by James Nicol
‘Is it not a good time, shall I come back another day?’ Miss Delafield asked.
‘Oh no,’ Arianwyn said, unlocking the door. ‘Go bananas! Give me five minutes to get changed and then I’ll put the kettle on!’
‘Smashing!’ Miss Delafield smiled. ‘That’s the spirit!’
An hour later, Arianwyn was dry and dressed in a clean uniform and anxiously sorting through her pile of notes on the counter, updating the Spellorium’s ledger as Miss Delafield wandered about with a clipboard. Every now and then she would mumble quietly to herself and quickly scribble something down before moving on again.
Arianwyn didn’t think the mumbling or scribbling sounded very positive. Even so she had been chatting on merrily, hoping to keep Miss Delafield distracted from the slight sense of turmoil in the Spellorium. ‘And then the seam of magic just wafted out across the bridge at last and the train moved off. I wrote it all down here, Miss Delafield.’
But Miss Delafield didn’t reply. She seemed entirely focused on a large chunk of amber on the shelf in front of her. ‘Miss Delafield?’ Arianwyn called gently.
Her supervisor gave a little jump, her eyes fluttering as though she had just awoken from a dream. ‘Did you say something, dear?’
‘Are you OK? You seem a little . . . distracted.’
Miss Delafield gave a deep sigh. ‘Truth be told, dear, no. I’m not OK in the least.’ She dropped the clipboard on to the shelf she was examining.
Arianwyn moved around the counter and towards Miss Delafield. ‘What’s the matter? Are you unwell? Why don’t you come and sit down here?’ Arianwyn gestured at the little chair beside the pot-bellied stove. Without waiting for a reply she led Miss Delafield towards it.
‘Oh, heavens, dear, I’m honestly in tip-top condition, healthwise.’
‘But then, what is it?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘You’re worrying me.’ She didn’t let go of Miss Delafield’s hand and now she gripped it tighter.
‘Well, you see, dear.’ Miss Delafield took a deep breath. ‘I heard from the C.W.A. And . . . I’m being reassigned.’ She said it as though it was just an everyday sort of thing. Nothing important at all. ‘I’ll be leaving Flaxsham within the next week or so.’
Now it was Arianwyn who had to sit down.
Chapter 11
YULE PREPARATIONS
ou’re leaving?’ Arianwyn gasped. ‘But you can’t leave, Miss Delafield.’ Arianwyn gripped her supervisor’s hand ever tighter, as a wave of worry and fear crashed against her.
What would she do without Miss Delafield? She could feel tears in her eyes and saw the watery shimmer in Miss Delafield’s too. ‘Well, what can I tell you, dear? I most certainly am leaving. I’ve been reposted and that’s that.’ She sniffed and looked away.
‘But how? Why? Who would do this?’ Arianwyn asked, one question tumbling into the next like stones rolling down a hill.
Miss Delafield reached into her satchel and pulled out a crumpled letter. ‘This arrived two days ago. From the Director of the C.W.A. Though it’s the Council of Elders’ work, I’m sure of it.’ Miss Delafield was suddenly on her feet and marching across the Spellorium. ‘They’ve wanted rid of me for a while and now they can see that by forcing me into a new district I’ll just resign or throw in the towel because of that.’
‘But you can’t really think that?’ Arianwyn gaped. She felt suddenly uncomfortable, as though something was squeezing her. What if this was connected to the hex and Gimma somehow? It felt like whoever it was, her unknown enemy was trying to weaken her and her friends by pulling them apart. ‘You have to speak to my grandmother. Perhaps she can help somehow?’ she suggested.
But Miss Delafield only shook her head. ‘I don’t think it will do any good, dear.’
‘But you aren’t just going to give up?’ That didn’t sound like the Miss Delafield Arianwyn had come to know, respect and even love.
‘Of course not, dear,’ Miss Delafield said, spinning round quickly. ‘What a strange notion!’ Her cheeks displayed two perfect pink circles like a china doll. ‘But I can’t outright refuse – where would that put us?’ She folded her arms over her chest and fixed Arianwyn with a stare of such determination it made her look away briefly. ‘I’ll fight this every inch of the way – of that you can be sure – but I’m not going to turn my back on my duty as a witch.’ She paused, taking a deep breath and straightening her back. ‘Honour the magic, serve the kingdom, honour the King, serve the magic. That is our solemn duty, dear.’
