Growned
Page 13
A voice at his ear made him jump. “So you're back with us then? Oh, sorry!”
There was an audible sigh of annoyance, the type of sigh that is intended to be heard. Liam turned his head. It was quite painful to do so and he grunted involuntarily. Myrtle and Cinnabar were in the room with him, and it was quite evident from her posture that Myrtle was annoyed with Cinnabar. Cinnabar gave a guilty little wave. Myrtle scowled at him and hurried over to Liam.
“How are you feeling?” she asked in a concerned voice.
“Sore,” mumbled Liam. “What's happened? Where am I?”
Myrtle sat on the edge of Liam's bed and put her hand on his forehead. “Well,” she said, “the Vapourer's attack on us failed, all the assassins are dead, and we found you unconscious, lying against the palace wall. You're lucky the birds didn't take you as carrion, as well.”
“As well?”
“As well as the assassins. The birds had quite a feast. We had to spend some time washing the palace walls down. And the courtyard.”
“How long...?”
“Two days,” answered Myrtle. “You lost quite a lot of blood, you know. But Hornbeam patched you up rather well.”
“Hornbeam?”
“Yes, Hornbeam. I think Mezereon taught him better than he realised. That wound to your throat was particularly nasty. What on earth happened? No, never mind, you can tell me later. You need to rest. Cinnabar and I have some stuff to do.” She glared pointedly at Cinnabar. “We'll look in on you later.” She straightened Liam's covers and dragged Cinnabar out of the room.
When he woke up later, Liam still felt sore, but more alert. He looked around the room and saw Hornbeam sitting in a chair, reading a book.
“Hi,” said Liam.
Hornbeam started and looked up. “Ah,” he said, getting up and putting his book on the chair. “How are you feeling now?”
“Better,” said Liam, struggling to sit up, “but still lousy.”
“Here, let me help you,” said Hornbeam. He piled some pillows up behind Liam's back and shoulders. “Is that comfortable?”
Liam nodded and immediately wished he hadn't.
“Yes, that throat wound of yours is going to be uncomfortable for a while,” said Hornbeam. “What did it? It looks like something was trying to rip your throat out.”
“Charlock,” said Liam by way of explanation.
“Charlock? We did wonder—no one could remember seeing him. So what happened?”
Liam gave a brief account of his last meeting with the assassin. Hornbeam sat on the edge of the bed, listening with his mouth open in horror. When Liam had finished, Hornbeam said, “If I had known what was going to happen to you when we came to fetch you, I would have left you in your bed! Honestly, Liam, we thought you'd only be gone for twenty four hours, at the most.” He shook his head and patted Liam on his good shoulder. “I'll get you something to eat,” he said, “and then I'll put all my energies into finding a way to send you home.”
Liam nodded appreciatively. There was a vague notion at the back of his mind that he needed to tell Hornbeam something, but their conversation had wearied him and he was too tired to think.
Cinnabar popped in to see how he was, this time accompanied by Hooktip. “Just to warn you, and I'm trying to stop her, the Queen, my mother and therefore your—um—”
“Granny?”
“Oh, crumbs, don't call her that. She's having enough trouble coming to terms with the fact you're related. Anyway, she's decided now you're something of a celebrity, she might visit you.”
“Celebrity?”
“Oh yes. Word of your last encounter with Charlock has got around. It's been embroidered a bit, but, essentially, the tale of the half human child taking on and defeating the head of the assassins is the topic of conversation at the moment. And unfortunately, it's persuaded my mother you might not be the embarrassment she thought you were.”
“Embarrassment?”
“Yes. Essentially, my mother is a racist, and is embarrassed at being related, through the indiscretions of her eldest son, to the human race. But I'll try to at least delay her. I don't think you're well enough to face that, yet.”
Liam smiled and closed his eyes. “Ah, you're tired,” said Cinnabar, taking the hint. “We'll leave you then.”
Liam fell into a troubled sleep, into a world of nightmares, where Charlock's face loomed out of the darkness and Lord Pike's jaws loomed out of the water. He was shaken awake by Hornbeam.
“You were calling out,” said Hornbeam. “A bad dream?”
“Yes,” mumbled Liam. “Bits and pieces from the last few days. Mostly Charlock.”
“It's to be expected,” said Hornbeam, lifting Liam's chin up and inspecting the wound to his throat. “I think that dressing can come off tomorrow. It's healing nicely.”
