Copyright © 2014 by T. J. Wooldridge
Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.
Spencer Hill Middle Grade
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spencer Hill Middle Grade, an imprint of Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA
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First Edition: December 2014.
Wooldridge, T. J. 1978
The Earl’s Childe : a novel / by T. J. Wooldridge - 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary:
Summoned as liaison between humans and faerie, an 11-year old girl is informed by the fey nobles that a creature more dangerous than her kelpie is claiming rights to MacArthur lands.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: American Idol, BlackBerry, Biscoff, Criss Angel, Disney, Facebook, Ford F-250, The History Channel, Jeep, Jiminy Cricket, Marmite, Men in Black, Nutella, Superman, Swarovski, Swiss Army, Velcro, Vicodin
Cover design by Slake Saunders
Interior layout by K. Kaynak
ISBN (paperback) 9781939392435
ISBN (e-book) 9781939392442
Printed in the United States of America
The Earl’s Childe
T. J. Wooldridge
Cast of Characters
Heather Marie MacArthur—I’m the one telling the story. And trust me, sometimes I can’t keep all these people straight!
My Immediate Family
Michael MacArthur and Aimee MacArthur are also known as “Dad” and “Mum.”
Rowan MacArthur is my next-younger brother.
Ivy and Ash MacArthur are my youngest sister and brother; they are twins.
Lily MacArthur is my older half-sister.
Rose Bujoirnais MacArthur is my oldest sister, whom Dad adopted.
And there’s also Hunter Milan, who is Rose’s fiancée.
The Royal Family
Prince Joseph is my best friend and either third or fourth in line to the throne. I think.
Prince Christopher is Joe’s dad and definitely second in line. That much I know because it’s in all the papers.
Princess Maryan is Joe’s mum who’s from Bahrain, but swore allegiance to England so she could marry Prince Christopher.
Princess Annette is Joe’s sister, next-oldest to him, and likes being called “Annie.”
Prince Richard is Joe’s youngest brother.
Prince Albert is Prince Christopher’s younger brother.
Other Important People
The McInnis family is originally from Ireland. Now they live on the castle property and they are in charge of keeping it up.
Mr. Jack McInnis is in charge of all the outdoor castle stuff, like the farm and garden
Mrs. Marie McInnis runs everything that goes on inside the castle.
Miss Eliza McInnis is the Mcinnis’ daughter who works at the castle. She is second-in-charge to her mum.
Mickey McInnis is the McInnis’ son who takes care of our farm animals.
Ginny Roberts is Mum and Dad’s assistant who keeps all of our schedules mostly sane.
Anita Cano is our nanny, who I’m way too old for, but who cares for all of us. Even Mum and Dad, sometimes.
Jonathan is Joe’s immediate bodyguard, the nice one.
For Mom and Dad,
for all the love, support, and good parenting
CHAPTER
1
A kelpie is not a horse. A kelpie is not a horse. A kelpie is NOT A HORSE!
A kelpie is a pain in my…
My chore after dinner is to feed my kelpie.
A kelpie, if you don’t know, is a carnivorous faery horse. Before I accidentally gave him a piece of my soul, this particular kelpie had killed two kids near the old castle my family and I lived in and had almost killed another family friend, six-year-old Sarah Beth Garrity. Feeding such a monster consists of dumping a bunch of stinky fish into his trough or chasing chickens or peafowl into his pen so he can kill them.
We won’t even get into manure duty. It redefines “EWWWW!”
It was about a week after we “captured” him when Mum stopped me on the way out the door. “Heather?”
“Yeah?” I turned to face her as she leaned on her office door.
“Why don’t you actually do something with Ehrwnmyr tonight? After you feed him?” “What…what do you mean?”
“Do something with him,” she repeated. “Even if it’s just basic exercises in the round pen.”
My lips twitched. I didn’t answer right away.
“How do you expect to change him into something good if all you do is feed him? Have you even tried grooming him?”
“He’s not…like a regular horse,” I protested, but knew she was right. I was now his guardian. If I had a good soul, I had the power to make the kelpie good. To make him not a monster. I was told this by Lady Fana and Lord Cadmus, the “ruling” daoine síth, or fey nobility, who lived in a part of Faerie that overlapped my family’s land when I “consulted” with them after we captured the kelpie.
I hoped my soul was good enough…
“He doesn’t even have proper fur. It’s like…little tentacle thingies.”
Mum leaned back in her chair, arms folded, and waited. And waited.
I sighed. “I suppose I could just ask him about brushing his fur and exercise and stuff. It’s not like he won’t share his opinion.”
Mum chuckled. “You want me to check on you in about an hour?”
Actually, I kind of did want her to check on me. I knew Ehrwnmyr was bound, so he couldn’t ever hurt me…but still. “You’ve got a deadline, and you have sleep-away horse camp planning to do.”
“And a headache from both. I’m gonna finish a few more emails, and I’ll meet you down at the round pen, ’kay?”
“Sure.” Biting my lip, I gave her a half-smile. “Thanks,
Mum.”
“Hurry up. He’s still an animal, so I’m sure he thinks he’s starving to death or something.”
