The Wonkiest Witch

by Jeannie Wycherley

  “Penelope Quigwell.”

  “Ah, excellent. Tell her all. She will help you.”

  “Alright,” I said. I was heading to her chambers anyway. “There’s this you should look at too,” I said, reaching into my bag once more for the newspaper report and the police artist’s impression of the victim. “This is the man who died. Do you recognise him?”

  I handed the paper over, and Shadowmender studied the article with interest, but shook his head. “This is the one who was wearing the ring? He is not someone I’ve come across.” I felt disappointed. Knowing who he was might help me figure out whom he was working for. “The Mori do not like to spend time in the spotlight. They inherited that from their brothers in the Circle of Querkus. Their members are not well known. That’s the way they prefer it. But there is a wizard in your neck of the woods who may well recognise this chap if he is a local. I’ll put you in touch with him. His name is Mr Kephisto and he runs The Story Keeper, a bookshop in Abbotts Cromleigh, not many miles from Whittle Inn if I recall.”

  I watched as he smoothed the newspaper out, burning the image onto his retina. “You know, there is an interesting twist to this that we haven’t considered, Alf.”

  “What’s that?” I stared down at the image too.

  “Someone out there is on your side. They did you a favour by killing this chap.”

  His words came like a bolt from the blue. I hadn’t considered that. Whomever had killed a member of The Mori had done so on purpose, knowing exactly what they were doing.

  “My goodness, yes! I heard the post-mortem results. I think the perpetrator used the Curse of Madb. Fractured bones, but no other trauma.”

  The wizard lifted his eyebrows. “Powerful magic indeed. So there is another witch or a wizard in your vicinity. Perhaps one who has made themselves known to you, or perhaps not. I urge you to speak to Kephisto. Perhaps he can help you. What we don’t want is a war breaking out in Devon.”

  I stood to take my leave and Shadowmender followed me to the door, summoning his walking stick from its place in the rack. As we stepped outside into his beautiful garden, he hunched over once more.

  “Mind how you go, Alf. And keep me posted. I’ll send help as soon as possible.”

  Forewarned is forearmed, they say, and by the time I arrived at Celestial Street, I have to admit to feeling more grounded and less fearful. For sure, by the sound of it at least, I had a group of dangerous warlocks on my doorstep, and to be fair they were probably in league with Talbot-Lloyd and intent on trying to find a way to extract my land from me, but now I knew I had people on my side too. Shadowmender had promised to send others to help me, and it appeared I had at least one ally on the ground in Whittlecombe.

  I wondered who that might be.

  Millicent seemed the obvious answer, although I didn’t have her pegged as a member of a top secret organisation such as the Circle of Querkus. But perhaps it was a double bluff and she was being secretive while totally out there.

  The complexity of it all was enough to make my head spin.

  At The Half Moon Inn, I paused, wondering whether to check in for the night. The intention was to pay Penelope Quigwell an unexpected visit. If she refused to see me then and there, I would camp out until she did. I needed answers. I wanted to know where the missing money from my inheritance had disappeared to. The fact that Wizard Shadowmender had rated her so highly gave me pause, for I had been starting to seriously doubt her loyalty to her clients, and pondering on whether she had been double-crossing me. Well, time would tell. If I couldn’t see her today, I would stay overnight at The Half Moon and try and catch her in the morning if all else failed.

  I wandered up to the clock shop, my overnight bag on my shoulder, pondering a strategy for the next few hours. Staring absently in through the window, I was surprised to spot Charles Pimm, my surveyor making a purchase at the till. Dressed in a smart suit, his hair slicked smoothly across his forehead, he looked quite different to the man I’d seen in the field next to the inn a few days ago. What was he doing in Celestial Street?

  He stepped lively, heading out of the shop towards me. I made myself as small as possible, and shrunk into the window, holding my breath as he passed by me and praying he wouldn’t notice me. He didn’t.

