by D. A. Nelson
The witch waved an arm and a section of the room, previously shrouded in darkness, was suddenly lit by three large Full Moonstones set into the wall. Morag gasped. There, lying on a white marble table, was a body covered from head to toe by a shroud. Standing behind it was a large four-armed Girallon, whom Mephista introduced as Kang. Beside the table was a wooden trolley laden with various objects, including a jade bowl, a glittering dagger and a large dusty spell book. Mephista lifted the dagger and, turning back to Morag, stroked it gently.
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. No, you’re more important to me alive.” She turned to Tanktop. “Get her ready.”
Tanktop chuckled as Morag pulled and twisted against him, ignoring her kicks and screams as he tied her to a stone pillar. When he was finished, Morag could not move her legs or her left arm. Her right arm had been left free and she used it to swipe at the cackling Klapp demon.
“Let me go!” Morag screamed as she struggled against her bonds. “Let me go, Mephista, or you’ll be sorry!”
Mephista, who had been making preparations for whatever she had in mind, was bemused by Morag’s outburst.
“What are you going to do? Take me to prison in your little fairy kingdom? You and I know that’s never going to happen. In any case, very soon Marnoch Mor will be destroyed. Even as we speak that place is imploding.”
She pointed to a round Moonstone on a stand. When Morag looked closely she saw that it was flickering, and the flickers looked like people and animals and buildings. The people and animals were running, crying, falling, and the buildings were tearing themselves apart and collapsing into piles of rubble.
“I don’t know how, but Marnoch Mor and Montgomery are somehow linked,” Mephista went on. “When we captured him, the town began to fall apart. One seems not to be able to survive without the other. How delicious is that? I get to destroy not only you, but that place as well, and all the Goody Two-shoes who live there!”
Morag watched helplessly as the witch strode to where Montgomery lay and crouched beside him. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Morag was horrified to see how swollen and bloody it was.
“It took me some time to get the right information out of him, but he told me … eventually.” She let Montgomery’s hair go and his head banged off the stone floor with a sickening bump. Mephista stood up and swept over to the collection of objects.
“Let him go,” Morag pleaded. “Please. Do what you will with me, but let him go.”
“How very noble of you, my dear,” said the witch, taking up the dagger again with the jade bowl, “but it’s too late. You see, after I’ve taken what I need from you, you and your friend over there will be disposed of and there’s nothing you can do or say that will change my mind. I’ll be glad to get rid of you both.”
“You will pay for this, Mephista!” the girl raged. “I have friends and they’ll come and get you!”
The witch laughed and raised the dagger.
14
Morag’s heart skipped a beat as the witch bore down on her. She could not tear her eyes away from the knife that glittered menacingly in Mephista’s hand. The witch smirked as she drew closer, pleasure gleaming in her eyes. Morag’s breath quickened and she fought to control it.
“What are you doing?” Morag’s voice sounded small and far away.
“I’m taking back something you took from me,” the witch replied. She nodded to Tanktop. “Hold her still while I make the cut.”
Morag struggled even more, but she was bound tight. She tried to pull away her free hand, when Tanktop gripped her wrist. The creature laughed as he twisted her arm round to expose her wrist, which glowed white in the light from the Moonstones. It was all too easy to see where a knife wound could make the most impact. She looked around desperately for someone to help her, but apart from the unconscious Montgomery, there was no one. Even Henry was gone.
“Montgomery!” she called as Mephista raised the dagger above her head and began to chant an incantation.
“Montgomery!” she screamed again as Mephista stopped chanting and brought the dagger down to her arm. Morag looked away, screwing up her eyes. Then … nothing.
She opened her eyes.
She could feel the cold steel against her skin. Fearful, but trying not to whimper, Morag watched as the witch drew the blade across her wrist. Tiny beads of scarlet immediately burst forth and the last thing Morag felt was the spreading burn of pain. She blacked out.
