A Wizard of Dreams (Myrddin's Heir Book 1)

by Robin Chambers

  Two women sat on stools either side of the fire. They were lighting long-stemmed clay pipes with straw spills poked into the fire. Puffing contentedly, they added to the general fug in the well-smoked room. Their simple clothes belonged to a past century. Gordon had seen pictures just like them in a history book. They were talking with thinly disguised glee about someone of great interest.

  “It wur Meg Kershaw saw ‘er first, wuren’ it Jeannie?” the younger of the two women asked.

  The older woman shook her head. “No, Annie, naat strickly. Cummin’ baak from Melton, Meg wur, an’ takin’ the short cut rown’ th’edge of Squire’s Wood. She saw smoke cummin’ from the chimbley.” Jeannie’s eyes reflected the flames. “Well, you know ‘ow long thaat caattage bin empty. Yeers it’s bin since Old Joseph wur took from us, God rest ‘is soul. An' by nex' marnin’ the roof mended as if by maagic. No, 'twur Molly Arkwright aakchly saw 'er first."

  “Ow wur thaat then?" Annie asked. She seemed as eager to hear the story as Jeannie was to tell it.

  "Well,” Jeannie said. She leaned forward, and used the stem of her pipe for emphasis. “T’wur a day or two later. Molly Arkwright wur goin' to visit 'er old aant - you know, 'er as lives out on the Melton Road.”

  Annie nodded eagerly. Knew how to make a good story last did old Jeannie.

  “On the way, Molly notices all the windows in Joseph's caattage bin mended! The garden wur tended, an' a new coat of whitewaash on the walls. Well it ne’er looked thaat good all the days Old Joe wur in’t, an' thaat's further baak than most folks remember. She remembers thinking "Whaat's all this then?"

  Annie nodded wisely. "Staands to reason, doanit? Squire be up to summat."

  "SO," Jeannie continued, "on the way baak, she goes very slow like, dawdles paast the front gate; an’ whaat should she see but a fine-lookin' woman in a blaak dress of very best claath, drawin' water from the well! "Good day!" Molly calls out, all friendly like."

  The old woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. It didn't do to speak of such things out loud. Her young companion bent obligingly towards her and placed her ear close. These were the best kind of stories - the ones that could send a shiver up your spine.

  "An' ‘er swings rownd," the old woman whispered, "an' looks right through Molly, like she wuren't there. Grey-green eyes, but they wuren’t seein' nuthin'. Molly reckoned ‘er spirit ‘ud left 'er baady and gaan sumwhures else."

  "Walkin' abraad," Annie breathed, her eyes shining with excitement. She'd heard there could be some right carryings-on when spirits walked abroad. Course, it was normally at night, when the moon was full.

  "Molly says a shiver went right through 'er, like somebody walked over 'er grave. She felt a "presence”. It wuren’t no farce for good neither."

  "I'd ‘a’ wet mesself, I reckon" said Annie.

  Jeannie sniffed dismissively. "Anyways," she continued at a more normal volume, "Madam ‘Igh-An'-Mighty picks up 'er pitcher and sweeps into the ‘ouse without a word nor a baakward glaance." Gordon had to concentrate really hard at first to catch most of what was being said. Zack was better at it than he was, which was helping.

  The mention of a pitcher reminded Annie that her mug was empty. She stood up as if to stretch her legs, but let it dangle to show there was nothing left in it. Her eyes strayed to the pitcher of dandelion wine sitting invitingly on the sideboard.

  "Molly wur lucky I reckon," she declared. "The Evil Eye must 'a' bin with the witch from 'afore she ever cursed this paarish with 'er lah-di-dah presence."

  "Very like," Jeannie agreed. Her shrewd old eyes had caught the other woman's glance at the pitcher. Her own mug had been drained a while back. "Seein' as 'ow you're on them young feet o' yourn, why not fetch us both another draaft of thaat daandelion wine you've got yer eye on. It is a good brew, if I says so as shouldn't.” She held her mug up.

  Well-known for her superior dandelion wine, old Jeannie was. Her young friend grasped it readily and took the two steps needed to cross the stone-flagged floor and reach the pitcher. Gordon was standing right next to the sideboard, directly in the woman's line of sight.

  "Good morning!" he said loudly. It was as if he’d just dropped in and his presence in their cottage was the most natural thing in the world. The woman looked right through him, giving no indication that she had seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.

