She got up and tried the door.
Holloway sighed. ‘I’ve wrecked two chairs and a table trying to break open my door, but nothing works. I think they’ve been charmed shut. And unfortunately—’
‘You can’t undo a charm from the inside,’ said Willow, sitting down in despair. She’d learnt that the hard way too.
‘Yup.’
She took the StoryPass out of her pocket and wasn’t surprised to see that the needle was currently pointing to ‘One Might Have Suspected as Such’.
‘Well, that’s just perfect,’ she sighed.
Still, that didn’t stop Willow trying to break out. By the end of her first day, she’d used the poker to try prising open the lock on the door and had broken the chair against it too. She’d even attempted scaling the walls of the tower – several times – but to no avail.
‘Like I said,’ continued Holloway, as if no time had passed, when she collapsed in a heap with her head in her hands, ‘she’s taken every precaution necessary so we can’t get out. See, there’s four levels to this tower. This is the last, for the highly dangerous and incurable. Each level goes in ascending order. First is yer everyday sort of maladies, like spell-rash or love-potion recovery. Second is stubborn curses. Third is environmental—’
‘Environmental? That doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Willow.
‘Pfft,’ scoffed the wizard. ‘That’s one of the worst! Ya know – those poor souls who spent too much time in the forest of Wisperia, where magic went to hide after the Long War? They come back with leaves for fingers, stalks for eyes, or worse …’
Willow felt her heart thud. Did they also come back with their magic turned inside out?
‘Then again,’ Holloway continued in a dark whisper, not noticing her distress, ‘they’re not half as bad as the ones who wandered through the Mists of Mitlaire. They haven’t really come back, have they? Just their bodies.’
Willow shuddered. She’d heard the stories, of course, about the poor souls who were lost to the Mists, the ghostly veil between worlds where time seemed to stand still. Families who were never able to find their loved ones again. It was said that beyond the Mists was the Lake of the Undead, which flowed into the shadowy realm of lost souls, Netherfell.
It was the stuff of nightmares.
Willow cleared her throat nervously, and tried to push the thought out of her brain. ‘How come you’re in here, Holloway, and, erm, in the most dangerous section?’ she asked, darting a wary glance at Oswin, whose green head had peeked out of the bag. He made a motion with his paw for her to get away from the wall, fast, which she managed to ignore. Just.
‘I was trawling for fleurie-coral with me boat when I had a run-in with a sea serpent, and I lost me leg, again.’
Willow blinked. ‘Did you say you lost your leg, um … again?’
‘Yeah, well, me wooden leg – was a good one too. Fitted perfectly, not like this blasted one, which pinches something terrible. Lost me real leg years ago when the Great Melee Sea froze and I got exposed to the bitter cold. Life of a sailor,’ he said with a woeful shrug. ‘But this latest escapade was far worse, as not only did I lose me good wooden leg, I developed this weird thing where everything I touched turned to copper.’
‘Copper?’
‘Yeh. I know, right? Gold would have been worth the fight. Anyway, I came here when I heard about Pimpernell. Heard that she might be able to help put things right, and, for a while, that seemed true. She found these dragon-scale gloves that helped – stopped me changing things – which was great. It got me thinking that maybe I didn’t actually need a cure for me new ability – I could make use of it. Trade with it, that sort of thing. So I told her thanks and said I wanted to be on me way. But she got sticky about it. Told me that she couldn’t let me leave if I was going to be a danger to others. I told her that with the gloves I wouldn’t be harming anyone … Well, she didn’t see it that way. She got suspicious, thought I was up to no good. Like maybe I would use me new ability against people. There was a confrontation, and she tried to get the gloves back from me so that I would stay. I resisted, of course – but she got them off. I tried not to touch anything, but, I mean, that’s hard, ya know? I stumbled into a few beds, which turned everything – the sheets, the floor and even her foot – to copper.’
Willow gasped. So that was what had happened to the witch’s foot!
Holloway sighed. ‘She used a potion throw on me – ya know the kind ya don’t even need to drink for them to take effect? Something for sleep, I think, as I passed out. Next thing I knew I woke up here.’ He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘She’d put the gloves back on me, but she took her foot as proof that I was a danger and needed to be kept here for me own good. She told me that it was for the best while she works on that cure … which I’m beginning to think might never happen. It’s been about a year now.’