When Morag came round again Mephista was pouring something into the little jade bowl. Wincing, Morag looked at her throbbing arm and saw a two-inch slash. Blood was oozing out and dripping to the floor. She pulled her arm to her side, smearing blood all over her coat as she made a feeble attempt to stop the flow.
The witch smiled when she saw that the girl had wakened.
“Ah, Morag, so glad you could join us for the main event,” she sneered. “Watch as I say the final words that will bring him back to me, and restore the true ruler of Murst. You had the one vital ingredient I needed.”
“I did? I don’t understand.…”
“Your blood. It was the one thing missing from the spell. Without it, I couldn’t complete it.”
She carried the jade bowl over to the body under the shroud. In one sweeping motion she pulled the covering off, causing Morag to gasp. For lying there, ghastly pale and shriveled, was the body of Devlish. Mephista stroked his cold, pinched face.
“I needed the blood of the one who killed him,” the witch said as she prized open her father’s mouth, carefully pouring the contents of the bowl down his throat.
She whispered the last magic words and gently closed the dead man’s mouth. She passed the bowl to Kang, stood back and watched. Silence fell on the room as everyone waited to see what would happen next. Morag too, horrified and fascinated at the same time, could not keep herself from staring at the dead warlock.
But nothing happened.
Mephista frowned. She looked questioningly at Kang and Tanktop, but they looked back at her blankly. She turned to her father’s body again. “Tanktop, you promised me this would work!” were the only words the witch managed before she noticed a strange look on the Klapp demon’s face. Tanktop was staring at his master, opening and closing his large mouth like a fish out of water. He pointed to Devlish. Mephista turned to look, her eyes shining with hope as she saw Devlish blink. She ran to his side, slipped an arm under his and helped him sit up.
“Father!” Her voice was breathless and full of emotion. “You’ve come back to me. You’re alive.”
The warlock closed his eyes, body swaying. He opened them again and looked around. Frowning, he stared at her as if he were trying to work out who she was.
“Don’t you recognize me, Father?” she asked.
The warlock stared beyond her, caught sight of Kang’s smirk and nodded, then looked back at Mephista. “Of course I know you, my daughter.” He smiled.
That was enough to reassure Mephista. She turned and gave Morag a triumphant look. “Kang,” she said, not taking her eyes off Morag, “help my father to his feet and take him to his quarters. He’ll need rest. Tanktop, get rid of the girl.”
“What does your ladyship want me to do with her?”
“I don’t care. Throw her to the wolves, throw her in the sea like that other maid, anything. Just make sure she never troubles me again.”
The demon bowed. “And the wizard, my lady?” he asked, indicating with his thumb to where Montgomery still lay.
“I haven’t finished with him. Take him up to my room.”
Tanktop bowed low as Mephista followed Kang and the newly risen Devlish into the corridor. “Throw her to the wolves, she says, throw her to the snarling, biting wolves!” he muttered to himself as soon as they were gone. “And how does she think I’m going to do that without getting eaten myself?”
“You could just take me to the edge of the forest. Leave me there for the wolves,” Morag suggested. �
�She’d never know. And I won’t tell her.”
The demon strode over and peered closely into her face. The stench from his breath was overpowering, and Morag, already sickened by what she had seen moments earlier, was forced to pull away.
“My lady is expecting you to die,” he said matter-of-factly. “I cannot disobey her.”
“You can’t kill me,” she said as he began to untie her. “Not after my friends saved your life.”
The demon frowned at her.
“Your friends saved me?”
“Don’t you remember? A few months ago when you were in Kyle’s boat and we caught you trying to steal Bertie’s satchel?”
The demon nodded.
“My friends didn’t kill you then. They even fed you your favorite food. So you shouldn’t kill me now. One good turn deserves another?” Morag tried hopefully.
Tanktop thought about this for a moment. The girl was right: he had been treated fairly well by her friends. On the other hand, her ladyship was good to him too. She hadn’t turned him into anything nasty yet—unlike his uncle Bobble-hat, whom Mephista had transformed into a lit candle after she overheard him telling a joke about her. His mother never had managed to get the wax out of the carpet.
