The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  The hands clacked and shuffled as they dashed around the table top, bolting from one side to the next. A revolting sight, if truth be told. Yet, at the same time, it was hilariously entertaining. Even William was chuckling.

  “These are my friends!” said Percy, finally dying down from his fit of giggles. “Without these little fellows, I wouldn’t be able to build half the things I do.”

  Slowly but surely, the others came out of hiding.

  “Your…f-f-friends?” asked Icrick, still regarding them awkwardly. “What do they do that makes them so…um…special? Besides run around like that!”

  “They are nimble critters, who have a great deal of dexterity.” Percy answered. “They can tackle extremely sensitive tasks that even me most up-to-date gadgets cannot. I had them go down into that crevice for the coat, to answer your question, William.”

  Scampering back to their master, the hands reattached themselves to Percy’s wrists once more.

  “That was absolutely…rotten.” Khrum whispered to Ifcus.

  “What’s that, me little friend?” asked Percy, having heard him well enough.

  “Oh! N-Nothing. Sorry, Percy.” Khrum blushed.

  “No need to apologize,” the old man said with a laugh. “I can imagine how foul it must seem to you; however, I love the little things. Very…handy!”

  Again he spat out a torrent of laughter at that awfully dry joke, to which they smiled courteously, but with slight revulsion in their grins.

  “Bet it’s not the first time you told that humdinger,” Wren smirked.

  “Oh, it gets me every time,” said Percy, wiping his eye.

  Looking for the appropriate wordage, while The Body gestured, Crosco asked, “What about those…um…spider creatures you’ve got, so, so charmingly crawling all over you…in and out of your ears…and up your…um…nose. Are they so ‘useful’?”

  Pointing them out, one after the next, Percy introduced them. “This is Imi, Cleb, Fìstle, Ròlzy, Jep, Mù, Apò, Vitly, Wonà, Trog, Zatà and Plàu. These first four spin an excellent timber thread. Solidifies into a beautiful wood, it does. Great for making me wooden devices, you see. The next four fellows make a fine steel thread; tough as nails it is. And these last four spin a wonderful cloth thread, ideal for fabricating materials and garments.”

  “Oh, how…um…lovely,” said The Head, with an evident touch of queasiness about him.

  “Lovely indeed, me good horse master,” replied Percy. “For one man’s disgust is sometimes another man’s delight. But, as I said to me leprechaun chum here, I can see how you’d find me ways to be a little on the ghastly side.”

  “Not at all.” The Head insisted, but he didn’t do much to uphold it.

  “Anyhow, what was I talking about?” said Percy, after losing his train of thought. “Oh, yes! I was speaking of that day when I found the coat. I almost came face-to-face with Briggun himself that day, you know.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Wren sighed. “I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘face-to-face’ now, Percy.”

  “No, wait. I want to hear this,” William said, intrigued by anything people had to say about this demon. “What happened?”

  “The crevice wasn’t too far from Shillíg Beg, you see,” the man explained. “After doing some shrub-checks in Iywék, I moved on to mend some chestnut trees in the old forest of Inà when, there in the middle of the wood, was a deep, grassy pit. A sort of hidden crevice in the undergrowth…if you could call it that. The light was shining in quite well, so I could see inside of it. And there, hanging from a root of the inner wall, was the coat! I can only presume it must’ve fallen astray from the great flee, or perhaps, when the canyons crashed through the Elderland. But that doesn’t really matter. I sent me hands down to retrieve it and they accomplished their task with little effort at all. However, once I had the coat in my possession, I heard a trembling yawn emitting from the passages of a gorge. He’d awoken. I was convinced that I was the cause, and that he’d sensed me rooting about in his wood. Then I got the feeling that he was on his way out to get me.”

  “Para-noid!” Wren crooned, grinning away.

  “Oh, hush you!” Percy said, trying to save face. “And of course I did what anybody else would do. I ran. And I hid. And I stayed hidden until the coast was clear. Then, in the dead of night, I made me way back home to me tree! Just about got away with me life, I did!”

