Growned

by Tracey Meredith

  Liam said nothing. What was there to say? They had been paddling for hours and he was now too exhausted to care. Too exhausted to shout abuse at Cinnabar, too exhausted to even mutter I told you so.

  He lay back along the branch. It rolled a little, but not enough to throw him off. It had been rolling to one degree or another since he got on. He was quite used to it now.

  Above him, he saw creatures swooping and catching their supper. Or possibly breakfast by now. Bats, he supposed, though he couldn't see them properly. Occasionally, he heard a clicking sound or just sensed them being near. Cinnabar said they were able to detect the flight of other creatures, even in the pitch dark. He said they probably wouldn't be interested in Liam and himself because they weren't moving like insects flying. Liam accepted this and stopped worrying about them. He still didn't worry about them as he lay prone on the branch with his eyes closed. At the moment, as far as he was concerned, a bat could carry him off and then swallow him whole. He was too tired to care. He began to doze.

  SPLAT!

  Liam came to with a start, covered in cold water. At first he thought he'd fallen into the lake and began flailing his limbs, trying to swim to the surface. He even held his breath, until he heard Cinnabar shouting at him.

  “Hi! Stop that. You'll have us both in, you idiot!”

  Liam stopped and realised he still had his eyes shut. He opened them and saw Cinnabar's pale face looking at him. He let his breath out.

  SPLAT!

  Another bucketful of water hit him.

  “What the—?” he yelled.

  “No, no, no, no!” shouted Cinnabar. “This is the last thing I need. I'll never—”

  A huge droplet of water landed next to them, creating a splash that soaked them both.

  “ —get my wings dry!” finished Cinnabar. He groaned.

  Then the downpour began, spreading over the lake in a percussive crescendo. The raindrops impacted around them like cannonballs, creating waves and turning the surface of the lake into a choppy, seething mass that rocked their craft violently from all sides. Huge droplets of rain landed on its occupants, knocking the wind out of them and soaking them in cold water. Within seconds, all the time spent drying out Cinnabar's wings was undone.

  The weight of their sodden mass was threatening to pull Cinnabar into the water. He clung on for dear life, exhaustion and cold combining to deny his scrabbling hands a grip on the wood under him.

  Then, as suddenly as it had started, the rain stopped. But it was too late for Cinnabar. He was starting to slide sideways and no amount of scrabbling could stop the inevitable.

  “Help!” he cried as he slid down into the black water, entering it with a splash.

  “Cinnabar!” yelled Liam, reaching out to him—but too late.

  Cinnabar disappeared under the water, his wings growing heavier with every second they were submerged, pulling their owner down, down into the dark cold.

  Liam didn't stop to think. There wasn't time. He jumped into the lake at the spot where Cinnabar had disappeared, took a deep breath and dived.

  As the water closed over his head, he forced himself to open his eyes. It was dark and murky and he saw the disappearing form of Cinnabar beneath him only briefly .

  Liam swam down with all his might, ignoring the exhaustion of his limbs, but aware of the fight the breath in his lungs was already making to get out. He had only seconds left before he would have to return to the surface. He reached down and his hand tangled in something. He clutched at it and pulled.

  It was heavy and Liam pulled again, harder this time. Cinnabar's face began to rise towards him and Liam realised he had managed to grab him by the hair.

  The boy turned and began kicking for the surface, towing Cinnabar behind him. Every kick was agony. The breath in his lungs was starting to force its way out bubble by bubble. In a second he would be forced to take a breath—and then what?

  As the panic lurched in his stomach and he strove to suppress the urge to sob, his head broke through the surface of the water and his breath exploded from his lungs. He gasped fresh air. He gasped and gasped, as the blood pounded in his ears and bright spots flashed before his eyes.

  Suddenly, he remembered what he held in his hand and pulled Cinnabar's head out of the water. It was with relief he heard him take a choking breath.

  Liam scouted round for their craft and found it wasn't too far away. Grasping the semi conscious Cinnabar under the chin, he began towing the fairy across the lake.

  It was hard work. The weight of Cinnabar's wings kept trying to pull them both under, and Cinnabar was unable to give much help in keeping himself afloat. Exhaustion pressed on Liam from all sides, and it was sheer stubbornness that got them to their makeshift craft.

