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The Green Man was flustered.
He was, like Alditha, accustomed to being left to his devices—when you looked like a walking tree, as the Green Man did, but you lived in a house, as he also did, people tended to wait until you called on them.
Being woken on a bright summer morning by company, even company as pleasant as Harper’s always was, had rather thrown his routine out of whack. He’d been delighted to see the owl of course, for they hadn’t run into each other for about six months; but still, living alone, he’d gotten into the habit of rising late, breakfasting long, and more or less ambling into the day. So, to be roused by the sound of his favourite owl landing with a crash and a clatter and the terrible scraping noise of claws along a particularly good oak dresser had been, if he was honest, just a little irritating.
To have to find the kettle, and the tea, and the makings of a hospitable beakful of breakfast for the bird when he’d barely rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, had hardly improved his mood; but gradually, as Harper had chattered on about Alditha this and Alditha that, and the shelf-training of Dramm, Alditha’s latest, and still rather mischievous spellbook, he’d woken up more naturally, and felt the first few new leaves of the day sprouting on his arms and head and neck.
The leaves had quivered, though, when the noise had begun. At first, neither of them had heard it—Harper because he was chattering, and the Green Man because he was wondering just how long Harper intended to stay, while trying to look interested in the fact that Dramm still left occasional puddles of enchantment all over the place.
Now, his new leaves trembled and stood up on the back of his neck.
‘Harper-’ he’d said, suddenly serious, holding up a bark-covered arm. Then, in the momentary silence of Harper’s pausing to take a breath, they’d both heard it—a kind of whistle, high-pitched and not unlike the sound the Green Man’s kettle made when it was ready and wanted him to know about it.
The whistle came slowly down in pitch, getting lower and lower until it really wasn’t a whistle anymore, but a sound like an unhappy cello, loud enough to shake the china off the owl-scratched dresser. Harper had hopped onto the Green Man’s arm and together they’d gone to the window. And there, suspended some twenty feet off the ground...was a teacup. A large, round-topped, white-painted teacup, about the size of a small house. It seemed, somewhere before arriving in the Green Man’s nook, to have lost the saucer that would normally have gone with it. It had none of the normal decoration you might expect to find on a teacup, but it did have the image of a large red star displayed on what they could only assume was its front side. The design had wings drawn either side of it, as though the red star, whatever it represented, could fly away if need be.
And now it was just sitting there, hovering, in a way the Green Man felt instinctively that a house-sized teacup shouldn’t do. Harper, of course, had panicked, said it was some evil plan by Skoros to confuse and frighten them all. The Green Man had chuckled at that, and Harper had taken offence, going into a rant about how nobody took the wizard seriously around these parts, when they really ought to, and no good would come of him dropping teacups into people’s nooks willy-nilly. And while the Green Man had done his best to distract his friend, even popping out a handful of juicy red berries for him to peck at, Harper wouldn’t be mollified, and had flown off in a hurry, declaring that Alditha would understand, and she’d teach the wizard not to go dropping giant bits of crockery on people’s heads.
So now the Green Man was flustered. If it was Skoros who had sent the teacup, then obviously he would have a reason for sending it, and that meant he could soon be receiving a wizard in his extremely humble home. Of course, if it wasn’t Skoros, then he was about to have visitors, possibly strangers, in his still extremely humble home. The Green Man set to work, determined to make his home feel a little less humble to anyone not accustomed to his way of living. He touched a root-like finger to the dresser, and the scars of Harper’s arrival disappeared.
‘Ah ah,’ he chided, as the dresser began to push tiny leaves up through its surface. He took his finger away, and the leaves sank back into the wood.
Next, he sent out roots and creepers through an open window, past a collection of empty wine bottles and round the solitary water butt, down into his extensive back garden, complete with workshop and distillery. Creepers crept, found a few buckets of paint, some with sticks already in, some with thick and dubious skins formed on the top. He picked them up and brought them indoors.
Of course, he thought, there’s the quick way...