  “Pfff!” Wren smirked. “That was a close one all right, Percy. How did you ever get over that one?”

  Just then, Khrum leapt up into the centre of the table and began springing about, jabbing the air like a proper pugilist.

  “If I came face ta face with the aul’ stinker, I’d break his ugly mug for him. Improve his looks!” he said, sniffing and jabbing. “Then I’d grab his Pooka’s Claw ‘n’ use it against him. Now that’d definitely get me back on the G.L.A.! In fact, that’d probably make me president!”

  In censure of his ignorance, everybody (aside from William, who was none the wiser) moaned with dreary noises of disdain. Khrum stopped his swinging and glanced around at all of them.

  Shrugging, he asked, “What?”

  Talking to the leprechaun like he were an infant, Wren said, “You may not know this, Khrum, but the Pooka’s Claw is just a myth. Folklore. There’s no such magic about it.”

  “Wait, the Pooka’s Claw? What’s that about?” William asked.

  Both Percy and Wren were just about to answer his question at the same time, when Percy beat her to it.

  “The Pooka’s Claw are gloves which all Pooka carry around with them. It is said to contain some of the Pooka’s magic within its fibres, and any who wear it, will obtain that power. It is complete nonsense, of course. Having said that, it is true that Pooka carry gloves around with them. In their belts. But nobody really knows why they do it…and it certainly isn’t because they hold any magic!

  “I knew a man once, Britswick Brundle was his name, and he wiped out many a Pooka in his time. He was a cleaner of the Elderland, you see. Not a warrior as such, more of an exterminator; one of a kind, yet not many people knew of him. And in his hut he had hundreds of these gloves stashed away in an old chest, which he gave to close friends and family, on birthdays and such. The only magic they had was the knowledge of there being one less Pooka in the world. Nothing more.”

  “I’ve heard otherwise, so I have.” Wren differed, leaning forward on the table with her fingers threaded together.

  “Oh, now here you go spouting rubbish,” muttered Percy, aware of what she was about to say.

  Uttering with playful dramatics, she said, “I heard once about how Drevol’s Claw can convey its malicious enchantment, at the coming of the red eclipse, to any soul who dares put it on. Wooo! That’s what the elderly folk say.”

  “I know!” Percy laughed sarcastically. “Even the wisest can be considered fools these days! It’s absolutely ridiculous. Pooka Claws are good for nought, apart from something to wear on a nippy eve at best. So let that be the end of it.”

  Khrum wasn’t sure if Percy was referring to him or not when he said ‘fools.’ Either way, he didn’t take kindly to it, because he did actually believe in the magic of the Pooka’s Claw. As did other people. Still, he tried to pretend like he was just having a bit of a joke, and that it was indeed a completely ridiculous notion.

  “Oh, blast it anyway!” Percy said suddenly.

  “What’s the matter now?” Wren asked.

  “I was supposed to put down some flowers in the garden today, but I forgot all about them. Tempest season is the best time to sow them, you see. Accentuates their colours all the more. Ah, what harm! I’ll do it tomorrow morning before the storm returns.”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” said Icrick, who always had a keen interest in gardening. “Back home I have my own little garden. It isn’t much, but I adore tending to it as a hobby. What do you grow, Percy?”

  Scraping his plate into the rubbish, Percy said, “Oh, I grow many things, me good fell
ow. Fruit, veg, flowers…the whole shebang! Feel free to wander the gardens come morning if you wish. It really is quite lovely during the sunshine, and we can surely be granted that for the next few afternoons.”

  “I might just do that.” Icrick replied. “I’ll take advantage of the tempest while I can, seeing as it’s giving me the opportunity to appreciate Lythiann and all. I may as well.”

  “Never a truer word was spoken, me Grogoch friend. Appreciate what you will. My house is yours, and you’re more than welcome.”

  With that, they all cleared up, and the old man showed them to their quarters for the night.

  Within the eastern boughs there was another candlelit hall. This long corridor was set aside for sleeping quarters; a deep, tube-like corridor housing lots of small, wooden portals along both sides of it. These would be their sleeping huts for the night.

