by B G Denvil
One cow returned, disapproving of the storm as water dripped from its head and body as though it had been swimming. It gazed with slight surprise at the fallen wall which it had knocked down itself, but one part of that planked wall stayed upright, sufficient to hold up the rest of the barn. Even most of the hay remained dry, and I kicked down a small tuft or so to keep the returning animals happy. Even the pig settled back down, and the babies wriggled out, ready to suckle once more. I apologised to them, shoved my nose into the fallen barrage of straw and searched for the fallen thimble.
I found it easily, brushed off the mess and wondered how I was going to carry it home. This was not the spoon, cup or toadstool, but it was certainly red, and Alice had been using it.
Oswald was also red. So were Edna’s best shoes. I decided it was not any dreadful evil. It did not stink, though to my expert feline sense of smell, it was not pleasant. A faint stench of soured cream floated from it.
The last cow ambled home, dripping wet, and wondered what had originally inspired it to go out in all that rain. It sat on the straw and snuffled, hoping to dry off.
With considerable guilt, I flicked out a spell to dry all the animals, and make them entirely forget the monsters. I dished up fresh summer grass and some mashed turnip for the pigs, and regarded the thimble as it lay on the ground, regarding me back.
I decided I would just have to put up with the fowl taste, not quite so bad in my cat form as it would be otherwise. I bent down and scooped the thimble into my mouth.
It bit my tongue.
I bit it back and then settled down to feel sorry for itself.
With a backwards glance at the half-broken shed with its now content livestock, the basket weave chair empty, and the rain, hail, wind, lightning and thunder, I scampered home as fast as I could on my four paws.
The Rookery stood stark against the sky, lights in every window but no resident daft enough to be outside. I went first to my own rooms, where I spat out the thimble and changed back into Rosie. I changed quickly. It was no longer the perfect time for my usual sensual disembodiment. Once changed, I carefully picked up the red thimble, popped it on my table next to the silver toadstool, spoon and cup, and watched in detail how each responded. I was also still wearing Oswald, since he changed with me, either pinned to my fur or the collar of my gown.
He spoke first, which was somewhat unusual. “It’s not a real force of the dark shadow,” he told me. “But it’s fashioned from the same cinnabar, using the stone left after the creation of the cup. It is the inside of the cup so to speak, carved out, and then hollowed again, ready for the insertion of one fat finger.”
Oswald could be a useful companion every now and then, though I thought he slept more than he should.
There it sat, glowing in the candle light, while the silver items watched it with suspicion. I decided to call Edna and Peg, and Whistle too, if he’d come, tell them my funny stories of monsters and what had happened with Alice, and see what they thought of our newly purloined thimble. I could only suppose Alice had been given this by the shadow power itself, but I hoped it could be questioned, and tell us a good deal more.
Alid had a shed to repair, but that wouldn’t kill him, Where Alice had gone, I no longer knew, but I hoped she wouldn’t be sending us anymore mean spells for a little while at least.
Fifteen
“It’s quite pretty,” said Peg.
“You should have seen how pretty my monsters were,” I told her. “Such fun. But this thimble, I’m not sure about. It doesn’t have the usual smell of darkness, though I think it might be important. We should ask the silver cup.”
No Whistle. I wondered if he turned into a monster himself and flown back to Stonehenge, but had no way of knowing.
We settled down to the questions again. And actually, after having that wretched thimble in my mouth, I felt some nice invigorating water would be just what I needed.
“Number one, what is this thimble thing? Number two, is it part of the shadow power? Number three, can it still do damage? Number four, where did it come from? And number five, how did Alice get hold of it?”
Too many questions perhaps, and the cup went into a flummox. Finally, as I was chatting to Peg and Edna, it came back with answers.
“The cinnabar toadstool, spoon and cup were fashioned by the Shadow King himself. This tiny red object was not. One of the shadow acolytes discovered the cinnabar that had been scooped from the centre of the cup. It scooped the stone once more, creating this object. The shadow creature then embodied it with his own wickedness, but that has now been almost entirely used up. The unpleasant fool had little strength. He was the student of evil who gave the object to the witch, which did considerably enhance her own powers though.”
