by R A Lindo
She’s still in her dressing gown, the once-perfect blonde hair a bit of mess. After an awkward silence, she ushers us in and I use some Oomph powder to light the fire. Rehabilitated witches and wizards are banned from using magic, meaning mum’s limited to a mundane life: an ex witch sitting alone with only her regret for company.
“I’ll make some tea,” Conrad says to break the silence, and I sit by the fire with mum, searching for comfortable conversation.
“How’s everyone in The Cendryll?” she asks, still clearly missing the place.
“Fine. Jacob’s turning into a good teacher. He’s always had it in him, having to guide me growing up.”
I grimace at my stupid mistake, catching Conrad’s eye in the kitchen who gestures for me to move past it. Referring to Jacob as my substitute parent isn’t going to help move things forwards, and as I’m on a mission of forgiveness I change the subject. “Jacob’s coming round later; he said to let you know.”
“That’s good,” mum adds, studying the fire as if she relies on it for company. “He always brings flowers.”
She’s broken … a powerless figure who was a few steps away from ending up in The Velynx. I’m not sure living here alone is much better, but she’s still got her family around her — not that I’ve played the dutiful daughter role very well.
“It’s Jacob’s birthday soon. I hope you can make it,” mum says, keeping her eyes on the fire as if I’m somewhere else in the room.
I turn my attention away from her, looking out of the window into the darkness, studying the waves of defensive and protective charms swarming around the twisted building. As much as it protects her, it traps her too, and I know there isn’t much I can do about it. “I’ll be here,” I say, forcing myself to utter the words. It will be the first birthday party I’ve attended since mum’s demise.
We never celebrated birthdays growing up, something I still struggle with, but harbouring grudges is what I’m fighting against so I stand and help Conrad with the tea, wishing I could feel more for a mother whose compassion is buried deep inside her.
Like our visit to The Cendryll, I’m aiming to keep this brief, keen to avoid an extended stay and aware that we’ve got a date with Joseph Flint in The Chattering Tap. We got him out of a possible arrest in The Shallows which doesn’t mean he’s got off scot-free. He’s still got to explain the reason he got involved with Alice Aradel in the first place, starting with how they got in contact.
“You look happy,” mum says, offering a sad smile to Conrad and me perched on the armchair by the fire.
I wish I could change things for her, but I can’t. She made an irreversible error of judgement so all I can do now is continue to search for the compassion she never had. I’m not the little girl who needs her approval anymore, understanding the scar her cold detachment has left.
I’ve got Conrad and Jacob to heal those wounds, I remind myself, sipping the tea and letting the silence linger, ready to return to The Winter Quarter and an eccentric wizard who had a lucky escape this morning.
I say my goodbyes with a gentle kiss on my mum’s forehead, promising to return for Jacob’s twenty-first birthday in a few weeks. We also say goodbye to Laieya and Erivan for a while, remembering that creatures and humans exits on an equal footing. Our feathered friends have their own places to roam, temporarily free of the duty we have chosen to burden ourselves with.
With Laieya and Erivan squawking a temporary farewell, we make our way to the small study by the narrow door in a corner of the room. Going through the standard ritual of pulling the brass door handle outwards, we squeeze through and shut it behind us, occupying an all-glass room.
From here, we can study all buildings in each of the quarters making up The Society Sphere: The Winter Quarter, The Gothic Quarter, The Hollow Quarter and The Singing Quarter. This used to be Isiah Renn’s house, after all, the once-infamous wizard who turned out to be the Society’s saviour. During Isiah’s time as a wanted man, this room of glass served him well, providing a bird's-eye view onto every aspect of the Society: ideal for a man in hiding.
Each part of the room of glass moves, the floors becoming walls and the walls becoming ceilings, bringing on a feeling of dizziness as I try to zone in on the image of The Chattering Tap. Conrad handles the moving walls and floors better than I do, probably because he’s more used to spinning and free falling with his Williynx.
