Bill was watching the elf, however. “She was your sister?”
Stingzlikeabee nodded grimly: “She was my twin. It was always the two of us, we were inseparable.”
“Floatslikeabutterfly and Stingzlikeabee?”
“Yes. She was the nice one.”
Bill gulped. He’d seen the state of Marcello’s corpse after the wizard had been attacked by Floatslikeabutterfly. If she had been the nice one…
“She disappeared on a mission into your world, we call it the Mundane, and was gone for many weeks. I followed her, though I broke our laws to do it, and the goblins told me what had happened.”
Despite his peril and the sheer bizarreness of sitting in a farm lane with an army of small lizards and a lethal looking elf, Bill couldn’t help but ask.
“How did you get to our side? The portal is blocked.”
“That portal is blocked, there are others, known only to us.”
“Mistressss!”
“WHAT?”
“There is a human coming,” squeaked the little voice.
Sure enough, Bill could feel, rather than hear, thumping bootsteps on the lane. Before he could react, the cloth had been rammed back in his mouth and he was moving again, the sky passing like a blue ribbon above him.
#
This time, there could be no doubting it. As he rounded a bend, Chortley had caught a glimpse of his brother, lying on the ground talking to a small figure. He’d also received the distinct impression that there were other, even smaller, forms surrounding Bill. But then there had been a blur and the lane was empty.
Chortley ran to the spot where he’d seen Bill and scanned along the lane, before looking over the hedge and into the field where, at the limits of his vision, he saw a column of grass moving away from him. It was moving so quickly that he had no chance of catching it, so he watched as it disappeared into the far hedgerow, before turning to run back the way he’d come. This wedding certainly wasn’t working out as he’d imagined, it was becoming far more interesting. On the other hand, he was knackered and the jog back to the farm finished him off. It was an exhausted Chortley, therefore, who was manhandled up the stairs of Mother Hemlock’s home and into the room of gloom that contained the fretting Brianna.
Chortley looked up as his vision cleared of the dark mauve clouds that had been rolling across his eyeballs. He was aware of a bright whiteness caught in the sunlight and it resolved itself into...could it be? “Brianna?” he wheezed. “Wow!”
Frankly, he’d not looked twice at her before now. She had a temper you could roast a side of pork with and a tongue sharp enough to carve it. He’d regarded her with the same caution that a large dog affords a cat when he realises the feline is not only unafraid of him but also the possessor of claws and a vicious nature. And yet here she was, in her bridal finery and, despite an expression that suggested constipation rather than anticipation, she was, without doubt, a bit of alright.
“What?” she snapped.
Chortley shook his head. “Oh, yes, sorry. Your future husband has been abducted by an invisible force and is, even now, disappearing across your fields.”
“Typical!” Brianna cried. Then, as the message penetrated the haze of doubt clouding her mind, her face froze. “Oh.”
#
They’d stopped again and Bill had been hauled upright and leant against a tree. The gag was removed, but he no longer needed any threat to stay silent - they were in the middle of nowhere and the chances of anyone hearing him if he cried out (or, at least, hearing and responding in time to prevent his throat being cut) were nearly as remote as his location.
“What is it?” the elf said to the simpering lizard.
“It’s the lads, mistresss.”
Her gaze swept over the reptilian host which seemed to turn away as it did so in a sort of ocular Mexican Wave. “What about them?”
“Well, they’re a bit tired, mistresss,” the little figure continued, shaking gently as he looked up at her. “They wonder why the warm-blood can’t walk now. And whether they might has a rock break.”
“Do they indeed?” This time, the elf’s glare was met by the enthusiastic shaking of heads, as if their spokesman wasn’t remotely speaking for them.
“But yes, the warm blood can walk now. You may have ten minutes on the rocks while I talk to him.”
There was a rustling sound as dozens of little white bodies tore for the few available spaces on the sunlit rocks beside the path. Arguments broke out immediately and those lower down the pecking order were forced to make do with fence-posts, railings and, in one case, a steaming cow pat.
