Azrael's Twins

by V. J. Mortimer

Iris snapped her head round to see Roland lurching out of the darkness. Her eyes narrowed as her former keeper strode forward with a bucket of coal dangling from his bony hands.

  ‘I know what you did out there. You might try and act wild and nasty but you loved that tonight, didn’t you? Honestly! That last manoeuvre between the others to snatch the win? Pure theatrics! Any normal dragon would have taken the route over the top, which you could have done, couldn’t you?’

  This isn’t the way it should go, thought Iris to herself. Her eyes narrowed even further as she dropped her head a little lower. A little shot across the eyebrows should do it, she thought to herself. Without moving her head Iris twitched one nostril only and a rapier thin shot of flame lanced across the pen towards Roland. The dragon keeper didn’t even flinch but casually flicked his wand across the flame, swatting it to one side.

  ‘Nice try,’ he said, smiling at Iris. ‘I’ve been singed by better dragons than you. Trust me. Anyway, you must be hungry after that lot tonight. Get some of this inside you,’ said Roland as he upended the coal into one of the troughs in the pen.

  Iris hadn’t taken her eyes off Roland and was fuming, literally, at the dragon master. The smell from the coal drifted up to her nostrils and she suddenly realised he was right. That race had made her hungry even if, strictly speaking, she didn’t need the coal. Moving her head closer to the trough she leant down and crunched through a few pieces.

  ‘You’ve been hurt, haven’t you,’ said Roland as the dragon started to wolf down the coal. ‘Let me see,’ he said stepping closer. Iris turned and growled at Roland as he stepped forward, but didn’t back away. The worst part was she knew Roland was right – again. At the side of her head a number of scales looked charred and battered from the blast which had sent her tumbling from the skies. In truth she felt embarrassed by the way she had been so easily knocked out and vowed she would never let that happen again.

  ‘I’ve just the thing for that,’ said Roland, reaching into the satchel slung across his back and taking out a small jar with a yellow cream inside. Unscrewing the lid an evil sulphurous smell drifted out that made even Iris recoil. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t smelt worse after you’ve had some bad anthracite. Anyway, this stuff will fix those scales up a treat. In no time at all you’ll be as ugly as ever.’

  Iris was getting angrier by the minute at this impertinent little man, but realised he probably did know what he was talking about. Lowering her head she put her pride to one side as Roland first put on a glove before taking a big dollop of cream from the jar.

  ‘Now this might sting a bit,’ he said as he reached towards the dragon’s head. As the cream was spread onto the wound the dragon jumped and let out a small but involuntary blast of flame that licked around Roland’s boots. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Finest flameproof micromesh boots from Fitzhollow and Hooligan, these. Would take more than a hiccup from you to mess them up. There now. That should have you feeling better in no time,’ he said, stepping back as he screwed the lid back onto the jar. The glove he wore was smoking as he peeled it from his hand and tossed it towards a bin. ‘Will we see you again, then?’ said Roland, stepping back from the dragon. ‘You’ve a rare talent despite the showing off. Will you take care of the boy? You know the bargain that’s been struck.’ Roland was standing directly in front of the dragon’s eyes now.

  Iris sized him up turning her head this way and that. A low guttural sound rose from her throat. She wanted to turn and leap away from this annoying little creature, but he seemed to know that if the boy called again she would have to come.

  ‘I thought as much. Well I’m not sure when we’ll see you again, but there will always be room in my stables if you want some company.’ Iris let out another growl. ‘Yes, without a chain and peg next time, I promise,’ added Roland quickly.

  Iris looked over the gangly little man one last time before casting an eye towards where she knew Grady was. Lifting her head she let out a loud roar and sprang away from the ground, showering Roland with dirt and flotsam from the ground.

  As he watched her rise through the castle lights, and then disappear into the darkness, Roland felt the air change behind him. ‘She’s definitely bound to the boy now. I can feel it,’ he said, turning around to face the shimmering form of Belimawr, barely visible in a dark cloak of gloomy glowing ember-like feathers.

  ‘Then despite the ... hiccup ... the night has gone well,’ said the phoenix.

