‘Boris!’
The bedraggled creature squealed in surprise.
‘Hello again, human fairy.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘This is where I’s live. I’m a victim of circumstance see. I’ve no plant to call my own and all fairy folks are in need of a plant of their own, see. There’s not many as can see me, they just sees my sign.’ He pointed to the crumpled-up paper Charlotte was holding.
Charlotte looked around to make sure there was no one to overhear her talking to herself.
‘Sorry about that, I didn’t do it on purpose. I thought you lived in the woods?’
‘I should do. It’s a funny story really. Some sort of mix up in the paperwork at the Fargale Offices and I gets given this here plastic monstrosity.’
‘Can’t you appeal?’
‘Can’t!’ His tone had turned rather sour. ‘I’s havin’ to wait for them at the offices to sort out the problem but in the meantime I’s stuck with this…’ He kicked the plastic ficus plant so that the fake leaves rustled, ‘… this thing; and I’s can’t makes a livin’ from somefin’ as is dead.’ He shook his little fist at her enthusiastically.
It certainly looked real, Charlotte could see how a mistake could have been made.
‘You’re not still spouting that rubbish are you, Boris!’
Charlotte jumped at Aunt Clarissa’s voice in her ear. She looked at her in wonder; she had always thought adults couldn’t see fairies.
‘Don’t believe a word of it,’ Aunt Clarissa continued. ‘His plant is dead. We spent ages trying to nurse it back to health before we realised Boris wasn’t doing his job properly; he’s why they had to introduce plastic plants in the first place.’ She glowered at the little Fey who was now cowering behind the plant pot. ‘And it’s not for Fargale to do your job for you, they have enough work of their own.’
‘I’s only wanting a little company, Shriven, I’s not doing any harm.’
‘Not yet maybe…’
Clarissa turned to Charlotte, ignoring Boris’ high-pitched protests.
‘If he thinks he’s going to ruin my garden he has another think coming,’ she said in an authoritive tone. ‘Now then, what do you say we have an ice cream before we get your uniform? The mint choc chip is the best,’ she said before heading towards Bertichelli’s.
*
In the walled garden at the end of the mall Charlotte and Clarissa were being watched.
‘You were right to monitor this one, Luned,’ Malik whispered. There have been strange readings at the Guardian Oak since she arrived, and cavorting with Boris does not put my mind at ease; not one little bit.’
‘As I’ve told you, Sir, my instincts are rarely wrong. You should also know, there have been reported sightings of The Morrigan in the wake of the lightning strike. At first I thought it was the aftermath of the lightning but I can confirm the silence has definitely been broken.’
Malik’s face paled at the name. ‘That can only mean trouble. Do we know why she is here?’
‘No Sir, but it would appear to be something to do with the girl.’
‘Keep a close eye on her, Luned, and inform Dijin and the Seelie Courts; I can feel it in my wings, she’s going to be trouble.’
‘Roger that, Malik,’ said the spiky-haired water sprite.
‘Oh and Luned, let’s try not to be seen this time, yes?’
Luned affected a pained smile before racing through the air in a streak of blue.
*
Charlotte was still too stunned to say anything on the car drive home. It wasn’t till they were back in the kitchen of Rosemary Heights that she dared comment on what had happened. Play it cool, she thought.
‘I didn’t think adults could see fairies,’ she eventually blurted out with all the finesse of a rhinoceros.
‘They don’t, dear,’ Clarissa said, once again completely unfazed.
‘But you di… you called him Boris.’
‘Well of course I did, dear, that’s his name.’
Charlotte suspected that Aunt Clarissa was deliberately playing dumb. She was normally so sharp and there was that wicked twinkle in her eyes again. She was so infuriating when she was like this.
‘YOU saw him and YOU shouldn’t have,’ Charlotte said firmly.
‘Not seeing fairies doesn’t mean can’t, dear. Adults don’t see Fey folk because they think they are too grown up, which seems rather silly to me, but it doesn’t mean they can’t see them if they would just open their eyes,’ Clarissa explained before continuing in a sterner tone of voice. ‘In any case, being able to see Boris is not exactly a good thing in my book!’