The spokesman remained, wobbling between the fear of moving and the temptation of the warm rocks yonder.
The elf sighed. “You may go Sebaceous.” The lizard vanished in a cartoonish blur and appeared, milliseconds later, muscling his way into the best position on the warmest rock.
“Why have you taken me?” Bill asked.
Stingzlikeabee turned to him as if surprised he was still there. “First explain what happened to my sister.”
“I wasn’t there,” he said, sullenly, “but I saw what was left of Marcello after she’d attacked him.”
The elf smiled, the points of her teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “So the stories of the goblins were true, she did slay the magician.”
“Look,” said Bill, “for pity’s sake will you tell me what I am doing here and who they are?” He nodded in the direction of the lounging lizards.
“Them? They are of little consequence, but they are useful. We know them as the Draconi and they are natives of the Beyond, but they travel to your world as our servants.”
Bill hauled himself upright and looked across at the reptiles. “But they talk!” he said, stating the obvious. “In Varman.”
The elf’s eyes widened. “You understood them? Then it is true! There is hope for us!”
“What in the worlds are you talking about?”
Bill shivered as Stingzlikeabee gripped his arm. “They do not speak Varman,” she said, “they speak our language. They speak your language.”
With that, she whistled to the reclining reptiles who, with an audible groan, began to very slowly stir themselves. A second whistle saw the process accelerate a thousand-fold. It was a whistle of intent, the sort of sound that, while not directly communicating a threat, certainly carried that potential. The kind of whistle that penetrates to the inner lizard brain which was, in this instance, the only option in any case.
“What do you mean?” Bill managed as the reptiles organised themselves.
The elf smiled. “You are stupid and we do not have time for long explanations. But do you not wonder why you have such pale skin?”
“I get it from my mother, she was of the faerie kind.”
“And where, do you imagine, did the faeries get it from?”
Bill was all at sea. He knew that his mother was half human, half faerie and he’d put his pale skin and occasional temper tantrums down to his inheritance. What that would have to do with lizard language, however, he had no idea. He suspected he might be about to find himself travelling down a rabbit hole leading to an entirely new reality. A reality in which he might discover there was more about his already pretty exotic ancestry than he was prepared for, or was comfortable with.
He felt himself being lifted and the elf appeared at eye level. “We go now, explanations can wait. But, in case you think of using your gift,” she looked down at his hands, “we has eyes on your woman. Not only lizards, neither. You come with us and help, she survives, probably. You try to toast us and, well, remember bad wizard.”
Chapter 4
BRIANNA SAT AND STARED OUT of the window of the little living room of the Hemlock’s farmhouse, seeing nothing. It had been three days since Bill had disappeared, three days she’d spent desperately searching for him, but she knew now that she would learn nothing, unless his abductors made contact. She was trying to come to terms with the prospect of never seeing him
again. And failing.
She was a strong, decisive, woman, but, above all, she was a control freak and yet here she sat, unable to do anything but wait. Her future, their future, lay in the hands of persons unknown.
Surprisingly, it had been Chortley who’d been the greatest comfort. He sat quietly in the armchair opposite, pretending to read one of Mother Hemlock’s books on country lore.10 He’d led the search parties that had fanned out in the direction Bill’s abductors had apparently taken, though it had been Brianna who’d found the cloth that had obviously been used to gag Bill. She could see that he’d stopped there for a while, and there was a small pile of shed lizard skins beneath a patch of flat rocks just on the inside of the field. She remembered her mother’s face when she’d seen the skins. Mother Hemlock was an even more tightly closed book than her daughter, but the sight of those shrivelled sloughings and, more particularly, the tiny bow tie fixed to one of them, had drained the colour from her face.
