Spellbound

by Anna Dale

  They had not travelled very far when they heard a scuffling noise up ahead.

  ‘The welcoming committee, no doubt,’ said Humdudgeon grimly.

  ‘Perhaps we should go back,’ said Huffkin in a wary voice. ‘There were three other tunnels to choose from. We could try one of those.’

  Athene was reluctant to retreat. It had been her decision to set off down this tunnel and she wanted it to turn out to have been a good choice. ‘If we’re quiet, we could just take a peek,’ she whispered. ‘You never know, it could be Zach. We’d feel pretty stupid if we found we’d run away from the very person we’ve come to rescue.’

  Humdudgeon and Huffkin nodded in agreement and they fell into single file. Pressing themselves against the earthen wall, they crept down the tunnel with caution, not knowing what to expect.

  To their relief, they were spared a confrontation with anyone from the Low Gloam tribe. They found that there was nothing in the tunnel except for what appeared to be a grey furry bottom sticking out of a hole. When the bottom came towards them and a black-and-white striped head popped up from its other end, they realised that the creature was a badger. He was an adult boar with wide cheeks, short tough legs and a whiskery nose.

  ‘Evening,’ said the badger.

  Having been greeted in a friendly way, the polite thing to do would have been to say hello back, but they were too astonished to say anything. None of them had met a talking animal before.

  ‘Didn’t expect me to speak, did you? Newcomers don’t,’ said the badger, padding round to face them. ‘Well, you’d better get used to it. All animals can talk down here. It’s the Low Gloam’s doing. Makes it easier for the bossy so-and-sos to order us about if we speak their language.’

  ‘What were you doing in that hole?’ asked Athene, approaching the badger boldly.

  ‘Digging,’ said the badger in a weary voice. ‘All I ever do is dig. Those ruddy Low Gloam never let up: “Dig this tunnel; dig that chamber.” There’s no variety. Anyone would think that digging’s all I’m good at. When I was Above …’ The badger broke off from what he was saying to heave an impassioned sigh.

  ‘Why don’t you dig your way out of here?’ said Huffkin.

  ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that!’ said the badger savagely. ‘Hmm … maybe it’s got something to do with the spell that ties itself round your paws as soon as you get within a snout’s length of the surface. Yes, that could be it.’

  Huffkin looked embarrassed.

  ‘Ruddy newcomers!’ said the badger. He gave a loud grunt and began to turn his back on them.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Badger …’ said Athene.

  ‘The name is Shoveller. What do you want? I’ve got a lot of earth to shift,’ he said impatiently. ‘I haven’t got time to stand around and chew the fat with you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Athene. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance, but I wondered if you’d seen a little boy?’

  Shoveller tilted his black-and-white striped head and gave Athene’s question some thought. ‘A boy, you say …’

  ‘He would’ve arrived last night,’ said Athene. ‘His hair’s light-coloured and kind of untidy and he was wearing pyjamas. He would’ve been soaking wet as well, because it had been raining.’

  ‘Rain!’ said the badger wistfully, taking a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I remember that. There’s nothing smells as scrumptious as rain. It makes a lovely noise too. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter …’

  ‘Shoveller!’ Humdudgeon clicked his fingers under the badger’s nose to focus his attention. ‘Do you recall seeing the boy or don’t you?’

  ‘Actually, I don’t,’ said the badger, sounding surprised. ‘Bit odd that, ’cos I’ve been scrabbling about in these tunnels all week. Would’ve thought that I’d have bumped into the lad. Haven’t heard that he’s arrived neither, which is a mite peculiar. I could ask around, if you like. What tribe does he belong to?’

  ‘He’s not in a tribe,’ Humdudgeon said. ‘He’s not a Gloam, you see. He’s a Glare.’

  Shoveller had parked his furry bottom on the dirt floor and was just gearing up to give himself a good long scratch. At Humdudgeon’s words, he stopped dead and his fur fluffed up in shock.

  ‘A Glare?’ said Shoveller, his ear tufts standing up on end. He shot Humdudgeon a piercing look. ‘Are you sure of your facts, chum? We’ve never had a Glare down here. Why, if a Glare turned up in these parts, I don’t like to think what would happen. Be tied up and put under guard, I shouldn’t doubt. There’d be one heck of a hoo-ha, that’s for certain.’