If he’d touched a creeper to the wood of his home, which was little more than an extended shed, the wood itself would have grown young again, filled with sap and vigour, and would have looked as though it had been freshly varnished.
...but the quick way is not always the right way, he chided himself, finding paintbrushes, dipping roots into paint buckets and stirring absent-mindedly. He had lifted three roots with rudimentary hands attached, two brushes clutched ready and a bucket of bright yellow paint set to go, when a new noise from the teacup startled him.
VSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH.
It was as though the teacup was singing, and it quite unnerved the Green Man. So much so, in fact, that the creeper holding the paint pot quivered and flung itself into the air. There was a slow-motion moment, as the Green Man called out against the inevitable. He saw the yellow paint leap, like custard from a doughnut, out of the bucket. The bucket followed its trajectory, which was unmistakable. The slow-motion interlude stopped the second the yellow paint hit the Green Man in the face and ran all down his body, the bucket landing—plonk—on his head like a big wooden helmet. The Green Man, now feeling altogether more like the Yellow Man, lifted his new headgear and ran a hand over his closed eyes, then opened them and peered through the window again. In the side of the teacup facing his home, a big black slab of nothingness had opened up.
__________
‘...so down it came, whoooooooooosh, and just sat there, hovering like a, like a, like a hovering thing. A bloomin’ teacup, Alditha.’
‘And you’re sure it’s the Green Man you went to visit, are you? You didn’t stop in for tea with Truffle Cremini at all?’
‘No, of course not. What do you mean?’
‘Well, as I’ve told you before, every time you stop in for tea with Truffle, you come back babbling like a loon. As I say, if he asks you if you’d like some tea, you just...say...no. Politely, mind,’ she added, waving a finger in his direction. ‘Last thing we need is the Fungi-folk thinking we’re insulting their hospitality.’
‘I haven’t seen Truffle in months,’ said Harper indignantly—or at least as indignantly as he could manage with his feathers stiffening up beneath his green goo, thistle-fluff and hay overcoat. ‘It was definitely the Green Man. I mean they’re not exactly lookalikes, are they? One’s a talking mushroom, the other’s a walking tree. Alditha?’
‘Mmm?’
‘What...’ He tried to flap. ‘What is this stuff?’
‘Mmm? Oh. Wingbalm. I noticed your feathers were getting a bit dull. You’re welcome.’
‘And the other stuff?’
‘Soft landing. Don’t say I never do anything for you.’
‘I shan’t. I most assuredly shan’t. Wait a minute—soft landing? What about the copper saucepan?’
‘Ah. Well, yes. Call that an incentive to keep practicing your landings. Do you feel sufficiently balmy now?’
‘I couldn’t think of a better word.’
‘Good then.’ Alditha snapped her fingers in Harper’s direction, and with a quick ruffle of wing feathers, the thistle-fluff and hay fell away. The green goo soaked into his feathers, and for the moment at least, Harper looked like all the other owls he’d ever known—plump of plumage, sleek of line and ready to take on the world.
‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘It’s not true what people say about you, you know, you’re really quite nice.’
‘Thank you, dear. You know
, I think perhaps, if you’re convinced this is Skoros trying something underhanded, I’d better go up to the castle and have a word.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Well, I mean...he won’t be there, will he? He’ll be in the teacup.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Oh, I forgot to mention—it had a thing on it.’
‘A thing?’
‘Like a pattern.’
‘Ah. A patterny thing.’
‘Yes,’ said Harper, fluffing out his newly plump plumage. ‘A patterny thing. Like a big red star with wings.’
Alditha’s face was suddenly serious. ‘A what?’
‘A big red-’
‘Yes, I heard what you said,’ she snapped, turning away from him for a moment.
‘Well pardon me for breathing, I’m sure.’
‘A red star with wings, a big red star with wings...’ Alditha moved through the cottage, going from the kitchen down a short passage and turning right, into her library. Harper flew after her.
‘A red star with wings...I’ve seen that symbol...somewhere.’
‘And is it a good symbol? Do we like that symbol? Are we hanging out bunting and having a bit of a dance about that symbol, or...are we not?’