Willow gasped. A year? Here? ‘I’m so sorry, Holloway! It was an accident. She must know that – you never meant to do it and, if you’ve got the gloves, then surely you aren’t dangerous? Can’t you explain that to her?’
‘Yeh … well, I tried, didn’t I? She didn’t see it that way. She didn’t trust me any more. And, I suppose, because I’d tried to get the gloves back and flee, perhaps she had reason not to,’ he said in a hollow voice.
‘Still, that didn’t give her the right to keep you here,’ said Willow.
He nodded. ‘The trouble is this whole tower has been charmed to do her bidding, so it’s impossible to go against her and –’ he sighed, sounding hopeless – ‘truth be told, I do feel a bit like I deserve it. I feel really bad about her foot.’
There was a heavy silence after this. Willow could only imagine. ‘But it wasn’t really your fault,’ she said again.
Perhaps Holloway had needed to hear that because after a while there was a sniffing sound, and he mumbled, ‘Thanks.’ Then he cleared his throat. ‘Maybe you’ll have better luck – she’s true to her word, even if she’s a bit extreme. If she thinks you’re no longer dangerous, she will let you go.’
Willow shared a fearful look with Oswin. If the witch had locked up the wizard for a year for turning things to copper, how long would she be stuck here for making things disappear? And, while she was imprisoned here, what was happening to poor Sometimes? They were wasting time! He’d trusted Willow to rescue him, and who knew what danger he was in? Moreg’s dark words, when she’d told her why so few forgotten tellers were around, floated into Willow’s mind. ‘Most don’t live to tell their tales …’
She put her head in her hands. She had to get out. She had to find her friend before it was too late.
Nolin Sometimes woke once more to silence. His eyes turned from unseeing white to blue, and he saw shapes in the darkness.
It was his forest, his home … only it wasn’t. The trees and plants seemed made of shadow and smoke. He sat up in what might have been his garden except that it was devoid of all colour, and he frowned. There was the sleeping Sharon, only he couldn’t hear her gentle snores, and her palm-like fronds remained oddly still. There was the memory flower he’d used recently, restored yet lifeless. It looked … wrong somehow.
It was all so quiet – so horribly quiet. He swallowed. How long had he been here? Days? Weeks? Months?
He felt so alone. He thought of his friends and bit his lip. He hadn’t had many friends, not for years. He’d convinced himself it was safer that way, but the truth was not many people wanted a friend like him – someone who could tell all their secrets. Yet somehow, not long ago, a young witch had come into his life and all that had changed. He’d met people who liked him as he was, and didn’t seem to mind that he was a bit different.
He felt his throat close with tears … He didn’t want to be here any more. He just wanted to go home, tend to his garden and plants, and give his dog, Harold, a hug.
‘Please,’ he tried to whisper, to whoever was keeping him here. ‘I won’t bother you, or tell your secrets, I promise. I only hear
people’s memories when I’m near them – I don’t go out of my way to share what I learn with anyone later. I’m not like that. Please, just let me go …’
‘Oh, that’s not something you need to worry about. I’m happy for you to share all that you know,’ said a strange, echoing voice. And this was when the world began to spin, and a figure stood before him – a beautiful, otherworldly creature, her hair blowing in an imperceptible wind, thistles sprouting near her feet. She crouched down and touched his wild white hair. If she had an expression, it might almost have been kind.
Except, as she continued to hold her hand against his head, he realised that she wasn’t there to look after him, but to take something instead. Suddenly his memories grew loud, and the roots that wound round him seemed somehow to carry his secrets to her. He tried to resist, to thrash, but it was impossible.
‘Don’t try to fight it,’ she said, almost kindly, a birch-bark-like finger touching his temple.
He tried to protest and his eyes turned white again, though no sound escaped his lips.
6
The Tower Fights Back
Over the next two days, Willow was forced to swallow tonic after tonic, and sample all manner of vile, evil-tasting ‘cures’. None of which made any difference. Things still randomly seemed to disappear – like her coat and her nightdress, which was rather annoying as all her efforts to get them back failed too.