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ said Roland. ‘His sister has come a long way also tonight. She knew there was trouble. The bond is growing deeper and faster now. How did she know to take to the air?’

  ‘The Irishman told her,’ said Bel.

  ‘Fitzhollow? Why that little ... what was he doing interfering in this?’

  ‘Who knows how the Irishman thinks. He probably thought it would be good for a laugh, to have another distraction thrown in for us. Perhaps he just wanted to see his wand being used in anger. But it all worked out well. How is their young friend?’

  Roland sniffed. ‘She’ll be fine. A headache, but nothing else. Was that really necessary?’

  ‘Complications were not needed. She thinks too much and tonight instinct was needed. Niamh and her friends were better by themselves. Calling for help would only have complicated matters. But that one has her own part to play. It is difficult to see all things but that much is clear. Tonight was not her time.’ Bel shook his feathers and started to fade. ‘Tonight has been another important step. The children are learning how to chart their own course. They are getting stronger by the day.’

  ‘What happens when they know what they really are capable of, my fiery friend?’ said Roland.

  ‘We shall see,’ said Bel. ‘We shall see.’

  Chapter 23

  A Question of Trust

  Grady woke the next day with the worst headache he’d ever had and the largest collection of “Well Done” and “Congratulation” cards he’d ever seen. Someone had even seen fit to send him flowers, but he hoped it wasn’t Cleo Popplewell who seemed to spend most of her time around him giggling. Grady thought she always smelled vaguely odd, like sort of liquorice cough medicine, but tried not to be rude when she sat next to him in social studies.

  He leaned over and grabbed the card by the flowers and was astonished to find it was from Ms Maladicta! This made Grady even more worried than if it had come from Cleo!! He thought it must have been a joke, but the handwriting was clearly Ms Maladicta’s flowing, precise hand.

  An unopened envelope lay next to the flowers. Grady popped it open with his fingertip and was assaulted by a puff of tiny pink and orange flowers floating out, along with a large dollop of perfumed powder which wafted into his face. After his coughing and spluttering died down he gingerly pulled the card out. This one was unmistakeably from Cleo and included a poem about how brave he had been in the dragon race.

  ‘Cleo was adamant you should be the one to open that one,’ laughed his mum from the doorway. She held a tray in her hands with breakfast cereals, fruit, cinnamon toast and juice. Grady must be well-favoured to get breakfast in bed – he only ever normally got that when he was sick, but then he raised his hand to his head to feel the plasters on the side of his face where his cuts had been last evening. Holding Cleo’s card at arm’s length, he dropped it over the side of the bed where it fell open on the floor emitting a delicate lovesick sigh. Grace laughed out loud as Grady reached down quickly to close it up and silence the sound.

  ‘So how are you feeling, my little racer?’

  ‘Sore,’ said Grady shortly.

  ‘Whereabouts?’ asked Grace, putting the tray down on the opposite bedside to the cards and flowers.

  ‘Everywhere. But my head hurts worse than anything.’ Grady tried to sit up more but grimaced with the effort as the aches and pains reminded him of the tumble from Iris.

  ‘Well drink this, then,’ said Grace, offering the juice. ‘It’ll help wash away some of the pains. The taste
will help you forget about your headache.’

  Grady swallowed a big gulp of the juice before grimacing as if he had swallowed a lemon. ‘Urrggghh,’ he finally managed to say, wiping his mouth. ‘I thought you said it would taste good.’

  ‘I never said anything about tasting good,’ laughed his mum. I just said it would help you forget about the headache! Give it a moment and see how you feel.’

  By the time Grady had put the glass back down on his bedside cabinet he could feel his head becoming clearer as the aches began to fade. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Boiled Bolivian bat bogies, if you must know,’ said Grace.

  ‘Bat bogies!’ exclaimed Grady. ‘How could you!’

  ‘Oh Grady, don’t worry,’ said Grace, laughing again. ‘Do you really think I’d give you boiled bat bogies?’

  ‘Well ...’ said Grady uncertainly.

  ‘It was vampire bat venom – suitably processed,’ said Grace, as Grady started to react again. ‘It’s an old remedy but it works a treat.’

