by Sam Short
“What I’ve told you is all I know,” said Twiggy. “If you’d like to know what despicable man is having an affair with whose despicable wife, and where the finest happy herb can be had for cheap, then I could talk all day, but most of the people who sit in my chair know when they’ve said too much. They seem nervous of speaking of the depths and the man who employs them. I do not push them for more. Until today it’s never been of great importance to me, but now you tell me it may be connected with the missing witches. Do you think they are down there? Trapped in the depths, like Gladys and I were trapped in Sunny Mountain Open Prison and Recreation Centre?”
“I think it’s a little worse than that,” I said. “They could be in real danger. Can you tell us how to reach the depths? Is there a doorway? A hidden tunnel?”
Twiggy shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know. Though if I were to search for the depths myself I’d begin at the lowest point of the city.”
“The docks.” said Barney. “The same level as the river.”
“No,” said Twiggy. “There is a lower place. Before the dock side walls were built higher, the river used to be held back by magic when heavy rainfall poured from the mountains. If it wasn’t controlled, the flood water would find its way to the old part of the city, where the spire of light is built. It sits in a dip, at the edge of the city.”
“Spire of light?” said Barney, adding more notes to his book. “What’s that?”
Twiggy looked at Granny. “He’s a lawman you say? You would think he would have more sense.” She smiled at Barney in the way a teacher smiles at a child who can’t grasp a simple concept. “It’s a spire,” she said. “With a light atop it… the spire of light.”
Barney scribbled another note in his book, his eyes flickering with annoyance for a moment. The pages in his book were beginning to fill up with random notes, and I wondered just how close we were to being able to help Maeve solve her mystery and find the missing witches. It seemed that although we had some clues, the investigation — if we could call it that, was disjointed, almost like it needed a metaphorical lynch pin to hold it together. Finding the depths was of paramount importance.
Twiggy looked towards the stairs as heavy footsteps approached. A man appeared, glancing around at the artwork which covered the walls. “Have you got time to do a tattoo, Twiggy?” he said.
Twiggy gave us an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you any further — duty calls, but before you leave,” she said, “please allow me to make you a gift. Take what you will from the shop downstairs.” She handed Mum a metal token. “Take this — it will tell my staff that it’s free of charge. I had some fresh eggs delivered this morning, laid without magic, and my baker is working on a new bread recipe — spell free of course, and using only the finest whole grains. Take what you will.” She pulled Granny into a lingering hug. “And now you know where to find me, Gladys, don’t be a stranger. You are my blood sister after all.”
With Granny promising to return, we left Twiggy with her customer and browsed the shelves downstairs. Deciding we didn’t want to take advantage of Twiggy’s kind offer, we filled a single paper bag with half a ham, a dozen eggs, and a loaf of warm bread. It would make a lovely supper, and the Water Witch was already stocked with the non-perishables we needed. There was no need to be greedy.
The young girl behind the sales counter brimmed with happy energy and with a smile, took the token Twiggy had given us. “The ham is lovely,” she said. “You’ll enjoy it, and the eggs are fresher than a breeze from the northern sea.”
Boris glanced behind the counter, his eyes on the large metal safe which was bolted to the wall. “What’s in there?” he asked.
A sign was propped on top of the safe, the words on it written in large red letters.
Please ask a member of staff if you wish to make a special purchase. This safe is locked with magic, and only Twiggy has the power to open it.
“The valuable things,” said the girl. “We had a problem with thieves, so Twiggy was forced to use a safe.”
“What sort of valuable things?” said Willow.
“Just the normal stuff,” said the girl. “Jewels from the ice-caps of the north, love potions made by the elderly voodoo witches, and liquorice root.”
“Liquorice root?” said Barney. “That’s rare?”
