The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 13
Grimmon says it’s only me who suffers with spells that don’t always do what they’re supposed to, but I dispute that. After all, I tell him, it can’t only be my spells that misfire, because – and here I give him a firm look in the eye – I was taught by the best.
When my not-so-polite goblin acquaintance goes on to point out it doesn’t matter who taught me because when I was a student I skipped classes so often I couldn’t possibly have learned much at all, I respond with: there are no gaps in my knowledge because I’ve more-than-cleverly filled in the missing bits myself.
Which is why, as soon as I began reciting the spell the wizard had so brusquely thrust into my head, I could tell exactly what it was going to do.
And do it, it did.
Cosferas also seemed to know what the spell was going to do too, for when he heard it being cast, he poked his tiny invisible-but-flour-dusted head through the slit he’d cut in the bag dangling from Trewla’s hand, and though I couldn’t see his face, I got the impression he was staring at me in alarm.
“No!” he squeaked. “Stop!”
But I couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to. I was under the control of the first of Wenzel’s spells and there was nothing I could do to prevent the words of the second one, which he’d so impolitely shoved into my brain, from coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t even restrain my arms when they lifted of their own accord and pointed at the brownie.
The instant I intoned the final syllable, mauve ribbons of magic, like cold fire, shot from my fingertips and smashed into the flour-bag.
Time slowed.
At the pace of a snail, the bag dissolved. Trewla’s fingers uncurled like anemones bending in a slow ocean current, and her mouth slowly stretched into a silent oh. Hettgur’s knees flexed and she eased sluggishly into a fighting pose, her sword-point creeping upwards ready for combat.
The translucent mauve ribbons squirmed like snakes and wrapped around Cosferas. Cocooned in their eldritch light, he faded into view, his arms and legs waving as though swimming in treacle.
Like the ponderous beats of a giant drum, my pulse pounded in my ears when the brownie began to sedately revolve in midair, sheathed in glowing magic.
Time snapped back to normal speed.
Cosferas writhed up, down, sideways, backwards, forwards, and unnatural directions that made my eyes water, his movements becoming ever more frantic.
With a sharp hiss, a black cloud of inky handwritten words, like tiny bees, erupted from him, streaming from his mouth, nostrils, earholes and every pore of exposed skin. They twirled around in front of him with dizzying speed, then abruptly collapsed into a small sphere which shot straight at me like a bullet.
I had no time to dodge. The sphere smacked into my chest and stuck there. I stumbled rearwards, clawing at it, trying to stop what I could see was happening.
But to no avail. Despite my scrabbling fingers, the sphere flattened, spreading into a pancake which oozed like blackened honey as it fanned out over my chest, neck, shoulders, and stomach. There it reached its fullest extent and the words it contained sank into my body.
I shrieked and collapsed to the floor.
I must have fainted, for the next thing I became aware of was a hand shaking my shoulder and Trewla’s voice saying, “Wake up!”
Although I’d known from the start what the second spell would do, I’d still been shocked by what had happened. Every one of the spells that had flowed from Wenzel’s spellbook into Cosferas had left him and were now inside me.
What would Trewla think? From her perspective, all she would have seen was me casting a spell over the brownie. She’d never believe me if I told her I’d only done so because I’d been under a spell cast by a time-warping wizard who’d appeared inside my mind. It sounded ridiculous, even to me.
What was I going to tell her?
I needed to buy myself time to think.
“Where am I?” I said, fluttering my eyelids and groaning like a sailor the morning after returning from six months at sea. “What’s going on?”
She wasn’t fooled. “Get up! You’ve got a lot explaining to do.”
Tight-lipped, Hettgur slapped the flat of her blade against her palm as she gazed at me clambering slowly as I dared to my feet.
Trewla watched too, her expression stony, her arms folded.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Trewla raised her hand and stopped me. “Before you say anything, be warned: We know Cosferas no longer has Wenzel’s spells in him. We saw where they went.”
Something tugged at my trouser leg. I looked down. Cosferas grinned up at me.
“They know they’re inside you now,” he said. He winked at me, turned around and headed for the door.
“To be honest,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m glad to be rid of them.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I don’t like the sight of blood, so I’m off.”
With that, he scurried out into the street.
“Wait!” I screeched. “You can’t let him go! He’s–”
“–no longer required,” interrupted Hettgur. “Start explaining. You’d better make it convincing.”
“It’s not my fault!”
“It never is,” said Trewla, rolling her eyes. “I’m running out of patience, so tell me without waffling how you’re going to put Wenzel’s spells back in his spellbook.”
At the back of my mind was the knowledge of exactly how to do that, planted there by the very spell that Wenzel had forced into my head.
Hettgur slapped her blade on her palm again and the awful nature of my plight hit me.
The only thing keeping me alive were those damned spells.
If I returned them to the spellbook I would no longer be of use. Hettgur would claim me and send my head rolling across the floor.
But… I couldn’t refuse outright either. If I did, I had no doubt I’d soon be gaining an intimate knowledge of the knight’s skills in the more extreme methods of persuasion. And I’d end up returning the spells anyway, with same inevitable headless consequence.
In both those scenarios, I wasn’t sure I could rely on Trewla being able to stop her. I like to think she’d try, though.
My only option was to play along while I figured out how to preserve my bodily integrity.
“Ah,” I said, nodding my head like a sage about to impart a nugget of wisdom. “Instead of me explaining, we’ll go to the library and I’ll show you.”
I had the twelve minutes or so it would take to walk there to come up with a scheme to save my neck.
Trewla glanced at Hettgur, then turned her gaze back to me. “Let’s go.”
*** Continued in episode 14 ***
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