‘Harper dear, there are many subjects on which I’ll be delighted to talk with you at almost any hour of the day or night, but just for this moment, I’d be obliged if you’d honour me by shutting your beak for a minute. The grown-ups are trying to think.’
‘I’ll shut my beak then,’ said Harper haughtily. ‘Not another word. The beak is closed. Silence is beak-shaped.’
‘A red star...with wings,’ muttered Alditha yet again, looking along the rows and rows of books, some magical, some just ordinarily interesting. On the end of one shelf, Dramm jumped up and down, trying to attract her attention.
‘Dramm, sit,’ said Alditha, and the new spell book settled down, seeming somehow crestfallen, as though she’d kicked it.
‘Not a single, solitary peep shall leave this beak until commanded to speak,’ said Harper.
Alditha rolled her eyes.
__________
Unseen, in Alditha’s kitchen, the silver sphere she had been working on cracked open precisely down the middle, a series of yellow lights appearing on its surface and beginning to blink.
__________
‘Who’s the wizard?’
‘Raa...’
‘And who’s the annoying pet who could be put down without a second thought by the wizard?’
‘Arr.’
‘Good. As long as that’s clearly understood.’ Skoros pressed a button on the wand, interrupting its flow of metal magic, and Razor gasped.
‘Raaark. One day you’ll...raaark, go too far with...that.’
Skoros smiled, almost sweetly, at the creature. ‘And on that day, bird, your problems will be at an end. Won’t they?’
Razor said nothing, his tongue poking quickly through his beak to get some air.
Skoros eased the mirror towards himself, forcing Razor to hop onto another strut of the great machine. The wizard reached behind the mirror and pulled a brass lily with a neck like a question mark.
‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the greatest wizard of all?’
The mirror stayed completely, silently black.
‘Mirror, mirror on the—oh, wait a minute,’ said Skoros, grabbing the crank handle that stuck out of the side. He turned it five, six, seven times before something caught in the monstrous machine, and the whole assembly seemed to come to life. Cogs whirred, pistons pumped, a greasy grey steam slicked out here and there between the joints. Slowly the screen of the mirror flickered from black into life.
The word ‘Booting’ flashed up on the mirror’s surface briefly, then vanished, replaced by a service message: ‘Mirrors 8.1. Who do you want to spy on today?’
The chugging of the great machine was growing louder in the small room, and Razor put his wings over the sides of his head. The mirror finally cleared to a series of different, moving views of the Garden.
‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the greatest—wait a minute. What’s that?’
‘Unable to comply,’ said a warm, rich female voice coming out of the brass lily. ‘Please re-state your request.’
‘Never mind,’ said Skoros. He pulled a brass keyboard out of a compartment in the half-machine, half-desk and ran a finger over a smooth pad set into its base. He tapped the pad twice, and one particular view of the Garden filled the whole of the mirror. ‘Razor, look at that.’ The bird still had his wings over his ears, so Skoros grabbed him round the body and pointed him at the mirror. ‘Razor, look at that,’ he repeated.
‘Oh, really?’ demanded the bird. ‘I hate this bit. Look at the angle, what kind of brain are you asking me to go into here? Is this a weasel or something?’
Skoros checked a series of flashing lights on the keyboard. ‘It’s RoboFerret 7, since you ask. And you’re going in. I need to see what’s happening there.’
The screen seemed to show an enormous well, teacup, essentially, floating in mid-air some twenty feet up, down at Mill Bottom. But that was madness, surely?
Skoros pulled a small brass skullcap from a drawer, with wires trailing from it, which he slid into special holes in the machine-desk. Then he fitted the skullcap onto Razor’s head. A flat metal strip held in his silver beak. Skoros pressed a button on the wand, and tiny darts snapped snugly into holes in Razor’s head, hidden by feathers. The bird went rigid in an instant, staring straight ahead, and the image on the mirror grew larger and clearer, as RoboFerret 7—an unfortunate creature wearing the same skullcap, and with the same darts permanently embedded in its brain, stepped closer, round to the front of the Green Man’s house.