“Very much so,” said the girl, twirling a strand of curly brown hair around a finger. “It’s very rare indeed. It only grows in one part of The Haven — The Ridge of The Morning Sun. Few people can grow it, and many people love it. Good liquorice can’t be grown with magic, it spoils the delicate taste. It’s used for making alcoholic drinks, and chewing. Having a tin full of liquorice root is a sign of high status indeed. It’s only become available for sale in Twiggy’s shop in recent months — since Twiggy formed a trading agreement with the dwarfs of the Silver Mountains. I do not know how they come by it — they live where no crops will grow and no farmed animals roam, but suddenly they have an abundance of fine spices and bags full of liquorice root. Twiggy asks them no questions, though, she’s happy that she makes such a large profit. The dwarfs wont deal in gold, so Twiggy pays them with meats, eggs, and grains.”
“So, it would be unusual for a man to simply toss a liquorice root to a goat?” I said.
“Unless he was very attached to the animal, or was able to grow the root himself. It would be comparable to you tossing a diamond to someone in the mortal world. It would be unheard of, unless you owned a diamond mine or had taken leave of your senses.”
Chapter Thirteen
Maeve gave me a stern glare, her eyes dancing with emotion — flickering between incredulity, hurt, and as her eyes bored into mine — anger. “Derek would do no such thing!” she said. “This is your grandmother’s doing! She’s always harboured hatred for Derek. She’s put thoughts into your head!”
Heading straight back to the boat after leaving Twiggy’s shop, and piecing together snippets of information as we walked, we’d summoned Maeve as soon as we had formed a viable explanation for why we suspected Derek of being involved in the disappearance of the witches. Maeve wasn’t taking it well, convinced we had misinterpreted the information in Barney’s notebook.
Granny sighed. “I’ve done no such thing.”
“The story you summoned me to listen to is a wild one indeed,” said Maeve. “I find it hard to believe. Derek has been loyal to me for centuries.”
Granny took a hard-boiled egg from a dish and mashed it into a lumpy paste on a slice of buttered bread. A slice of ham topped off the open sandwich, and she chewed as she spoke. “My sister is with Derek!” she said. “Whether you like it or not, or think I’m biased, I happen to love Eva, and I want to know she’s safe! Think about it, Maeve. Derek could easily be taking on the form of his younger self — a fine disguise, nobody would suspect he was as handsome as he was in the portrait hanging in your house. Everyone thinks of him as a tubby blond-haired idiot. I’m worried for my sister.”
“As a lawman,” said Barney, “I think Gladys’s concerns are valid. You just told us yourself that he has a home on The Ridge of The Morning Sun, Maeve — the place liquorice grows. He had a tin of liquorice during the meal in Eva’s garden, and you told us he enjoyed growing things from seed, and I must say, my honed policing instincts have always told me there was something off about him.”
“Hilda warned us of a man with coal black hair,” said Willow. “And Derek’s hair is pretty dark in the portrait we saw of him.”
“He has no boat, though,” said Maeve. “Derek has never enjoyed water travel, he prefers to travel using magic. As a trusted companion, I have afforded him the ability to do so. Only a select few have the power of transportation. I cannot imagine Derek travelling by boat, he prefers to make a more dramatic entrance.”
“That’s a small part of the puzzle,” said Barney. “Look at the bigger picture.”
Maeve’s eyes darkened. “And you think Derek was the intruder
you found on the boat last night? I don’t think so. I would sense his presence had been here, and I sense no remnants of his aura.”
“He used powerful magic,” said Mum. “He put a forcefield over his boat, it would be easy for a man with that sort of magic to disguise his aura.”
Maeve shook her head. “Yet he took nothing from your boat, and did no damage. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was a wizard who wanted to know more about you. I’ve heard you’ve caused quite a stir in the city; young people are walking around with their britches around their thighs and making strange music with their mouths. People are talking about you. Maybe the intruder was simply curious to see a boat from the mortal world, and to find out more about who you are.”
“Word would have had to have spread fast,” I said. “We came back here straight from The Nest of Vipers. News of Barney and Boris’s performance couldn’t have travelled that quickly.”
