The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 12
My bowels quaking, I gaped at Hettgur, her armoured figure framed in the bakery’s doorway, her sword at the ready. She stared back at me, her brow knitted in a frown.
“I’ll take him outside into the street,’” she said, flicking a glance at Trewla and indicating me with a nod. “It’ll make a terrible mess if I chop his head off in here.”
My mouth was suddenly dry and all I could manage was a squeak of protest.
“It would mean a lot of cleaning up,” agreed Trewla. “However, I didn’t call you inside for that. The brownie is still inside the shop and we need to poke around every little hidey-hole to find him. Not with fingers – which he’ll probably bite – but with your sword.”
A flash of disappointment crossed Hettgur’s face. “No beheading? Are you sure? I mean, it won’t take long.”
“Thanks, but no.” Trewla put her hand on my shoulder. “I still need our friend here to persuade the brownie to return the spells once we’ve caught the pesky thing.”
Hettgur grunted, gave me a dark look and pointed her sword at me. “Remember, you and I have unfinished business.” She stepped inside and shut the door.
I winced. So far, my scheme to raise myself in Hettgur’s esteem hadn’t born fruit. But like politicians whose cherished plans have failed, never admit you’re wrong. Just do more of the same.
“Right,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “The blasted brownie could be hiding in any little corner or crevice. Once you, dear Hettgur, pry him out, I’ll grab hold of the blighter.”
“No!” said Trewla. “There will be no grabbing. Look what happened last time.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” I said, raising my hands, palms outwards. “I wasn’t to know he’d make himself disappear. I’ll be ready this time.”
“Really? What will you do if you grab him and he disappears again?”
“Well… You know…” I shuffled my feet and stared at the floor.
Trewla raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”
“Ah, but you have a plan. I can tell.” I forced my face into a gracious smile. “I’m sure it’s a good one.”
I cast a quick look at Hettgur to see if she’d taken note of my humility. I shouldn’t have bothered. She was ignoring us and staring about the room through narrowed eyes, the tip of her sword swinging slowly from side to side.
“When do I begin?” she growled.
“In a moment,” said Trewla. “First I have to get something.”
She went behind the counter, stepped over the slumbering baker, opened the door to the back room, darted through, and closed the door behind her. She reappeared half a minute later with a cup of flour in one hand and an empty flour bag in the other.
Shutting the door again, she said, “Ready? Hettgur, prod your sword into the corners, under the table, and behind the counter. I’ll stand next to you.”
“What about me?” I said. “What’s my role?”
“Just stay out of the way.” Trewla frowned at me. “Whatever happens, don’t do anything.”
I leaned against the counter and folded my arms. It really was too much. If they were going to treat me like an idiot, I would not lift a finger to help unless asked to.
Actually, not even if they asked. They would have to beg.
Jaw clenched, I watched Hettgur and Trewla work their way around floor level, the knight jabbing her sword into every empty space the elf told her to. When they completed a circuit of the room, they moved up a level, starting with the window display, then moving on to the countertop, and finally the shelves on the walls.
It was when Hettgur drew back her blade, ready to poke it into a gap at the side of a tray of muffins on the lowest shelf, that the air was pierced by a squeal.
Without hesitation, Trewla threw the contents of the cup at where the noise had come from.
The invisible brownie was coated in white dust, revealing his small figure crouching on the shelf. Rubbing his eyes to clear them, he didn’t see Trewla until too late. He only had time to screech before she swooped forward, whisked the flour bag over his head and scooped him into it.
“Got you!” she said.
Howls of rage came from the bulging bag as she held it aloft. She turned her gaze to me.
“Now we’ll go to the library so you can make Cosferas return Wenzel’s spells to the book,” she said.
Hettgur smiled at me in a less than comforting way. “Don’t forget, once you’ve done that you’re mine. I’ll go with you to make sure you don’t run off.” She ran her thumb along her swordblade to test its sharpness.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Trewla. “I’m sure you’ll agree he’s more than made up for his rudeness with all the help he’s given us to find the brownie.”
Hettgur scowled. “He may have tried to help, but he gave no actual help. Furthermore, I can’t forgive him for the mortal insult he made to my person. He’s shown no remorse.”
Trewla nudged her elbow into my side. “Tell Hettgur how sorry you are.”
“Hmmm?” I said. I was watching the flour bag swaying and bouncing with the brownie’s struggles, wondering what I could do next to prove to Hettgur what a splendid gentleman I was. One who without doubt deserved to live.
A puff of flour erupted from the side of the bag. My eyes widened. A slit appeared in the linen, a tiny knife sawing back and forth to enlarge it.
Trewla or Hettgur were both looking at me and hadn’t noticed.
The slit was lengthening rapidly. Only seconds remained before Cosferas escaped.
I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but my words turned to dust as a curtain of mauve mist streamed into my mind, cutting off my senses and leaving my thoughts flopping about like a basket of landed fish.
“A pox on this fiendish temporal clutter!” said a disembodied voice inside my head. “I’d sooner wrestle a dragon than scour the ages like this!”
There was a scrabbling sound like someone rummaging through a box, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
“By Saint Tibb’s arse!” said the same voice. “Verily, here be the confounded varlet!”
A hole appeared in the centre of the mist and a grey-bearded face, topped by a grubby pointed hat came into view. His head twisted left and right as though checking where he was, before settling to face towards me. One corner of his mouth lifted and he gave a soft grunt.
His eyes blazed, bathing his face in a violet glow. At the same time, his bony hand lifted and tossed a purple ball the size of a plum into my seething skull.
Unable to move a muscle, I mentally gaped at the man. I’d never seen him before, but…
Wenzel? Wenzel the wizard?
The ball burst in a shower of incandescent mauve sparks inside my head. Raw magic poured unbidden onto my mind.
It whirled into a wheel of purple fire, which winked out and coalesced into a spell emblazoned in gleaming letters across my brain.
Before I could stop myself, my voice croaked into action and the words of the spell spilled from my lips.
*** Continued in episode 13 ***
Leave a Reply