by Toby Forward
It had all happened so fast. And she had caused it.
One moment Tim was at the door telling her that a man had come to take her away, the next moment Frastfil was cowering under his desk, screaming for mercy, Duddle was climbing out of the window and Smedge looked on, fearless because there was nothing to fear and the magic hadn’t touched him.
Tamrin acted before she thought. She flicked Tim into silent absence. He stood smiling at whatever peaceful picture had flooded his mind. She conjured up a creature from her nightmares. A mixture of snake and rat, with pointed yellow teeth and foul breath. As big as a horse, yet quick and sly. Both Frastfil and Duddle believed it was looking straight at them, though they stood on opposite sides of the room. So they took cover and tried to escape.
Tamrin looked at Smedge.
“You’re not afraid,” she said.
“I’ve eaten worse things than that.”
And she believed he had.
“You won’t escape,” he said.
He sniffed and a smaller creature appeared, crawling out of his nose. A beetle. Black as fear, smooth as lies. It dropped to the floor and headed for her.
So she ran. Out of the room. Out of the building. Round the quadrangle, taking care to skirt the edge to avoid being seen. The tailor was in the porter’s lodge. She ducked down, through the wicket gate and out, out into the square.
And now she passed through the other gate, the tall, broad gate of the town.
She didn’t stop running until the road met a lane and she turned down that and still ran. Ran until the lane forked and she took a smaller one, to a path across a field, to a break in the hedge, to a dip in the ground, to the slope of a riverbank, to a slow-flowing stream, wider than the passageways in Canterstock College, and there she stopped and panted and drank and cried. ||
When Tim came round
from his reverie he couldn’t work out what had happened. Smedge was tugging Frastfil’s arm and trying to get him out from under the desk. Duddle was half-in half-out of the window, stuck because his backside was bigger than the rest of him and it wouldn’t go through. He was flailing his arms and screaming in panic. There was no sign of the nightmare. It had never been there anyway.
“Where’s Tam?” asked Tim.
“She’s gone,” Smedge said.
Frastfil emerged from his hiding place with a jingling of coins and a stupid smile.
“Wasn’t frightened,” he said. “Dropped something. Just picking it up.”
“Gone where?” asked Tim.
“Run away.”
“Run away?” said Frastfil. “That’s very inconvenient. Oh dear.”
Smedge frowned, pursed his lips and blew towards the window. Duddle squeaked and wriggled, the window expanded and he dropped back into the room with a bump and a moan. Tim smiled.
“What shall we do about Tamrin’s guardian?” asked Frastfil.
“You’d better send him up,” Smedge told Tim.
Duddle heaved himself to his feet, panting.
“I’ll just go,” he said.
“No, I want you here,” said Frastfil.
Tim was interested. They were frightened. Of the tailor?
“Go on,” said Frastfil. “Hurry up.”
The tailor didn’t look that frightening when Tim collected him at the lodge. He was thin and quick, like a needle. His clothes were made of good cloth, but old, worn so that it shone. Tim decided to take no chances, so he didn’t tell him that Tamrin had run away.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Tim. I’m a friend of Tam’s.”
“Who?”
“Tam.”
“Oh.”
The tailor had a way of walking too close that made Tim nervous. There was something scary about him after all. Not obvious straight away.
“Were you visiting Canterstock on business or have you come specially to see her?” asked Tim.
“I’ve come,” said the tailor, “because she’s mine. All right? She’s good for business. She can be useful. I’m tired of waiting for her to be trained up by your sort.” Tim was glad when they reached Frastfil’s office.
“Thank you,” said the principal. “You can go now. I’ll see Shoddle out when we’ve finished.”
He closed the door in Tim’s face, but not before the boy could taste the anxiety there, and not before he wondered why Smedge hadn’t left as well. He was torn between listening at the door and going straight to Vengeabil to let him know that Tamrin had run off.
He put his ear to the door.
“You fool,” said the tailor. “You’ve let her go.”
“She took us by surprise.”
“Call yourself a wizard. And you were supposed to look after her.”
“We’ll get her back.”
“And then what?”
“Then she’ll regret it.”
“She’ll wish she’d never seen me.”
Tim moved silently away and sought Vengeabil to tell him the news.
“I’ll take Mr Shoddle and get him something to eat before he leaves,” said Smedge.
“I don’t want anything,” said the tailor. “Not here. Not from you lot.”
Smedge nodded.
“I’ll see you to the gate,” he offered.
“I can find it myself.”
Smedge noticed that Frastfil couldn’t look Shoddle in the eye.
“As you wish,” said Frastfil.
Duddle rubbed his back where he had hurt it struggling with the window.
Smedge left them to it and walked behind the tailor.
“I don’t need you, boy,” he said over his shoulder.
Smedge ignored him and kept following.
The tailor stopped and stared at him.
“I’ll show you the back of my hand,” he threatened.
Smedge didn’t smile or flinch.
“I wouldn’t try,” he said.