“Eww!” said Boris, from beneath the dinette table. “Rosie’s been sick again, it nearly landed on my hoof, would somebody please put her outside? I’m trying to eat!”
Rosie had been unwell since we’d returned to the boat. We’d put it down to her eating one of the rotten fish which lay in a forgotten wicker basket on the dockside, happy that the rotting flesh would soon leave her system with no ill effects. Rosie was as protected from illness by magic in The Haven as much as the rest of us, but as we’d found out from Granny’s happy herb hangover — the protection didn’t extend to guarding us from the unpleasant after effects of what we were foolish enough to ingest.
Barney scooped Rosie up in his arm and carried her gently to her basket. He lay the poorly cat down, and placed a blanket over her as Willow knelt beneath the table and scooped up the cat’s vomit in a paper towel. She emerged from between our legs with the paper towel close to her nose, her nostrils dangerously close to the yellow mess. “It smells odd,” she said, standing up. She sniffed it again and bristled with excitement. “It smells of liquorice!” She hurried to the bin. “And I bet that twig she chewed up this morning smells the same!” She reached into the bin, the sounds of empty tins clanking as she searched for the chewed up remains of the stick we’d pulled splinters of from Rosie’s gums. She stood up, holding the mushy mess wrapped in a paper towel. “As I thought,” she said, sniffing it. “Liquorice! The man on the boat last night must have dropped it!”
“It’s very toxic to cats,” said Boris. “She’ll be okay soon enough, though.”
“Come on, Maeve,” said Granny. “I know you don’t want to consider it, but you have to! You’ve seen Derek with liquorice, which is a prized rarity which only grows where he lives, and now we find some on the boat the day after an intruder broke in! Derek must be involved — too many clues point toward him, and my sister is with him! She may soon be the seventh missing witch, and goddess only knows what he intends to do with those poor women! I’ve always said he has perverted eyes!”
Maeve looked between us. She formed an arch with her fingers and closed her eyes. “I’m still doubtful, but I will transport myself to Derek's home in the East and —”
“The east!” I said. “You told us that the writing on the stone near the castle you found said that the one with the true power would come from the east! It must be him!”
“A jewel was mentioned too!” said Granny, the worry for her sister not preventing her from buttering more bread. “Derek has a jewel on top of that pretentious staff of his! He’d better keep his staff away from Eva, or I’ll snap it in two!”
Maeve stood up, urgency etched in her features. “You people must go and search for the depths. With a very heavy heart, I will visit Derek. I’ll return when I have answers, and you must summon me should you discover answers. I feel my hold on The Haven weakening, and I fear that whoever has the women captive is planning something terrible.”
A swirl of smoke marked Maeve’s departure, and the rest of us hurried from the boat, heading to the edge of town where Twiggy had told us we would find the spire of light, and possibly, the depths.
Chapter Fourteen
A gang of teenage boys, with their underwear on display, stood at a corner, attempting to beatbox. When Barney had finished signing autographs for them, they gave us directions to the spire of light, which we followed earnestly. The route took us down narrow alleys and wide roads, until after almost half an hour of walking, we approached the edge of the city, the buildings becoming sparser and with fewer people present.
“I must say,” said Boris. “I’m really feeling it today. I’ve got a skip in my step and I’m brimming with energy!”
“It’s the magic,” said Granny. “You’re beginning to feel it, Boris. You’re from a magical family, remember — I’d hazard a guess that if you didn’t have hooves at the end of your limbs, you’d be able to cast a spell or two.”
“Well it feels remarkable,” said Boris, sauntering ahead. “Almost like I’ve been on the brandy all day, but without the anger in my belly or the craving for a kebab.”
Long shadows crossed our path as the sun dipped in the sky and evening approached, and soon we neared the stone bridge which spanned a small stream the gang of teenagers had told us to look out for.
“The spire should be on our right,” said Barney, checking the map he’d sketched out in his notebook. “Among the trees. In a valley.”
