Flitterwig

by Edrei Cullen

  ‘You loved them back, Ella!’ Dixon yelled, picking himself up off the floor where he had fallen off the giraffe in shock. ‘You loved them right back! That’s the most powerful magic of all, fall, call!’ The pixie looked around him as if expecting danger. ‘That and your special tears, I suppose,’ he added. ‘Flitterwigs aren’t supposed to be able to do Stretchification, Ella. This is scary, hairy, canary!’

  ‘What is going on?’ was the first thing Granny said, frowning as best she could, because her face was so stiff. ‘I am positively aching all over.’ She glared at her husband, but he was too busy trying to pull his legs together to pay her any attention. ‘Why are you in your pyjamas, Anthony?’ she asked him, before realising, with horror, that she was dressed in her nightie.

  ‘Ella,’ Granny said, noticing her granddaughter, ‘what are you doing up here? More to the point, what am I doing up here? What happened to the fire?’ She tried to walk out of the enclosure with her usual determination, but couldn’t move. She eyed Ella suspiciously. ‘What have you been up to?’ she asked, at last finding movement in her limbs and moving stiffly out of the enclosure. ‘What is going on?’ She turned to her husband. ‘Didn’t I tell you this sort of thing would happen if we let Manna have anything to do with Ella, Anthony?’ she said. ‘Didn’t I?’

  Grandpa tried to lower his arms as Truffles licked his face. They were stuck up in the air, starfish style, and wouldn’t come down. Ella stepped forward and tugged at one. It came down with a creak.

  Grandpa sighed a deep, surrendering sigh. ‘You are what you are, darling,’ he said to his granddaughter before following his wife, rigid and robotic, out of the enclosure. ‘It’s nothing, dear,’ he said to her. ‘We’re just becoming forgetful, that’s all. A bit of sleepwalking never hurt anybody.’

  ‘Is that really all it is?’ said Granny, sounding, for the first time, a little old and beaten.

  Grandpa nodded, took Granny’s arm in his, and escorted her, as best he could, up the hill and back to the decorous privacy of their home. Off they creaked, two old tin soldiers in need of a good oiling.

  Had Mr and Mrs Montgomery not been of such a staunch generation, they might have wanted to investigate further what was really going on – not that they hadn’t experienced similar strangeness when their son’s wife was alive. As it was, however, they recognised that one doesn’t speak of matters of which one has not the slightest understanding: one just carries on as though not a thing in the world is out of the ordinary.

  Ella wanted to go after them and hug them and tell them how much she loved them, but that just wasn’t done around Granny, so she held back. She looked about for Dixon to reassure her, but he was out cold again, lying in the straw. As she moved to gather him up, a storm of tiny silver dewdroplets appeared out of nowhere and began whizzing about her, patting her on the back and kissing her on the cheeks. A silver note fell gently out of the air and onto the ground. Ella picked it up and read the riddle to herself:

  You are loving.

  You are brave.

  Your own dear ones

  You have saved.

  Come now, fall.

  Falling, falling,

  Trust yourself.

  Find your calling.

  Now it’s time

  Your new friend

  Led you to

  Your journey’s end.

  Dixon, who had had one of his sudden recoveries and had perched himself on her shoulder, was reading the note too. He gave a great sigh when he got to the bit about the new friend. ‘I don’t think they mean me, pee, flea,’ he said, sadly.

  chapter 23

  heresy & hunches

  Standing at his bedroom window and watching Saul march purposefully across the Snoppit grounds, Charlie knew he wasn’t going to make it to school today. There were massive new scabs on his knees and elbows, and he could hardly hold his head up straight. Someone had got to him last night and taken more blood, he was sure of it.

  As soon as his father left for the Lollipop Factory and his mother went out to the vegetable patch to dig up a potato or two, Charlie gathered up what strength he had and slipped out the back door to the barn. He paused outside it to spy through a window, his knees knocking in the cold.

  The Duke, spent from his attempts to reach Ella by Possessing Charlie, was tied to a chair by his arms and legs while Saul held a knife to his throat. Nearby, Ragwald, in a state of complete distress, fed thirty or more Troggles careful doses of Antidote. He hadn’t wanted to, but the Duke had insisted. The Troggles growled hungrily, bloated and black, their rotting hands pincer-like weapons, their fighting spirits primed.