The image of The Chattering Tap appears beneath our feet, Conrad tracking the moving floor as it becomes a wall. He taps the pane of glass framing the desired location, causing the image to separate from the glass structure, stretching as it floats down and wraps itself around us. All that’s left to do is to reach out through the image as if we’re piercing a fine layer of Society life.
We’re inside the busy pub seconds later, stepping between two tables as we make our way to the crowded bar. I keep an eye out for Joseph Flint: a wizard who owes us a round of Jysyn Juice. We find Joseph in his usual position, sitting at the bar surrounded by a rowdy crowd who are trying to get Lorina Lellant’s attention: the girl with a crush on Conrad. Joseph spots us as we approach the bar, offering a forced smile.
He knows he’s about to be questioned on his secret meetings with Alice Aradel, and he’s clearly on edge about it. At least he’s not trying to sneak out again, like he did earlier this morning. That would make him look suspicious which wouldn’t bode well for him. I push my way through the impatient group of twenty-something Society members, returning Lorina Lellant’s glare. She can pine after Conrad all she wants; he’s mine.
“Miss Grayling, Master Kusp,” Joseph Flint offers as we sit on either side of him at the bar.
“Oi!” comes an annoyed grunt from the tallest of the twenty-somethings shoving into us: crude wizards with an attitude problem. “They’re our seats, little girl.”
The comment brings a hush to the pub — an acknowledgement of a mistake made. At the risk of sounding big headed, Eli Blin should have done his homework: a thin, oily specimen. His limited brain cells and sense of entitlement make him ignorant to Society history, including my skill in battle.
He’s already had two warnings about his attitude, the last one linked to his secret taunting of one of the men in his group: Adam Creswell. Adam’s got a stammer which the rest of the group endlessly tease him about. They’re not his friends, but Adam’s chosen safety in numbers as a survival tactic: a boy who isn’t cut out for Society life.
“I said they’re our seats, little girl, so unless you … ”
Eli doesn’t get to finish his sentence … a small object floating towards his head, making him lose his balance … his skinny frame leaning one way then the other to the delight of the pub. It’s fair to say Eli isn’t a popular character, and the slow clapping starts, signalling the start of mild combat.
Eli’s bravest comrade reaches for something in his pocket, only to have his hand wrapped around his neck courtesy of the Weveris charm: a simple web to end his involvement. With Eli still struggling to regain his balance, I step closer to him, ducking as he swings at me.
“You little upstart,” he spits as he swings again, failing to make contact. “Get the Ozzer off me!” he demands, still under the illusion he’s got any control over the situation.
An Ozzer is the artefact I’ve used to put him in his place: an object you throw in the air to destabilise your enemy. Eli is more an annoyance than an enemy although he needs to improve his manners, and I’m just the teacher to guide him.
“You didn’t say please, Eli.”
He swings again, this time with a lot more force, and I decide to swing back with a handful of Oomph powder — the yellow substance used to ignite an empty fireplace bringing a painful scream from him.
“All you’ve got to do is find your manners, Eli,” I add as the crowded pub continues to clap, enjoying the duel.
He’s in no fit state to fight back because he’s a second-grade wizard, granted entry into the S.P.M.A. by the skin of his teeth.
If anyone’s marked for a dark path, it’s Eli. His whole energy is wrong: a feeling I get every time I meet him.
“Okay, please,” he finally relents and I deactivate the Ozzer, knowing this isn’t the end of it.
As he whips out his arm, attempting to send the Promesiun charm my way, I spin into a Disira charm, vanishing from sight before reappearing behind him, framed by fire. He jumps back in shock as I move towards him … the protective bubble of the Velinis charm protecting me from the fire’s flames.
The design of my defensive charms means Eli’s focused on the flames, seeming to surging out my body: an image that brings silence to The Chattering Tap.
“The Fire Witch,” Adam whispers as Eli’s cowardly crew cower at the bar, grabbing onto Joseph Flint as if he’s going to come to their aid.
The penny finally drops for Eli: the recognition that the little girl he ordered away from him knows what real danger is, and he isn’t it.