  Suddenly a yell erupted from the kitchen. ‘Get out, you ugly little troll, or I’m going to get a priest come to see you,’ roared Merritt.

  ‘What’s happening in there?’ asked Grady.

  ‘Oh, we’ve had a grogoch turn up overnight and your father’s not coping well. Hang on a minute.’ Walking over to the door Grace shouted back down the hallway; ‘Just give them some chores to do for a while and we’ll get rid of them later. Don’t try to fight them or they’ll stick around longer.’

  ‘What’s a grogoch, Mum?’ said Grady.

  ‘They’re a little trollish gobliny sort of creature, very hairy, and a little bit dirty. They turn up and get under your feet around the house, but they aren’t dangerous. You just need to let them help with the jobs round the house for a while and then give them a pitcher of milk with a bit of food and off they go again. If you’re unlucky they start to sleep in the kitchen cupboards, which is a real pain as they rattle the pots during the night and then no one can get any sleep.’ A sudden crash of pots was followed by Merritt shouting again; ‘Get out of that bloody cupboard you ... you ...’ Grace grimaced before touching Grady’s cheek, saying, ‘I’d better go and help your dad before he does some damage to the grogoch. If he’s not careful they’ll start nicking his keys and then he’ll get really grumpy. Enjoy the rest, my little dragon rider!’

  Grady smiled as his mum left the room. A moment later she let out a yell followed by the sound of someone falling over. A grubby little head poked through the door giving Grady a quizzical look. Its eyes suddenly lit up as it saw the dishes beside the bed and scuttled into the room, happily mumbling to itself. Grady had never seen such an ugly little creature. Its pot belly was hidden under a thick mass of reddish brown hair which was matted with twigs and leaves that had obviously been there so long they now formed part of its very clothing. Its arms were thin and long, hanging down almost to its knobbly knees. Its fingers twitched continuously as if they were unable to stay still.

  The little man – at least Grady thought it was a man, though there was no way to tell what lay underneath the grubby exterior – raced round to the bedside table and was about to make a lunge for the dishes before Grady let out a shout at him. ‘Hey! I’m not finished yet!’

  The grogoch stopped in his tracks and looked at the dishes through a mass of stringy dreadlock-like matted hair that grew down over his face hiding most of his eyes and forming a waterfall of hair through which his hooked beak-like nose poked out. The creature parted the hair over his eyes and cast a Labrador look of disappointment at Grady through sad eyes. Clearly, taking the dishes out of the room would have made his day.

  Grady looked at the creature’s forlorn face and said, ‘Hang on, then.’ Holding his nose he quickly downed the rest of the bat venom before screwing his face up in disgust at the taste and handing the empty glass to the grogoch. The creature took the glass before happily cooing to itself and then flashing Grady a toothy smile before scuttling back out of the room again. It bolted through the door just as Niamh tried to enter. She jumped out of its way as the grogoch trotted off back down the corridor to the kitchen.

  ‘OOhhh they’re horrible smelly little creatures,’ said Niamh as she walked over to open a window.

  ‘I couldn’t tell,’ said Grady. ‘I can’t smell anything after that bat bogie stuff.’

  ‘Mum said it was bat venom – not bat bogies, Grady.’

  ‘Bat venom, bat bogies – doesn’t really matter. It tastes bad no matter what juice you mix it with and that grogoch what’samaflugit is nothing compared to that rubbish.’

  ‘Are you feeling better though?’ said Niamh with a touch – just a touch – of genuine concern.

  ‘I’m still a bit sore but that stuff seems to have helped. I don’t feel as stiff now.’ Indeed, as Niamh watched, the small cuts on Grady’s face seemed to be healing themselves, the raw edges blending back into skin tone and finally healing over. In a matter of minutes the smaller cuts were practically gone with just a few mildly pink patches left on Grady’s freckled face.

  ‘Well you were quite brave last night, Grady. A bit stupid maybe ...’ said Niamh (praising her brother didn’t come naturally), ‘and you really impressed Ms Maladicta. Apparently she’s never sent a card like that to anyone before, and Cleo just won’t stop talking about you. She’s SO boring.’