It seemed to Brianna, when she surfaced for long enough to think about it, that Chortley was wrestling with some inner conflict of his own. If she hadn’t known that he was a spoiled, selfish, sadist, she’d have sworn he was feeling guilty about not being able to prevent his brother’s abduction. There was no love lost between the two of them - they were, after all, as different as chalk and cheese - but a mutual respect had emerged during, first, the battle of the stone rings and then the nightmare they’d endured in the labyrinth of Minus. Perhaps each had come to understand that they’d played equally vital roles in the recent conflicts.
Velicity breezed in and Brianna couldn’t help but notice how Chortley’s face brightened at the sight of her. But, as his mood lightened, hers sank. It was as if she’d been gently lowered into a black box and someone was now slowly closing the lid. It was like that fable about the chocolate frog11. Or something.
The wind witch glided over to Brianna and knelt in front of her, looking into her eyes. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know,” Brianna responded, “just another day in paradise. Lost my fiancé on my wedding day. He only had to tell me he was having cold feet about it, he didn’t need to go to the trouble of arranging a fake abduction.”
“Brianna.” Velicity shook her head, sending her perfectly coiffed raven tresses dancing on her shoulders.
Brianna felt the tears start again. “I know, I know. But I’m frightened for him, and I blame him - it’s just bloody typical after all. Why couldn’t it have all gone to plan like any other wedding?”
“Was that what you wanted, truly?” Despite appearances, Velicity was as sharp as a razor when she wanted to be.
Brianna looked away and, after a moment, Velicity rose, sighing, and crossed the room to where Chortley sat.
She smiled at him. “What is that?”
“This?” He said, holding up a somewhat careworn piece of paper. It had an air of importance to it, along with the sort of smugness worn by something that has endured great trials and privations on its way to its intended recipient.12
“It bears the seal of the Fitzmichaels, does it not? Is it from your father?”
Chortley shook his head. “It was sent to Crapplecreek along with a detachment of soldiers. Sergeant-Major McGuff somehow managed to separate it from the messenger and gave it to Private Epocrypha to bring here. It, and he, arrived this morning.”
Velicity sighed impatiently. “So, what does it say?”
Chortley looked up at her and smiled grimly. “My father died three days ago, my half sister is now Countess and I am, officially, under arrest.”
“For what?”
“My father’s murder.”
#
Bill trudged along. The occasional passer-by would nod a greeting at the dishevelled young man walking alone in the countryside. Had the passer-by become suspicious or engaged in conversation with Bill, he had little doubt that the Draconi and their mistress would make their presence known, and felt. It seemed to Bill that the lizard-folk had spread themselves out ahead and to either flank, presumably to scout the land and surprise any curious pheasants13.
Stingzlikeabee was closer. Every now and again, Bill would spot her, or evidence of her passing, as a rustle in the summer corn or a flash of teeth through a hedge. If he’d had any inclination to make a run for it, he knew he’d be caught and strung up in moments. But he also knew that she had spies keeping an eye on Hemlock’s Farm and he didn’t want any harm to come to Brianna. He was feeling quite guilty enough as it was.
They had been walking for three days, heading south and east. They’d passed the stone circle, the scene of the great battle, and were now walking in countryside that was completely unfamiliar to him. Stingzlikeabee had said that their journey might take another couple of days, but she wouldn’t reveal their destination. Bill had noticed her fingering a small rock that hung from a necklace, and he got the impression it was some sort of compass that helped her locate whatever it was she was looking for.
“Come on, faster!” Stingzlikeabee’s pale face emerged from a hedge and she jumped into the road beside him. “We must arrive tomorrow.”
Bill looked down at her. The little creature was beginning to look a little thin around the edges. “Why?”
“You humans are so stupid, you think only of where,” she said. “But when matters just as much. We can pass through when we are in the right place, but only at the right time. So walk faster, or I get draconi to carry you. And not gentle, neither.”
“I don’t follow you, why does it matter when we arrive?”
Stingzlikeabee stopped and looked up at him. Bill got the impression that the rustling in the fields either side dropped a notch, as if dozens of lizard eyes were watching. “How many moons are there in the sky?”