“Any luck with getting me home?” asked Liam hopefully.
“Not yet,” sighed Hornbeam. “There's a lot of stuff to go through. Loads of stuff on the succession.”
“Ah, yes, Gromwell Bugloss, “The Laws of the Faery Kingdom” and all the rest of it,” muttered Liam.
“Yes,” said Hornbeam in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“I don't. Yes, I do!” Liam sat upright. “There was a sheet in it, a sheet stuck in the book. It said something like, to grow or reduce something in size!”
“And?”
“I don't know! I was interrupted by Charlock before I could pick it up and read it. I—I slid it under the table with my foot!”
Hornbeam leapt off the bed and hurried out of the room. A quarter of an hour later, he was back, breathing heavily and waving a piece of paper.
“I've got it!” panted Hornbeam. “I've got it. And I can't believe it's that simple.”
“Why? What does it say?”
“Well, it gives the spell, but it also says, But for those who have the true wizarding gift, the mere wish to grow or shrink be sufficient to change their size and show them to be of true Royal lineage and a proper and powerful wizard.”
“The child can do it himself! That's what he meant? I can change my size just by wishing it?”
Hornbeam nodded excitedly. “Basically, yes.”
“But I wanted to go home loads of times, and I'm still here,” said Liam doubtfully.
“No, I mean wish. As in the phrase I wish I could, etcetera etcetera.”
“So, if I say I wish—”
“Don't try it now!” Hornbeam exclaimed. “Or you'll wreck the palace. But there's more than that. You see, when I went with Mezereon to collect you, I was supposed to wait out in the garden for you both. But I so wanted to go with him and see inside a human house, I wished I could grow. And Liam! I did! Mezereon was really angry about it at the time. I thought he had accidentally made me grow too, and was annoyed about his own mistake. But Liam, I must have done it myself. The spell to make things shrink and grow requires the sprinkling of a special powder over the subject, not just special words. And I was nowhere near Mezereon when he sprinkled the stuff over himself.”
“So,” said Liam slowly, trying to get his tired brain around the thing, “you think he was angry because it meant you have—” Liam took the sheet from Hornbeam's hand and read the words out loud, to confirm he had heard properly what Hornbeam had said. “—you have the true wizarding gift? Or is it the bit about being of Royal lineage?”
“Well, both, probably. I don't think you can have one without the other. Better not let the Queen see that bit about Royal lineage. But, you see, Mezereon had to cast a spell to make himself grow.”
“Because he didn't have the true wizarding gift? No wonder he was always so rude about you. Was he jealous, maybe?”
“Maybe. More probably he was just worried about keeping his job. But then it makes me wonder.”
“What?”
“Why he chose me to be his apprentice. Did he know something about me?”
“What about your parents?” asked Liam. “Oh, sorry, you're—”
“He told me you were the best of a poor lot,” said Liam. Hornbeam chuckled. They fell silent for a while.
“Are you going to tell Cinnabar?” ask Liam.
“I must,” said Hornbeam, “if I wish to make my claim for the wizard's post. Which I do now. I'll let Cinnabar decide what he wants to tell the Queen.”
“So you and Cinnabar might be brothers or something?”
“Possibly. Or cousins. We can't make assumptions.”
“You might be my uncle.”
Hornbeam nodded slowly. “It's a lot to take in, isn't it? Suddenly, I might have a family. Though, as I said, we shouldn't make assumptions.”
“No. But I expect you could find out for sure. Cinnabar might help you.”
“Do you think?”
“I think. He's okay, Cinnabar. I think he'd find the whole thing rather amusing. And I think he'd be quite pleased if he found out he had another brother.”
“I'll take this to him now, before I start thinking about it too carefully.”
“You might see if you can arrange for me to be taken home, while you're talking to him. It might save a lot of bother if I can grow myself in my own bedroom. I'll have been missing for some days. Someone will have noticed and there will be awkward questions.”
Hornbeam nodded.
“And Hornbeam?”
“Yes, Liam?”
“It might help if you took that silly grin off your face.”
*
“I DON'T know, Officer,” a voice whispered urgently. “I noticed the door was open this morning and I came in and there he was. Sound asleep in his bed. It was like he'd never disappeared. I thought I was dreaming at first—I had to get Rod in to come and see.”
“And has he said where he's been?” asked a gruff voice.
