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 ***
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