The tailor thought about it. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and produced a thimble. It was iron, dull and worn. He put it on his left forefinger and stroked it. Smedge recognized that it was a trick to give the tailor time to think.
“Do you see this?” asked the tailor, showing Smedge the thimble. “I’ve had this longer than you’ve been alive.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Smedge.
The tailor tapped the thimble against his thin cheek. He spoke so softly that Smedge could hardly hear him.
“Oh, that’s the way of it, is it?” he said. “That’s very interesting. Do you think we might be of use to one another?”
“I think we may,” said Smedge. “Shall I show you to the gate?”
“You know,” said the tailor, “I might be hungry after all. Shall we eat?”
“I can get you some food from the kitchen,” said Smedge.
“No. No, I don’t think so. Not in here. I don’t want to talk in here. Let me buy you something in town? Are you allowed out?”
Smedge leaned forward and whispered, “I can do anything I like here.”
“Good boy,” said the tailor. “That’s what I thought. Come along. We’ll have some food and you can tell me all about Tamrin.”
“And you can tell me about her, too,” said Smedge, under his breath.
You can’t cry for ever, and Tamrin wasn’t even sure why she was crying.
She scrambled back from the river and lay on the grass, her hands behind her head, face up to the blue sky. The air carried the cool, fresh smell that promised rain soon, and the leaves of the trees blew upwards. A hawk circled.
She was a creature of passageways and corners, small rooms and books. Breeze and sunshine were, if not strangers, then distant acquaintances.
What made her cry like that?
She chewed the question slowly.
Distress. She left without saying goodbye to Vengeabil. She might never see him again. No, she would never see him again.
“I’m not going back,” she said out loud.
Her voice sounded
odd to her, without a listener. But it was better than not hearing a voice at all.
Distress. She had been called a bully and she wasn’t.
“I’m not,” she said. With more confidence this time.
She thought of the times she had done things to Smedge. Looking back, there were quite a lot, but never, ever without reason. She’d never picked on him but she had stopped him hurting the littler ones. Thinking about it made her want to cry again. She’d stopped him hurting people and he was calling her a bully.
She actually was crying again now.
“This is stupid,” she said.
Distress, then. No. Not distress. Or not just distress. She was angry. The tears came because she was so angry she couldn’t stop them.
She jumped up. This was no good. You can’t just lie looking up at the sky when you’re as angry as this. She jumped up and down, looking around. She had no idea where she was. Her only intention in running away was to go further and further from roads and people, taking ever smaller routes and tracks.
She looked around her, not even sure which direction the college lay in. She didn’t want to find herself back there.
“Which way do I go?” she asked.
“Where do you want to get to?” came the answer.
Tamrin clenched her fists and tried to work out where the voice had come from. ||
“He said she was a bully?”
“That’s right,” said Tim.
He had never seen Vengeabil angry before. He had never seen much of him at all, in fact. Until recently Vengeabil had kept himself hidden in the storeroom. A year ago Tim discovered that the man also looked after the library, or seemed to. It didn’t make much difference. They were both locked with strong spells that no one could break. Not that anyone would want to go into his kitchen.
Most of the time Vengeabil popped up at the counter in the storeroom as soon as anyone arrived. Some days, if he wasn’t around, there was nowhere else to find him. Other days there was a small passageway that led to the kitchen.
“You can only find it by following the smell,” everyone said. “Old vegetables.”
Tim had found it today. He wrinkled his nose as he brought Vengeabil the news about Tamrin. A stink of stale cooking drifted out to him. The floor was filthy and looked as though your feet would stick to it as you walked across. A scrap of old sack was thrown on the little table, half-covering piles of dirty plates and pots and dishes. Dark, dirty and damp.
“You’re making this up,” said Vengeabil.
“No. Promise.”
“Come in.”
“What?”
Vengeabil smiled at Tim’s confusion. No one was allowed into his kitchen. No one wanted to, anyway. Very few got as far as Tim and were able to put their head round the door to give a message.
“Come in.”
Tim held his breath and stepped through the door.
“Sit down,” said Vengeabil.
Tim stopped.
Vengeabil scowled at him.
“Don’t stand there gurning like a losel. Sit down.”
Tim took a step back, out of the door, stared, stepped forward again and stared harder.
“It’s not a dance,” said Vengeabil. “This is the last time I’m telling you. Sit down.”
“I always felt sorry for Tam, living down here with you,” said Tim.
“I know. You were supposed to.”
Tim pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. Tamrin’s books were in front of him and Vengeabil shuffled them away before Tim could look at them properly.
The kitchen was light, airy, and filled with the scent of freshly baked bread.
“Where does the bad smell come from?” asked Tim.
Vengeabil raised his head and sniffed.
“Smells all right to me,” he said.
He took a big knife from a drawer in the table, tipped the loaf of bread on its side and sawed off the crust.
“Do you like crust or inside?” he asked.
“Either. Sorry. Didn’t mean it was a bad smell now.”