‘Is he really a Veshengo?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could think.
‘And where did you hear that word?’ Clarissa looked at her with surprise.
Charlotte was not ready to share her adventures just yet and was kicking herself for saying anything, but she was pretty sure Clarissa would know. ‘Boris told me.’ It wasn’t a lie but Charlotte was sure Clarissa wasn’t buying it. She seemed to be playing along however.
‘Yes. Boris is a Veshengo; well, he was.’ Clarissa got up to put a pot of water on the stove. ‘He was banished by The Morrigan and has lived amongst humans ever since. He will die soon judging by the state of him.’
‘That’s awful, what on earth did he do that deserved such a punishment?’ Charlotte was incensed by such cruelty.
‘Who said it was on Earth?’ Clarissa muttered as she busied herself with preparing tea.
‘What did he do, Aunt?’
‘Enough questions for today, Charlotte. I’ve already told you too much,’ Clarissa said gently before striking a match and coaxing flames out of the kindling. ‘All I will say is this: do not trust the Fey and especially The Morrigan, Charlotte. Some can be friendly enough but most would have your humanity away if they could.’
Charlotte headed for the stairs. ‘Thanks for the advice. I’m going for a bath if that’s OK.’
Clarissa just nodded as Charlotte left the room. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The Fey had obviously taken an interest in Charlotte, which was not good for her. You’d better have your wits about you, girl, she thought as she began to weave magic into the fire.
Wykenhall High
The day Charlotte was due to start at Wykenhall High had finally arrived, and Clarissa’s VW Beetle came to an abrupt stop outside the main gates leading to an old mansion house.
‘Wykenhall High,’ Aunt Clarissa announced cheerfully. ‘I’ll be here to pick you up at about three-thirty, dear. Enjoy your day.’ Once again Aunt Clarissa read her mind – or perhaps the horror on her face. ‘At least try, dear. It really is a wonderful school with good people.’
‘If you like it so much then you go.’
‘You have to go to school, Charlotte.’
‘I’m sure I’m coming down with something, perhaps I should just stay at home today.’ Charlotte feigned a cough but Clarissa wasn’t buying it.
‘It’s not just about facts and figures, Charlotte dear, you need to be surrounded by people your own age. You can’t closet yourself away for ever you know.’
‘I could give it a blooming good shot.’ Charlotte tried to add a little venom to her voice but couldn’t help the small smile that curled into the dimple in her cheek. She was finding it harder and harder to be angry these days, especially around the likes of Jude and Clarissa.
‘Go!’ Clarissa smiled before waving Charlotte away and bombing off down the road.
It was raining yet again, which seemed fitting. Perhaps it was the fact that there was nothing between you and the sky that made one notice it more, but it felt wetter and colder here than anywhere else she had lived. The rain and cold seeped right in to the bone.
The tarmac drive that led up to the double doors of the main building was flanked either side by a grass area with picnic benches, landscaped gardens, even a small fountain surrounded by lime and ash trees. Beyond the recreation ground
were a number of enclosed courts for tennis, netball and the like and a hard surface marked out for running with a sandpit in the middle as well as some larger playing fields.
This place was seriously moneyed and, not for the first time, Charlotte wondered where Aunt Clarissa’s funds came from.
In the distance Charlotte could see a building she assumed must be the sports hall and swimming pool, as indicated by the signpost ahead of her. She followed the pointer which said ‘Reception’.
*
‘My name’s Charlotte Stone, I think you are expecting me.’
‘Good Morning, Charlotte, please take a seat and the head teacher will see you shortly,’ replied a young, slim, brunette receptionist, brandishing a beatific smile. She sat in a subtle cloud of sweet perfume, her makeup and nails perfect, navy suit pristinely pressed and finished by a flush of colour in her neckerchief. The receptionist pressed a button on her intercom, exchanged a few words with someone on the other end, then continued with her typing.
