“What’s taking you so long?” Bryony held up the Wychetts Key to glare at Inglenook’s little metal face. “Hurry up and get us out of here.”
“I am trying,” said Inglenook. “But there is a magic shield around the cage which is blocking the signal from Wychetts.”
“You’re useless,” groaned Bryony. Then she had an idea. “But you’d be able to pick up the signal if you were outside the cage?”
“Most probably,” replied Inglenook. “However I would strongly advise against…”
Bryony thrust the Key through the bars before Inglenook could finish his warning.
“Now try,” she urged, waving the Key around.
“This course of action carries great risk,” said Inglenook. “Please return the Key to the confines of the cage, Young Mistress.”
“Don’t be such a wimp.” Bryony extended her arm as far as she could through the bars. “A drop of rain won’t hurt you.”
“I can assure the Young Mistress that rain is the least of my concerns. I sense danger approaching.”
There was a clap of thunder, and Bryony saw three forms swooping from the clouds above. They were hideous creatures with skull-like faces, their ragged cloaks billowing in the wind as they tore through the sky towards her.
“Storm Hags!” cried Inglenook. “Bring me inside. Quickly, young Mistress.”
But Bryony was too slow to react. The leading Storm Hag reached the cage, screeching and clawing at her arm. Bryony pulled her hand inside the cage, but the Key jammed on the bars and was jolted from her grasp.
Mouth gaping in silent horror, Bryony watched the falling Wychetts Key vanish into the swirling clouds below. The Storm Hags screeched elatedly, circling the cage like ragged skeleton vultures.
Bryony clung to the bars, gritting her teeth whilst lightning flashed and thunder boomed all around her. It became harder to breathe as the cage travelled higher. Her head reeled, and her stomach churned as the cage rocked wildly in the wind.
She peered upwards, wondering where her journey might end.
Then the clouds parted, and Bryony beheld a vast dark shape looming over the cage.
Her scream of terror became a rasping choke as her lungs emptied of air, and then darkness closed all around her…
Chapter 9- The Loosest Possible Definition of ‘Safe’
The Weather Vane broke away from the spire, taking Edwin with it.
Maybe it was fear, or some desperate hope, that made Edwin keep hold of the Vane’s metal spindle as he fell from the tower.
The air rushed past his ears with a whooshing noise that drowned the booming thunder and Stubby’s squeak of terror.
Edwin closed his eyes when he saw the ground hurtling towards him. But the dreaded, bone-jarring impact never came, and suddenly it felt like he wasn’t falling anymore. If anything, he seemed to be rising.
Forcing his eyes open, Edwin peered below and saw the ground was receding.
Yes, he was rising. But how?
He looked up at the Weather Vane still spinning in his grasp. It seemed impossible, but Edwin realised the Weather Vane had saved him, its metal spokes whirling like the rotor blades of a helicopter!
Edwin exhaled a whoop of joy as the spinning Weather Vane lifted him higher.
“We’re saved,” he told Stubby, who was still clinging to his shoulder.
“I hate to always seem the party pooper,” said Stubby. “But those Storm Hags appear to have other ideas.”
Edwin saw a swarm of Storm Hags diving at him, spitting sparks and shrieking fury.
A sudden gust of wind blew him out of the creatures’ path, and then another sent him spiralling upwards. Buffeted by the elements, Edwin was flung helplessly this way and that. He felt sick, but at least the wind seemed to have saved him from the Storm Hags, their ragged forms fading into the murky haze below as the gale carried him higher.
Suddenly the winds calmed, and Edwin found himself hanging in clear blue sky above a blanket of churning grey clouds.
“Nice work,” he told the Weather Vane. “You really saved us back there.”
“I did nothing,” said the Weather Vane, now spinning at a slower rate. “It seems I am being controlled by another power.”
“You mean magic?” Edwin frowned. “Who could that be?”
“It doesn’t matter now we’re safe,” said Stubby. “Although that’s the loosest possible definition of ‘safe’, given that we’re hanging in the air hundreds of feet above the ground with nothing keeping us aloft except a rusty coat hanger.”
“You will not refer to me as a coat hanger,” said the Weather Vane. “And I am not rusty.”
“Who are you kidding?” sniffed Stubby. “You’re rustier than a rust filled rusty bucket manufactured in Rustington.”
“Will you two please stop arguing?” pleaded Edwin. Then he noticed something about the Weather Vane. “You’ve stopped spinning, your Highness.”
“I’m glad of that,” said the Weather Vane. “It was playing havoc with my tail feathers.”
Edwin didn’t share the Weather Vane’s relief.
“But if you’ve stopped spinning, what’s keeping us in the air?”
Edwin heard that whooshing noise again. Looking down, he saw the blanket of clouds getting closer…
“That would be nothing,” squealed Stubby. “We’re falling!”