  ‘You mean the Glare aren’t liked by the Low Gloam?’ said Huffkin. ‘Why?’

  ‘Not liked?’ said the badger, chuckling to himself. ‘That’s putting it mildly, that is. Let me spell it out for you – the Low Gloam hate the Glare and I mean big time. As for why … you’ll find out soon enough. Now, if you’ve finished asking questions, I’ll get back to my digging.’

  Athene glanced at her two Gloam friends. They both looked worried.

  ‘We should find Zach as soon as possible,’ Humdudgeon said quietly. ‘If the Low Gloam are as full of loathing as Shoveller says, there’s no telling what they could have done to him.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Athene said, biting her lip. She’d been trying not to imagine what it must have been like for her brother, flung down the shaft by the tree roots and left to wander blindly along the narrow tunnels without any idea of what was going on.

  The badger paused to give them some advice before resuming the digging of his hole. ‘If you’re looking for a Glare down here, I’d keep a lid on it,’ he said. ‘If you so much as mention the Glare, the Low Gloam fly into a rage. Keep your head down and your eyes open. That’s the way we badgers like to do things.’

  ‘How many Low Gloam are there?’ asked Humdudgeon, glancing about him nervously as if he were expecting a whole horde to burst through the tunnel walls. ‘Could we avoid them? If we happened upon a hidey-hole in a nice, quiet spot …’

  ‘Work-shy, are you?’ said the badger scornfully. ‘There’s more than a hundred of the devils. It’s no good trying to hide from them. They’ll find you, wherever you hole up. The sooner you show your faces, the sooner you’ll get some grub and a place of your own to snatch forty winks. Now, if you don’t mind – I’ve got to get on. Mustn’t be found shirking or they’ll take away my privileges.’

  The badger turned his back on them and shuffled into the hole, presenting them, once again, with a view of his furry bottom.

  ‘Which way should we go?’ Humdudgeon said to no one in particular. From somewhere close by they heard a mysterious buzzing noise, like an insect trapped inside a box, but before they could discover what it was, Shoveller’s voice answered them from the depths of his hole.

  ‘Just keep walking,’ his muffled voice told them. ‘You’ll bump into a Low Gloam sooner rather than later.’

  Chapter Eight

  The Low Gloam at Last

  ‘I wonder why the Low Gloam hate the Glare so much,’ pondered Huffkin, squeezing Athene’s palm tightly as they approached a bend in the tunnel. ‘It’s very unusual. I know we tend to avoid the Glare, but we’ve got nothing against them – and the Gloam are a peace-loving people. We don’t wish others harm.’

  ‘It’s scary being hated,’ said Athene, her stride getting slower with every step. The thought of meeting a Low Gloam face to face was giving her the most uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. She thanked her stars that she had been talked into donning a disguise. So far, her Gloam appearance had deceived a badger, but the real test was yet to come. ‘Do you think my disguise will be good enough to fool a Low Gloam?’ she asked.

  They only had to walk a little further to find out.

  ‘Who are you?’ said a self-assured voice, and a pair of Gloam with buttoned-up greatcoats and broad, hairy feet marched smartly towards them down the middle of the tunnel. The Gloam who had spoken was an unprepossessing chap. His face was scarred and he was missing a few teeth. His friend
had a face like a ferret with a weak chin, a pointed nose and beady eyes.

  ‘These must be Low Gloam,’ Humdudgeon muttered. ‘I’ll do the talking.’

  ‘Isn’t their skin awfully pale?’ whispered Athene, excited by her first glimpse of members of the Low Gloam tribe. It was frightening, but also quite thrilling to finally meet some at last.

  ‘Yes, and their stripes and spots are very faint,’ said Huffkin softly, her lips almost brushing Athene’s ear. ‘No need for camouflage underground.’

  ‘We’re newcomers,’ announced Humdudgeon. He kept his voice strong and steady and gave the Low Gloam a respectful nod.

  ‘Fancy that! Three at once!’ said the ferret-faced man, blowing out his cheeks and nudging the arm of his friend. ‘That’s a first, that is. We’re having quite a week of it. I thought that the otter was a rare sort of trespasser … and now three Gloam have shown up together. It’s unheard of, isn’t it, Nark?’