  “Pick a hole and settle in.” Percy invited. “Preferably on the right. Nice view of the outside from there. And sleep as late as you like. When you wake, I’ll be sure to get some top-notch grub into your bellies. G’night, now. Sleep well!”

  Leaving them to their business, he waddled off down the hall, humming away to himself.

  They weren’t sure what to do at first; curious as to whether Percy was right in the head or not, for climbing into strange sleeping holes for the night seemed so untraditional, and a bit barmy. But after investigating one of them, William could hardly wait to climb in.

  Inside looked so cosy; just big enough to fit one person. A round window overlooked the southern hills on one side. A lantern hung next to it, and a hook, too, for hanging belongings. The bed was dressed with heavy duvets, clean-smelling sheets, along with some pillows, whereon a fresh stalk of lavender was placed. And just above its foot was a small, cast-iron wood-burner, with its little window glowing red. Not too warm. Not too nippy.

  It was so long since he’d slept in a proper bed, so William hopped straight in, shut the door behind him, and said, “Just what the doctor ordered! Night.”

  The others weren’t long finding holes of their own. Especially Khrum, who’d hit the jackpot on account of his size. His retreat would’ve been like an emperor’s suite in comparison to his tiny body.

  Icrick, on the contrary, found himself dawdling in the corridor by himself, scanning around. There were so many of those portals around, yet so few were vacant. He was the only one to question this, and he became very shady as to who, or what, could’ve been occupying the rest of them. He only knew of one person residing in that massive tree, and that was Percy. So, who in God’s name could be slumbering in those other chambers? he pondered.

  Too weary to think straight after his long day, he wound up throwing caution to the wind, and turned in for the night. Snuggling into his fresh quilt, he snoozed away quite soundly all throughout that squally eve; raindrops clattering off his little round window, and the heat from the stove warming up his toes beautifully.

  * * *

  The next morning, after sunrise, when the clouds were combing themselves across the sunlit sky, Percy glimpsed out his bedside window to find Icrick and William in his front garden. They were working away on planting the flowers which he’d been ranting on about the night previous. Grabbing his dressing gown, he raced down to them. He was going to insist that they leave it; that they were his guests who had no business doing his chores for him.

  It was a cosy, petite garden, in two separate divisions just outside the main door which, incidentally, was wreathed with a lofty wall of purple ivy. A curious amount of bronze piping ran up behind the ivy from the earth beneath, before disappearing into the wood way up high. It hummed ominously. Another of Percy’s inventions, they guessed. Some manner of boiler perhaps, to keep the place warm during cold nights.

  On one side was an allotment of rich soil, where the potatoes grew. He also had lettuce, pumpkins, scallions, beetroot, turnip, carrots, cabbages, and garlic in there too, and they were all coming along quite nicely. A straw scarecrow was standing in amongst them with his arms out and a sour puss on his face. He wasn’t happy to be in there at all, by the looks of things; ever sighing and hawing. Lining this same allotment were two pear trees, three plum trees, and an apple tree. In the other patch, just over the stony path, was where the flowers grew. And that was where Icrick and William had spent most of their morning.

  Many trays of young flowers were set upon the outside bench, ready for bedding. Icrick had chosen the most delightful way of arranging them. He had it all laid out, with one different colour after the next, so that there were undulating rows of a balanced assortment running throughout the entire plot. The Grogoch, as you may well know, enjoyed it immensely. Partially because it brought out his creative side, but also because it was easy enough work. All of the heavier duties, such as the digging and the weeding, were all left down to William.

  The flowers were also native to Lythiann, and their bright, leafy heads followed William and Icrick wherever they went, watching them; whispering to one another on occasion. Some even had, what looked like, tiny faces camouflaged in their centres which blinked, and smiled, and whistled away like they had not a care.

  William had his sleeves rolled up as he laboured. Icrick was wearing a big straw hat which he’d found strewn in a wheelbarrow amongst the shovels, rakes and hoes.

  “William! Icrick! What on earth do you think you’re you doing?” Percy implored, tying up his robe into its seventh knot. “You don’t have to go to all of this trouble. Really! I was going to see to this meself later this morning.”