  She poured two generous measures into their mugs and carried them carefully back to her seat, intent on not spilling a drop. She handed Jeannie hers, then took a deep pull out of her own, lessening the chances of losing any, before lowering herself into her chair.

  “How weird,” Gordon said. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

  NOTES

  STRAW SPILLS; “IT WUR MEG KERSHAW ...

  Chapter 40

  The Evil Eye

  “’Twurn’t long aa’er thaat," Annie said, "little Jacob wur struck down, as I recall.” She smoothed out some creases in her long skirt,

  "No, ’twurn’t," Jeannie agreed, "no mar’n a week aa’er. Sneaked up to 'er winder 'e did, brave little mite. Did it as a dare, with the other kids crouched be'ind the ’edge at a safe distance.”

  She gazed at the imagined scene, her mind’s eye filling in the details. “'E saw the finest furniture, like up at the 'all. Graand mirrors everywhere. Silk an’ velvet, an' a table laid with silver.” She shuddered with dread. “But she saw 'is little 'ed she did. 'Er face turned to thunder, eyes the colour a’ smoke an’ steel, an' a tongue as sharp as a sword.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “'E could see 'er lips movin' but no sownd wur cummin' owt. ‘E felt a staabbin’ sensation in ‘is leg, like sumwun wur stickin' needles into 'im." She gestured at the straw spills in the hearth. "Light me one 'o they spills, Annie, there's a dear," she wheezed. "I'm a-talkin' so much, me pipe's gaan clean owt."

  Annie came to the obvious conclusion. "She set a curse on 'im thaat day.” She held the spill in the fire and waited for it to sputter into flame. “Told 'im she'd teech ‘im a lesson ‘e wouldn't forget." She handed the spill to Jeannie, who poked the burning end into the bowl of her pipe and sucked generous mouthfuls of smoky air through the tobacco.

  "Aye," she said, her head partially obscured by the clouds of smoke. "All them other kids 'eard 'er. Standin' in ‘er doorway with ‘er arm stretched owt and 'er finger pointin’ straight at 'im. ‘A lesson you will not forget.’ Them wur the words all right.”

  She shook her had sadly. “An' 'im not 'avin' the sense 'e wur born with, an' a cheeky little bugger to boot, 'e calls owt: ‘Caan't caatch me with a belly full a’ tea; you got a face like a bumble bee.’"

  Annie was replenishing her pipe from an old pouch that hung off her belt. "'E'd needed 'is little baakside skelped fer a while afore thaat," she declared, "but all the same, 'e didn't deserve to be struck down.” She took the spill from Jeannie and applied it to the bowl of her own pipe.

  “Do you think we should have a look around?” Gordon asked Zack.

  Zack extricated himself. Why don’t you keep listening while I look out the window? I’m not going far. I don’t want you whisked away without me.”

  "The very nex' day it wur," Jeannie said, taking an appreciative swig of dandelion wine to sweeten the taste of the tobacco. "Woke up with the fever on 'im, an' nuthin' anywun could do ‘bowt it."

  "'is poor mother," Annie said. Her nose was in the mug of pleasantly intoxicating liquor. "Whaat she must've gaan through.” She swallowed loudly and burped. "It doan' bear thinkin' ‘bowt."

  “’Course, she went to the witch an' begged 'er," Jeannie said, waving the long stem of her pipe as if it were a magic wand. 'Please lift the curse! 'E's only a little mite. I'll do anythin' you waant! I know 'e did wrong, but it wur only a little wrong. Take the evil eye off of ‘im, I beg you!'" She took another pull on the pipe. The tobacco glowed obligingly.

  "’Eart 'a' stone," Annie said. She drained her mug and felt rather unsteady. "Wunce the devil gets into 'em."


  Gordon thought he’d try it. He leaned over and tried to tap the older woman on the shoulder. His hand went right through her. She shuddered violently.

  "You all right Jeannie?” Annie asked her anxiously. It didn't do to talk out loud about the devil's doings. She looked around doubtfully. Her gaze swept through Gordon, whom clearly, she could not see.

  "Sumwun jus' walked over my grave I reckon," Jeannie said. "Mebbe all this talk a’ witches an' curses doan' do nobaady no good. An' thaat poor lad with 'is withered leg. Never run again, will 'e, not if ‘e lives to be an 'undred, which doan' seem too likely."