  ‘Not puny, either, are they, Rickit?’ said Nark, sounding impressed. ‘They’ll make good workers, I reckon. We’ll be rewarded well.’ His gap-toothed smile vanished when he had finished talking to Rickit. With a stare that was expressionless he turned to Huffkin, Athene and Humdudgeon who had dropped each other’s hands and were trying their best not to show any fear.

  ‘Come with us and don’t dilly-dally,’ Nark said abruptly. Then he set off down the tunnel with Rickit beside him. Before they did as they had been ordered, Athene gave the Humble Gloam the thumbs up and they grinned at her. It seemed as if her worries had been unfounded. Her disguise had fooled the Low Gloam completely.

  They had only walked a short distance when they came to a fork in the tunnel. A fingerpost had been positioned at the spot where the tunnel divided. It gave them the option of taking the path which led ‘To the Stints’ or the path which would take them ‘To the Snuggeries’. Rickit and Nark chose the left-hand tunnel and Athene and the Humble Gloam followed.

  ‘I was hoping we’d be bound for the Snuggeries,’ Humdudgeon said. ‘Don’t you think they sound rather nice? Seems that we’re off to the Stints, though … whatever they are.’

  ‘Look!’ said Huffkin in a loud whisper. ‘People up ahead!’

  The further they ventured, the more Gloam they happened upon. Some Gloam were stripy and speckled like Humdudgeon and Huffkin; the men were clad in thin shirts and trousers that were patched at the knees and the women wore pinafores with drooping pockets and ragged hems. All looked as if they were hard at work. Some rushed to and fro with handcarts while others raked the soil floor or smoothed the earthen walls or polished the glowing stones with feather dusters. Wild creatures milled about with equal purpose. Most were small mammals like hedgehogs, rabbits and mice, but Athene also saw a grass snake and a fox with a package in his mouth. Concerned about stepping on the mice, which seemed to have a habit of darting around unpredictably, Athene was careful to watch where she was putting her feet.

  There were several Low Gloam too. They were easy to tell apart from the other Gloam because of their chalky white complexions, their multiple layers of well-made clothes and the confident manner in which they strode along. Most of the men were dressed in greatcoats identical to those of Rickit and Nark.

  ‘Isn’t everyone up a bit late?’ Athene observed. Her watch told her that it was almost one o’clock in the morning. Then she remembered that she was living in Gloam time and that night was day and day was night.

  Although no one stopped in their tracks to stare at them, Athene and the two Humble Gloam were aware that glances were being thrown in their direction. The looks that they received ranged from vaguely curious to sympathetic and downright sorrowful. It stood to reason that the girl whom Humdudgeon had tried to help escape must be underground somewhere, but he did not show that he recognised anyone and nor did any Gloam display a particular interest in him. A hedgehog was the only creature to speak to them. He muttered a hasty ‘Hard luck!’ as he rolled slowly past, collecting bits of leaf litter on his prickles.

  Nark and Rickit led Athene and her friends past a right turn which would have led them ‘To the Water Hole’, and another right-hand turn ‘To the Latrines’ (‘It’s always handy to know where they are,’ said Athene, making a mental note), and only a little further on, they arrived at the Stints.

  ‘We bear left here,’ said Nark, turning a corner.

  The Stints proved to be an enormous U-shaped tunnel which had dozens of chambers dotted along it. None of the chambers had doors and so it was possible for Athene, Humdudgeon and Huffkin to see what was going on inside each one. It soon became clear to them that the Stints was a hive of industry. They passed kitchens where food was being prepared, carpenters’ workshops where stacks of wood were being made into furniture, a place where rabbits queued up to take messages (rather like a taxi rank) and even a music room where someone was trying to strike up a tune on a zither.

  They stopped outside a chamber which housed a solemn-faced Low Gloam woman who was seated behind a desk. Through its open entrance way, they could see her plainly. She was scribbling a list with a quill feather pen and every few seconds she had to stop to push aside strands of her long black hair which kept straying on to the paper. The woman was similar in age to Athene’s mother, but she was dressed like an old lady in a high-necked blouse and a woollen shawl, with a large oval locket resting on her breastbone. She was concentrating hard and only looked up from her work when Rickit cleared his throat.