Well, that pretty much covered the lot. But I added, “Can it harm the person wearing it?”
“No,” said my cup, “though possibly in some tiny spiteful manner. But if the user is not wicked, and has power of his or her own, then the thimble could be made to obey in small ways, whatever is demanded of it, good or bad. Though we’re not sure how much longer that will last.”
I was happy with that. I’d taken away some of Alice’s increased capability, and I had given myself a trick or two which might be used on Alice herself.
Not wanting to leave it for others to find and not wanting to use it yet myself, if ever, and certainly not wanting any passing Troilus bugs to notice it, I had hidden the thimble away and turned to chatter with my friends. Then my door swung open with a wallop, and Angdar burst in without knocking. Bruising his knuckles on a bit of wood had never seemed necessary to him.
“The wedding? Butterfield said yes?” he said, eyes sparkling as usual.
“She asked me,” said Angdar with considerable pride. “I said yes. I not only told her yes, I said it ten times and picked her up and jumped on the table and made her dance with me.”
“Still on the table?”
“Why not?” he demanded. “It’s wide and long enough, and we reckon we need a bigger room or two or three. Maggs and Mandrake got a whole cottage. Any chance of a long house?”
I was still shaking my head and mumbling about the impossibility, when Edna said, “I don’t see why not. Butterfield will have to design it, and we’ll find a spot out past the privies.”
“Perfect,” Angdar said. “We decided on a wedding tomorrow evening, promises and so forth in front of everyone, and then I carry my wife off to our new home.”
“Is that how it was done?” smiled Peg.
“No other way makes sense to me,” Angdar called as he ran, hopping, from my room.
“Another feast. Excellent,” said Peg.
“And The Rookery becomes more and more eccentric.”
“We’re a house of wiccan folk,” said Edna. “Eccentricity is obligatory.”
Which made me wonder about Fanny and Harry. I hadn’t seen either of them lately. I hadn’t seen Whistle either. And I hadn’t seen Maggs and Mandrake. I felt like a dreadful manager, and a cruel terrifier of innocent animals.
“I’ll plan a wedding feast,” I said in a hurry. “A party with music. It wouldn’t seem right if Angdar didn’t have any music for dancing.”
“He’d dance anyway,” grinned Peg. “Let’s get started.”
I was wandering off to find Whistle first, when I noticed Montague shuffling from the corridor into the kitchens. I was about to say hello and carry on walking, when he suddenly spun into the air directly in front of me, turned a somewhat risky and extremely unnecessary summersault, cracked his head on the sconce and fell down flat on his face at my feet.
I’m not sure which of us was the most embarrassed. I helped him up and dusted him down. He mumbled a dishevelled apology and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Not taking too much notice, he was a wizard after all, and one I had stopped liking quite some time ago, I continued looking for Whistle. I was plodding upstairs when the next silly thing happened.
Dan
dy was coming downstairs and grinned at me as usual in his somewhat irritating ‘look at me, look at me’ fashion, when he abruptly slipped, landed on his backside and began to bump his way down every single step, arms waving.
I moved aside for him, and as he passed me by at full speed, bumpety bump down the last few steps, I called, “Are you feeling all right?”
He didn’t answer, but I watched as he stood, massaged both ankles and his sit-upon and staggered off.
And I still didn’t find Whistle.
I ended up in the kitchens, discussing tomorrow’s feast with Issa. My request for a menu, or at least for us to discuss possibilities, had her almost as exuberant as Angdar. “Butterfield loves sweet dishes,” Issa told me, which I hadn’t known. “How about roast apples with blackberry custard, blackberry codlings, lemon tart with cream, bread and butter pudding with orange slivers and thick white custard, suet crumble with strawberry custard, roast figs with blueberry pie, raspberry jelly with layered cream and custard, flat baked cake with a mixture of walnuts, peanuts, almonds, hazel nuts and a few others, all steamed in custard with spangles, sugar biscuits, toasted crumbles over pears and peaches, junket with sliced peaches and a pie with creamy berries of all sorts inside, and the same cream on top.” She clapped her hands. “Is there anything else you might think of, Mistress Rosie?”