  Annie patted the old lady's knee comfortingly. "Doan' you pay no mind" she told her. "Today we'll see the witch gaan for good, an' good riddance!”

  NOTES

  SKELPED

  Chapter 41

  A Night To Remember

  The house they were in faced directly on to the village green. It was ablaze with life and colour and movement. One corner was taken up with brightly painted caravans. Tinkers and pedlars were crying their wares all along one side. Everywhere was thronged with people.

  Zack gazed out of the window, and it was to the middle of the green that Gordon's eyes were drawn. He zoomed in. A great stake had been sunk into the ground. A small platform was fastened to it about six feet above the ground. A thick pile of brushwood was stacked under it.

  It was big enough to stand a witch on, with her hands tied round the stake above her head. A stout nail had been driven into the back of the stake - to stop the rope from slipping down when the victim's knees gave way. That way everybody could be sure of a good view to the very end.

  The terrible cruelty of it went through Gordon's heart like a knife.

  "We doan' waan' no more nights like thaat wun we 'aad on All ‘Allows E’en, year afore laast," Jeannie was saying. “I never saw nor ‘eard nuthin' like thaat night.” She drained her mug and smacked her lips with relish. "Doan' mind if’n I do" she told Annie, holding the mug out for a refill.

  Annie leapt to her feet with relish. As she poured, the old lady reminisced. "If ever the devil came down to earth," she said slowly, slurring her words ever so slightly, "’e came down thaat night. My door wur bolted and my winders shutter'd. The lightnin' flaashed an' 'issed through the cracks an’ the thunder fair aaddled my brain.”

  Her voice moaned at the memory. “No God-fearing soul dared walk abraad thaat night. The wind 'owled like an 'undred demons."

  "'Ad the answer by the followin' Spring though, din’t we?!" Annie said triumphantly. She handed Jeannie her third mugful. That would definitely have to be the last; the ground had started to sway as if they were on board ship, sailing to goodness knows where. "Molly again it wur oo saw 'er, in the caattage doorway. Five months gaan with child."

  The room was nodding in agreement, so Jeannie kept her head still. "An' 'er never with no visitor by day, nor none by night neither. Some of the bizzybaadies rownd 'ere would 'a' seed ‘im cummin' or goin'."

  "Thaat's very true," Annie agreed, "though I 'ave 'eard tell a’ lamps burning an' voices raised in argument in the dead 'o' night, when decent folk’re safe in their beds."

  "I ‘eard thaat", said Jeannie, not about to admit she was in the dark about anything. "But I never pays no 'eed to gaassip, you know thaat."

  Annie began to nod vigorously - to indicate that indeed she did know that - but decided it was a bad idea. She settled instead for pointing the stem of her pipe at a particular puzzle. It was one that had bothered her for some time.

  "You know it vexes me," she said. She paused to allow a moment of silence to add weight to what she was about to say. “Squire Daavenport never took no 'aand. It be 'is caattage aa’er all. She wur on 'is laand."

  "Never took no hand!" echoed a scornful and significantly more refined voice behind Gordon. He jumped and whirled around. Zack melted back into him as breath into the wind. Standing behind him was the woman he had seen in the windscreen and in his bedroom window and in the mirror. Her eyes flashed anger and contempt.

  "Ignorant harridans,” she exclaimed, “knowing no more of this world's affairs than do the cows they milk each morning!" She walked over to where Jeannie was pouring dandelion wine down her throat and deliberately stood in her space. Gordon could quite clearly see the shape of this woman and that of Jeannie blending together.

  The old woman began to shake violently. The pewter knocked against her teeth and the wine dribbled down her chin. "Whaa’ever is it Jeannie?!" Annie cried.

  She put down her pipe and mug and reached over to Jeannie to comfort her. As soon as her arms entered Jeannie's space, she too fell to shaking and trembling. She tugged at the old woman's arm, and what was left of Jeannie's dandelion wine splashed out on to the floor as she was dragged up out of her seat.

  "Cum away Jeannie!” You could hear the rising panic in Annie's voice. "There be some evil presence in this room! May God forgive us our trespaasses and deliver us from evil, aamen!” She made a sign of the cross as the pair of them tottered towards the front door of the cottage. "Cum away!"