“I know what you meant.”
Vengeabil spread a generous layer of butter on to the bread.
“Jam or lemon curd?”
“What sort of jam?”
Vengeabil raised an eyebrow.
“Lemon curd, please.”
“I make it myself,” said Vengeabil. “Come and look at this.”
Tim followed him to a door. Vengeabil let him through and he found himself in a wide, high, stone-flagged glasshouse, with plants he had never seen before, including a row of five lemon trees, full of fruit.
“Where are we?” he asked. “I’ve never seen this place.”
“You may never see it again,” said Vengeabil. “But now you know the lemons are fresh.”
They went back, Tim sat at the table and bit into the thick slice of bread. The crust was crisp. The inside was soft and springy. The butter was yellow, salty and cool. The lemon curd made his mouth water with a sharp, instant bite, then released a wave of sweetness that made him smile.
“Thought you’d like that,” said Vengeabil.
“Everyone thinks—” began Tim.
The man waved his hand.
“I know what everyone thinks,” he said. “Smelly old Vegetables, the storeman. In his stinky kitchen, with his sad little friend, Tam, the college dunce. Thrown out for being too naughty to learn. I know.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” said Tim.
“Why not? It’s what everyone thinks. You think I don’t know what they call me? You think that smell comes from nowhere? Eh? I don’t want people knowing how I live here. I don’t want scruffy schoolboys pestering me for bread and treats. So I keep them away.”
Tim finished his bread with a sense of such loss that he wanted to cry.
“I won’t tell,” he said.
“I know. That’s why you’re here. Now, what’s happened to Tamrin?”
As he asked the question a small stream of stars fell from his fingertips and bounced on the floor. Tim looked at him, looked down at the stars. Vengeabil was waiting for Tim’s answer. He hadn’t seen the stars tumble from his hand. Tim was trying to decide whether to tell Vengeabil what had happened when a small, skinny cat, old and slow, only about as big as a mouse, appeared round the table leg and began to lick up the stars.
More voices followed. Louder, harsh and coming closer fast. Tamrin pulled a face. Her lonely place far from the road was quickly becoming as busy as the market square in Canterstock.
“Quick. This way.”
A hand seized Tamrin’s arm and pulled her into a thicket. Thorns dragged across her skin, cutting into her arms, her cheeks, her legs.
A face stared at her and a hand went to her lips. Tamrin obeyed. Something about the woman who had grabbed her made her pay attention.
The woman inclined her head to the left and Tamrin nodded. The voices approached.
“Gone.”
“Not gone.”
“Gone.”
“Can’t have gone.”
“Where?”
“Can’t see.”
“Stop.”
Four figures. No, five. Six. At least. Red and booted. Leather-clad. Thick-bodied, with spindly legs. No faces. They had hoods drawn over their heads, masking them. Tamrin looked more closely. No. There were no hoods. They had no faces. Just shiny shells with eyes. And that wasn’t leather. It was them.
Tamrin looked to her companion for help, for an explanation. The woman put her finger back to her lips.
She mouthed silently to Tamrin: they’re chasing me.
“Look.”
“Where?”
“Bushes.”
“River.”
“Not going on water.”
“No. Not water.”
“Bushes.”
They spread out, scything their long arms, beating down undergrowth. Three were moving away from Tamrin, two were heading straight for her. The woman’s face pleaded with
her.
Tamrin nodded. She closed her eyes, pursed her lips and blew. When she opened her eyes again she and the woman saw a mist blossom out and cover the whole thicket where they crouched, frozen for silence. Tamrin hoped that the figures would see a tree, old and wide, obstructing their path.
“Not here.”
“Here.”
“Followed her.”
“Run off.”
“No.”
“Can’t.”
“Must have.”
“Follow?”
“Go back.”
“Go back.”
“Find later.”
“Later.”
“Kill.”
“I kill.”
“Finder kills.”
They disappeared, arguing still in brittle voices.
Tamrin couldn’t move. The woman took her arm, gently this time, and drew her close.
“It’s fine. They’ve gone.”
Tamrin was shaking. The woman put her arm around her and waited.
“What were they?” Tamrin asked when she could breathe normally again.
“Shall we get some sun?” the woman asked with a smile. “I’m getting cold.”
Tamrin tried to smile back. She blew hard and the mist in the thicket faded and died. They crawled out and she screwed her eyes up against the suddenness of the sun.
“What were they?” she asked again.
“What are you?” asked the woman. “Making that mist to hide us.” She smiled again. “I’m Winny,” she said. “You saved my life.”
“What were they?”
Tamrin knew that Winny wanted her to say what her name was and she wasn’t ready for that.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if they’ve got a name. Or where they come from. I saw them kill a man. Back there.”
The world outside the college was becoming as unpleasant as the life inside.
“They weren’t men?” she said. “In armour or something?”
“No.”
Winny untied her scarf and dabbed Tamrin’s cheek.
“That’s just making it worse,” she said. “Let’s get some water.”