I was stunned already. “Tangled hodgepodge and bubbles with mouse droppings?” It was supposed to be a joke.
Issa was perplexed. “I’ll see what I can do,” she frowned, then continued, “Of course I shall do roast meat, leeks and spinach cooked in cream, and sausage filled with bacon and figs too.”
Weak with anticipation, I thanked her and staggered off.
But still no Whistle, so I felt perhaps I should check on Rollo and Godwin, now Brin, and my colonies of rats instead. This time I invited Edna and Peg and also asked Bertie to come with us.
As we stood in the grounds facing Kettle Lane, Ermengarde bustled passed, presumably flying back from the village. It was Friday. There would be a busy market. But as she passed us with the usual expression of haughty distain, she was quickly blown backwards, her hat flew off and her hair was twisted into a strange spire on top of her head, and her boots dropped off her feet, leapt upwards, and buffeted her, one in each eye. She dropped to the ground with a furious look, she sat hard on the wet grass before us, one dark bruise around each eye, and stared at her rather large and grubby bare feet. Her hair rose further and further until it appeared as a grey mountain on top of her head, her missing hat returned, popping itself crookedly on top. She sat there, clearly frightened to move.
And now I knew what was going on.
“It’s that wretched thimble,” I whispered to Peg and Edna. “It’s knocking over the very few people I don’t like so much. It’s trying to get on my good side.”
“If I suddenly go hurtling into the trees and land in a crow’s nest,” said Peg, “I can guess what you’re actually thinking about me.”
“Never,” I told her. “I think I need a word with that thimble.”
We made a quick escape. The air was bitterly cold, and I imagine it might have been warmer had we walked, but it would also have taken four times longer, so we put up with it. Peg had her muff, Edna had her heavily flowered and feathered hat, which I was sure couldn’t supply warmth of any kind, and I wore a woolly bonnet hidden beneath the hood of my cloak. At least I kept my ears warm.
It had stopped raining, and the thundering storm had rained itself out. Now we just had simple ice. But with Little Piddleton and Trout Farm below us, we made a hasty landing and toddled up to the main house.
Having passed over the damaged barn, I was fairly sure Alice no longer stayed there, but there was a far cosier looking barn standing close, and I wondered if she’d have the nerve to go there instead.
As Alid bustled out with Joan beside him, I saw Brin march over from the stables, and everyone was wearing a grin in spite of the weather. Actually, open mouthed grins showed off teeth looking just like icicles.
Joan was immediately in my arms, and she was looking both healthy and enormous. The baby she was carrying might be born as big as a calf. From her body so close to mine, I could feel small feet kicking. I’d never felt such a thing before, and became suddenly quite sentimental.
“What do you think?” I asked her. “Boy or girl?”
“Boy,” she said, kissing my cheek. “I just have a feeling it’s a boy.”
“What about boys?” I suggested, but she just snorted.
“He wouldn’t dare double up,” she said. “We couldn’t afford it. Mind you,” and here, she patted Brin’s wide shoulder, “ever since this young man came to work for us, we’re getting so much more done. I can hardly do much work myself any more, but Brin manages more than even my dearest Alid.”
Unoffended, Alid nodded vigorously. “And Brin told us you recommended him. We’re mighty grateful.”
“I’m so pleased you all get on so well.” It was quite obvious they were friends, not just a farm worker and the boss. “But,” I added, “it seems the wind blew down part of your barn.”
“No matter,” said Alid. “Brin will fix it. Soon as the weather improves. In the meantime, we’ve moved the livestock into the other barn.”
No Alice. I was delighted.
Bertie and Brin were chatting away to each other, with Alid nodding away beside them, when I asked Joan, “And no outbreaks of the plague?”