  The woman smiled at Gordon. "You have done well, child," she said softly. "Take my hand.” Gordon reached out and took her hand. It felt warm and reassuring. He found he was standing again in the front room of their holiday cottage. His mother was just coming through the door.

  NOTES

  ALL ‘ALLOWS E’EN; AS BREATH INTO THE WIND; HARRIDAN

  Chapter 42

  The Hall Of Mirrors

  “My Goodness!” Edith exclaimed, looking around the room. “Where on Earth did you find all these? No, don’t tell me,” she added as her husband opened his mouth. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “They were in the attic.”

  “Well spotted, Miss Marple,” he said. “What do you think? Gordon and I thought they’d brighten the place up.”

  “You and Gordon were right,” Edith said. “It’s so much brighter. All this reflected sunlight! But how weird is that? No mirrors at all in the cottage living spaces, with an attic stuffed full of them and one in the back garden.”

  She walked slowly from mirror to mirror and stopped when she noticed something. “Look, this mirror lines up with the one on the opposite wall. I can see reflections of myself going back and back into the distance.” Her voice was slowing and becoming dreamier as she reached the end of the sentence.

  Gordon grabbed her hand and steered her to one of the armchairs. “We thought we’d enjoy them while we’re here. We can put them back before we leave,” he explained.

  His mum nodded. “I don’t suppose anyone can mind really,” she agreed. “Thirteen hooks and thirteen fine old mirrors in a tiny country cottage! I bet there’s a story behind that somewhere.

  “You’d better believe it,” Zack murmured.

  They set off shortly afterwards. The plan was to explore the village, have lunch at the pub and go to the fair when it opened at 2pm.

  Little Melling had a medieval church. The pub was the original Tudor, timber-framed building with a thatched roof. The whole area had a long history and bucketsful of olde worlde charm. It attracted thousands of visitors in the summer months and a steady stream throughout the year. There was an Arts, Crafts and Souvenirs shop, a small post office and several food outlets specialising in local produce.

  Gordon felt sure that events would unfold in their own good time. The story had come to him so far, just like it did in his dreams. If anything more were required of him, the story would come to him again.

  The pub’s interior was cheerfully busy, but there were plenty of tables outside. They were able to find a free one with an umbrella to keep off the strong, summer sun. Its grounds backed on to the Village Green, giving them a good view of the final preparations for the Summer Fair.

  There were tents with striped awnings, roundabouts and Try-Your-Luck stalls. Lots of cars were unloading local arts and crafts. There were ice-cream vans and toffee apple vendors. It was all bustle, noise, and growing excitement.


  After a hearty Ploughman’s and a pint of “Beheaded”, Victor’s thoughts were turning towards an afternoon nap. It was a good thing that the fair opened on time and got them moving again.

  People were pouring on to the Green. They must have come from miles around. Everywhere there was life and colour and movement. There were babies in prams and pushchairs, and old people in wheelchairs and power-chairs. Gaggles of teenage girls squealed loudly enough to be noticed, while groups of teenage boys tried to look worldly-wise and pretended not to notice. Add to that the couples and the parents, the stallholders, St John’s Ambulance, local cadet, scout and guide groups, visiting church and coach parties …

  Gordon wanted to stand, as near as he could judge it, on the very spot where the woman who looked exactly like his mother, and who talked to him as if he were her own child, had been burned at the stake as a witch. That was easier said than done. The Green had been swallowed up by all the fun of the fair, and it was difficult to judge distances from all four sides in order to find the middle.

  His parents kept being sidetracked by stalls, but eventually he manoeuvred them to a spot as close to the middle as he could reasonably get. Zack zoomed up another twenty feet to give him a bird’s eye view. It was quite weird looking down at himself.

  Above the cheerful din of the fair came the unmistakable toll of the church bell. ONE ... TWO ... THREE ... “Both time and place do now adhere,” Zack murmured, back where he belonged at Gordon’s side. He pointed at a small, red and white striped tent, three or four metres from where they were standing. The sign over the entrance flap said "HALL OF MIRRORS".

  “Can we go in the Hall of Mirrors please?” Gordon asked.

  “Tell you what,” Victor suggested. “You and your mum go in there while I go and get us some ice-creams.”

  The tent was shaded and empty. There was a line of full length mirrors placed around its wall. Gordon and his mum stood for a moment and counted them. There were thirteen. Edith shivered suddenly. “It’s OK, mum,” Gordon said. “We’re meant to be here, just you and me.”