  He skirted me and marched towards the door to my left, 14b. I listened as he pressed the buzzer and announced himself. The door opened and he made his way in. I followed him, and reached the door in the final millisecond before it sprang closed, and paused there with my hand holding it ajar slightly, allowing Pimm time to climb the stairs. Then when I was hopeful he was out of sight, I quietly pushed the door wide and let myself in, creeping up the stairs after him.

  I waited near the top, just where the stairs curved around. If I climbed any higher I would be seen and that would give the game away rather.

  As luck would have it, Quigwell’s crotchety assistant wasn’t at his desk, so Quigwell herself came out of her office to meet Pimm.

  “Do you have what I need?” he asked, his tone haughty, arrogant in the extreme.

  “No-one can supply what you need,” Quigwell replied, her own voice icy.

  “You need to try harder,” Pimm said. “We have an agreement.”

  “Take this,” Quigwell said, “and leave. I don’t want anybody to see you here.” I looked back down the stairs in alarm. Was he going to leave already? And what had she just given him? I tentatively took a step backwards.

  “We don’t need your money, woman. Get us the deeds to that land,” Pimm growled.

  “It won’t be long now, I’m sure. She’ll be bankrupt by the end of the month and we can foreclose. I can wrap it all up very quickly.”

  Were they talking about me and my inn? Cold fury coursed through me. Part of me wanted to march up the stairs and confront them there and then, but something stayed my hand. What would they do if they were aware of how much I knew about them and their plans?

  Cautiously I crept backwards, inching down the stairs.

  “Make sure you’re ready to make a move straight away when I tell you,” Pimm ordered and Quigwell murmured something I couldn’t catch. They were saying their goodbyes. I moved quicker, the stairs creaking, and yanked the door open, then dashed into the street looking for somewhere to hide, certain they had heard me. It had to be the clock shop. I ran inside and melted carefully into the shadows between a pair of grandfather clocks. Holding my breath, I watched from my vantage point as Pimm dashed from 14b and peered up and down the street, then he turned to look inside the clock shop. He stared straight at me and my heart stopped. He had to see me, and yet he didn’t react. Then as all the clocks struck four, and a cacophony of noise erupted from the shop, he grimaced and turned about, marching down the street in the direction of the bookshop. I crept out of my hiding place and watched him go, saw his uneasy glances, left and right, before he disappeared.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked around. The proprietor of the clock shop had seen everything and studied me through knowing eyes. I considered him, questioning his intentions, waiting to see if he would challenge me, but he offered a slight smile, and bowed.

  Feeling wary, I snuck out of the clock shop, looking around me and up at the windows of the offices above the shops. Of Quigwell there was no sign. Was Shadowmender wrong about her? I wasn’t sure she could be trusted at all.

  Relieved to get away, I stuck to the shadows and cautiously made my way down the alley to the bookshop.

  Time to head back to Devon to ward off further problems.

  By the time I arrived at The Story Keeper in Abbotts Cromleigh, it was nearly ten in the evening. With no train station in Abbotts Cromleigh, I’d had to endure a painfully long bus journey from Exeter, although the roads were relatively clear at that time of night. Perhaps I should have headed straight for the inn, but my sixth sense was telling me to make hay while the sun shone. Not that the sun was shining, you understand. A large milky moon was climbing in the sky, and the stars were
bright overhead. The lights in the bookshop were out, but a glow emanated from the flat above.

  The Storykeeper was housed in a building of a similar age to Whittle Inn. Its front bowed out over the narrow road, like the prow of an Elizabethan ship. Unlike the inn, the shop was beautifully kept. The paintwork gleamed brightly white even in the relative gloom of the evening.

  I hovered in front of the door, unsure how to proceed, until I heard a click and the door swung inwards, away from me. Cautiously, I climbed a few steps and moved into the shop. The smell of new books tickled my nose and the door gently closed behind me, the lock clicking back into place. I didn’t feel concerned. The shop had an air of calm.

  I followed the light, climbing a horribly rickety staircase, rather sponge-like, to the mezzanine level.

  A large black crow, balanced comfortably on a perch, watched my progress with interest. “Kephisto,” it called, its black eyes glittering with intelligence. “Kephisto.”