  Even as his hand alighted on the vessel, Liam knew his problems were not over. He would never be able to get Cinnabar out of the water on his own. It should therefore have been a relief for him when two pairs of hands reached down to the water to help him. As it was, he was so surprised he let go of Cinnabar.

  The hands shot out and grabbed the sinking fairy and, with much grunting and swearing, hauled him up to safety. Then they reached down and pulled Liam out of the water.

  He lay face down and panting for a few minutes, before sitting up. He was sat between two fairies new to him. One was definitely a female. She smiled at him and said quietly, “Well done.”

  The fairy on the other side of him was bent over Cinnabar, a worried look on his face. “He doesn't look too good,” he said to his companion. “We'll have to take him first.”

  The female nodded and laid a hand on Liam's arm. “Sorry,” she said, “but you must wait here while we carry the prince to safety.”

  Liam opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it and nodded. After all, what else could they do? Cinnabar was obviously in no fit state to be left alone.

  They gathered Cinnabar up between them, each holding him firmly under the arm, and began beating their wings. The craft buoyed up suddenly as their collective weight left it, and Liam was nearly thrown back into the water.

  “Be careful!” the girl shouted down. “The fish will be looking for breakfast!”

  Liam quickly pulled his feet clear of the water and watched the rescue party disappear into the distance. He lay on the craft and waited. The sun was coming up and the lake's surface began to glitter. Liam sighed gratefully as the already warm rays began to tickle his shoulders. He was in danger of falling asleep, he thought.

  He forced himself upright and sat watching the sudden activity on the lake. Dragonflies came buzzing by, skimming low over the water in a rapid darting flight. Higher above them, some birds were also darting, snapping up the insects left over by the bats last night. As he watched the morning starting up, it occurred to him the danger was not yet past, and flying over the lake at breakfast time was going to be an adventure in itself.

  The sun had nearly dried his clothes by the time Myrtle and Hooktip came back for him. “Sorry we've taken so long,” said Myrtle, “but the Queen was so busy swooning with delight and relief, it was difficult to get away. Right. Now, have you flown before?”

  Liam shook his head slowly. “Well,” continued Myrtle, “the secret to being a good passenger is to not try and be helpful. Essentially, think of yourself as a bag of flour. It helps if you're unconscious as well, but I accept that's asking a little too much. Ready?”

  *

  “WHAT'S that smell?” said Mezereon, clapping a theatrical hand to his nose.

  “Fox,” said Hornbeam over his shoulder. “Male. Probably quite elderly.”

  “You can tell all that from a smell?” said Mezereon, sounding impressed before he could stop himself.

  “Yes, Master,” said Hornbeam wearily. Let's be honest, he thought to himself, you'd believe anything I tell you, because despite all your books and learning, you're still an ignorant old man who should have spent more time in the real world. Then he said, “Oh!”

  “What
? What is it?” asked Mezereon, hurrying up after him.

  “Clothes,” said Hornbeam, somewhat startled. He pointed to a pile of rags lying on the leafy floor. Hornbeam sniffed. Then he bent down over the clothes and sniffed again. He chuckled.

  “What is it?” gasped Mezereon in alarm.

  “It appears these clothes are the source of the stink.”

  Mezereon looked at his servant, puzzled.

  “Whoever was wearing them got too near a fox marking its territory.”

  Mezereon still didn't get it.

  “He got peed on, Master.”

  There was a moment's silence and then Mezereon said, “Oh! I see. Poor chap!”

  Hornbeam surreptitiously rolled his eyes and commented, “The scent's still quite strong, so I would guess whoever it was came through here last night.”

  “And could it have been Swallowtail's boy?” asked Mezereon hopefully.

  “No, Master. These are not the clothes he was wearing.” He prodded the clothes with his foot. “These are fairy clothes, servant's clothes. Whoever wore these is―” He was going to say “our kind”, but a thought occurred to him. What would a fairy be doing on the ground? Either it couldn't fly or it was looking for something. Or someone.

  “Charlock,” he said in a low voice.

  He heard Mezereon gasp behind him. “Are you sure?” squeaked the old man.

