by B G Denvil
Since we had this huge gaping hole before us, we used it for the foundations anyway, built them up slowly, and then began with the house itself. It was so much fun, and Butterfield didn’t know what she was missing. Edna, Peg, Pixie, Fanny and I all laughing as we argued about building the large four-storey home, trying to design what would be unusual, different yet comfortable, and definitely solid enough not to collapse on our first new residents. Our windows, glass naturally, were made larger to make the most of the view and also to make it easier for the crows to come and talk.
Many of the ceilings were a little higher, which was Edna’s idea as she was tired of always having to bend her head to get inside doorways, and we made every apartment with one large room and one small one. No dining room—they’d have to share ours so we would all stay as one happy family—but they did get a cosy ground floor communal area, with a door out into the gardens and grounds.
A few crows were watching us and shouting either complaints or instructions and suggestions. Donald had managed to stretch his tether and had slipped around to the front of the house in order to see what we were up to with his stable. “You’re getting a bigger one,” I informed him, and pointed. He received a quick cuddle and ear scratch every time someone passed, so he was content.
By the time our squirrel turned up, we had more than half finished. I was in the middle of designing the top floor. “A balcony,” I was saying. “Like they have in Venice.”
“You’ve never been to Venice,” objected the squirrel.
“But Pixie has, and she’s told me all about it,” I responded. “I’m not stopping now, because there’s only this fourth storey to finish, and then we’re done. I’ve missed dinner, and I don’t want to miss supper. But there is something else very interesting you’ll want to see. Go and find Butterfield.”
With dutiful curiosity, Whistle jumped from my shoulder and disappeared. I didn’t see him or Butterfield again until supper time.
By then everyone had trooped out to see the finished cottage, and most were impressed. Montague muttered, “Are these wretched females trying to build a new town? I must find the landlady and complain.”
As usual, no one took the slightest notice.
The new building was clearly going to be popular, and a few of our long-time residents had already asked if they could move over, since the accommodation was going to be larger with two rooms instead of one.
“Having the stable virtually as part of the house isn’t right,” said Percy. “Surely that should be separate.”
“Who cares? I doubt he’ll turn up for dinner with us all,” sniggered Harry. Actually, it was quite possible.
In general, everyone was impressed, and Bertie asked quietly and seriously if he could put in a request for two rooms on the top floor with a balcony, as he couldn’t move anymore in his own little bedroom—it was too full of all his inventions—so I agreed at once. That meant I had two vacancies in the old house, and thirteen in the new one. Then, in a pleading whisper, Gorgeous asked to live in the new house too. She wanted to hide, I expected. So I said yes to her without hesitation. Why not, poor little thing.
Butterfield had spent the entire afternoon with her skeleton. She was now quite convinced they’d pop back to life. I hoped that was true, but first I had to finish every detail on the house and prepare it for whoever might need a place to stay.
Not that the bones could stay secret for more than a blink or two. Gossip would soon run wild, for Butterfield only had to tell her best friend Uta, who would pass the news to Mandrake, who would be delighted to tell his old next door neighbour Dandy, and within a few hours the following morning, everyone in the entire Rookery, including bats, crows, owls and Donald, would assuredly all know about every detail. The bones, still in their perfect and natural pose, complete with sword, bow, arrows and shield, now lay at the back near my own rooms, and not far from the graves of Whistle, Kate and Boris. Every single resident of the Rookery had paraded past, and many stopped, sitting to study the new arrival, silent though he was.
Of course I accepted Butterfield’s insight, and we called the man Angdar. We had all expected Butterfield to meet him again in her dreams, but this didn’t happen at all, and I know she was quite disappointed.
I had been shockingly distracted, but now I returned to Fanny and her curse. She was comfy, she loved the room where she now lived, was awe struck by the food she ate three times every day and frequently tiptoed into the kitchens to thank Issa and tell her she was a genius, which of course she was.
But Fanny’s magic was virtually lost, and she missed her father. She had made friends with Twizzle, Edna’s cockatoo and Donald the donkey, who were positively in love with each other, and she followed me around whenever I let her.
Then, as usual, everything happened at once.
I was at the table in my own rooms, talking softly to Oswald my hatpin, with Whistle as a squirrel on my shoulder. We were discussing the poisoned curse, and Edna sat behind me listening carefully. Peg had come over too, but unfortunately, she had disappeared in the middle of a question, so we knew she’d said something back to front, and would no doubt reappear soon.
Fanny was outside with the Donald, so we could discuss her calamity without her hearing us and bursting into tears.
It was Oswald who did most of the arguing.
“I am aware of poisons,” he said with the usual arrogance. Hatpins with ruby tips didn’t have many expressions, but his vocabulary certainly did. “And I know a considerable amount concerning curses. However, when both are combined, this is definitely the work of a very powerful wizard.”
“Why isn’t one enough?” I demanded. “A curse can kill you. So can poison. So why both?”
“I would suggest,” suggested Whistle, “they accomplish quite different threats. A curse can achieve some simple nonsense, such as giving you a permanent cold or a sore toe. It can also be the ruin of your crops, even permanent bad luck which will ruin an entire life.”