  I jumped, startled when an old man sitting in a large armchair next to the bookshelves called, “I hear you, Caius, pipe down.” I hadn’t spotted him there.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Greetings traveller,” Kephisto replied and stood to shake my hand. “You’re Alfhild, I take it? You’ve had a long day. I’m Kephisto. Shadowmender informed me you’d be coming.”

  “Alf.” I said. “You can call me Alf. I’m sorry it’s so late.”

  “That’s not a problem. Time is relative. You must be weary. I’ve made us some tea.” He gestured towards a small table laden with a teapot, cups and saucers and a plate of sandwiches and mini-quiches. My favourites.

  “Thank you,” I said, grateful for the thought. I’d had such a mad dash panic through London to catch my train that I hadn’t stopped anywhere to pick up a snack, and then the train to Exeter contained no buffet car. It had been a fraught journey. I’d made myself very small in my seat, worrying the whole time that Pimm would be on board somewhere too, and would work his way through the carriages at any minute and spot me.

  I slouched into the chair Kephisto indicated, weary to my bones, thinking I could easily fall asleep right there, but helped myself to a tuna fish sandwich and watched as Kephisto poured tea. The amber liquid glowed in the soft light from numerous lamps dotted around the place, and just one mouthful seemed to ease the tension from my shoulders and help me relax.

  “What is this?” I asked, sipping at the brew once more.

  “Oh you know, lavender, chamomile, a few other pinches of herbs,” Kephisto said.

  “Should I be worried?” I speculated out loud. “It’s beginning to be difficult to know the difference between my enemies and my friends.”

  Kephisto laughed cheerfully. “Well my dear, that depends a great deal on what it is that you want from your future. You came to see me.”

  “Wizard Shadowmender recommended I do that, because you know who’s who, down here in the West Country.”

  “That’s true for the most part, I certainly do. Are you looking for someone in particular? Do you have a name?”

  “No name,” I said, and placed my cup and saucer on the table in front of me, reaching for my bag. “Just an image. An illustration created by an artist.” I handed the newspaper over to Kephisto who turned it to the light and examined it in minute detail. “I found this man dead out the back of Whittle Inn when I arrived there a few weeks ago. At first I thought he had been trying to break in, or that he had been killed and left there by someone who was trying to ruin me. I wasn’t overly concerned.”

  Kephisto peered over the top of his spectacles at me. “So what changed your mind?”

  I didn’t immediately answer, I wanted to see what Mr Kephisto had to say about the person in the image. Kephisto offered a wry smile and looked once more at the photo.

  “Well it’s been a few years but I’d say this is Edvard Zadzinsky. His forefathers came from Eastern Europe, and it is widely thought they were all member of the Circle of Querkus. Powerful warlocks.”

  “Shadowmender told me about the Circle of Querkus, but he didn’t know this … Edward.”

  “Edvard. I’m surprised word didn’t reach Shadowmender about this man. Even as a child he was a bad’n. Right from the word go. I knew him as a pup. An unusually gifted liar, and master manipulator. Found it easy to pit his siblings and friends off against each other. He had no honour. Never a good word to say about anyone. Would never take responsibility for anything he did, or any problems he caused. I always felt uncomfortable in his presence. He disappeared from my radar about forty years ago, and apart from occasional sightings of him, I don’t know what he’s been up to.” Kephisto removed his spectacles, pulled a cloth from his pocket and proceeded to clean them. I could see him thinking and remained quiet.

  Finally, he replaced the spectacles on the bridge of his nose and looked at me. “You found him dead, you say?”

  “Yes. And the post mortem found fractures to all his major bones, but no other trauma.”

  “The Curse of Madb,” Kephisto muttered in a low voice.

  I nodded. “Wizard Shadowmender said he is likely to be a member of The Mori?”

  “Sadly that’s very probable,” Kephisto replied. “It’s a worry.”