  Grady blushed brightly but moved on quickly. ‘Well if I was a bit stupid, then what were you up to with your nutty friends? I mean, thanks very much and everything,’ said Grady awkwardly, ‘but what were you guys doing out on your broomsticks anyway?’

  ‘Trying to find Quinn, if you must know,’ said Niamh testily.

  ‘Quinn?’ said Grady. ‘Why were you looking for him?’

  ‘He disappeared during the race. No one has any recollection of him there on the night. And he didn’t show up till after the race finished and the banshees had all been seen off.’

  ‘Maybe he just doesn’t like dragon racing?’ said Grady. ‘He doesn’t really like anything much except hiding away with a book in some dark corner or being down in the library cavern with Gilly.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Niamh. ‘But why did he have a muddy cape when he turned up back in the castle? Murdock told me he was seen coming back into the castle through the stable entrances and was limping. It wasn’t muddy last night and what would he be doing that would cause him to limp?’

  ‘You’re really very suspicious, aren’t you?’ said Grady. ‘But I think you’re right. He was up to something. We just can’t prove it was anything to do with the banshees, though.’

  ‘No. You’re probably right for once,’ said Niamh.

  ‘Oh, thank you so much for thinking that I might just have a good idea,’ laughed Grady.

  ‘I didn’t say it was good idea, Grady,’ said Niamh, putting her hands on her hips and staring moodily, but her smile gave her away. ‘Anyway, I think there’s something else going on and it’s nothing to do with Quinn.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Grady as he munched into some toast.

  ‘When I went to look for Quinn I hadn’t planned to jump onto my broomstick. I was just going to go look for him. I thought he was up to something – not sure what it was. But as we were running around Fitzhollow suddenly appeared beside me and said it would be a good night for a broomstick ride.’

  ‘Wh’s strng abt tha,’ said Grady through a mouthful of food.

  ‘Well, don’t you think it’s odd he suddenly appears from nowhere and tells me to go for a broomstick ride while my brother is racing around on a dangerous dragon?’

  ‘Sis, I’ve no idea what’s odd for a guy who wears weird waistcoats, lives with a permanently drunk faerie, and works in a house which doesn’t exist in our world! How would I know how his mind works? Maybe going for a night ride is his idea of a good time?’

  Niamh huffed down beside Grady and crossed her arms while she glowered at nothing in particular and everything in g
eneral. ‘Something’s odd, Grady. Don’t you see it?’

  ‘You’re going to have to help me here, Niamh. I really don’t see what’s wrong.’

  ‘Think about it, Grady,’ said Niamh. ‘When we lived at Avalon’s End, would Dad let you ride your bike to the village by yourself?’

  ‘Well, no, but you know how narrow those roads were. Would you ride them?’

  ‘Of course not, but that’s my point, don’t you see it? And what about sport? Would Mum let you play rugby?’

  ‘No, but think about how much bigger the other kids were in the team. A little redhead like me up against those guys? Like that was ever going to happen!’

  Niamh just stared at Grady – the unspoken question being blared into Grady’s ears.

  ‘Oh,’ said Grady quietly. ‘Maybe you’re right. The dragon racing is pretty extreme, isn’t it?’

  ‘And what about all these extra spell casting lessons I’m getting from Emmy? No one else in the school is getting those. And despite the fact you and I seem to get more detentions than anyone, we always seem to end up being taught some new really cool way to blow things up or defend ourselves.’

  Grady chewed thoughtfully on the last of his breakfast and stared out the window, but – unusually – didn’t say anything; he simply sat and thought. Niamh looked like she had no words left and waited – unusually – with patience for her brother to say something.

  Finally Grady turned back from the window and looked at his sister. ‘Don’t quote me on this, but you might be right. Why would they let us do all this stuff?’ Reaching up to touch his rapidly fading scars Grady looked back out the window as a dragon hove into view and sculled across the wide expanse of glass before disappearing. ‘Why are we letting ourselves do all this stuff?’ he suddenly said, turning back to Niamh. ‘It seems like ever since we’ve come here we’ve been happy to go off and act crazy without even giving it a second thought, like we’ve had some sort of spell cast on us.’

  ‘But who would do that? I mean, we couldn’t be anywhere safer, could we?’