The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 6
A warm breeze stirred Trewla’s hair, and sent petals from the cherry tree scurrying along the flagstones of the terrace at the top of the castle’s wall. Across the ruffled surface of the moat, the landscape looked as welcoming as when I’d first clapped my eyes on it. It seemed a nice world, and once again I wished we could stay there forever.
I’d been worrying that I’d lose Trewla if she was successful in reversing the spell that moves the castle from world to world. But it occurred to me at that moment that it didn’t have to be like that. Once she’d fathomed how the spell worked, instead of her returning the castle to her home world where she’d leave and I’d never see her again, what if I could persuade her to undo the spell entirely and stay where we were now?
I drew clean, fresh air into my lungs and gazed longingly at the beautiful vista.
Gently sloping hills undulated to the horizon, some blanketed with trees, others with lush grass. A stream meandered between willows and beech along the bottom of the shallow, grassy valley the castle had appeared in.
There were no signs of habitation anywhere. No houses peeped from the trees. The hilltops were free of wizards’ towers, castles, forts, or even shepherds’ huts. Not a single elvish settlement graced the valleys, riversides, or slopes. As far as the eye could see, there was a complete absence of tell-tale columns of smoke that might give away the location of distant farmhouses, villages, or towns.
Completely free of annoying people. I sighed. Who wouldn’t want to live in a world like this?
And with only me to share it with, I was sure she’d be happier than a troll in a mud bath. Just the two of us.
I grimaced. Well, apart from Grimmon, Cook, the poltergeist and the motley assortment of Castle Silverhill’s Denizens, that is.
But still… I mean, Trewla and I could pretend they didn’t exist as we lounged in tranquil meadows, the sun dappling the soft grass. Under the spreading branches of oaks, we would dine from an endless flow of picnic baskets I would arrange for Cook to send to us daily.
I frowned. That would mean I wouldn’t be able to ignore Cook. Or the person she used to send the picnic baskets… I made a mental note to tell her she wasn’t to use Grimmon for that purpose. He’d find a way to ruin things.
I relaxed my clenched fists and glanced at Trewla. She had her back to the landscape.
Matching her pose, I turned around, leaned my elbows on the balustrade and concentrated my gaze on the collection of buildings that made up Castle Silverhill.
My studio, atop its tower, rose above the roofs of the kitchen, the laboratory, and the keep. Beyond them lay the mismatched halls, houses, forges, barns, barracks, stables, and storehouses huddled cheek by jowl in the bailey. Dotted around the wall were six squat fortified towers that had been built when the castle was new. Most were in a state of disrepair, and looked like broken teeth sticking up from an old man’s almost-toothless gums.
I don’t know if you’re familiar with twelfth-century English castles, but in case you’re not, a castle’s bailey is like an oversized courtyard. The bailey is within the castle, seeing as it’s inside the castle’s curtain wall, but unlike the keep, which is the large building where the aristocrats dwelt, the buildings in the bailey aren’t usually fortified.
Trewla hissed and folded her arms. “Cosferas is here somewhere. He has to be.”
“Not necessarily.” I pointed over my shoulder at the viaduct spanning the moat. “He might have left the castle.” I smiled, and added slyly, “It’s such a lovely world. Don’t you wish we could stay here?”
“He won’t have left the castle. Brownies like to be around people.”
I ground my teeth. She’d ignored my question.
Nevertheless, she was right. Brownies live to play pranks, and pranks need victims. The only place in this world Cosferas would find any of those would be within the walls of Castle Silverhill.
I swallowed my frustration. There would be other opportunities to sound her out about not leaving.
Rubbing my hands together, I said, “Right. Let’s begin. We’ll start in the kitchen.”
“No. You only want to go to the kitchen so you can sit on your backside and stuff your face. We’re going to the bailey.”
“But–”
“There are no buts. Cosferas won’t be hanging around the keep, the kitchen, your studio, or the laboratory. He’ll be where the most people are. And that’s the bailey.”
“I don’t like going there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She narrowed her eyes. “Oh… I get it. You don’t like rubbing shoulders with the hoi poloi.”
“I’m not a snob. But you have to admit, the Denizens… they’re… you know… uncouth.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Says the man who walks around with his breakfast spilt down his front.”
“What?” I looked down. Sure enough, a large grease stain ran the length of my shirt.
My shoulders slumped. “All right. The bailey it is.”
I buttoned my coat to cover the stain as we walked along the alley that led to the area where the Denizens dwelt. It had been a long time since I’d been that way – probably years – and as I strode along a few paces behind Trewla, something about the alley prodded at my memory. Then it hit me, and I halted as we approached a small stone bridge crossing an open drain.
“What’s the matter?” said Trewla, turning around.
My eyes grew wide and my pulse raced. One of her feet was already on the bridge. “I forgot to mention…”
I tried to hide my anxiety as a creature emerged from the drain and clambered onto the bridge, blocking the way. Two yellow tusks protruded from his lower jaw, their tips almost touching the tiny eyes peering from under his lowered brow.
“…the troll,” I said, belatedly.
“What about him?” said Trewla.
“He won’t let us go past unless we pay a toll. A toll for the troll, as it were.”
Trewla gave me a puzzled look. “I’ve been into the bailey many times before.” She faced the troll. “Hello Cedric. Do you mind if I cross over your lovely bridge?”
The troll grinned, revealing a row of pointed teeth. “Oh, it’th you, mith Trewla. Of courthe I don’t mind.”
He stood to one side and allowed the elf to pass.
I strode forward, but the troll straddled the bridge again, and held his palm out towards me. “Not tho fatht! It’ll cotht you a gold coin if you want to croth my bridge.”
“But I didn’t bring any money with me! In any case, you let Trewla off! So, you should let me off too!”
“I let her off becauthe she ith nithe and polite. You’re not. You never are.”
“But… But…. It isn’t fair!”
On the other side of the bridge, Trewla stared at me and shook her head. “Look. Just go back and get a gold coin. I’ll start searching in the meantime. We’ll meet later at The Old Workshop.”
Before I could say another word, she trotted off and vanished around a corner.
I glared at the troll. He folded his arms and glared back.
Pretending I wasn’t intimidated, I turned back.
“…meet at The Old Workshop,” I muttered, as I made my way to my rooms where I kept my money chest.
My heart sank. The Old Workshop was an alehouse. The last time I’d been there someone had tried to kill me.
*** Continued in episode 7 ***
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