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Saul said to the Duke. ‘Enough is enough. You are a failure, a weakling. You have managed neither to kidnap the grandparents successfully nor to capture the Clearheart. You have no further use for me. You may be immortal, my man, but you are not immune to the fatal effect of a slit throat!’

  The Duke stared hard at Saul, his black eyes sending a shock of energy through the air. It was true, Magicals never died naturally, but they were easily felled if killed by another. And without more Antidote, the Duke didn’t even have the strength to break free of the simple cords with which Saul had bound him.

  ‘You have betrayed yourself, Saul,’ he said, closing his eyes against the indignity of it all and struggling desperately for breath. His body was letting him down terribly here on Earth. ‘With enough Antidote, I would have the girl by now, you fool. And the animals would have been child’s play. By reducing my powers, you are sealing your own fate. The Dewdrops won’t respond to you,’ he wheezed. ‘To kill me will just be more foolishness. Even with the Clearheart, the Dewdrops require a pure Royal Magical to instruct them to re-open the Mirrors of Foreverness. You know that.’

  Saul slammed his fist on the back of the chair in frustration. It was finally dawning on him that the Duke really didn’t have any idea where the Dewdrops were. They must have escaped him, fearful of his bad intentions. But it was true: even with the girl, only a Royal Magical could instruct the Dewdrops. And how in Magic’s name could they persuade the girl to tell the Dewdrops that the Duke was the Royal to trust? Saul’s thick eyebrows twitched. Why did magic and goodness have to be so inextricably linked? he wondered. It was so frustrating.

  ‘We need the girl,’ the Duke said. ‘That is the long and the short of it.’

  Saul pulled himself together. ‘Well, Ella has only just returned from Spain,’ he said, cutting the Duke loose with two resigned flicks of his blade. ‘It won’t take us long to capture her. But she still doesn’t know where the Dewdrops are, even if they are sending her clues that we are incapable of getting our hands on. The Queen doesn’t know either. I have my spies. I know the score.’ He massaged his temples. ‘How badly wrong can a simple plan go?’ he sighed. ‘I should have known there’d be trouble, the minute we started to deal with children. This was supposed to be the easy part.’

  ‘No wonder you’ve never made it to Magus,’ said the Duke. ‘You Flitterwigs simply haven’t the Magical thinking of us pure Magicals. And to think I admired your knack for deception. Where’s it getting you right now, hey?’ His voice took on a pleading tone. ‘Give me some more Antidote, Saul, please. The Troggles drained plenty of blood from Charlie last night. I can do anything if I am strong.’

  Charlie backed away from the barn, his mind reeling. Why did he feel he had to find Ella, fast? What was a pure Magical? What was a Flitterwig, come to that? What was he to do? He couldn’t trust the Duke or Saul, that was for sure. Should he just go to school and pretend none of this was happening? Maybe it was better to be beaten up by the Fowler boys than try to understand this mumbo-jumbo. A hundred questions sped through Charlie’s head as he stumbled back home.

  At the front door he spotted a cream-coloured parcel wedged into the letterbox. It was addressed to him and bore a big green wax seal in the shape of an F on the back. If there weren’t a deformed Duke, a power-hungry man with too muc
h nose hair and a heap of mad Troggles in his barn, he’d have found this odd. But odd things seemed almost normal to Charlie these days, so he simply tore the parcel open as he ran upstairs to his room.

  A small bottle of green liquid and a piece of parchment fell out onto the floor. He picked them up.

  Dear Charlie, he read from the parchment.

  You don’t know me, but I am a friend of Ella Montgomery’s, and she is in danger. I am a scholar in the History of Magic. Since Ella visited me, I have been doing some research into families who live close to Willow Farm. My study of your family has revealed everything I had hoped.

  Charlie, you are a Flitterwig.

  Charlie frowned so deeply his eyes nearly disappeared. He read on.

  Flitterwigs are human beings with Magical blood running through their veins. As a Flitterwig, you have powers of which you may not be aware. It means you are able to see the Magicals of Magus – if not alone, then certainly with the help of the spectacles that have been in your family for generations.

