by Adele Abbott
I’d probably regret this, but curiosity had got the better of me.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it, Jill?” Jules could barely contain herself, as we walked down the high street.
“Yeah. Almost as exciting as a new vacuum cleaner.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” I spotted the crowd gathered outside Ever. “It looks like there’s going to be a good turnout.”
“Wool TV is here.” Mrs V pointed.
The doors to the shop had been locked, but everyone seemed to be fascinated by something in the window.
“Can you see anything, Jill?” Jules was standing on tiptoe.
“Nothing.”
“Make way for an old lady.” Mrs V pushed her way through the crowd. Jules and I followed in her wake.
“It’s some kind of lizard.” Jules stared at the creature in the shop window. “Any idea what kind it is, Jill?”
“Duh! A chameleon, maybe?”
“Oh yes, of course.”
Just then, I caught sight of Kathy, standing behind the counter. She gave me a wave.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Grandma’s voice came through the speakers which had been fixed above the door and window. “Welcome to the launch of Chameleon Wool.”
The doors opened, and there, standing behind a table, was the woman herself. The crowd cheered, as if a movie star had suddenly appeared.
“Thank you for coming today. From the same people who brought you Everlasting Wool and One-Size Needles, Ever A Wool Moment is pleased to announce our latest innovative product. I give you—” And from somewhere, I kid you not, there was a drumroll. What a showman she was. “Chameleon Wool.”
From behind her back, she produced a small ball of wool, and placed it in the centre of the table. The sense of anti-climax was palpable as everyone stared at this unremarkable ball of wool.
“The problem with conventional wool.” Grandma continued, seemingly unfazed by the audience’s initial response. “Is that you have to buy a separate ball of wool for each colour you require.” She paused for dramatic effect. “No longer!” From under the table, she produced what appeared to be a handful of patterns. “If you want the wool to be this shade of red.” She held up the first pattern for everyone to see. “Then the wool will turn red.” Grandma touched the ball of wool to the pattern, and it instantly turned red. There was a collective gasp as people realised what Chameleon Wool actually was. Next, she touched the same ball of wool to a pattern for a yellow cardigan. The ball of wool changed from red to yellow. That did it. Everyone cheered and screamed.
Everyone except me.
“When can we buy it?” someone behind me yelled.
“Patience.” Grandma smiled, triumphantly. “You’ll be able to buy Chameleon Wool as soon as this table has been cleared away. I’ll just need to close the door for a few minutes. Please form an orderly queue.”
“Can we stay and buy some, Jill?” Jules pleaded.
“Please, Jill.” Mrs V had already joined the queue. “They might sell out otherwise.”
“Okay. Get back to the office as soon as you can.”
I was the only person who hadn’t joined the queue. Takings were going to be through the roof at Ever, today. Chameleon Wool had certainly captured the imagination. Of course, I was the only one there who knew the truth. This was yet another example of Grandma’s blatant disregard for the rules governing the use of magic in the human world. But who was going to stop her? Not the rogue retrievers, and certainly not Department V.
***
When I arrived back at the office, Peter was waiting at the top of the stairs.
“You called me. I was in town anyway, so I thought I’d drop in.”
“Sorry I wasn’t here. We had an office outing to Ever A Wool Moment. Jules and Mrs V are still down there.”
“Kathy said something about a new product launch. She wasn’t looking forward to it.”
I unlocked the door, and led the way through to my office.
“I see you still have the ugly cat.”
Winky, who was sitting on the sofa, scowled at Peter. “Get back to your glass house.”
Fortunately, Peter didn’t speak ‘cat’, and he continued, “Are you looking for a new car, Jill?” He picked up the brochure, which Winky had left on the floor. “Business must be good if you can afford one of these.”
“That isn’t mine. It belongs to—err—a—err—client.”
“I had to nip into town to see the bank manager. I need to up the company’s overdraft to cover the additional outlay on the Washbridge House contract.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s early days, but very promising. If we get this right, it should open a lot of doors.”
“That’s great. You’ll soon be able to employ Kathy.”
“No chance.” He looked horrified. “If we worked together, we’d end up killing one another. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“You go fishing at Wash Point, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I was there last weekend with Mikey. Why? Do you want to come?”
“Me? No, thanks. I have a client whose husband went missing after going fishing there.”
“Brendan Bowlings?”
“You know him?”
“Not really. Only to say ‘hello’ to. I heard he’d gone missing, but I assumed he’d decided to take off.”
“That’s what the police think. His wife says he wouldn’t have left without a word. She thinks something has happened to him.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. That’s what she’s paying me to find out.”
“He can’t have fallen into the river, or someone would have found his fishing tackle on the bank.”
“What’s this new factory that’s been built at Wash Point?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. There’s no name anywhere on the building. It’s a disgrace that they were ever given permission to build there. If you ask me, someone must have taken a bribe. They’ve fenced off a twenty metre stretch of the river. There was some good fishing in that area too. We all thought for sure that the river downstream would be polluted by whatever it is they’re doing, but so far, all the tests have come back clear. It’s still not right, though.”