“No, I cannot let you go,” he said, shaking the rope from the girl’s body. “I must obey my ladyship. She’d turn me into a fork or a door handle or something worse if she found out.”
With a large bony hand tightly gripping her shoulder, Tanktop led the protesting girl out of the dungeon. As Morag left she glanced regretfully at Montgomery lying on the cold dank floor. Her heart sank. She had come to save him, but now she was the one who needed saving. She wished she could do something for him, but the demon shoved her on insistently.
“You’re not really going to leave me for the wolves, are you?” she ventured as she was marched up the stairs. She knew the Klapp demon was a horrible, spiteful creature, but surely even he wouldn’t stoop so low as to kill her in cold blood? Then she remembered Queen Flora and the dart that killed her, and Tanktop’s words that the Queen had been “of no use anymore.” She balked. Mephista had used her for her blood and now she was of no further use. Why would the demon treat her any differently?
As Tanktop kicked open the door at the top of the landing and shoved her through, she desperately tried to conjure something that would stop him in his tracks, but she was too terrified to think clearly. She was bundled into the dark corridor, past a huge tapestry depicting the gigantic figure of Devlish crushing Marnoch Mor beneath his feet.
It was then that she heard a loud clunk, a small whimper and the whump of a body hitting the flagstone floor.
She spun around to find Tanktop lying unconscious on the ground.
“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” a voice in the darkness said.
Chelsea stepped into the light and stood over the demon, a heavy silver candlestick in her hand. “He’s one of the really nasty ones. Sneaky little …”
“Chelsea! Am I glad to see you,” Morag cried. “But where are the others? Aren’t Shona, Bertie and Aldiss with you?”
“I’ve got them hiding in the woods,” replied the girl. “I had to come back to get a cure for …” She paused, for the news was not good. “It’s Aldiss …,” she began.
“What about him? Is he all right?” Morag grabbed the girl as if about to shake the information from her.
“No, he’s not,” Chelsea told her. “He was hit by a poisoned dart. He’s very ill. If we don’t do something, he’ll die.”
“Where is he? Take me to him!” she urged, forgetting all about Montgomery.
It was easy to sneak back outside. They ran out the side door and straight to a little clearing a few meters into the wood. Shona and Bertie raced to greet Morag, but all the girl could think of was her rat friend and she batted away their questions. “Where is he?” she asked, searching the ground.
“We’ve laid him down here,” Shona said, stepping aside to reveal Aldiss lying on a bed of bracken. Morag knelt by him and placed her hand on his shivering body. The little rat, whiskers quivering with fever, opened his eyes briefly and then fell back into a deep sleep. “He needs a doctor,” Morag said. “We need to get him home.”
Shona shook her head, her yellow eyes full of sorrow. “By the time we get him back to the mainland it’ll be too late for him, Morag,” she said emotionally.
“He’s dying,” Bertie whispered.
“No!” Morag sobbed. “There must be something we can do for him!” She looked from Shona to Bertie and back again. “We can’t give up on him!”
Bertie and Shona hung their heads and a large tear trickled down Bertie’s feathered face. Morag couldn’t believe it. Aldiss couldn’t be dying. That was unthinkable. Stroking his little head, she frantically thought of what they should do next, but her mind was a blank.
“What about your bag?” she asked the dodo tearfully. “It can make any food you ask for. Couldn’t it come up with something?”
“We’ve tried that,” Bertie replied. “It didn’t work.… The forest … it interferes with magic, just as Ivy said.”
“What does Henry think? Surely he could help?”
Bertie looked at Shona, who looked at Morag.
“We were rather hoping you’d tell us that,” said Bertie.
“Isn’t he with you?” Shona asked.
“No, he came off when I was sucked into that whirlwind,” Morag replied. She stood up. “He must still be in the castle. Chelsea, I need you to get me back inside.”
“Forget it, Morag,” said Shona. “It’s too dangerous.”
“And there won’t be enough time,” added Bertie sadly. “What if you’re caught? We’ll lose Aldiss and you.”