“Please, your Highness.” Edwin implored the Weather Vane. “Start spinning again.”
“I will not,” came the huffed reply. “Even if I knew how to.”
In a heartbeat they had plummeted through the clouds, and Edwin could make out the ground below.
He saw flooded fields, and a swollen stream beside a small red bricked cottage, the roof of which was speeding towards him at an alarming rate…
Again Edwin closed his eyes, but again the fatal impact never came.
“We appear to have landed,” announced Stubby.
Edwin opened his eyes to find he was standing on the ground in front of the cottage.
“We’re safe.” He lowered the Weather Vane and gave the metal cockerel an appreciative smile. “Thanks for your help, your Highness.”
“I did nothing to aid your cause,” came the terse reply. “And I object to being handled so roughly. You have bent my spindle. I shall never be able to function properly again.”
“But if you didn’t help us, who did?” Edwin shook his head, both thankful and mystified by his escape from the Storm Hags. Someone had used magic to help him, but who and why?
Inglenook would know, of course. But Inglenook wasn’t here, and Edwin feared he would have to solve the riddle on his own.
“I suspect we have been brought to this place for a reason,” said Stubby. “Perhaps the occupant of that house had something to do with it.”
Edwin nodded as he examined the little cottage. It was a quaint but otherwise unremarkable building, nothing about its appearance suggesting it was at the heart of this magical mystery. The front garden looked well maintained, albeit a little soggy. His gaze followed the white picket fence that screened the garden from the lane, and then he saw the parked car.
“Hang on a minute.” Resting the Weather Vane on his shoulder, Edwin walked up to the car.
There could be no mistake. There were plenty of similar looking cars on the road, but few with so many sweet wrappers and dodgy eighties music CDs scattered on the passenger seat.
“It’s Bill’s company car.” Edwin punched the air with glee. “We’ve found him!”
“Let’s not celebrate too soon,” warned Subby. “I don’t see your stepfather anywhere.”
“But at least we’re on the scent. We’ll try the cottage, they must have seen him.”
Edwin left the car and set off towards the cottage, but was halted by an indignant cough from the Weather Vane.
“You shall return me to my steeple immediately.”
“I can’t,” said Edwin. “At least not until I meet up with Bryony and Inglenook. You’
ll have to come with us for now.”
“This is so undignified.” The Weather Vane tutted as Edwin carried him towards the cottage. “I am of royal lineage, forged by skilled craftsmen to be set on high where I can be admired by all. Not carried around like an umbrella.”
“Perhaps we should have you converted into one,” mused Stubby. “You’d be more use to us than you have been so far.”
“Sshh.” Edwin put a finger to his lips when he reached the cottage door. “We don’t want to freak out whoever lives here, so leave the talking to me.”
“Fine,” agreed Stubby. “I’ll just sit here and watch you freak them out all by yourself.”
Edwin wiped the rain from his face, run a hand through his sopping ginger hair, and pulled the bell cord above the cottage door.
The faint jangling of bells could barely be heard above the rain and thunder. Seconds passed, and no one came to the door. Edwin pulled again, harder this time. Still no response.
Not to be deterred, Edwin decided on another course of action.
“Let’s try round the back.”
Still carrying the Weather Vane, he trudged to the rear of the cottage. The back garden was as immaculate and soggy as the front, but one of the flowerbeds looked a little trampled. He was examining the trail of crushed plants when an excited squeak drew Edwin’s attention elsewhere.
“Look,” said Stubby. “The back door’s open.”
Edwin hurried to the cottage and opened the back door wider.
“Hello?” He leaned forwards out of the rain. “Is anybody home?”
No answer except another peel of thunder.
Edwin hesitated. Whilst he didn’t like creeping into someone else’s house, he knew finding Bill and his mother trumped the need for good manners. So he walked through the door into a small but tidy kitchen.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Through another door Edwin could see a hallway and flight of stairs swathed in flowery carpet.
“Hello?”
Still no answer to Edwin’s calls.
Edwin shrugged. “Whoever lives here, it looks as though they’re out.”
“That seems unlikely,” said Stubby. “With the back door having been left open.”
“Good point,” conceded Edwin. “But if someone was in they would have heard us by now.”
“Perhaps the occupant is hard of hearing,” said the Weather Vane.
“I shouted pretty loudly,” said Edwin.
“Allow me,” said the Weather Vane. “I have the loudest crow of any cockerel in the land.”
“Don’t we know it,” said Stubby. “You haven’t stopped crowing since the moment we met you.”
“And with good reason,” said the Weather Vane. “For I am the highest of the high.”
Stubby sniffed. “Then why are you all splattered with pigeon poo?”