  “Not at all,” replied William, smiling away. “We were up and about anyhow. Then we saw the flowers, so we said we’d give it a go. It’s the least we could do after you giving us a roof over our heads.”

  “Or a leaf over our heads…as it were.” chuckled Icrick, then realising how dry the joke was.

  Resting his elbow on the spade, William added, “I hope you don’t mind. I mean, we don’t want to intrude, either.”

  “Well, of course I don’t mind! But do you?” Percy asked, standing in the way of the piping.

  “Really, we’re happy to do it.” said Icrick, who was only too delighted to be bedding real flowers for a change. “It takes our mind off our business for a bit, which is no harm.”

  “Well…if you’re sure,” said Percy, all fidgety. “It’s not normal for me to have me few rare guests slogging for me, you know.”

  “Glad to do it, honestly,” William assured him.

  “Do you like the way I have it laid out, Percy?” Icrick asked. “I thought the colours might complement each other best this way.”

  Patting him on the back with praise of his inventive effort, Percy said, “It’s truly lovely! I couldn’t have done it better meself, Icrick lad. You have an eye for colour, so you do. Well, best let ye get on with it so while I go check on the other guests. I only hope they’re not off doing the guttering or something. Imagine! I’d never have another houseguest again.”

  With his habitual merry manner, he left them to it.

  As William and Icrick worked on into the day, Ifcus had taken it upon himself to explore the gardens too. But, you have to remember, Ifcus was a horse. And for him to be surrounded by such deliciously scrumptious vegetables meant that it wouldn’t be long before he felt to be beyond the boundaries of apparent starvation. His teeth were swimming at the thoughts of it.

  Craftily and cautiously he sniffed around in the grass close by, gradually moving ever closer to the carrot patch. William kept a close eye on him, but he was hardly able to keep a straight face. Ifcus was, in turn, keeping an equally close tabs on William.

  The steed would watch William from the corner of his eye as he nosed about, and if ever he glanced over, Ifcus would quickly bury his face into the grass, where he pretended to have a harmless sniff. He was so tantalizingly close to snatching a carrot, at one point, that he could smell its luscious scent working its way up his nose and making his mouth salivate to foamy corners. But the second Wi
lliam straightened, Ifcus stuffed his snout right into a tuft of dandelions to partake in a massive whiff, and didn’t he snort up a great bumblebee that’d been relaxing within. Luckily he sneezed with such a powerful, head-rattling neigh, that the bee buzzed away, sparing him a good stinging. He learnt his lesson and decided to leave the vegetables alone for a bit. Lunchtime wasn’t far off anyhow.

  Midday approached and the sun was at its zenith, thus projecting down such baking heat that the south wavered with phantasms of simmering lakes. With welcomed greetings, Percy finally returned to William and Icrick with some well-deserved refreshments.

  “Here’s some chilled lemonade for ye, lads. Freshly squeezed of course,” said he, carrying a silver tray. “God knows ye’ll need it. Whoo-wee! Do ye feel the heat out of that sun?”

  “Great. Thanks, Percy. Yeah, it’s roasting,” said William, indulging in a cool swig. Pinching the garments off his flesh, he added, “My clothes are sticking to me, it’s so hot. Never felt anything like it. It’s nice, though. Don’t see enough of it.”

  ‘Twas then that he was suddenly side-tracked by a small, brown, pointy hat tearing in amongst the pumpkins. William nearly spat out his second mouthful of lemonade when he saw it. Then he spotted another, just shy of the huge oak roots, before it bounced off into hiding.

  “Did you just see that?” asked Icrick, who was just as flabbergasted.

  “You saw it too?” William replied. “What were those?”

  “What?” Percy yelped, and all of his spiders scampered into his vest. “What did you see?”

  “I spotted a brown cap running through the patch there!” the lad exclaimed, pointing at the pumpkins with his glass.

  “Oh!” laughed Percy, gripping his heart. “You had me startled there for a moment. Those are just me Gnomes!”