“I’ll have to take a look around there at some point.”
“You could always come fishing with Mikey and me.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on that. My life is already exciting enough, what with vacuum cleaners and caravans.”
***
“Look, Jill!” Jules came bursting into my office. Mrs V was a few steps behind her. “Watch this.” She was holding an anaemic-looking ball of wool. “Look what happens.”
Jules put the ball of wool onto the car brochure which was on my desk. Immediately, it changed colour to match the green of the open-top sports car in the photograph.
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Jules squealed with delight.
“It certainly is. Did you get one too, Mrs V?”
“I did.” She held up her prized possession. “Poor Kathy is run off her feet down there. She can’t serve people fast enough.”
“I’ve no doubt Grandma will give her a bonus.”
Mrs V gave me a puzzled look. “Joke?”
“What do you think?”
My two PAs couldn’t wait to try out their new toy, so they returned to their desks.
“A cat could starve in here.” Winky moaned.
“Sorry, I’d lost track of time.” I walked over to the cupboard and opened a tin of cat food. “I’m out of salmon.”
“I suppose that’ll have to do, then.”
I was about to put the remainder of the cat food into the fridge, when Winky coughed. “What about Lenny?”
“What about him?”
“He’s hungry too.”
I glanced around, but there was no sign of the ghost cat. “I can’t see him.”
“Surely, you know how it works by now. You can only
see a ghost if he attaches himself to you. Lenny is attached to me right now.”
“Of course. Sorry.” I took out another bowl, filled it with cat food, and placed it next to Winky’s. “There you go, Lenny.”
“Lenny says thank you.”
***
I’d magicked myself over to Candlefield where I’d arranged to meet up with Maddy May who was Robbie Riddle’s girlfriend. It seemed that pixies were big on alliteration when it came to names. We were meeting at Pixie Beans, a coffee shop, in Pixie Central.
In order to get inside the coffee shop, I’d been forced to shrink myself to pixie size. Maddy was wearing a charming, traditional pixie outfit complete with the cutest hat you ever did see.
“Have you and Robbie been seeing each other long, Maddy?”
“We met at high school. We’ve been engaged for just over a year now. We’re planning to marry next year.”
“Was Robbie okay on the days leading up to his disappearance?”
“Yes. He was his usual jolly self. Robbie is always happy.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“On the morning of the day he went missing, he told me he was going to see Lionel Longfellow.”
“Who’s that?”
“A friend of Robbie’s. Robbie has asked Lionel to be his best man.” At that, Maddy began to cry. “Sorry, I just can’t stand the not knowing.”
“Have you spoken to Lionel?”
“Yes. He said that he and Robbie hadn’t arranged to meet that day. He hadn’t seen him.”
“Do you think Robbie deliberately lied to you?”
“I don’t want to believe that, but I can’t come up with another explanation.”
“Does he have any particular interests or hobbies?”
“His main interest is the human world. He’s absolutely obsessed with it. He reads everything he can about it.”
“Is it possible he might have gone there?”
“To the human world?” She managed a weak smile. “It’s not something pixies can do. It’s okay for witches, werewolves, vampires and most other sups. But pixies are six inches tall. How would we ever go unnoticed there?”
“Good point.”
“A few do try, but they have to spend all of their time hidden from the view of humans. What kind of life is that?”
I promised Maddy that I would do everything I could to find her fiancé, but I wasn’t overly optimistic.
Chapter 6
I would need to track down Robbie Riddle’s best friend, Lionel Longfellow, but for now that would have to wait. Something was niggling at the back of my mind, and wouldn’t let up. In her Will, Imelda Barrowtop had left me a journal. I hadn’t been able to claim it because, in order to do so, I first had to produce Magna Mondale’s book. That posed something of a problem because I had thrown the book down the Dark Well. I’d tried hard to convince myself that there wouldn’t be anything in the journal that could possibly be of any interest to me. But what if there was? The only way to find out was if I could somehow recover the book from the well.
The Dark Well was on the north side of the Black Woods. It stood in a clearing between the edge of the wood and the hills beyond. The last time I’d been there, I’d had to fight off Ma Chivers. This time the area was deserted.
It was over a year since I’d disposed of the book. Unless the well was dry, the pages would have long since rotted away. Even if the well was dry, how was I going to get the book out of there? I leaned on the wall of the well, and stared down into the abyss.
“What business do you have here?” A short, plump and very ugly creature suddenly popped up from the well, causing me to stumble onto my backside.
“Who are you?” I stood up, and dusted myself down.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“My name is Jill Gooder.”
“I’m Timothy Troll.”
“And you’re a troll?”
“That’s correct.”
“So, you’re Timothy Troll the troll?”
“Did you come here just to make fun of my name?”