‘Ahh,’ said Skoros, recognizing the place. Yes, it was a giant teacup, with a slab of darkness opening up in the side of it and—wait, what was that? ‘Closer,’ he yelled, and the Ferret scurried nearer to the improbable floating crockery. ‘A red star, with wings?’ said Skoros to himself, rubbing his naked chin and wishing for the thousandth time he had a full beard to stroke at moments like this. ‘I know that symbol, from...’ He shrugged. ‘Somewhere.’
The image on the mirror froze, interrupted by another service message. ‘Your battery is critically low. Either connect to another power source now, refuel, or switch off to conserve power.’
Razor sagged, suddenly free of the machine. He whipped the skullcap off with a beat of his wings, spitting the beak-strap out with a loud ‘Ptui.’
‘Ach,’ growled Skoros. ‘More power? So soon? But I just cut down an acre of the forest, what? Three days ago?’
‘It’s your power to output ratio,’ said Razor, sounding smug. ‘’s’like flying. You’re flapping madly to just about stay in the air. What you need to do is find a thermal.’
‘A what?’ asked Skoros as he flicked switches and pulled levers, shutting the great machine down. The chugging and growling and hissing subsided, slowly, as the power was switched off and the contraption gradually became just another piece of odd metallic art.
‘A thermal, raaaark. Pocket of warm air,’ Razor replied, as though he was explaining to a five-year-old. ‘Then you can glide, and soar. More energy in, from the hot air, less energy out, cos you’re not flapping about like a goose in a gale force. Raaark.’
‘Hmm,’ said Skoros. ‘Interesting. Actually interesting. But what I really need right now is more trees to burn.’ He snapped his fingers, and the bird flew quickly up to his shoulder, its metal talons curling and piercing the robe. ‘Fortunately, of course, the Green Man is a practically inexhaustible supply of tree.’
‘Inex-raaaark-haustible?’
‘Not to mention tremendous fun,’ said Skoros. ‘You cut a branch off him, he grows another in its place. It’s hilarious.’
‘Raark. Reckon he’d find it challenging though, not burning up if you threw him into the incinerator.’
‘D’you know, I have a fee
ling you’re right.’ Skoros pushed open the doors with their elaborate cog-work decoration. ‘Let’s go and find out,’ he said, waving the wand idly behind him, and hearing the wall re-seal itself with the smooth noise of clockwork and pistons, as he and Razor strode back down the corridor.
__________
The Green Man peered through his window. In fact, he’d been peering through his window since the slab of blackness had appeared, waiting to see what other tricks the floating teacup had up its sleeve.
There was a long hissing sound, and then a person stepped through the slab of blackness and stood there on the lip of the hole.
It was a slim person with a fringe of blonde hair all the way around its head, and remarkable violet eyes the shape of almonds. Its nose was tiny, just a snub of a thing. Perhaps, thought the Green Man, it had missed school the day they’d been taught about growing noses, and had learnt to make do with what it had. The Green Man was no expert when it came to people’s ages, because he counted in rings, rather than years, but he would have hazarded a guess this one was more than ten, and fewer than fifteen. And it’s mouth...
Its mouth made the Green Man smile, without quite knowing why. It seemed to be permanently trying to hold in a grin, and, at the moment, it was doing quite well at it.
The person looked around the nook, blinking its big almond eyes. The Green Man was no expert when it came to guessing these things either, but he thought, given all the evidence he had at that moment, that it was a girl-person. A she.
The strange girl-person was dressed in a tight one-piece suit—trousers and top all together, with a thick collar round her neck, and it all shimmered in a rainbow-colour. Whenever he tried to really see what colour it was, he got the impression of it changing, as though it was playing with him. In the middle of her hair she wore a simple hairband. It, too, was of a colour that did that run-away-and-hide trick whenever the Green Man really stared at it. He blinked. Colours had never hidden from him before. He wondered why they’d decided to start now.
Aliens In My Garden Page 2