“He hasn't woken up yet. And look at him! Cuts and bruises all over. And see the state of his neck? It looks like a dog's had him!”
“Well, I'll take a statement from you and your husband and we'll make a few enquiries in the neighbourhood. Someone might have seen him coming back. We'll leave Constable Harris in the room in case he wakes up.”
There was a creaking of floorboards and Liam drifted back to sleep.
“Well,” said an unfamiliar voice, “he has a couple of pretty nasty wounds on him, but they appear clean and they're healing well. The one at the shoulder I would say was a knife, but I have no idea about the throat one. I agree it's some kind of bite, but I really wouldn't like to hazard a guess as to what exactly bit him. Other than those and a few cuts and bruises, he seems okay. Heartbeat's steady, temp's okay. I'd say, wherever he's been, he's totally exhausted. I think we might set up a drip so we don't add dehydration to his woes—just to be on the safe side. If he's not come round in the next twenty-four hours, we might consider transferring him to a hospital...” The voice faded and Liam slept on.
“Wake up, son,” said a deep voice by his ear. “Liam, wake up.” It was a familiar voice.
“Dad?” said Liam sleepily.
“Wake up, Liam. They're going to take you to hospital if you don't.”
Liam's eyes snapped open. He was relieved to see he was still in his own bed. There was a drip in his arm, and someone he didn't recognise at the foot of his bed. He turned his head. His father was crouched at the side of the bed, a worried look on his face. “Hello, son,” he said.
“Hi, Dad,” said Liam.
“We've missed you,” said Dad.
“Oh?” mumbled Liam. “Did I go somewhere?”
“Oh, yes. You were missing for over a week. Where did you go, Liam?”
“The fairies took me,” muttered Liam and drifted back off to sleep.
He woke again, in what seemed just minutes later, and said, “Can I have some toast, do you think? And a cup of tea?”
He felt infinitely better after he'd eaten. Real food. It seemed like ages since he'd eaten real food.
The next day two police officers came to see him. They asked him where he'd been. Liam said he couldn't remember. Who was going to believe him, after all? The doctor gave his opinion that Liam had suffered a massive psychological and physical trauma of some sort, and was dealing with it by trying to forget it. They needed to give him peace and quiet and, above all, time, and who knew? Maybe Liam would be able to tell them what had happened.
The weeks passed and Liam started at his new school. The children in his class thought the scars on his throat were cool and made up outrageous stories to explain them. As time passed, even Liam began to doubt what had happened to him. Maybe the doctor was right, maybe he had been traumatised by something, and his visit to Fairyland was just in his imagination, a way of dealing with something much nastier. So, one day, as he was getting ready for school, he decided to try something.
He met his father collecting the car keys in the hallway, just prior to leaving for work. He smiled at Liam and tilted his son's chin up to look at his scars. “They still look pretty sore,” he commented.
“Oh, they're not too bad,” replied Liam. “They give me a good excuse for always having my top button undone at school.”
His father laughed. “Well, have a good day,” he said. “See you later.”
“Yeah, see you, Swallowtail,” said Liam clearly, as his father put a hand on the door handle.
His father jumped visibly and swung round. “What?” he barked. “What did you say?”
Liam shrugged and smiled. “See you? Swallowtail?”
His father stared at him. Liam folded his arms and stared back.
“Right,” said his father slowly, a perplexed look brewing on his face. “See—see you,” he muttered and left for work.
Liam grinned a satisfied grin and picked up his rucksack. Maybe he would suggest a trip with his father to the lake this weekend. Perhaps they could go fishing. He'd heard there was quite a large pike in that lake.
The End
*
Copyright Tracey Meredith 2014
Revised 2017
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Tracey has also published
The Angel in Towerhouse Wood
Grimm Stories and Other Faery Tales
Finding Richard
and
Never Put Your Hand in a Crocodile's Jaws
& Other Useful Advice
(an anthology of daft poems)
Her latest book, Barry & the Dinosaur King,
was published 6th April 2017
& is also available in paperback
You can contact Tracey at
traceymeredith.author@talktalk.net
https://twitter.com/traceygb1
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and follow her occasional musings at
https://traceygb1.blogspot.co.uk/
where you will find other works to interest you,
links to her books— and a link that will get you a FREE copy of
Vernon the Pirate, King of the Sea,
which will be featuring in her second collection of daft poems
Thank you