“It isn’t pigeon poo,” the Weather Vane huffed. “It’s subtle weathering. All the rage this season.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Stubby. “If you want to look like the bottom of a birdcage.”
Irritated by his companions’ bickering, Edwin found himself shouting with frustration.
“Will you two please be quiet?”
Stubby and the Weather Vane fell silent.
Edwin took a deep breath, and was about to suggest they leave the cottage when he heard a noise from somewhere: a soft, muffled whimper.
“You hear that?” he whispered.
“Of course.” Stubby’s bulbous ears swivelled. “It’s coming from the hall.”
“We’d better check it out.” Carrying the Weather Vane over his shoulder, Edwin padded warily down the hallway. Then he spied an object lying on the flowery carpet.
“A walking stick.” Edwin felt a growing sense of unease. “Why would someone leave a walking stick on their hallway floor?”
Edwin was pondering his own question when he heard the muffled whimper again.
“The cupboard under the stairs,” said Stubby. “It’s coming from there.”
“Someone’s trapped inside.” Edwin went to open the cupboard, but it was bolted on the outside and he couldn’t open it with one hand.
“I’m going to have to put you down,” he told the Weather Vane.
“At last,” came the terse reply. “It is so undignified being handled in this rough manner.”
Edwin looked around for a place to put the Weather Vane, but someone else had already spotted a solution.
“There.” Stubby pointed at a cylindrical object standing next to the foot of the stairs. “The perfect repository.”
The Weather Vane let out a horrified gasp when he saw what Stubby had in mind.
“That is an umbrella stand. I shall not be put in an umbrella stand!”
“It’s only temporary,” said Edwin. He dragged the umbrella stand away from the stairs to make room, and then plonked the Weather Vane inside. “We’ll have you back on the spire as soon as Bryony and Inglenook meet up with us.”
“It suits you,” Stubby assured the Weather Vane. “Look, one of the umbrellas has a handle in the shape of a duck’s head. You two should get to know each other.”
“This is outrageous,” seethed the Weather Vane. “I have never been so humiliated in all my…”
“Shh!” Edwin raised a hand again. “We need to be careful. We don’t know who’s inside that cupboard.”
Of course, he hoped it would be Bill. But Edwin knew he couldn’t afford to take any chances.
Once Stubby and the Weather Vane quietened down, Edwin knelt by the cupboard door. The whimpering noise grew more agitated as he slid back the bolt.
“Bill?” Edwin prised the cupboard door open. A pair of legs emerged, kicking wildly. But they weren’t Bill’s legs. Not unless he’d taken to wearing nylon stockings and pink fluffy slippers.
Edwin peered into the cupboard to see a face staring back at him. It was a grey haired old lady wearing a pair of tortoise shell glasses. She had tape across her mouth, and her hands were tied behind her back.
“Blimey!” Edwin gawped at the old lady. “I wonder how she got in there.”
“Unlikely to be the result of a freak parcel wrapping accident,” pondered Stubby. “Why don’t you get her out and ask her?”
Nodding frantically, the old lady made more whimpering noises.
Edwin seized the old lady’s ankles and dragged her out of the cupboard. Then, very carefully, he removed the tape from her mouth.
Whilst the old lady gasped with relief, Edwin tried to untie her wrists; but the rope cords were knotted too tightly.
“I need scissors.” Edwin spoke slowly to the old lady. “Do you have a pair?”
The old lady tried to speak, but could only manage an unintelligible slur.
“She could be ill,” suggested the Weather Vane. “I suspect she is having some sort of seizure.”
“Then we’d better call an ambulance.” Edwin stood up. “I wonder if she has a phone?”
Still slurring nonsensically, the old woman nodded her silvery head. At first Edwin thought she was having a fit, but then he realised she was answering his question. Following the direction of her frenzied nods, he found a telephone on a small table next to the front door. It was an old fashioned device, with a clunky handset and dial. It took him a few seconds to work out how to use it, but when he dialled ‘999’ the line was dead.
“The cables must have come down in the storms.” Edwin turned back to the old lady. “I’m sorry, but…”
“She’s not nodding at the phone,” said Stubby. “I think she means that box there.”
Edwin hadn’t noticed the box on the table next to the telephone. It was a small oval container with the word ‘EMERGENCY’ written on the lid.
“You mean this?” Edwin picked up the box and offered it to the old lady, whose nodding and slurring became more enthusiastic. Then she leaned forwards and opened her mouth, like a baby bird demanding food from its mother.
Edwin assumed the box contained pil
ls or medication. He prised the lid open and dipped his fingers inside, then groaned with revulsion when he saw what it contained…
It wasn’t pills or a bottle of medicine, but a pair of false teeth.
The old lady’s nodding grew more agitated, and Edwin’s horror mounted as he realised what she wanted him to do.
Wychetts and the Thunderstone Page 6