As I approached Ehrwnmyr’s stable—we couldn’t keep him anywhere near the other horses—I squinted to make out his form against the lapping water that filled half his paddock.
He lay perfectly still on his side, hooves touching the water’s edge. At first glance, he just looked like a wiry, black draft horse—all black, with a greenish, slimy tinge, so he always looked wet. He was tall when he stood, but not quite as bulky as my Mum’s Percheron cross, nor as slender as Dad’s thoroughbred. Up close, or when he was not impersonating a real horse by using a glamour illusion, you could see the differences. His face was more pointy and angular, his mane and tail looked like waterweeds, his eyes glowed, and he had a mouthful of shark-like teeth. Oh, and his “fur” was like tiny, wriggling, silken worms that gripped like Velcro! There was nothing very “horsey” about him at all.
Currently, he wasn’t doing much to make himself look horsey. I didn’t sense any of his thoughts in my head, either, and it was usually a chore to keep them out, with this whole soul-sharing thing. I just felt this droning buzz in the back of my mind as I approached.
Part of me became worried. Was he all right? Had I waited too long to feed him? But another part of me, a part that made me feel massively horrible, felt hopeful that he maybe was… dead…and I wouldn’t have to be his sou
l-keeper anymore.
Don’t feel too terrible.
I knew the disembodied voice was him speaking inside my brain. I could see the ribs on his prone body rising and falling as I got closer. Then his tail twitched. You know how I feel about “belonging” to you humans. It’s merely a better choice than death.
“You also know I hate it when you pluck thoughts out of my head!” I growled. I was learning how to do the whole talking-in-my-head thing, but really, it was easier for me to talk-talk, unless there were other people around from whom I needed to hide our conversation.
He lifted his head and glared at me, curling out his lips to bare his teeth. Then work on keeping your thoughts private. I don’t have a problem doing so.
“You’ve also been doing it longer than anyone in my family has been alive.”
Far longer. He tossed his mane, flicking water far enough to hit me as I walked by.
“Then don’t yell at me for not learning quickly enough.”
I am not yelling.
“Fine, stop complaining!”
What else shall I do with my day? That buzzing in my head got louder, and I realized what it was. He was bored. Utterly and totally bored. Mum was really right.
“I was gonna see if you wanted to do something after you ate today…” I mumbled.
Do what, exactly? He rolled to his feet, more gracefully than any horse I’d ever seen, trotted over, and leaned his head over his stall door. In my head, I felt his interest and curiosity spike.
“I dunno…” I opened the refrigerated locker inside the stable. With my nose wrinkled, I pulled out some small plastic buckets. I tried to hold my breath, despite how much it hurt my chest, as I carried each bucket of writhing squid and dumped it into the fish-tank of a trough we had built for the kelpie. I failed at the last instant, filling my lungs with the smell of cold calamari, seaweed, and fish guts. He ignored my gagging, shoving his face halfway into the stinking mess. As I waited, I rubbed my ribs and lower back. They were still bruised and sore from when we’d captured him. I’d gotten thrown by Chixie, Dad’s horse, and then rolled on top of—by Ehrwnmyr—when Mum roped him.
Most lochs are fresh water, but the one by us often gets flooded with seawater. I don’t know where Ehrwnmyr lived before he moved into the nearby loch, but he seemed to prefer sea or brackish water to fresh. At least that made it easier to get him food, since we were less than a thirty-minute drive (fifteen if Mum were driving) from a few touristy fishing villages.
He slurped up just about everything in the plastic trough in less than ten minutes, leaving only rust-tinted water. Licking his monster teeth, he looked at me.
So, what did you want to do? I also sensed an unworded something, anything! tone to his voice.
“Um…well…with the other horses, I would usually brush them and clean their hooves first.”
Why?
I blinked. “You always want to keep hooves clean because, if there’s a rock or anything stuck there, it’s uncomfy. Or if there’s mud or well, you know… I mean, it can’t be comfy, right?” He would know, I figured.
As if considering my words, he lifted his front hoof from the ground and looked at it.
You wish to clean my hooves?
“Yeah…I mean, if you don’t mind?”
Do I mind that you wish to clean my hooves? I don’t think there is a level high enough to measure the disbelief in his voice.
“Um. Yeah.”
And to brush…what?
“Uuuhh…” I looked him over. He stood close enough that I could see his wriggling fur. It looked like the clumps of tiny hairs you see growing beneath the sea, or really close-up microscopic pictures of the cilia inside your lungs. His mane was thick and ropey, like seaweed or dreadlocks, and his tail was no better. “Well, I know we’re supposed to brush the coat so that dirt and stuff doesn’t chafe under the saddle or saddle pad.”
Saddle or saddle pad?
“What I put on your back to ride…I mean, if you’re okay with letting me ride you?”
He stared at me for quite a long time before sneezing in my direction and tossing his head to the side, lifting his nose in the air. I must do as you tell me, but there is no need to put anything on my back. You will not fall from me.
“Yeah, I realize that.” I rubbed my arms. I was totally failing at not acting squicked-out at his tentacle fur.