The entrance hall was a grand room with gothic, lead-stripped windows and walls full of old oil paintings in gilt frames. The only concession to modern design was the bank of desks occupied by admin staff and a pair of sofas arranged around a glass table with a vase of fresh flowers and some school prospectuses. It reminded her, in a lot of ways, of the various grand hotels her family had stayed in during their treks across Europe. Charlotte felt that all too familiar knot of grief in her chest and pushed it away. Crying on her first day at school would not do.
Her new clothes were still stiff and the shirt collar dug into her neck but, mercifully, she didn’t have to wear a skirt. She would, however, be expected to wear a tie once she knew what house she was in. Charlotte was not used to such formalities.
She busied herself admiring the high ceilings framed with elaborate stucco and covered in frescoes depicting various scenes. Sun-soaked cornfields, lush green hills and a shepherd and his love sat under a gnarly, flowering oak. Looking closer, Charlotte noticed the tree was covered in roses and acorns – this had to be the Brackenheath Oak. She instinctively reached out to touch the wall before something stopped her. Peeking out from behind the tree, he wasn’t wearing his customary Hovis bag but… Charlotte was convinced it was Boris.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they.’
The voice at her shoulder made her jump, clearly the plush carpet of the reception room muffled the sound of any footfall and Charlotte hadn’t heard the man approach.
‘Didn’t mean to make you jump there. Mr Thomlinson, head teacher.’ The man offered his hand.
Mr Thomlinson was a stocky man, in his fifties Charlotte guessed, with receding silver hair and a ruddy face. His brown eyes were sharp and shone with humour, but Charlotte got the definite impression he was not to be messed with.
‘Great to have you join us, Charlotte. You’ll find we are a friendly bunch. Shall we?’ Mr Thomlinson indicated she follow him to his office and offered her a seat. The head teacher’s office had the same ornate decoration of the reception with myriad framed certificates lining the walls. There were several teak bookcases and a large glass fish tank in the corner of the room, the pump humming faintly as it oxygenated the water. A mural of what Charlotte assumed was the school motto covered the wall behind his desk. ‘Adunatam in Sapientia’ – ‘Unified in Wisdom,’ Charlotte muttered to herself.
‘I’m impressed, you speak Latin?’ Mr Thomlinson was beaming.
‘No, I just sort of… worked it out,’ Charlotte blushed.
‘I understand you have quite a talent for history and it says here you’re fluent in French and have a good grasp of Arabic… and Hieratic too!’ Mr Thomlinson raised an eyebrow and sifted through some paperwork on his desk. ‘You’ll be required to do Latin and two modern languages here,’ he chuckled, ‘so I’ll be expecting good things from you, Charlotte.’
Charlotte, who had been distracted by the shoal of silver and electric blue fish zigzagging in the tank to her left, just smiled weakly in response. Mr Thomlinson was still engrossed in her files and Charlotte wondered where he had got them from. Education, till now, had been such an informal affair for her and… Edessa. Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the thought of her sister.
‘Now then,’ Mr Thomlinson continued, ‘your aunt tells me you have had quite a challenging time over the last few months.’ He leaned over and looked her in the eye. ‘I just want you to know from the off, we are all here to support you in any way we can, OK?’ He gave her a reassuring smile.
‘Thanks,’ Charlotte said, feeling like she ought to say something. She wanted to be angry with him, and Clarissa for divulging such personal secrets, but he seemed so genuine and Charlotte realised she trusted him.
How about a tour of our facilities?’ Mr Thomlinson grinned. ‘I think you are going to be very impressed.’
*
The facilities were indeed everything she could have hoped for and made up for the lack of her beloved museums and libraries. Charlotte would have everything she could possibly want at her fingertips and didn’t need to try too hard to be enthusiastic. Clarissa had, once again, been right. Charlotte could get used to this formal schooling thing.
‘Right then, I think that’s it, Miss Stone; time to meet your class.’
There’s always a downside, Charlotte thought to herself.
Mr Thomlinson had helpfully marked her form room on the little map she had received in her welcome pack. She was to be in Banyan House and the tie would be orange, which reminded her of Jude. The tour had taken most of the morning so they headed back to the history classroom.