I didn’t, but that was certainly a fortuitous by-product. “Sorry, no. I came to try to recover my property.”
“What property would that be?”
“A book. I accidentally dropped it down the well. It was over a year ago.”
“A book, you say? Would it by any chance have been a very thick book containing lots of spells?”
“Yes. Have you seen it?”
He touched his forehead with his stubby little finger. “Do you see this?” He leaned forward.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“This! This scar!”
I looked a little closer—there was the smallest, faintest of scars, just above his left eyebrow. “Oh, yes. I see it now.”
“Your book did that. I was sitting there, minding my own business, eating cherries, when suddenly, out of the blue, a book hits me on the head. It sent me a little unnecessary for a few minutes.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I had no idea that there was anyone in the well. I wouldn’t have thrown it down there if I’d known.”
“I thought you said it was an accident?”
Oh bum!
“Yes. An accident. That’s what I meant. I didn’t know there were trolls in wells. I thought they lived under bridges.”
“That would be the bridge trolls.”
“And you’re a well troll?”
“Well spotted.” He laughed. “Well? Get it?”
Don’t you just hate it when you come across someone with such a puerile sense of humour?
“So? Do you have it? My book?”
“You mean the lethal weapon?”
“I’ve already apologised for that. Do you have it?”
“I keep all the stuff that people throw down this well.”
“Is it here?”
“Of course not. If I kept it here, the well would be overflowing with rubbish. I take it home with me, and catalogue everything.”
“So, you don’t actually live down the well?”
“Of course not. Why would I want to live down a well? I just work here.”
“I see. Can I go to your house, and collect it?”
“Hold your horses. It isn’t as easy as that. I’m not running a charity, you know.”
“Of course not. How much do I owe you for holding it in storage?”
“Money is no good to me.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I’m a collector of fairy wings. Starlight fairy wings, to be precise.”
“That’s horrible and cruel. You can’t go around ripping the wings off a fairy.”
“Deary me. You really do not know anything about starlight fairies, do you? They shed their wings every year after they’ve grown a new pair. I collect the wings which they’ve discarded.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realise.”
“In return for your lethal weapon of a book, I will require five pairs of starlight fairy wings.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do, but don’t let anyone else have the book in the meantime.”
“I can’t guarantee that. The first person to bring me five pairs of starlight fairy wings can take it.”
***
This was going from the sublime to the ridiculous. To get the journal, I needed Magna Mondale’s book. To get Magna Mondale’s book, I now needed five pairs of starlight fairy wings.
I’d have to try to find those another day. Right now, all I wanted to do was get home, and have a quiet evening in front of the television. Custard creams, chocolate and ginger beer might also be involved.
When I got back to the house, I noticed that Blake’s car was on his drive, but there was no sign of Jen’s. Good! If I could snatch a quick word with him before Jen got home, I’d be able to clue him in on the blog situation.
As I walked across the road, my eardrums felt as if they might explode. The noise coming from Mr Kilbride’s house was deafening
. We’d all got used to his occasional bagpipe playing, and that was bad enough. But this? This was the usual cacophony multiplied by ten.
“Jill?” Blake answered the door wearing a pair of ear defenders. “Come in.” He pulled them off his ears.
“What’s going on next door?” I had to shout to be heard.
“I’ve no idea, but it’s been like this for the last hour.”
“I can’t put up with this,” I said. “I’m going around there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I thumped on Kilbride’s front door as hard as I could, but there was no response, so I made my way to the back of the house. Through the French doors, I could see at least five men, all dressed in kilts, and all playing the bagpipes.
I stood in front of the French doors, waving my arms around until I finally got someone’s attention. Moments later, the bagpipes stopped, and it felt as though I’d gone deaf.
“Hello, Jill.” Kilbride opened one of the French doors.
“We can’t hear ourselves think, out here, Mr Kilbride.”
“I’m so sorry. When the boys and I get together and start jamming, we can sometimes get a little carried away.”
Boys? Jamming?
“You have to dial down the volume.”
“We were just about to call it a day, anyway. We need to conserve our energy for the big day.”
“What ‘big day’ would that be?”
“The first ever Washbridge Bagpipe Festival is being held in two days’ time. There’ll be hundreds of pipers on the streets. It’s going to be spectacular.”
“It sounds unmissable.”
“That’s better.” Blake sighed. “What was going on?”
“There’s a gaggle of bagpipers next door. They’re all here for a bagpipe festival in Washbridge.”
“I must remember to give that a wide berth.”
“You and me both. Look, Blake, the reason I’m here is that I’m worried about Jen. I think she might get you into trouble with the rogue retrievers.”
“What has she been saying, this time?”
“My sister told me about something called the Wizard’s Wife’s blog. After looking at it, I’m almost certain that Jen must be behind it. Take a look at it yourself—it’s easy to find. See what you think. If it is Jen, then you need to get her to stop, and delete what she’s already done.”