Barney led the way, following a well-worn footpath, the stone smooth from centuries of foot traffic. He craned his neck to see past low hanging tree branches and stepped over a fallen log, warning us to watch our step. The scent of crushed pine needles and earthy wet moss filled my nostrils, and the musical repertoires of song birds was a pleasant change from the harsh squawks of the seagulls which had made the dockside their home, leaving white deposits on the roof of The Water Witch, and stealing fish from the fishermen as they landed their catches.
Barney rounded another corner, and an ivy covered stone spire appeared through the trees, narrow at the top, and thickening as it disappeared into the ground, the base overgrown with bushes and thick grasses. Barney stopped. “Someone’s coming,” he said. “I can hear footsteps.”
Three large trolls appeared around a bend in the path and stared at us. Dust clung to their leathery skin and worn out clothes, and they approached us with an air of distrust. “What do you lot want?” said one, his voice tired. “What are you doing here?”
I thought quickly. “We’re here for work,” I said. “The man with black hair told us to come. He said he had a job for us.”
“You’re too late,” said the biggest troll, his eyes glowing amber. “The works done. It was finished yesterday, we’re the last crew out, we did the final clean-up today. It was good pay while it lasted, but it’s back to earning pennies working in the quarry for me.” He looked at us in turn, a smirk curling his rubbery lips. “Anyway, what work did you expect to do? None of you look strong enough to lift the metal we’ve been building with.”
“We’re the interior designers,” said Granny, with a bow. “We’ve come to add the finishing touches.”
“It could do with more than some finishing touches,” said another of the trolls. “It’s a miserable place, whatever it’s for. I’m used to being below ground, but that room feels bad.”
The third troll wiped his brow, smearing more dust across his forehead. “Any place with a hidden entrance and a password is bad news,” he said. “I’m glad to be out of there, it gave me the chills.”
“Hidden entrance?” said Granny. “Where is it?”
“The clue is in the name,” said the first troll, “it’s hidden, and if you’d been given work here you’d have been told where it was and what the password is. I smell a rat — you’re not here to work, are you?”
“We are!” said Granny. “How dare you accuse me of fibbing, and the rat you can smell is the stink from your armpits. I can smell it from here.”
“A feisty one,” said the tallest troll. “Maybe we should tie them up and wait for the boss to
come back, he told us to look out for busybodies.”
One of the trolls took a step towards us. “He’ll give us extra silver and liquorice,” he said. “I vote we tie them up.”
“You can try,” said Mum. “I’ll turn you into toads. You’ve already got the complexion, I just need to work on your size.”
The largest troll laughed. “Magic won’t work here,” he said. “You’re too close to the spire. Only the boss man’s magic works here.”
“The lead,” said Barney. “But surely that would stop his magic working too?”
“The light giving jewel on top of the spire powers his magic,” said the smallest troll. “It —” He let out a pained gasp as the biggest troll slapped him on the back.
“Will you stop talking and help me tie them up? We’ve said too much already.”
Granny slipped a hand into her pocket. “If it’s money you want, I’ve got plenty.” She tossed the money pouch from hand to hand, making it jingle seductively. “How does three gold pieces each sound — for telling us where the entrance is and giving us the password.”
The smallest troll’s eyes glinted. “Three? Imagine what we could do with sort of money, boys?”
“How about we take all their gold and tie them up anyway?” said the nearest troll. “And get some silver and liquorice from the boss.”
“You could try that,” said Granny, “but even without magic, do you think we’d let you tie us up without a fight? The tall ginger man is stronger than he looks, and the goat has got a set of teeth which he’d love to get around your family jewels.”
Boris bared his teeth and growled, and Barney flexed a thin bicep.
“I’m tired,” said the smallest troll, covering his crotch with shovel sized hands. “I don’t want to fight. Let’s just take the gold and bugger off, I fancy a beer. We’re never going to see the boss man again anyway. He won’t know who gave them the password.”