The squirrel paused, but no one argued. “It can also kill,” Whistle continued, “but through circumstances brought on, rather than an immediate and direct death. Whereas poison can kill or bring on a permanent sickness or some other unpleasant condition. Both together will wipe out the magic of someone else, and force them into virtual starvation.”
It was Edna who answered. “So Fanny hasn’t just been included in the curse sent to her father? They have both been intentionally targeted?”
“It would seem so,” I hiccupped.
I could hear the wood pigeons out in the trees, such a gentle and pretty sound. I could also hear Twizzle shouting about the wombats invading Uluru. I was almost dozing off when suddenly Whistle thumped the table with his back paws, and said, “I’ve got it.”
But just as I sat forward, eager to hear the answer, and Edna stood to come closer and listen to every detail, there was a louder thump, thump, and my door slammed open, someone heavy marched in, and a deep voice demanded, “Where is my longboat? In Oden’s name, I demand an explanation. I cannot even smell the brine, nor hear the splash of the oars and the songs of my men.” The Viking was no longer a neatly spaced collection of bones without flesh, skin, organs or smile, he was a fully living man of considerable height and width.
He also had his sword raised, the blade as clean and shining as though it had never lain for centuries underground.
Naturally we all stared at him, but it was with excitement, not fear. I felt I ought to run and call Butterfield. However, Angdar was blocking the doorway, which was a good excuse not to leave. Besides, I still wanted to know what Whistle had discovered.
“Invite him in,” said the squirrel.
“He’s already in,” said Edna.
Although a ghost himself, the Viking did not seem happy to hear a squirrel speak, and he glared at us all.
“How do you do?” I said politely. “We’re not actually too far from the ocean, but you woke up here because this is where you were buried.”
And, of course, this was when Peg reappeared, right on cue.
Four
“I have no idea where I was,” Peg said with breathless gasps. “It was hot though.” This could be guessed from the sweat rolling down her face. “And some strange animals I’d never seen before, but strangest of all were the people. Quite attractive, and wearing feathers on their heads like Edna, although a lot neater.”
Edna reached up and patted her hat.
Angdar evidently found this of interest. “There’s a country across the oceans to the west where the sun sinks,” he said, “with rivers and mountains and families living in tjalda, where the men wear great feathered hats which stretch from their heads down their backs. My father went there once, and on his return, he told me what a bright green country it was.”
“That’ll be the one,” Peg nodded. “Sounds just right. But what on earth is a tjalda, and who on earth are you?”
“I am Angdar the Bold,” said the Viking, with considerable pride. “But I fear I am lost again in strange lands, as was my father.”
I looked from one to the other, and then back to Whistle. “And you have the answer to the curse?” I asked the squirrel.
Whistle said, “Perhaps not all of it, but more than half now makes sense. A tjalda, by the way, is a dwelling somewhat similar to our tents, I believe.”
Peg smiled her thanks while still catching her breath.
Angdar whistled, which was most appropriate. “A strange new land indeed, where small furry animals speak like this.”
I didn’t mention all the others which did the same. “Please sit down,” I said, indicating an empty stool. “I have a lot to explain. First of all, I believe you visited a woman by the name of Butterfield in her dreams, several times. Do you have any memory of that?”
Half closing his eyes, he managed to nod. “Indeed. I believe it was I who dreamed, for I saw this beautiful woman lying in a huge dark bed.”
I reminded myself to tell Butterfield later about being called beautiful.
“Well,” I carried on, “she dreamed about you. So we dug you up. You were deep underground in your own burial chamber. A great deal of time has passed since your people came to live in parts of this land, so I believe you’ve been dead and buried for hundreds of years. But you certainly weren’t alive when we found you.”
I waited for screeches, denials and northern swear words, but Angdar leaned back against the wall, sat astride the stool, which was a bit small for him, and concentrated. Finally, he muttered, “I remember Valhalla. After many days of pain and weakness, I woke in this place of vibrant happiness. I saw my old friend, and then I saw my wife, who had died two years before. They both rushed up to me and welcomed me to Valhalla. It was more peaceful than I had expected, but my dear wife, whom I had missed, told me I should sleep first as I had been through many troubles. Indeed, she led me to a great house, far larger than your own, and there, I slept. But now, waking and feeling alive, it is most strange to remember death.”
Not one of us had an explanation. I nodded to Peg. “You couldn’t go and get Butterfield, could you, dear?” I asked. “She’d love all this and maybe our new guest will recognise her.”
As Peg sweetly hurried off, though still out of breath, I turned to Edna. “What now?” I asked.
“If our new guest doesn’t mind sitting quietly and listening for a little while,” she said, which was exactly what I hoped she’d say, “I believe Whistle should explain his theories.”
The squirrel nodded eagerly. “Vikings and Red Indians are all very interesting,” he accepted, “but this is important. So, are you all sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”
Edna and I nodded, but Angdar was utterly confused.
“This might be the most important thing I ever hear,” said Edna. “I’ve been lucky at my age never to have faced a curse, and never even to have heard of a poison or a poisoned curse. But I’m not dead yet.” She smiled a vague apology at Angdar. “So I may still get cursed, or need to help someone else who is, such as poor Fanny.”