  “But more importantly, at the moment at least, I need to know who this Edvard was working for. I need to understand exactly who my enemies are, and who I can trust if I ever want to get the inn renovated and back up and working. Just this afternoon I’ve found my lawyer is in cahoots with the surveyor I used when I took over the inn. It appears they’re working together to try to take the inn and my land off me. But is there anyone else? Are they all in league with The Mori?”

  “You’re right to be suspicious, and you’re also correct that there’s a team at work. The Mori will work very closely with ordinary mortals to make gains and destroy the forests. Who do you know that stands to gain the most from the destruction of your land?” Kephisto asked.

  “Gladstone Talbot-Lloyd I imagine. He’s a landowner who is talking about building houses on the field next to mine. He’d love to expand.”

  “Gladstone Talbot-Lloyd. The name rings a bell. I’ll check him out and let you know.”

  I nodded and yawned, quickly covering my mouth with my hand. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m done in.”

  “You must stay here tonight,” Kephisto said and when I shook my head, intending to get back to the inn at the earliest opportunity, he insisted. “Getting back to Whittlecombe at this time of night will not be straightforward. Far better that you rest now and go first thing. I have a chaise upstairs that you’re most welcome to use, assuming you don’t want to sleep in an armchair, that is.”

  He was right and I was too tired to argue. “I’ll just let Jed know I’m not coming home,” I said and tried to call him from my phone. When he didn’t pick up I left a voicemail and texted him for good measure.

  “All done?” asked Mr Kephisto with a smile, and I nodded.

  I turned to follow the old wizard but my phone beeped twice. I glanced at the screen. A message from Jed. “Sorry, I missed you. Just having a swift pint at The Hay Loft! See you in the morning X.”

  That seemed fair enough. All work and no play would make Jed a dull boy, I supposed. Leaving my phone, jacket and bag where they were, I followed the Mr Kephisto upstairs. I was asleep before he had time to hand me a blanket.

  A few hours later I was awake though, listening to the creaks and groans of a building I was unused to. I lay on the chaise, aware of how hard it was, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to make sense of all that was happening. On the one hand, I appeared to have thrown my lot in with Wizard Shadowmender and his friends, including Kephisto, none of whom I knew well, and on the other I – or perhaps the inn – had drawn the attention of The Mori.

  Someone had killed a member of The Mori, and as yet, I wasn’t entirely sure that the killer was a friend or a foe, or even who they were. In addition to that, a numbe
r of mortals wanted my land, and fortuitously for them, The Mori were happy to help them.

  A tangled web indeed.

  For the most part I yearned to get back to the inn, but another small part of me wanted to take to my heels and run far away where no-one would ever find me. For now, sleep claimed me once again.

  Abbotts Cromleigh and Whittlecombe were virtually neighbours in the grand scheme of things, separated only by a river without a bridge. This meant venturing almost the whole way back to Exeter on the bus and then swapping buses and doubling back on the other side of the river.

  I figured a broomstick would make things easier.

  Or I could learn to drive.

  After a frustrating and slow journey, I was finally dropped in Whittlecombe much to my relief, and half walked, half-jogged my way out of the village and up the lane to my wonky inn. I slowed down as I approached the drive, and gazed up at my building with something approaching great fondness. Jed came out of the front door and I waved.

  “Jed!”

  He spotted me and beamed. “Thank goodness you’re here. I was starting to get worried,” he enveloped me in a hug. It felt good.

  “Sorry I couldn’t make it home last night,” I said, enjoying the close contact with him. “I did say that might be a possibility.”

  “It’s not that. It’s more that we have some unexpected visitors. I’ve tried to tell them the inn isn’t habitable yet, but they’re just not listening to me. They’re insistent that they stay here.”

  “Visitors?” I asked frowning. “Perhaps they’re the people that Shadowmender was sending to help us.”

  “Shadowmender? Help with what?”

  “I have a lot to explain to you, Jed.”

  A figure appeared at the door clad in a bright red suit with a yellow Hawaiian shirt and matching yellow winkle pickers. He had dyed black hair, a la 1950s Elvis, and long sideburns.