The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 1
“You’re lucky she’s still talking to you,” said Grimmon, stuffing an entire pastry into his mouth and slurping his coffee with such cacophonous enthusiasm it turned the heads of the cafe’s other patrons our way.
I ignored him and pretended to read the newspaper that had been left on our table by a previous diner.
It’s always like this when the castle visits a world where the folk are civilised. If I venture out across the moat, I invariably end up in Grimmon’s company. And without fail, when we mix with the locals – the respectable ones anyway – I fervently wish I’d had the good sense to leave him behind at the castle.
It’s not that I like to spend time with him, but everybody I ask to accompany me either downright refuses or is suddenly too busy. I never ask Grimmon. He volunteers. And after my initial refusals and his persistent nagging, I always relent.
The ‘she’ he’d just referred to was Trewla, the elf whose heart I was sure I was winning over, despite her inexplicable reluctance to forgive me for an incident which wasn’t my fault.
Thanks to a series of misunderstandings and mishaps – non of which were of my doing – I had ended up with the contents of an ancient wizard’s spellbook lodged in my mind. Those contents, Trewla never tires of reminding me, should be safely returned to the now blank book where they had come from so she can access them, instead of swilling around in my head. The trouble was, that blank book had gone missing.
I didn’t mind.
Not that I could use the wizard’s spells lodged inside my noggin myself, you understand. They were as clear to me as the calculations on a shredded tax return viewed through the wrong end of a telescope. No, the reason for my lack of interest was that Trewla was convinced the way back to her world was hidden among those spells.
Once the empty spellbook is found and I return the spells to it, she’ll begin her search.
That will be a disaster. If she succeeds, I’ll never see her again.
Besides which, I don’t need some dodgy wizard’s spellbook myself, anyway.
If you’ve followed my previous escapades you’ll know I have a spellbook of my own – a superior one, in my opinion – and I’m not averse to casting the odd spell from it when the need arises.
When the wizard had rudely thrust his book’s spells into my head, they’d blotted out my memory of my own spells. Since then, however, I’d refreshed my memory by thumbing through my spellbook’s pages a few times. I’d even cast one of them that very morning to disguise Grimmon’s unappealing goblin exterior.
On our journey from the castle to the town, we’d established that this world seemed to be one of those where goblins, trolls, and other fairy folk no longer exist. So as not to alarm the gentle townsfolk with Grimmon’s green, pointy-eared exterior, I’d given him the appearance of a tiny, wizened old man. A rather disheveled, grubby example it must be said, but there was only so much the spell could do given the poor material it had to work with.
Holding up the newspaper to block my view of him, I gazed in contentment at our surroundings.
It was a pleasant autumn afternoon with the sun casting a golden glow over the graceful shopfronts and facades of the buildings nestled side by side along the attractively paved street. Smartly attired couples strolled along the pavements, and gleaming coaches drawn by sleek horses rolled past. Most of the elegant chairs and tables of the cafe where we were seated were occupied by gentlemen and ladies of a refined and tasteful appearance.
I nodded to myself in approval. There were no riffraff to spoil the view. The burly uniformed gentlemen we’d seen around the town must be there to keep them out.
A few people at nearby tables were casting admiring glances at my outfit of silk top hat, navy blue tailcoat, grey trousers, white linen shirt, and burgundy waistcoat. My ensemble was tastefully completed by a plum and yellow spotted cravat. I pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, pleased my innate sense of sophisticated style was being appreciated.
Grimmon hissed and leaned closer. “Stop preening yourself. You look like you stole your clothes from a jester’s washing line.”
“You’re just jealous.” I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. “Unlike you uncivilised lot at the castle, people here recognise quality when they see it.”
Grimmon shifted on the thick cushion that raised him high enough to see over the edge of the table. “Quality? You wouldn’t know quality if it bit you on the–”
He broke off as a shadow fell across our table.
I looked up. A tall, slender woman in a long black dress stood next to us, gazing intently at me, her brow wrinkled.
“Ignatius?” she said.
For a second I was speechless.
How could she possibly know my name? Any worker of magic will tell you there’s power in names, and I rarely tell mine to anyone. On top of that, we couldn’t have met before. As far as I know, the castle has never visited the same world twice.
Something strange was going on. My plan to spend the rest of the afternoon purchasing supplies had just been thrown out of the window. I had to get to the bottom of how this striking woman claimed she knew me.
“Charmed,” I said, standing and offering my hand. “In the presence of your beauty I’m afraid my mind has gone completely blank. Lady…?.”
I held the paper to the side to block her view of Grimmon rolling his eyes.
Her handshake was cool but firm. Her fingers brushed my palm as she let go.
“Countess Virrellenta,” she said. “Vir to my friends.”I’m hurt you don’t remember.”
“Allow me to make up for my churlishness. Sit with me.” I pulled out a chair for her and waved at the apron-clad waiter.
We sat, her eyes staring into mine. Her pupils were as black as bottomless wells.
Grimmon gave a theatrical cough.
“I beg your pardon,” I said to Vir. “Allow me to introduce my, um, great uncle Grimmon.”
As she began to turn her head towards the goblin, a bolt of alarm shot up my spine. The spell disguising his real appearance was wearing off. His skin had gained a green sheen, and one of his ears had reverted to its true pointed form.
I slapped my palm on the table. Her gaze flicked back to me. “But enough of him,” I said in a shrill tone. “Tell me about yourself. What are you doing here?”
“In town, you mean?”
Unsure how to answer, I smiled.
“The same as you, I expect. My larder requires replenishing.” She returned my smile.
My eyes widened at the sight of her unusually long canines.
*** Continued in episode 2 ***
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