Flaring his nostrils and snorting again, he trotted away from me. I didn’t feel any emotion from him this time, but I took a guess he was offended.
“Look, this is all new to me, and I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I want to make this work between us. And I don’t just want to order you around, all right? Can you please be a little more patient?”
He stopped and faced three-quarters away from me, swishing his tail. Head still high, he tilted his head just a little and peered at me. His eyes glowed blue-green, the color of mine (except mine didn’t glow.) With a huge sigh, he lowered his head to the height of his shoulders and then walked over to the paddock gate.
A request for patience from a creature whose lifespan I’ve lived nearly four times over? His tone was more teasing than anything else, and I thought I saw a smirk pulling at his lips. With a regal toss of his head, he continued, If you must see to grooming me, I suppose it is foolish of me to argue.
I rolled my eyes and opened his gate. He hesitated, one hoof lifted.
“Do I need to tell you or ask you to come out?”
Your original command was not to leave this enclosure without your permission.
“Sorry. You can come out now. Follow me.”
He stepped out of the paddock, pausing on the rubber horse mats that covered the packed dirt and stone floor of his stable. After pawing twice, he continued walking.
It feels like peat. But not.
I couldn’t help but smile at this little moment of innocent curiosity. How I felt about Ehrwnmyr was beyond complicated. He’d killed people—children!—and I knew he’d kill my family if I ever took the enchanted bridle off him. He didn’t want to be good, and he occasionally even enjoyed making me feel horrible by letting me see his thoughts of hurting people I loved. But then moments like this…
He picked each hoof up quickly and carefully as he continued to follow me. We stopped in the aisle area we’d made for grooming, and he awaited further instructions.
“I suppose we could start with the hooves.” My eyes fell on the grooming bag hanging on the wall. I strode over and retrieved the hoof pick. As I approached the kelpie, I paused. I’d still have to hold his hoof to clean it…and the squirming hairs went all the way down, just as horse fur did.
My fur makes you uncomfortable.
“It’s not like fur. It moves.” I had petted him once, and it hadn’t felt as bad as I thought it would. I remembered that fact, but I still couldn’t seem to get it through my head.
It doesn’t hurt you. Normally, Ehrwnmyr could do a good job of hiding his emotions, if he wanted to, but he couldn’t conceal his offense entirely. And it would keep you secure if you were to ride me. Offense and even some hurt feelings. He was proud of his fur stuff.
“Just…let me…let me get used to it. You had to get used to the mat.”
The kelpie’s lips twitched. I walked closer. The “fur” seemed to reach out, wanting to touch me. I refused to flinch and slowly inched my fingers closer, until I felt it touch me. It felt like warm, silky, tendrils moving by static electricity. I blew out all the air in my lungs and took a deep breath in, keeping my fingers on his shoulder until I got used to the touching. Then I moved my hand through the tendrils until I could feel the muscle and bone of his front leg.
Once I firmly clasped his leg, the fur stopped moving so much. It wasn’t perfectly still, and it wasn’t stiff like a horse’s coat, but it wasn’t trying to explore me either. I slid my hand down to his hock, feeling less friction than from regular horse’s hair, too. “Give me,” I said automatically. He lifted his foot, and I could feel him shift
his weight as he turned his head to watch me.
I nearly gagged again at the smell from his hoof, which distracted me from the dull rib pain I felt from bending. If I didn’t know what his manure and food smelled like, I’d be worried he had some nasty hoof disease or something. Or maybe I should be…?
“Would you tell me if you were hurt or sick or anything?”
Should I? There was an edge to his emotion; I remembered what he’d caught me thinking earlier.
“Yes.” I grunted as I scraped out the caked mud and manure. “I really don’t want you hurt or anything. I’d want to
help.”
I am not currently injured or ill. As I released his hoof, he pawed at the ground again. And this does feel better. “You’re welcome.”
He growled, muscles tensing. I already am owned by you! Must I further indebt myself?
I didn’t understand at first, but then remembered both Dad and I getting cut off when we were about to say “Thank you” to one of the faery noble people. “All right, I don’t get this whole ‘thanking’ thing with you faerie, so I’m not adding any stupid debt or whatever.”
Snorting, he pawed once more, but said nothing else.
I had him lift his rear leg for me. “So, if you’re okay with me cleaning your hooves, should we also get Mickey to trim
them?”
He didn’t bother putting into words his confusion at why I’d suggest trimming hooves. I frowned. They were cracked and uneven, with sharp, jagged edges by the tips. Didn’t that bother him? He wasn’t sure how he felt about my assessment.
“We can talk about it later, maybe. Will you talk to Mickey? I mean…he doesn’t talk like I do, but he was the only human Tom let near him for a long time.”
I know who Mickey is. Ehrwnmyr nodded. He helped build this enclosure. And he liked me.
“I don’t think he realizes that you were the one who killed those kids.”
Mickey is the son of the castle’s head caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. McInnis. He’s also a high-functioning autistic. He has a hard time dealing with people, but he’s really good with animals. So good that Dr. Caroline, the large-animal vet who covers our family’s horses and the three surrounding villages, lets him do most of the animal medical care around the castle.
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