‘But—’
‘Our solemn and sacred duty,’ Miss Delafield added carefully. There was no arguing, that much was clear.
‘And where is it they’re posting you to?’ Arianwyn asked.
‘Handley Boscom, on the east coast somewhere. Hagley Bottom, we used to call it!’ Miss Delafield laughed.
‘And . . . who will replace you as district supervisor?’ Arianwyn asked, suddenly unsure now was the time to ask that question.
‘Oh, I have no idea. You can bet it will be someone well in with the council clan, though. Oh, of course I don’t include your grandmother in that,’ Miss Delafield added quickly.
The Spellorium fell silent. Arianwyn looked at Miss Delafield, and Miss Delafield looked at Arianwyn. ‘Perhaps it is time to think about moving on to something new,’ Miss Delafield said quietly, staring out of the window into Kettle Lane. ‘I’ve probably been here too long because of Effie . . .’
Her sister! thought Arianwyn. Effie had been the witch in Lull many years ago, the last before herself. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said, even though what she really wanted to do was to throw her arms around Miss Delafield and never let go.
‘Anyway, dear, enough of all this gloom and doom. We still have Yule to look forward to, if nothing else.’
‘Perhaps Mayor Belcher will say something to the council for you, I mean about you leaving . . . or not leaving.’
‘That’s very good of you, dear, but I will not hold my breath – the mayor and I have hardly ever seen eye to eye.’
Arianwyn gasped. ‘Oh, I forgot! I have to go and see Mayor Belcher about some Yule festival or something. I’m sorry . . . do you mind if I dash out for a while?’
‘Don’t let me keep you then, dear. They take Yule very seriously here in Lull, mark my words!’
‘But what about the inspection?’ Arianwyn asked.
Miss Delafield crossed back to where she had abandoned her clipboard and quickly ticked all the boxes on the form, signing it at the bottom. ‘There,’ she said, smiling triumphantly. ‘That should see the C.W.A. off your back for a while.’
‘Oh, Miss Gribble, there you are!’ Miss Prynce scuttled around her desk as Arianwyn entered the town hall. ‘Mayor Belcher has been expecting you for a while now.’ She pursed her lips and stared at Arianwyn.
‘Sorry. I was trying to catch up on the jobs you recorded for me and then Miss Delafield came for—’
‘I haven’t really got time for chit-chat. Some of us have work to do. The mayor is waiting for you in his parlour.’ Miss Prynce pointed up the huge staircase and then went back behind her desk and rifled through the papers and folders that permanently cluttered it.
Arianwyn smiled and hurried up the stairs. The door to the mayor’s parlour was ajar and she could see Mayor Belcher framed by the windows that looked down into the town square. Arianwyn knocked gently and stepped inside. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Mayor Belcher,’ she said.
The mayor turned and beamed broadly at her. ‘Ah, Miss Gribble. Recovered from this morning’s escapade, I trust?’
‘Just about! Mayor Belcher, have you heard that Miss Delafield is being—’
‘Relocated? Yes, I had heard from friends in Flaxsham.’ The mayor walked back to his desk and flicked through a blue card folder.
‘Well . . . is there anything you can do to . . . stop it?’ Arianwyn asked.
The mayor sighed. ‘I’m afraid as Miss Delafield is stationed in Flaxsham it is quite outside of my jurisdiction, as Mayor of Lull.’ Aria
nwyn was about to protest further when he added quietly, ‘However, I have written several letters making my displeasure clear to those who have made this erroneous decision.’ He must have noticed the surprised look on Arianwyn’s face, for he added, ‘We are as fond of Miss Delafield as you are, I can assure you, Miss Gribble.’
‘Thank you, Mayor Belcher,’ Arianwyn said, suddenly ashamed to have doubted him so much.
‘I am so grateful for your helping to move the qered, Miss Gribble. But now we must turn our attention to Yule.’ The mayor rubbed his hands together. ‘And what a Yule it will be!’ Suddenly Mayor Belcher stepped forwards and grasped Arianwyn by the hands. ‘The first Yule in forty years since we have had a witch! You do realize what this means, of course? We have always kept the old Yule traditions here, you know,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘But this year!’ He did a little dance on the rug and clapped his hands.