  Charlie’s chest tightened. Did that mean he was magical all by himself? With or without the specs? He kept reading.

  I believe you to be of Goblin heritage. To confirm this, you need only test your knowledge of Animumble (by which I mean you will understand very easily what animals have to say, and they will understand you). You should also be able to run particularly fast.

  Ella is of Elf blood.

  I believe your ancestors were the Goblin Protectors of Ella’s ancestors, and it is now your job to protect Ella, as it was your ancestors’ job to protect her ancestors in times past. Without your protection, Ella is in danger of being kidnapped by Saul of the Rooniun or the Grand Duke of Magus, for they are in dire need of her special powers. If this happens, the Magical Kingdom of Magus may be lost.

  I am not a madman, Charlie. You must believe me. Protect her, please. For that is your destiny.

  Yours truly,

  Don Filosofico Posiblemente

  P.S. I have enclosed a bottle of elixir to help you when you need it. You’ll know when the time is right.

  P.P.S. Don’t forget, animals are your allies.

  Charlie sat down on a chair and stared up at the ceiling.

  Emboldened by the magical way she had recovered her grandparents, Ella sped along the path to the Dell on her skateboard, Dixon clinging to a strap of her dungarees.

  ‘Wheeeheeeee!’ he cried. ‘Deedleeedee!’

  Abandoning her skateboard where the path stopped, Ella skidded down the muddy banks towards the willow tree, full of hope and determination. But as she approached, she heard voices. Human voices. She hid herself behind a gorse bush, grabbed Dixon off her back, and clapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

  Imagine her surprise to see a rather wet looking Mr P crouched down by the willow tree in conversation with the gnomes and Mr Wrinkles.

  Ella noted that she could see them perfectly now, without the spectacles. But how could Mr P see them? Was he a Flitterwig too? Goodness, they were everywhere!

  A few paces away another man, tall and grey-haired, stood with his back to her.

  ‘Mr Wrinkles,’ Mr P was saying, ‘I humbly request that Samuel be allowed an audience with the Queen. We apologise for breaking the Ban in this way. We would not do so if there were another option.’

  Wrinkles disappeared inside the willow tree. Minutes later he reappeared.

  ‘As you know,’ he said, ‘we ourselves have already breached the Ban. We made contact with the Flitterwig Clearheart, Ella, some days ago. Come, tell us what you know, and in turn we will share our knowledge with you.’

  Distracted, Ella took her hand from Dixon’s mouth. He stuck his tongue out at her. ‘Can’t you trust me yet, get, bet?’ he said. ‘Like I’d make a big noise, boys, toys!’ And yes, he said it really loudly.

  The group by the tree looked up and saw her. Ella edged out from behind the bush, her hair rising up defensively, her shoulderblades pulsing in anticipation of danger.

  The man with the grey hair caught his breath. ‘The Clearheart,’ he whispered. ‘By all the Powers of Nature…’

  Ella looked back at the man curiously. Mr P gazed down at his shoes and tried not to catch Ella’s eye.

  One of the gnomes piped up, ‘Ella, meet Samuel, co-chairman of the Flitterwig Rooniun. Samuel, this is Ella,’ and here he lowered his voice respectfully, ‘the Clearheart.’ Then, returning to normal volume, ‘Mr Phossilworth, Ella, you already know one another, I believe. There you go. Now, come on, concentrate, all of you. We have to hurry.’

  Mr P stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry, Ella. I am a Flitterwig too, though not as powerful a one as you. To be precise, I am Manna’s Goblin Protector.’

  As Ella stared at Mr P, unbelieving, a tiny voice called out. They all turned to see an elf-in-waiting perched at the opening of the willow tree. ‘The Queen wants to talk to you, Ella,’ she hummed.

  Obediently, Ella approached the tree and crouched down. The clean, fresh smell of oranges, cinnamon and rain wafted towards her, and she felt a deep, essential magic embrace her, like a cloak.

  Sitting up shakily in her maple leaf, the Queen was frail, but dazzling still. Her dress fell about her in gentle folds and her breath came in delicate sighs. Her wings shuddered like daisies in a breeze, and her eyes, although tired, saw right into Ella’s soul and down to the deepest depths of her heart.