“Okay,” shouts Conrad, clapping his hands to break up the minor drama. “Back to your Society beverages.”
He ignites a Spintz charm to get my attention, sending a shower of light above me to snap me out of a burgeoning fury. “That’s enough, Guppy. We’re on Society business, remember.”
Accepting Eli’s fear as a recognition of his error, I deactivate the Velinis and Smekelin charms, letting the flames fade around me. He’s lost for words: the thin, oily bully who’s unlikely to forget who I am.
“By the way,” I say to Eli in way of conclusion. “Adam’s a good friend of mine. Yeah, he’s got a stammer but you’ve just been embarrassed by a little girl, as you like to put it. So, here’s my advice: if you don’t want to find out what fire feels like, look after Adam or I’ll take care of you.”
Eli glances at his cowardly group nervously, his oily, black hair adding to his shady energy. “Fair enough,” he finally says, gesturing for his allies to head for the exit — a slow, sarcastic clap following the group out.
Adam Creswell glances back at me, hovering at the back of the group. He doesn’t belong with them but has chosen intimidation over isolation, wondering why a girl he barely knows has helped him.
“Beauty and unity,” I whisper, remembering a time when a sinister group of wizards bullied me. I had Kaira’s dad and aunt to protect me, so I’ll be Adam’s secret guardian until he finds his confidence and proper place in the Society.
“Ready now?” Conrad asks, handing me my glass of Jysyn Juice: a non-alcoholic Society remedy. I return to my seat, raising my glass to Joseph Flint who forces another nervous smile, wondering how his day is going to end.
9
Society Matters
With Eli Blin taken care of, the focus turns to Joseph's secret visit to The Shallows. If he was a lover of Society board games like Rucklz, his trips there would make sense, but he’s an eccentric who obsesses over Society facts. The one fact he should be clear on is the consequences of suspicious behaviour.
He sips his Jysyn Juice slowly, the courage infused within it the very remedy he needs. He’ll be fine if he just tells us the truth — not so fine if he’s thinking of concocting a story to cover his tracks.
“So,” I begin, swinging my legs on the barstool, “What gives, Joseph?”
The tremor in his right hand worsens — the consequence of a charm backfiring on him in the testing phase. Joseph works in the Feleecian, the faculty for remedies, where powder of various colours fills the air. Williynx are more plentiful in the Feleecian, using their noses to assess the quality of new remedies. If they squawk, we’re onto something but if they pass out we’re not.
I found this process cruel at first until Jacob explained it was perfectly harmless. No Williynx is harmed in any way and the Society gets to catalogue new remedies: remedies used to benefit the S.P.M.A. and the above-ground world, adding a touch of magic to all things.
Obviously, non-magical people have no idea that the sweets in Wimples are laced with magic. The adults are bamboozled by the moving illustrations that form on the tongue, and their children don’t care — the wonder of it all enough to bring them back again and again.
“Just my usual jaunt to The Shallows,” Joseph finally replies, placing the glass of green liquid in his lap.
“I wouldn’t say usual,” Conrad adds as the annoying presence of Lorena Lellant hovers at our end of the bar.
“Drinks, lovely?” she asks, focusing on Conrad.
“We’re fine, thanks,” he replies, keeping his back to her.
She’s all hair and smiles until that point, grabbing the empty glasses and shouting “Who’s waiting” as she walks away.
“I … I’ve been frequenting The Shallows more regularly recently.”
“Indeed you have, Joseph,” I add, wondering if the tremor in his right hand’s got anything to do with my little fire display a few minutes ago. “The question is why the sudden interest…?”
“I received a request.”
“From Alice Aradel…?”
Joseph nods, lowering his gaze in a gesture of contrition. “It’s quite empty beyond Poridian Parlour, Miss Grayling, mainly frequented by those down on their luck.”
“Caught out, you mean,” Conrad adds, correcting the nervous wizard. “The evening witch was hiding out in The Shallows because of the choices she made.”
His stained black cloak rests on the floor, collecting more dust, reminding me of a professor lost in thought. “It was only a few artefacts,” he states in a particularly unconvincing manner.