‘Oh.’ Arianwyn wasn’t at all sure what the mayor meant.
He started to list things, counting them off on his fingers as he strode around the room. ‘The traditional Yule feast, complete with all the usual scrumptious Yule food, of course. The nomination of the Winterthorn Queen, from one of the young ladies of Lull, who then gets to pick her Yule Lord. TheYule blessing wands. The kiln of wishes and sorrows. Gathering in the Yule logs from the Great Wood, naturally—’
‘Um, what’s that?’Arianwyn asked quickly. ‘About the Great Wood?’ Should she have been writing this all down?
The mayor’s head whipped around. ‘We all go to collect the Yule logs from the Great Wood. It is a tradition that goes back for hundreds and hundreds of years. Possibly even further.’ He beamed.
‘But that’s surely not a very good idea this year?’ Arianwyn said carefully, hoping he would pick up on the obvious reasons why without her having to explain.
‘But we have always gathered the Yule logs from the Great Wood, Miss Gribble. There are no two ways about it.’ He stared at her.
‘But it’s not safe, Mayor Belcher.’
‘Oh, nonsense, nonsense! We shan’t go far into the wood and we will have you to look after us, of course. What could possibly go wrong?’
Where to start? Arianwyn thought. But the mayor took her silence as a sign to carry on with his list.
‘Dances in the town hall, canticles in the town square, exchanging gifts – and then, when the river freezes over . . . the frost fair! But the most exciting bit, the thing that kicks off all the celebrations, is the summoning of the frost phoenix.’ Mayor Belcher smiled knowingly.
‘I’m sorry . . . the what?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘Who summons the . . .What is it?’
‘The frost phoenix, Miss Gribble. You will summon the frost phoenix, of course. Isn’t that delightful?’
Arianwyn found herself nodding even though she had no idea what it would involve. ‘How . . . exciting,’ she said, giving the mayor a thumbs-up and smiling as broadly as she could. It didn’t make her feel any more confident, though.
This all sounded like a lot of hard work.
When Arianwyn reached home again after her meeting with the mayor, she found Estar waiting on the doorstep. He smiled up at her, his yellow eyes shining warmly.
‘It’s good to see you,’ Arianwyn said and reached forward to embrace her feyling friend. ‘How are things in Edda?’
‘Things are coming along slowly but surely. It is taking some longer to adjust than others. There are those amongst the feylings who believe we should return to Erraldur, but most are happy to make Edda our permanent home now,’ he said. ‘But I thought it was time to come back and see to those glyphs.’ His high voice was bright and cheerful, but the prospect of tackling the quiet glyphs again made Arianwyn’s heart sink. She felt guilty.
‘Come on in then,’ she said, unlocking the door.
Upstairs in the Spellorium’s apartment, she busied herself with the tea things and then, whilst the kettle boiled, she found blankets in the wardrobe near her bed and made up Estar’s makeshift sleeping arrangements in the squishy old armchair that stood beside the stove. ‘You’ll stay for a few days?’ she asked.
Estar nodded.
But even as she occupied herself with these little domestic chores, Arianwyn’s mind filled with doubts and more doubts about all the work and mysteries that were building around her.
Chapter 12
A BRIEF SPELL
agic fizzed around Arianwyn.
She took a deep breath and tried to relax her shoulders. The feeling was as familiar as a comfy pullover or her favourite chair: the prickle and tingle of energy against her skin, the swirl of magic around her that seemed to brighten everything, even on this dank, grey and rainy morning.
She raised her right hand and slowly began to sketch the newest glyph once more – the third she had found. She knew it off by heart now. She’d sketched it hundreds of times in the past weeks. But so far it hadn’t done anything. However, now there was another sensation too. Something tangled or undone, like an unpicked seam. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but it niggled at her, a puzzle begging to be solved.
The new quiet glyph hung before her, an arm’s length away. This was her third attempt in a row at summoning it this morning.
She felt the energy begin to dissipate and, as her eyes flicked back to the glyph, she could see it was shimmering and beginning to fade.
‘Concentrate!’ cautioned Estar. ‘Or you’ll lose it – again!’