Food arrived through a little chute in the wall.
‘It minimises escape attempts, ya see – the tower helps her do it,’ Holloway had explained, peering at her through his hole in the wall.
It didn’t stop Willow trying, though. When the witch wasn’t bringing tonics and ignoring her pleas to release them, Willow was putting all her efforts into trying to break out. So far there had been thirty-two failed attempts. The last one had involved getting Oswin to blow up the door, with no success.
This had resulted in a somewhat frosty exchange between them for most of the day, as the only way to get Oswin to blow up was to insult him enough. Mostly this involved crossing the line.
Which is exactly what Oswin said, drawing a dusty line with a sharp rust-coloured claw on the floorboards. ‘This is the line,’ he hissed, his fur pumpkin-bright, smoke curling off his ears and his huge, lamp-like eyes full of fury. Then he drew a little cross above it and said, ‘AND THIS is when you calls me A CAT.’
‘Sorry, Oswin,’ she said. Again.
‘How’s it going with you, Holloway?’ Willow asked, changing the subject.
The wizard had decided if he couldn’t break out of the tower, he’d at least try and break into her room so they could all be together.
‘I’m making progress,’ he said, and she saw that there was now a much larger hole in the wall, twice as big as the wizard’s straggly grey head. He winked. ‘Won’t be long now!’
She grinned back.
Early the next morning, there was a small yellow flash and Willow’s coat appeared in a heap on the floor. She picked it up, surprised to find that it was muddy, and smelt of dirt and flowers. She frowned. Where had it been this whole time? And, more importantly, how had it appeared without her even thinking of it?
She was distracted from her thoughts by a clink-clank-clink sound, followed by a screech as the attic door was unbolted and the witch bent her silver dreadlocked head to enter the room.
As quick as she could, Willow shoved the broken chair and the bag with Oswin inside it in front of Holloway’s now rather large hole in the wall.
The witch looked at her suspiciously as she jumped back. ‘Come stand here, child, where I can see yeh.’
Willow did as instructed, and the witch unstoppered the cork of a new tonic. The rich scent of cabbage and something sour, like rotten fruit, filled the air.
‘Smells like boiled socks … and the privy after yer father’s been at it,’ whispered Oswin.
Willow wrinkled her nose.
‘I want yeh to drink this, and no complainin’ this time,’ said the witch, narrowing her eyes. When Willow hesitated, Pimpernell sighed. ‘Always makin’ it hard, aren’t yeh? I’m only tryin’ ter help.’
‘Help?’ cried Willow. ‘How is this help? The only one making this hard is you, keeping me prisoner here for no reason!’
The witch’s wood-fire eyes looked sad yet resigned. ‘Child, I had ter do it or yeh would have made the whole place go! Yeh need my help, and I’m gonna give it ter yeh whether yeh likes it or no. ’Tis for yer own good. ’Tis not like I’m enjoying this. Truth be told, I thought we’d have found somethin’ ter sort out yer magic by now, but ’tis a stubborn case … just like you are, child. But don’ yeh worry – Pimpernell always has a plan up her sleeve.’ Then she clicked her fingers and the iron bed marched forward and trapped Willow against the wall.
There was a faint ‘Oh no,’ from the hairy green bag.
Willow could barely breathe as the iron headboard pinned her arms to her sides. ‘Aaargh, let me go! None of this is working anyway! I’ve tried all of those disgusting tonics, and nothing’s happened!’
The witch shuffled towards her, her silver cane and copper foot going clink-clank-clink as she neared. ‘It will work if yeh give it a chance! We just gotta be patient. We’ll find the right one and yeh can be cured, if yeh just open wide.’ And she advanced with the tonic, ready to pour it down Willow’s gullet if she had to.
Willow shook her head frantically as the vile-tasting tonic began to froth. The witch clamped a strong hand on her jaw and began to dribble it on to Willow’s tongue. Willow closed her eyes, thrashing wildly as her senses filled with the stench of rotten fruit, her heart thundering in her chest – and then, suddenly, there was a loud popping sound.