“Zombuls have a specific purpose,” Conrad continues, gulping down his Jysyn Juice and slamming the glass on the bar, making Joseph jump. “Which makes me wonder: what would an evening witch like Alice Aradel want with a Zombul…?”
“She said it would help to keep her entertained,” Joseph explains.
This brings a look of disbelief from Conrad and me.
“I bet it would,” I say, standing from the bar stool, “and I doubt she was planning to use a Zombul to release harmless creatures like the Quij.”
“The Society allows the trading of artefacts between its members, Miss Grayling, even those choosing self-exile.”
“True, but I also know you’re wise enough to judge a person’s intent. On that basis, do you really believe Alice Aradel intends no harm with a handful of Zombuls in her possession?”
“That thought did cross my mind, Miss Grayling, but then she hasn’t been charged with any crime.”
“Come on, Joseph,” Conrad says, looking a little annoyed. “You know she was in Erent Koll’s pocket, and her band of malevs were the ones trying to kidnap us before Koll’s downfall. We got you out of an awkward situation earlier, but playing dumb to the possible implications of your behaviour makes me wonder what you’re hiding.”
“Hiding…?” Mutters Joseph, struggling to mask his fear before adding, “Alice has a way of getting what she wants …”
“Yes,” I add, “by holding things over people: things they’d rather be kept secret. So, the question is, does your secret put you in the same bracket as Aradel and her mob …?”
“No, Miss Grayling. She … I … She has a reputation which still sends tremors through less courageous wizards. It’s the suggestion of what she might do, should her request be denied.”
The tremor in his hand gets worse all of sudden: a sign we need to back off before the shaking turns into a stroke. I’m all too familiar with Alice Aradel’s subtle threats and manipulation — the very tactics employed in Society Square to dominate black market trading until Society eyes turned on her, keen to question her loyalties. The evening witch thought better of attending an interrogation, deciding exile was the safer option.
“Easy, Joseph,” I say, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “If it’s easier, just give us an idea of what Alice really wanted the Zombuls for. Her time in The Velynx will force the rest out of her, unless she wants it to be her new home.”
Most prisoners would rather risk crossing Quibbs Causeway than rema
in locked up in a faculty laced with dark magic … The Velynx words no witch or wizard wants to hear in relation to their questionable behaviour.
“I imagine she’s looking to buy protection in The Shallows,” Joseph offers, “her disguise suggesting she’s exposed out there.”
His hands continue to shake, signalling the need to ease up on the questioning. The little knowledge we’ve gained suggests the evening witch is looking for a new mob to surround herself with, the original cast splintering once the tide turned against them.
“Well,” I say, placing my empty glass on the counter, “I’d choose my trades more wisely if I were you, Joseph. Luckily, it was us tracking you this morning; other Night Rangers might have had you arrested on suspicion of conspiring with an old foe.”
The last statement seems to tip him over the edge ... a spasm causing his right arm to fly into the air, releasing the empty glass which smashes against the wall … the green liquid landing on Lorena Lellant who screams in fury. All is forgiven, I decide, watching Joseph jump up from his stool, enacting a Disira charm to make a quick exit, keen to avoid another grilling.
I struggle to suppress a bout of laughter, watching as Conrad’s superfan storms behind the bar, slamming the tray of glasses by the half-asleep sky urchin before she vanishes behind the red, baize curtain. It’s turning out to be an entertaining morning.
“That was dramatic,” Conrad declares, wiping spots of green liquid off his face.
“The beginnings of a new charm,” I suggest, still laughing. “Just when you’re cornered, you fling out your arm with the object in it, the randomness of it catching the enemy by surprise.”
“We’d need a name for it,” Conrad adds.
“The Splat Attack,” I offer.
Conrad looks unimpressed. “Doesn’t sound very magical.”
“Rapid Splat”
“Isn’t that a kids’ game?” he asks, drawing more laughter.
With our morning duties now complete, we have the rest of the day to ourselves.