“Not one. We’re so lucky,” she said.
“And I hear,” added Peg, “the recent plague problem in all the surrounding villages has passed over now as well.”
“We didn’t know that,” Joan admitted. “But I’m ever so pleased. But you see, we can’t go past the boundaries of the village here. Something stops us. We know it’s a miracle from the Lord.”
“How nice of Him,” I smiled. “A few nice things have been happening. I actually thought someone told me Rollo had died. I was quite shocked.”
“Oh no,” said Joan, her stomach moving with little kicks and jogs beneath her straw sprigged gown. “I saw him this morning. A nice lad, not a special friend. Mind you,” and she leaned forwards as though confiding a secret, “poor Dickon got very ill two days back. He had the plague rash and felt shocking. He was so upset, poor young man, and most of us were so sad for him. Yet I saw him striding down to the market this morning, and he assured me he was fine, and indeed felt better than usual. No rash. No problems.”
Alice had tried to kill him off too – remembering I had once briefly liked him myself. But now she was gone, the thimble was in my possession, and Trout Farm was no longer harbouring Alice.
As usual, I dropped a small handful of coins into the black leather purse tied at Alid’s waist. Done by magic, of course, he never felt the intrusion. However, he often realised he had a little more money than he had previously thought, sometimes significantly more, and simply had to accept when it came to counting his money night after night, he did it all wrong and clearly couldn’t count properly at all.
We left the farm and walked back across the green towards Kettle Lane, quietly destroying our invisible bubble as we walked. Piece by piece, the village was free. Probably the villagers would take some time to realise it, but that wasn’t a problem.
As we passed the market, I saw Rollo nattering to a girl selling woolly gloves. He looked as healthy and happy as I’d ever seen him before.
On we wandered, past our own home to the very end of Kettle Lane, turned the corner, and squatted down to see our squeaking rats. They were as chirpy as Brin and Rollo and looked extremely pleased with their rather odd underground life.
As quickly as we could, we gathered handfuls of minute squeaking bald and blind baby rats, and then sent their parents running after them into the undergrowth, as Bertie filled in the luxurious home we’d originally made for them.
Once again, I quietly apologised.
Sixteen
Having never really joined in
with any of our past celebrations, not even an average dinner most days, it was now a sweet change to find Bertie enthusiastically helping with the house for Butterfield and Angdar. He was, it seemed, satisfied with his new rooms at the top of the new house we’d built before, when, inspired by Fanny, I had wanted to enlarge our capacity. Now with two rooms, both enjoying a view across to the trees, the crow’s nests in their hundreds, and the huge skies beyond, Bertie seemed to have discovered a new contentment. When I muttered about Angdar’s rather hopeful request for a new little home for himself and his about-to-be-wife, Bertie offered to help, so did Butterfield, and naturally Peg and Edna were also standing ready.
“One bedroom, and a corner for a chest of clothes,” she said. Fair enough. That was what everyone needed these days. “But can we have a sitting-in-room too? Facing the south where the sun gets bright, with big squashy chairs, not those hard, little wooden things humans have, and a table large enough for me to work at with a lot of papers, and some nice rugs, no ridiculous rushes and a really, really big window. Does that sound too luxurious?”
“Not in the least,” I said, “especially since you’ll be making a lot of it yourself.”
“And a sort of attic to encourage bats and birds.”
“Carry on.”
“And a proper hearth on one side for a real fire, Angdar would love that, with a real chimney and not just a hole in the thatch.”
“Most sensible.”
“And the only special thing Angdar has asked for,” Butterfield continued, the enormous smile as wide as a pheasant’s tail, “is a bed the same as he always had before. That’s against the wall, with a ceiling, but not too low, and a sliding door. Evidently it makes him feel safe.”
“Personally,” I shivered slightly, “that would make me feel really unsafe. I would be blocked in, if a fire started, I wouldn’t know if someone rushed in to kill me off, and I’d see nothing except my blankets.”