  “No, not sure,” said Hornbeam. “But pretty confident. He's taking the same route as us because he's tracking the human. Which means, on the one hand, we need to hurry. But, on the other, we need to be on our guard. We don't want to catch up with him too suddenly.”

  “No, indeed not,” agreed Mezereon. He sounded terrified.

  They carried on for a while longer. Then Hornbeam said, “So what happened here?”

  It was clear, even to Mezereon, that something had occurred here. The grass was flattened and broken. Hornbeam walked around and surveyed a rock that was smeared with a black sticky substance. “Spider,” he said.

  “Where?” Mezereon almost yelled, looking anxiously around.

  “There,” sighed Hornbeam, pointing to the rock. “That's spider blood. Something gave it a bit of a beating last night.”

  “Is it dead?” asked Mezereon hopefully.

  Hornbeam shrugged. “Might be. There's no body, though something else might have eaten it.”

  Mezereon shuddered. He was not fond of spiders.

  Hornbeam continued with his examination of the site. “Something ran off... this way.” He pointed. “It was in a hurry. It's made a very obvious track.”

  “The spider?” suggested Mezereon.

  “No,” said Hornbeam firmly. “The track's too narrow.”

  “Charlock?”

  “More likely, but this is unusually careless if it's him.”

  They carried on and came across the remains of a hedgehog. It was already beginning to smell.

  “Charlock?” suggested Mezereon anxiously.

  Hornbeam looked quickly around. “No,” he said. “I think our friend the fox was responsible for this.”

  Mezereon looked relieved.

  “He's heading for the lake, I think,” said Hornbeam.

  “Charlock?”

  “All of them. It's what I would do in their position—walk around the lake until I found somewhere familiar. That way you don't get hopelessly lost.”

  “Isn't it quite dangerous there?”

  “Master,” said Hornbeam with just a little hint of impatience, “when you're our size, everywhere is dangerous. And if we want to retrieve the human child, we'll have to put up with it.”

  Mezereon hesitated.

  “We can go straight back to the palace if you want to,” said Hornbeam. “I'm sure Her Highness won't blame you... too much.”

  Mezereon stiffened. “Go back!” he said indignantly. “Go back? We will not go back until we have retrieved the human!”

  “Or died trying,” interjected Hornbeam.

  Mezereon frowned. A croak developed in his throat. “Yes,” he said weakly, “or died trying.”

  *

  DOWN at the lake's shore, the misshapen figure that was Charlock watched in disbelief, as first Cinnabar and then the human child were plucked from the middle of the lake and taken to safety. His pent up anger escaped in a scream of rage.

  He caught sight of his reflection. Scarred, bruised and wounded, his face a mass of swellings and contusions, he had suffered it all to carry out his master's will. And all for nothing. He had failed in the simplest, easiest of tasks—to kill the human child, a helpless, ignorant, flightless human child. How hard should it have been? Not this hard. Someone was to blame and it wasn't going to be him.

  He would face his master. Yes, he would take the news to him that both princes had been rescued. He would face his master's anger and any punishment meted out. But then the Frenzy would be released and Charlock would have his revenge on every fairy in the kingdom—and on one particular human child.

  *

  LIAM woke up, warm and comfortable for the first time in days. He vaguely remembered meeting someone he thought might be the Queen, before being bustled out of the chamber and into a quiet room, fed and watered and left to sleep. He had no idea how long he had been here, but he felt marvellous, if a bit stiff and sore in places.

  He sat up, feeling more than a little hungry and wondering what one did for food around here. He noticed a small bell on the side table and rang it tentatively. There was an immediate knock on the door.

  “Er, come in?” hazarded Liam.

  A smartly dressed footman came in and made an equally smart bow. “Good afternoon, Your Highness,” he said.

  “Afternoon?” queried Liam.

  “Your Highness has been asleep for a day and a half,” advised the footman. “Your Highness must be feeling hungry by now.”

  “Rather!” exclaimed Liam.

  “Then I shall fetch Your Highness some breakfast immediately. Is there anything else, Sir?”

  “No, that'll do to be getting on with, thank you very much.” The footman went out.