  ‘Greetings, Tippitilda,’ he said. ‘We’ve got something here that might interest you.’

  The Low Gloam woman set down her quill and stared at Athene and the two Humble Gloam as if she were looking at some wondrous miracle. ‘Three?’ she exclaimed. ‘All at once? That’s never happened before!’

  ‘Out of the ordinary, isn’t it?’ Nark said, rubbing his hands, ‘which is why we thought the payment would be quite a bit more than usual.’

  ‘Six each,’ said Tippitilda, reaching into a tin on her desk. She drew out a handful of small cubes which were toffee-like in appearance.

  ‘What flavour?’ asked Rickit, leaning forward and sniffing the contents of her outstretched palm.

  ‘Mud and horseradish,’ she replied.

  Both Low Gloam seemed satisfied with her answer. They snatched the morsels from her hand, stuffed them in their mouths and took their leave without saying ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye’.

  ‘Do come in and sit yourselves down,’ said the woman briskly, indicating that Athene and the Gloam should sit on the chair in front of her desk. After a moment of confusion, Humdudgeon sat on the seat and Athene and Huffkin perched on its arms. In the meantime, the woman tidied away her unfinished list, opened the lid of her desk and retrieved a thick, leather-bound book which had a folded handkerchief as a bookmark. The book’s cover made a soft thud on the desk as she opened it.

  ‘Tell me what your names are and what tribes you are from,’ she said, picking up her quill feather pen and dipping its nib in an inkwell. The leather-bound tome seemed to be some kind of record book.

  ‘I’m Humdudgeon. I’m from the Humble tribe,’ said Humdudgeon, making sure that Tippitilda spelt his name correctly. There were several column headings on the page. Underneath the one which said ‘Character’, Tippitilda wrote the word ‘Fusspot’.

  ‘And my name’s Huffkin,’ said Huffkin nervously, shifting to a more comfortable position on the arm of the chair. ‘I’m Humble-born too. My grandmother was a Nimble so I can’t claim to be completely Humble. I think there was also a Great-Great Uncle who was part Cantankerous.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Tippitilda lightly. She wrote Huffkin’s name down and added ‘Humble’ next to it and then the word ‘Truthful’. This made Huffkin blush guiltily, no doubt because she knew about the enormous lie which was coming next.

  ‘And you are …?’ asked Tippitilda, raising her eyes to meet Athene’s.

  ‘Er … I’m from the Gargantuan tribe and my name’s Athene.’ Athene’s words tum
bled out in a rush.

  ‘Is that so?’ said the woman, and Athene watched as her name was entered below her friends’ in the logbook. She was curious to see which word Tippitilda would choose to describe her, and was unnerved to see her write ‘Overanxious’. The Low Gloam woman certainly seemed to be a good judge of character.

  ‘Well, how super of you all to turn up,’ remarked Tippitilda, beaming at them all.

  Humdudgeon shot her a scathing look. ‘You make it sound as if we just dropped in for a cup of brew!’ he said. ‘It was your tiresome spell that dragged us underground. We didn’t come here on purpose.’

  Huffkin’s cheeks flushed an even darker shade.

  ‘That brings me to my next question,’ Tippitilda said. She glanced at another column heading in her book. ‘How did you all come to be inside our hollow tree?’ She smiled again, but this time it was strained as if she’d been upset by Humdudgeon’s outburst.

  Athene, Humdudgeon and Huffkin looked worriedly at each other. They hadn’t thought that they would have to explain how they had come to stray into the Low Gloam’s territory.

  ‘Surely, you can’t want to know an inconsequential thing like that? Does it really matter?’ said Humdudgeon, acting as if the question were ridiculous.

  ‘My columns must all be filled in,’ said Tippitilda.

  ‘We’re tired. Couldn’t we answer the rest of your questions later?’ asked Athene, giving a genuine yawn. When Tippitilda shook her head, Athene protested. ‘It’s not fair. You haven’t been so strict with everyone else. I can see lots of gaps in your book,’ she said, pressing her finger on some spaces higher up the page. ‘See, you’ve just put “otter” here and left the rest of the columns blank. How come you didn’t make the otter answer all your questions?’