Morag was insistent. “I don’t care. I’m going back. I must find Henry. He’s the only one who can save Aldiss now. In any case, Montgomery’s still in there.”
Morag and Chelsea crept along the corridor until they found the door that led down to the dungeons. Tanktop was no longer lying on the ground, and Morag’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that he was probably looking for her right now. She opened the door and quickly pulled Chelsea inside.
Together the girls ran until they reached the foot of the stairwell where Morag had been attacked by Tanktop’s tornado. She cursed herself for not bringing a Moonstone, as it was as dark as a coal cellar and therefore difficult to see anything on the ground.
“Henry,” she called in a loud whisper. “Are you here? Henry? Hello!”
She felt across the cold flagstones for any sign of the medallion, but could not find him anywhere. She climbed up and down the stairs several times, and asked Chelsea to look as well, but eventually Morag had to accept that Henry was not there. She sat down on the steps and thought over the events that had led up to her being taken. She had felt herself being sucked up into the vortex, when Aldiss had grabbed Henry and tried to pull her down. The wind had picked up, and she had felt the chain scraping across her neck, Henry slipping over her head, into the air and …
“He got caught round a torch!” she remembered excitedly.
There were three nearby, all looking as if they were leaning over to get a better view of whoever might come down the stairs. They flickered in the drafts that swept up and down the stairwell, sending Morag and Chelsea’s shadows dancing on the walls behind them. Morag peered up at the one closest to her. Then she smiled. There, twisted around the metal sconce, was the unmistakable glitter of Henry’s chain, and propped up against the sparking oil torch was the medallion himself.
“Kneel down,” Morag urged Chelsea, who frowned.
“What? Why?”
“I can’t reach him. I need to climb up on you to get closer.”
Grumbling, Chelsea did as she was asked, and felt Morag put a foot on her back and then, with a rocking motion, heave herself up. Standing unsteadily, Morag stretched up and grabbed the chain. She untangled it and pulled until it was loosened. Henry came flying down and wo
uld have hit her on the face had she not quickly ducked out of the way. With a triumphant cry of “Yes!” Morag leapt to the stairs and helped Chelsea to her feet.
They both peered at Henry.
“What’s wrong with him?” Chelsea asked. “Why are his eyes closed?”
“He must have been knocked out when he fell off my neck,” said Morag. “Poor Henry …”
“Ooooh!” said Henry, coming round. “Where am I? When is this? Who are you? You’re not Magma …”
His tiny eyes flickered open and he stared up at the girls, disdain washing over his face. He grimaced. “I don’t like girls,” he added with a snort.
Morag rolled her eyes. “Henry, it’s me, Morag. We’re in Murst Castle. We’ve come to rescue Montgomery,” she said. “Except that something worse has happened.”
“Worse? What’s worse than being in this horrible place?” the medallion complained.
“Oh, Henry, it’s all gone wrong. Montgomery is still trapped, Aldiss has been injured and is probably dying, and … Mephista has brought Devlish back to life,” she added quickly.
Chelsea gawped. “You never told me that when you brought me back in here,” she said. “If I had known that I wouldn’t have come.”
“I just wanted to get in here, find Montgomery and Henry and leave,” Morag said. “Henry, you must help us. Aldiss was hit by a poisonous dart, the same kind that killed Queen Flora. If we don’t do something, he’ll die.”
“Who’s Aldiss?” asked the medallion.
“The rat!” Chelsea hissed.
“I know a rat? How odd …,” he replied.
“Henry, please! Try to remember, it’s important. Aldiss is sick. You’ve got to help him, there’s no one else we can ask,” said Morag, close to tears.
“I don’t think I can help you,” replied the medallion flatly. “I don’t even know who I am, let alone how to help some strange rat with a poison dart.”
And then he began to hum to himself a merry little tune that Morag found extremely irritating under the circumstances. It was Chelsea who acted. She grabbed the medallion from Morag’s hand, swung him by the chain and slammed him against the wall.