‘Oh n— OH!’ breathed Oswin, peeking out from the bag at the noise, turning from pumpkin orange to a bright lime green in relief, though his ears were still faintly orange. ‘Oh! Yeh did it!’
Willow opened her eyes, then blinked in bewilderment as she saw that the witch and the bed that had been pinning her … had disappeared.
‘Come on, let’s SKEDADDLE!’ suggested Oswin.
The tower, however, did not want to let them go. Not without a fight. It sent a bedpan and a chair flying at her and Oswin, who turned a violent shade of orange in his outrage.
‘Aaargggggh!’ Willow screeched as the iron poker leapt from the floor and hurtled towards her, pricking her in her side. ‘Ouch. Stop it! Stop this right now!’ The poker slowed down, but continued to poke her wherever it could find a gap. She batted it away with her arm, earning herself countless scratches in the process, as it kept prodding her into giving the tower back its witch. Only … she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure how.
Oswin wasn’t having the best time either. He was fighting off several rolled-up copies of the Middling Times, which were repeatedly smacking him over the head. His ears were starting to smoke in a rather worrisome way, which usually meant he was on the verge of blowing up. ‘Oi,’ he said as one of them thwacked him on his ear. ‘Stop that!’
Thwack. ‘A curse upon yeh!’ Thwack.
‘A curse!’ he growled Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Finally, Willow screamed, ‘Ouch! Eugh. Stop. Just STOP! Enough of this, Tower. Or I will make you disappear too!’
The rolled-up newspapers above Oswin’s head seemed to sag. One of them smacked him rather feebly on the forehead one last time, and he hissed a low warning, his flame-orange fur standing on end. The poker, meanwhile, paused before Willow’s feet, the top bent towards her in a hangdog sort of way.
‘Um, thank you,’ said Willow, rubbing her arm, which was starting to sting from all the scratches. ‘Now I suggest you open the door and let us out.’
The door remained stubbornly shut. It juddered on its hinges somewhat reproachfully.
She narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms and, summoning her fiercest voice, declared, ‘If you do not OPEN this door right NOW, I will NOT release your witch.’
There was a long pause, while Willow t
apped her foot impatiently, and then, with the faintest of clicks and a slow, reluctant creaking sound rather like a sigh, the door opened.
‘Good,’ said Willow, hiding her relief that it had worked. She helped Holloway climb through the wall, breaking some more of the plaster with a chair leg so that he could get his shoulders and torso through. Once he was clear, she grabbed Oswin by his long tail and shoved him back inside the green hairy carpetbag, to his outrage.
‘Wot choo go an’ grabs me by the tail like that for!’ he harrumphed. ‘Wot wiff being thwacked on me ’ead and monster-’andled like that, there’s jes no respect, me being the last kobold an’ all!’
She ignored this, and together she and Holloway dashed out of the room and down the stairs before the tower could change its mind – or the witch popped back from wherever Willow had sent her. Whichever came first.
As soon as they were outside, the thirteen-foot tower door slammed itself shut with a loud BANG, and then bolted itself for good measure. Perhaps it was hoping that she wouldn’t change her mind and come back either. Then it sort of bent a little, like it was looking down at her rather expectantly, and Willow realised with dread that it was waiting for something … something she couldn’t exactly deliver. The windows looked on reproachfully.
Willow bit her lip. It was a bit odd that the witch hadn’t actually reappeared yet. When she’d made her family vanish, they’d returned in mere minutes. It had been triple that amount of time already. She blinked as she realised something. The truth was she didn’t really want to find the witch – not just yet. And, now she thought about it, when her family had come back, they’d reappeared in the house rather than next to her, like missing things usually did. Could that have been because she’d needed to keep them at a distance in order to escape? She didn’t know if her wishes had anything to do with the way this misfiring magic worked or not.
‘Um,’ she hedged, clearing her throat slightly, ‘it might take some time, I’m not sure …’ She thought of her coat and nightdress, which had taken a couple of days to reappear. ‘I’ll find her somehow, erm, as soon as I figure out how to actually do that.’
Willow Moss and the Forgotten Tale Page 4