  Liam lay back on his pillows, thinking of hot buttered toast and a cup of steaming hot tea, when there was another knock on the door. “Come in,” called Liam, thinking the footman had been incredibly quick.

  It was not the footman. The sheepish looking face of Cinnabar peered round the door. “Afternoon, Nephew,” he said.

  “Nephew?” echoed Liam, surprised.

  “'Fraid so,” said Cinnabar. “So you may call me Uncle Cinnabar. Well, maybe not,” he said, seeing the look on Liam's face.

  “How long have you been up?” asked Liam, stretching.

  “Oh, not much longer than you,” confessed Cinnabar. “I had a head start on you sleep-wise, since I was virtually unconscious when they rescued me—so I got put straight to bed and didn't have to talk to dear old Mother. How was she, by the way?”

  “What? Your mother?”

  “Your grandma!” interjected Cinnabar.

  Liam scowled. “I take it you haven't been to see her while you've been up, then?”

  “Hooktip's told her I'm still asleep. I'm not ready for the histrionics yet.”

  He sat down on the edge of Liam's bed. “So how are you?” he asked his nephew.

  Liam shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Relieved more than anything. At least we can get what I'm here for done, and then get me home.”

  “Ah, well that might be a bit problematical,” said Cinnabar. “Mezereon and Hornbeam are still missing and, really, we need Mezereon to sort this out.”

  Liam groaned.

  “Not to worry,” said Cinnabar cheerfully. “We've got people out looking for them. I'm sure we'll find them soon.”

  Cinnabar fell silent for a while, staring at his feet. “Umm,” he eventually ventured. “I need to thank you,” he continued. “You saved my life out there. If you hadn't dived down and pulled me back up, I would have drowned. Thank you for that.”

  Liam said n
othing, but felt his face redden.

  “And,” continued Cinnabar while concentrating on something that seemed to be stuck to his knee, “I need to say I'm sorry. For getting us in that situation in the first place. It has been pointed out to me by my very great friend Hooktip, that mine was a foolhardy plan, and it was the failure to heed good advice, particularly with regard to Lord Pike, that got me in the mess in the first place. And there was no need to compound my error by behaving in such an arrogant, headstrong, and above all, stupid manner again, this time putting someone else's life at risk. And the fact that it worked out all right in the end is neither here or there. Because it was only good luck and someday my luck will run out. And I could have died. And so could you. Yes, I think that just about sums up the lecture.”

  Cinnabar forced a smile. “And of course, he's right. And should I ever become King of this happy little land I will have to remember it—you cannot be reckless with people’s lives.”

  There was a knock at the door. The footman arrived with a tray full of food balanced on one arm and a jug of something steaming and frothy in his hand.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” he said to Cinnabar, with a bow. Cinnabar responded with a nod.

  “Breakfast, Sir,” said the footman to Liam as he placed the tray on the boy's lap and the jug on the side table. Liam looked at the food and then at Cinnabar. Toast it was not.

  “Try it,” encouraged Cinnabar. “I'll tell you what it is after you've eaten it. Go on, try it. It can't be worse than raw woodlouse.” And then to the footman, who was leaving the room— “And if my mother asks, you haven't seen me.”

  “Very well, Sir.”

  *

  MEZEREON was tired and he was doing his best to make sure Hornbeam knew about it. “When are we going to stop?” he grumbled. “I'm getting on now, you know. I can't keep going indefinitely.”

  “Sorry, Master,” said Hornbeam, “but if it is Charlock in front of us, the human child is in great danger. I don't think the Queen will be too impressed if you have to tell her you couldn't save her grandson because you needed to have a rest!”

  Mezereon muttered something to the effect that the Queen could blow it out of her ears. Hornbeam smiled grimly to himself, but he was worried. Mezereon was an elderly fairy and also totally useless, so what Hornbeam would be able to do if they had to rescue Liam, he didn't know. It was only Liam's intervention during Charlock's initial attack that had saved Hornbeam. He didn't know if he would be prepared to risk his life to save the human child, even if he did owe him. And as for protecting Mezereon against any attack—well, he'd seriously have to consider whether he could be bothered. He was still ruing not letting the spider have his master.