“Right,” said the squirrel. “Poison is one thing, and a curse is another, but a poisoned curse is a very nasty business, and quite rare for several reasons. Only someone with a strong magical grade, and a strong temper too, are likely to use such a thing. So knowledgeable, powerful, someone who never forgives, holds a grudge, has a furious temper and enjoys making others suffer.”
“What a delightful wizard that must be,” smiled Edna.
Angdar seemed less amused. “That describes most people I’ve ever known,” he said with a sigh.
The squirrel had a sip of ale from my cup and continued his briefing. “But it’s a sign of cowardice too,” he continued, “since instead of just going up to this hated wiccan and sticking a knife in his face, there’s all this magic play instead. Killing from a safe distance.”
“So Fanny’s distant enemy is a foul monster.” I wasn’t thinking about anyone or anything in particular, but even Alice hadn’t been that bad. Mind you, her magic was never strong enough anyway.
“You, being a ninety eighth grade,” Whistle told me cheerfully, “would be able to get away with it. Edna too. And me, I suppose. Anyone in the nineties and just perhaps in the late eighties. No one else, though.”
And that was when Peg and Butterfield burst in, and the conversation changed once more.
“You,” cried Butterfield, and ran over to smile at her dream visitor. “Do you remember coming to me all those nights?”
Actually, it sounded quite improper, but Angdar grinned and stood, taking Butterfield’s hands in his. “This is a great honour, my lady,” he said. “You have called me back into life, and I am thankful to both Odin and your sweet self.”
Butterfield blushed. “I have no idea whether we have family connections,” she said, “but I doubt it. I have no idea why you came to me, but it has certainly enabled us to meet. We found your grave, and that has somehow brought you back to life.”
I wanted to get back to Whistle’s stories, but this strange appearance was so fascinating, I didn’t object to the interruption. I knew this Viking was quite certainly dead, and what’s more, dead for hundreds of years. And yet this was no ghost. Even Whistle could only return as a small and simple animal, or as a sweeping flare of transparent colours. Instead, Angdar stood very solid and even smelled of sweat and muscle. His hair was ragged, long over his shoulders, and the colour of corn bleached by the sun, with a long moustache and short beard to match. His eyes were bright blue, his skin pale but rough, and he wore a short smock in dark dyed red over wrapped legs and feet. Presumably these were not his best clothes, but how he had been laid to rest.
However, while thinking about all this, Butterfield, still holding the Viking’s large callused hand, asked him to accompany her. “We are interrupting these very important people and their very important discussion,” she said. “So may I invite you to sit outside in the sun with me, I’ll order strong ale, and we can talk.”
He seemed keen, bowed to all of us, even Whistle, and left with Butterfield. With a sigh I turned back to the squirrel.
Whistle scratched his head. “It’s a day of interruptions. Very odd indeed.” He glanced at Peg with suspicion. “You aren’t about to disappear again, are you, dear?”
“Humph,” said Peg, cuddling her knees.
“Very well, back to the point,” Whistle continued. “My investigations found that the combination of poison and curse is a rare and difficult achievement. There have been some in the past who apparently became notorious for such acts, during their own time. For instance, a ninety-five graded Norman lord, who never even forgave his goose boy for losing one of his geese to a fox overnight. Then there was the wife of a farmer in Harrowing upon Thames back in Saxon times. She did her husband in when she found he’d been unfaithful. I don’t know her grade, but it must have been high. A Scottish wizard went mad and cursed six of his family, but saved the worst for his best friend, and did the doubl
e c and p.”
“Surely you don’t think Fanny knew any of these people?” I asked.
“Highly doubtful considering her age.” Whistle said. “But it should be easy enough for her to remember if she ever knew a wizard with great power and a character of great abiding hatreds, who not only hated her father, but her too.”
“But there’s no gossip.” I checked.
The squirrel shook his head. “Any such creature would keep quiet about his intentions. But if you know him, you’d never forget. I’m sure of that.”
This left me with several rather odd jobs over dinner. I made sure Fanny sat next to me, and I whispered to her, describing the sort of person Whistle had told me about. “So not just someone who loathed your father,” I explained. “It has to be someone who didn’t like you either. But you couldn’t have missed that strength of power.”
I could see her startled attempt to remember, so, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, I turned to Butterfield who was sitting opposite.
“And your new friend?”
“Well,” she said, looking almost as worried as Fanny, “he wanted to look around, so I told him just to wander, but to come back for supper. But he’s been gone hours and hasn’t returned. I think he might be lost.”
“I bet he’s in the Juggler and Goat,” I laughed. “Let’s go there later and have a look.”
We did and brought Fanny with us. She hadn’t thought of a possible wizard yet, so Edna, Peg, Butterfield and I sat in our favourite corner of the tavern, and hoped no one could overhear us.
Oh yes, Angdar was there, standing with his elbow against the wall, drinking like a tree root, talking his head off and clearly enjoying the things that hadn’t been around in his day. So I’d been right. Well – I usually was – but let’s forget I ever said that.