  ‘You have shown yourself to be a brave girl, Ella,’ the Queen said softly. ‘It is time for you to act now. Go and find your Protector, child. You know who he is.’ She fell back upon her maple leaf, a feather on a cloud. Ella had forgotten how breathtakingly perfect she was, how fragile, as though she were made of fine glass.

  As she turned back from the opening in the willow tree, she heard Wrinkles’ voice. ‘In summary,’ he said, speaking quickly, ‘the gnomes and I have solved what we can of the riddles. We cannot quite figure out precisely where the Dewdrops have hidden themselves, but they have given us certain clues. Details like “in the deep” and “where water lizards creep” and “‘neath smelly turfs” and “where rusty cans abound” all point to somewhere filthy and unhealthy beneath the ground.’ He put his hands on his hips and smiled helpfully.

  None of this helped Ella much at all. But everybody’s eyes were upon her.

  chapter 24

  battles & baubles

  Ella and Dixon sat on a log at the edge of the Dell, looking up at Snoppit Farm.

  ‘My Protector is Charlie, isn’t he?’ Ella said.

  ‘Sounds like it, pit, bit, mit,’ Dixon replied from his perch by her side. ‘I’ve made you laugh too, of course. Horse. Force. But I’m no goblin. And that boy does have a lot of freckles and big ears. Cheers.’ The pixie was reconciled now to the reality that Charlie was her Protector. There was nothing he could do about that, but he sorely wished he were a Goblin Flitterwig.

  ‘I suppose we should pay a visit to Snoppit Farm then,’ Ella said, with more confidence than she felt. She stood up, shook her hands and feet, and rolled her shoulders like a boxer preparing for a boxing match. Dixon pointed to her dungarees pocket. She pulled out her inhaler and took a long suck.

  ‘Okey-dokey, then. Let’s conjure up the Nogmashers,’ said Dixon, trying to smile at her reassuringly.

  Ella frowned.

  ‘Nogmashers,’ said Dixon, fiddling about in his backpack, ‘can knock the fight out of anyone with their blinding light of internal loveliness and joy, which is also very handy for seeing things in dark places, spaces, faces. Only for a few seconds, of course. It’s something about their moony eyes, size. They light up everything around them, then they catch you and hypnotise you and make you come over all gooey, pooey, phewy. So don’t look at them, whatever you do. Wrinkles thought they might come in handy, dandy.’

  ‘I don’t have to cry again, do I?’ asked Ella apprehensively.

  ‘Don’t you worry, hurry, flurry, little Ella,’ the pixie said, looking up at her from way down low. ‘Thi
s time we’ve got help. Rhymes with kelp.’

  He opened his backpack and pulled out a vial holding the tiniest drop of clear liquid.

  ‘You’re not the only powerful one around here,’ he said, taking the lid off it and tipping it upside down. ‘The Queen’s teardrop,’ he added, nodding at the vial and looking very pleased with himself.

  A tiny teardrop rolled out, smooth as a drop of mercury, and hung in mid air. Dixon put his other hand into the backpack and pulled out a fistful of white elf dust. Sprinkling it over the tear, he mumbled something under his breath. The teardrop swelled and swelled until it was like a balloon ready to burst. Which is what it did.

  A mysterious sound filled the air. It was the sound of wind and running water and trees rustling. The smell of cinnamon was overpowering.

  ‘Oh goody,’ said Dixon. ‘I was afraid I might get it wrong!’ He leaped about, his backpack in his hands, catching the invisible noise. Before long the backpack was bulging with the secret sound. It was time to get to work. Dixon sat on the grass and twiddled his ears. A swirl of orange smoke drifted out of the backpack and formed what looked like a small trampoline.

  More orange smoke appeared, swirling this way and that until a faint jingle-jangle began. Pop! Up out of the trampoline bounced a Nogmasher, a purple creature about the size of a thimble. It had a swollen head, and eyes like two full moons covered its whole face. Pop! Another Nogmasher. Pop! Pop! Another and another, until there were at least twenty of them bouncing gently on the misty trampoline.