‘I am concentrating,’ Arianwyn replied quickly. Why was Estar being so disagreeable? Come on, she urged herself – but the pull of magic was beginning to fade again.
‘Arianwyn!’ Estar cautioned.
The glyph flickered once, twice, and then vanished completely, leaving only a small cloud of yellowish smoke behind. It hung in the air, still and unmoving.
‘Oh, Estar! You put me off,’ Arianwyn said, turning to face the feyling.
He raised a thick black eyebrow and tutted loudly. ‘I did no such thing, thank you. As always, I was simply trying to help.’
‘I’m not doing it on purpose.’ Arianwyn stooped to pick up her notebook to look at the sketches of the glyph she had drawn. She had several different versions in her notebook. Perhaps she had drawn the staves in the wrong place, or not curled the spiral enough? ‘You look,’ she said, handing the notebook to Estar. ‘Which one of these is right?’
Estar didn’t take it. ‘Perhaps you should take a break for a bit?’ he said, shifting where he rested against a tree, a thick flowery blanket wrapped around him, protecting him from the chill air. ‘If it’s too much.’
‘No. I need to try again or this is going to take for ever!’
Arianwyn sighed and looked away towards Lull. She would need to head to the Spellorium soon and start her day’s work. If she didn’t figure out this glyph, she’d be back here early tomorrow, and the next day and the next, with nothing to show for it except for a cold most likely. Right at that moment she felt that it was all a colossal waste of time. She hoped another glyph might make itself known and perhaps they could focus on that for a while?
But that was probably wishful thinking at best.
The little yellow cloud seemed to stare back, taunting her.
‘The glyphs have kept themselves well hidden for thousands of years. I don’t think you’ll be able to just suddenly make them appear just because you want them to. You have to be patient! It’s no good rushing at them like a child hurrying to play. This is serious.’
‘I am being patient, Estar – and serious,’Arianwyn snapped, frustrated. ‘I do know how important the quiet glyphs are. But you said they were inside me, so . . . I thought this would be easier?’ She stared at the page again. Estar was being remarkably unhelpful. Didn’t he know how much she was trying to cope with and sort out?
‘Why should it be easy?’ he replied, pulling the blanket tighter about himself and sniffing. ‘The glyphs are very powerful. A gift of magic. If it was easy anyone would be able to summon them.’ He glanced aw
ay.
‘If only!’ Arianwyn replied, her voice sharp. ‘I’ve seen the same glyph every night for a week in my dreams, but each night it looks slightly different. I don’t even know if I’m drawing the right thing now.’
Estar sighed. ‘Take a deep breath and start ag—’
‘Oh, Estar, will you stop being so . . . calm all the boggin’ time!’ Arianwyn growled and kicked at a damp tree root.
‘There’s no need to take it out on the tree,’ Estar said, still as calm as ever. It was really quite infuriating. ‘I think you might be trying too hard,’ he added quietly. ‘It’s not just seeing the glyphs, it’s understanding their . . . intention as well. That’s the—’
‘MISS GRIBBLE!’ The booming voice of Mayor Belcher cut through whatever Estar was about to say next.
Arianwyn turned. ‘Boil it!’ she grumbled; this was all she needed. She had been seeing rather too much of the mayor lately for her liking.
‘Oh, what does he want?’ Estar asked, a sly smile on his blue face, his lamp-like eyes full of mischief before he speedily closed them, pretending to be fast asleep.
‘Hello, Mayor Belcher,’ Arianwyn said brightly. ‘How can I help you?’ Though she already knew quite well why the mayor was there.
‘Just how much longer will you be practising for? We are behind with the preparations for the Yule festival, you know.’ He stared at the little yellow cloud. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing,’ Arianwyn fibbed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Mayor Belcher, but the thing is—’
‘You can’t spend all day playing in the woods, Miss Gribble. We need you doing your work for the Yule festivities, you know.’
‘I’m hardly playing.’ Why was everyone suddenly having a go at her?
‘Please do not neglect your other duties, Miss Gribble. Half the town seems to be waiting outside the Spellorium, you know, for their Yule charms. Charms that only you, as Lull’s witch, can provide.’
‘Arianwyn . . .’ Estar’s voice was higher than usual; he sounded worried.