“You seem to be of the opinion,” said Grimmon, “that thinking too hard sprains the brain.”
He really does talk like that. Goblins can be just as pompous as the rest of us.
“Actually,” I said. “I am thinking. I’m connecting with my muse.”
I’d been writing all morning and was taking a break outside, leaning on the battlement at the top of the castle wall overlooking the moat, gazing at the world beyond.
The tips of Grimmon’s ears wobbled. “Your muse? Don’t make me laugh. You’re not thinking, you’re procrastinating.”
“I’ll have you know, the words have been flowing onto the page lately.” I waved my hand like I was conducting an orchestra. “And I’m pleased with what I’ve written.”
“Yeah, right.” Grimmon sniffed and scuffed the sole of his shoe on a flagstone. “Anyway, I’m not here to talk about that. What I wanted-”
At that moment there was a loud bang.
As one, we turned our heads to the building housing Castle Silverhill’s laboratory. A column of smoke billowed from a window, staining the clear blue sky a delicate shade of mauve.
“Trewla!” I yelled, and ran down the steps to the courtyard below. A minute later, I was wading through the debris littering the laboratory’s floor, coughing as my lungs filled with smoke.
“Trewla! Where are you?”
“Over here,” she said, raising her head above a stained workbench and standing up. She was holding a dustpan and brush. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, and her face and clothes were covered in soot. “What on earth’s the matter?”
“The explosion. I thought…” I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head.
“Oh, that. I was just a little too heavy handed with the fairy dust. Nothing to worry about.” She patted down her hair.
“Well, be careful next time.” If I sounded gruff it was due to the dust coating my throat.
I felt a tugging at my sleeve, and looked down to see Grimmon gazing up at me.
“Not now, Grimmon,” I said.
“It’s important. I’ve got a painting for you.”
And here it is: a scene from Daphne Mayne and the Goblin Quest where Daphne is crossing a magically created bridge over a chasm and the bridge’s guardian begins to materialise.
