Eighteen miles an hour! Full speed! We’re practically flying!”

Smoke billowed from the chimney at the front of the car. Clouds of steam hissed from the vents at either side of the powerful engine. We were bowling along at an exhilarating clip.

A stream of words I’d rather not repeat came from the footwell where Grimmon was being thrown about as he struggled to regain his seat.

“This is the life!” I yelled, clenching my hands harder around the steering wheel to prevent it twisting out of my grip. “This track must lead to a town or something! Soon we’ll be impressing the locals with our–”

The engine gave a loud burp, followed by a prolonged sigh. Shuddering and groaning like a banker parting with money, the car lost speed and rolled to a halt.

Grimmon’s wrinkled face emerged from under a heap of cushions. Pushing his meagre strands of hair back across his mottled green scalp, he stared at the gauges on the dashboard, and tapped one with a yellow fingernail. The needle swung from the top of the dial to the bottom.

“The water tank’s empty,” he said.

“What?” My eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t you fill it before we left?”

“No… The gauge said it was full.”

My blood boiled. “Which part of my instructions to prepare the tourer did you not understand?”

“I did everything I usually do!”

“Not good enough!” I said, opening the door and clambering out into the blazing sun. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I gazed around. “I suppose I’m going to have to sort out your mistake. It’s simply a matter of using magic to refill the water tank.” I pulled the brim of my hat more firmly around my head. “I’m sure I remember a spell for producing water. Or was it for making rain? It doesn’t matter, either will do.”

Grimmon leaped out of the car. “No! Don’t! No magic!”

Ignoring him, I raised my hands in a dramatic wizardly fashion and chanted a spell.

*** continued in episode 3 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes

A Worry with Warlocks – Episode 1

I have a confession to make.

Some of the things that have recently gone awry may have been my fault.

Well, partially.

You see, that morning when I asked Grimmon to prepare the tourer for an outing, I had no idea it would lead to the discomfort from which he claims he still suffers. On the other hand, if I’d listened to Trewla’s warnings about the world the castle had arrived in that same morning, Grimmon might be as chirpy as usual.

Perhaps chirpy is stretching things a little, but you get the idea.

During the night, the castle had relocated itself to yet another world, and I woke to the sun blazing through my bedroom window. In my estimation, that’s always signals a good day lies ahead, and I threw back the covers with a glad heart.

It didn’t last.

When I shuffled in my slippers to the window to gaze at the world the castle had moved to, my stomach dropped. I had hoped for a glorious landscape of lush green hills, or a patchwork of bountiful fields bursting with ripening crops, or tropical forests awash with colourful birds, or just about anything apart from the sight that greeted my eyes.

Flat, bare stony ground stretched away to a distant range of arid, rocky hills. Here and there, pale green clusters of spiky bushes were the only breaks in a parched, dusty plain of brown, tan, and beige.

The only thing that lifted my mood was the sight of the viaduct. I think I’ve mentioned before, the viaduct only appears when the world beyond the moat is deemed to be benign by whatever drives the magic behind the castle’s world hopping. If we arrive in a new world, and the viaduct isn’t there, it isn’t safe to leave the castle.

The stone arches marching across the moat were most welcome. Despite the hostile-looking desert, I reasoned the presence of the viaduct meant the land couldn’t be too dangerous. It had been weeks since I’d been on an outing, and I was determined today was the day to go on another one.

Besides which, Cook had informed me the day before that we had run out of cheese. And a few other necessities as well, but cheese was the most important, as far as I was concerned. A trip to replenish our supplies was required.

I dressed as fast as my fingers could do up my buttons and made my way to the kitchen. Trewla, wearing a rather fetching dress she had borrowed from the poltergeist, was sat at a table, eating fruit from a bowl. Grimmon was in the far corner of the room tucking into a well-roasted rat. Cook was bent over a pan, suspended on chains over the fire, preparing my hopefully rat-free breakfast.

“Good morning!” I said, breezily, as I entered. “Grimmon, my little goblin friend, finish your meal then go and prepare the tourer.” I sauntered up to Trewla and bathed her with a smile. “How would you like to go on a shopping expedition with me?”

“Seriously?” she said. “You want me to wander aimlessly around a baking wasteland with you to look for a shop?”

“Not aimlessly, and we won’t be wandering either. Didn’t you hear me instruct Grimmon to prepare the tourer?”

She sighed, and slowly shook her head, sending her glorious curls swaying about her pointed ears. “What’s ‘the tourer’?”

“Ah.” I raised my finger vertically and waggled it. “It’s a marvellous contraption. A vehicular triumph of engineering that will convey us to the farthest reaches of the desert in comfort and style.”

Grimmon sniggered. “He means it’s a steam-powered car. More smoke, shake and rattle than comfort.”

“Steam power?”

“Think of it as a coal-eating dragon, belching smoke and steam, while you ride on its back,” said Grimmon.

Trewla sniffed. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

“Wait!” I protested. “The tourer is nothing at all like Grimmon says.” I gave the goblin a dirty look, then turned back to Trewla and added slyly. “In any case, you can’t let me go out into a strange new world on my own, surely?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said. “The answer is still no.”

“But I need another pair of eyes to help me search for people, villages, towns, and whatnot. I can’t possibly do that on my own.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Grimmon, raising his hand.

“No!” I said, aghast. “You’re not suitable.”

“Why not,” said Trewla, fixing me with a stony stare.

“Well… he’s, you know, um… unpleasant.”

“Oh? And what am I?”

“You’re um… not unpleasant. Not at all.”

Trewla arched her eyebrows. “That’s how you would describe me? Not unpleasant?”

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that! You’re much more, um…”

Cook stopped stirring the pan, and raised her head. “I’d stop talking, if I were you,” she said, wiping the sweat off her face with her apron.

Ignoring her, I gazed at Trewla with my most honest expression, and forged ahead. “You’re much better than unpleasant, obviously.”

She snorted, and pushed back her chair.

My pulse quickened. “We could take a picnic with us,” I said. “Find a nice spot with a view, and enjoy ourselves.”

Trewla was on her feet by now. “You do realise it’s a desert, right? Hot, dusty, and dry. If you get lost, you’ll die of thirst in a day.”

“We’ll take plenty of water. Anyway, it’s far too flat to get lost in.”

“The answer is still no.”

“About the picnic,” said Grimmon. “Will there be rat?”

“No. Definitely not!” I said, making surreptitious gestures at him with my fingers as a way of telling him to back off.

“Never mind, I’ll bring my own.” Grimmon grinned at me, showing all his rodent-encrusted pointy teeth. “I’ll stoke up the tourer. See you in the garage in twenty minutes.”

“I’m sure you boys will have a lovely time,” said Trewla over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. “Enjoy your picnic.”

*** Continued in episode 2 ***

A Worry with Warlocks – Index of Episodes