‘Class, let me introduce Miss Charlotte Stone who has joined us from London,’ Mr Thomlinson announced to the room. ‘Please make her feel welcome and give her any help she needs.’
Charlotte, who had just wanted to sink into a seat at the back of the class, cringed at the attention as twenty sets of eyes stared directly at her. A skinny girl with ice blue eyes and braces walked up to the teacher’s desk and smiled at her shyly.
‘I’m Sissy, your buddy.’ They exchanged an awkward handshake before Sissy led Charlotte to an empty desk towards the back of the class.
When they sat down, Charlotte took a sneaky look at her reluctant friend. Sissy was a good two inches shorter than herself, white hair fixed in a bun, with a few stray wisps that seemed to float around her face with a mind of their own.
‘Welcome to Wykenhall High,’ a girl behind her simpered, disturbing her assessment of Sissy. ‘I’m Isla Hickling and this is Toni and Sonia.’ She waved to two other beaming faces. ‘It’s always a pleasure to welcome new faces to our town, you must tell us all about yourself and your adventures; we hear you’re quite an explorer.’
‘Seems everyone knows everything about me,’ Charlotte replied, looking around for a familiar face. ‘Is Olly in this class?’
‘Over there next to Charlie.’ Isla nodded curtly to the row ahead of Charlotte where Olly was sat next to a scruffy-looking boy with swarthy skin and dark hair. Isla’s face darkened before returning to its default setting of a well-practised smile.
‘I’ve had a wonderful idea, Isla,’ the one called Toni squealed before Charlotte could declare her innocence. ‘You should hold one of your wonderful soirées in honour of Charlotte.’ Isla obviously prided herself on her hospitality and entered into the planning with relish.
‘I was just going to suggest that, Toni.’ She turned back to Charlotte handing her a business card. ‘Here’s my contact details, we’ll have to set a date,’ she giggled as she tapped furiously on her smartphone without waiting for Charlotte’s reply. ‘What’s your mobile number?’
‘I, I don’t have one,’ Charlotte shrugged apologetically.
All three girls gasped in unison.
‘I’ve never needed one.’
‘Well… I suppose, hand-delivered invitations are nicer.’ She smiled at her own ingenuity.
Isla obviously saw herself as a problem solver, though Charlotte w
asn’t convinced she’d be much help with her own unique situation.
‘Is she always like this?’ Charlotte whispered to Sissy who was covering a smile in her hands. ‘She means well,’ she replied, ‘and she leaves me alone… which is a bonus.’
‘OK, class, enough introductions, time for some work,’ announced Mr Thomlinson. ‘You will no doubt have read the news about the proposal to turn Brackenheath Park into another housing and industrial estate.’
‘Lloyd’s free-range days are numbered eh, Charlie?’ a spotty-faced boy in the front row sneered. ‘What’s your grandad going to do when there are no trees to sing to or fields to run around in all day?’
The boy next to Olly was red in the face, his hands in fists, but he didn’t say a word.
‘OK, settle down now.’ Mr Thomlinson gave Giles a warning glance. ‘Regardless of our personal thoughts about this, I thought this would be the perfect occasion to explore a little local history.’
Olly and Charlotte exchanged looks; this was going to be easy.
‘Bet I know what you’re going to do for your project,’ Charlotte smiled as Olly started making furious notes.
‘There is so much to choose from, I might just leave the tree to you. It seems to like you best – it’s never glowed for me.’ He winked.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I’ve told you before, you do anything in this town and people will know. I wouldn’t worry about it though, no one but me will believe that. You should speak to my dad, he swears he has had strange experiences there too. You could compare.’
*
Charlotte was exhausted by the end of the day. She had been introduced personally to every one of her classmates and her head was swimming with names, not all of which had fastened themselves to the relevant faces. Isla had taken it on herself to become Charlotte’s buddy and was a demanding hostess who wanted to know all about her. In truth, Charlotte felt like a bit of a circus freak, and she wished she had escaped with Sissy, who had long since disappeared.
Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Page 10