Bill’s face screwed up into the sort of expression normally reserved for door-knocking sellers of religion. “What? One, obviously.”
“We also have one,” responded the elf, “but not the same one. Our moon is called Hersephoney and she shines with a blue light. Yours is Manfred and what colour is he?”
“Well, whatever you want to call our moon, it’s orangey red,” Bill responded, gesturing up at the sky.
The elf nodded. “Yes, so you are observant.”
Bill was beginning to feel a little patronised by this child-sized creature with the razor-sharp teeth.
“And what does your moon do?”
“What do you mean?”
The elf sighed. “What effect does it have?”
Bill shrugged. “I dunno. Does it make women cranky? Oh, hold on, it makes the tides.”
“Yes. Good. But it does more than that, it pulls on Hersephoney and she pulls on Manfred. And when they are close, on either side of the barrier that divides us, they tug at the curtain. On those nights, we can pass through. Only on those nights. Now, do you understand why we must hurry?”
“I suppose so,” Bill said. “I’ve got to walk quicker so I can be successfully abducted into your world to do something you’ve not even told me about yet. Now there’s incentive.”
The elf smiled. “No, friend Bill. You have to do it because if you do not, draconi will eat your girlfriend. Now, walk. Fast.”
Chapter 5
“I’M SORRY,” MOTHER HEMLOCK SAID, as she sat in the living room, illuminated by the fire. Autumn, winter, spring and summer, the fire was lit at night, it was something of a superstition, Brianna suspected. “But it’s just as well you never caught up with him, or you’d 'ave had a lot more on your ‘ands than you’d be able to deal with.” She said looking down at a lapful of sloughed skin.
“I reckon you’re right there, Jessie. Little scaly buggers, not seen ‘em around these parts in a long time,” Gramma added from her rocking chair in the shadows.
Velicity glanced across at Brianna, who was slumped on a wooden stool, staring into the fire. “Well, I wish you’d be plainer, Jessie, I for one would like to know why we haven’t taken up Commander Flaxbottom’s offer of aerial assistance.”
“Them chickens would be alright up in the air,” Mother Hemlock replied, “but they’d soon scarper once they landed, if they had any sense.”
“What would they run from?”
The rocking stopped. “It’s bad luck to say their name out loud, although if any ‘appen to be listening, luck’s the last thing you’d call it.”
Velicity looked at Mother Hemlock, who was watching her daughter. “So, is that it? You’re frightened to say a word out loud? The great Jessie Hemlock, scared of nothing but a word?”
“I ain’t scared of nothing!” Jessie snapped, before turning her gaze on the fire. “Except them’s what any sensible person would run a mile from. But I certainly ain’t frightened of using their name. They’re called Draconi…”
Gramma leapt out of her rocking chair and put her hands over her ears. “Don’t say it! She said it! I told her not to say it! Lock the door!” Then, after looking around the room in panic, she dropped arthritically to her knees and began scrabbling around the floor, peering at the skirting boards.
“What are you doing?” Velicity asked, fearing that the metaphorical fingertips that were all that stood between Gramma and the abyss of madness were losing their grip on the ledge of reason.
“Mouse holes,” the old woman said. “They can get through ‘em, the sneaky little buggers.”
“Right, that’s it! I want answers and I want them now!” Velicity stamped her foot and a gust of wind escaped, rustling her dress.
Mother Hemlock got to her feet and helped Gramma up off the floor. “Come on, just sayin’ the name don’t cause no problems, unless they’re within hearing.” She deposited the old woman in the rocking chair to many a repeated “I told ‘em not to say the name, though. Didn’t I?”
Jessie turned to face Velicity. “The Draconi are the lizard folk, though they’re more snake than anything, in my book.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“That’s cos you were brought up in the town, they don’t like places with lots of folk. They prefers isolated places like this, where they can use their numbers.”
Denizens and Dragons Page 3