by Sam Short
“We are imbued with a strength far greater than our stature would suggest,” said Breena. “Transporting this bottle will be an easy feat for us.”
“Then you’re welcome to it,” I said, happy that at last I’d found wine connoisseurs equal to my own high calibre.
The horn sounded again, echoing over the grassland and reverberating in my ears.
Trevor’s face whitened. “Hurry,” he said, fluttering to the bottle to join his queen. “The horsemen approach! We must take our prize and leave.”
Breena withdrew a length of silver strand from a pocket hidden deep in her dress, and proceeded to wrap it around the neck of the bottle while Trevor scanned the dark distance for danger. When the twine was firmly in place, the fairies each held an end, and with no visible exertion, lifted the bottle into the air.
“Wait a cotton-picking minute!” said Granny, leaping to her feet and grabbing the wine bottle, stopping the fairies in mid-flight. “You two aren’t going anywhere until you tell us who the horsemen of the deep are! Who do you think you are? Fluttering over here like Mr and Mrs fancy pants, manipulating my granddaughter into handing over her wine, and then leaving when the going gets tough! Not on my nelly! You tell us if we’re in danger from these horsemen, or I’ll put you both in that wine bottle and keep you as pets!”
“You don’t want to be her pet,” said Boris.
Breena and Trevor tugged on the twine, their wings buzzing so quickly they were barely discernible. “At first, we thought you had come to trade with the horsemen,” said Breena, giving the rope another tug. “This is where the horsemen meet the other boat to sell their goods. We assumed you were traders until you lit a fire. The horsemen deal in secrecy, and wouldn’t allow a fiery beacon to draw attention to their dealings.”
“They are a fearsome people indeed,” said Trevor. “They wear clothes of metal and ride great steeds. They hunt us fairies, but have yet to capture one of our type. I would not like tonight to be any different. Give us our wine, and allow us to flee, for I hear the hooves of their stallions in the dry grass. They approach at speed!”
Barney took a step towards the grassland and cupped a hand to his ear. “I hear something,” he said. “Like metal clanking.”
“Their clothes of protection!” said Trevor, with panic in his voice. “Release the wine, old lady, and let us leave!”
“Let them go, Mother,” said Mum. “They’re terrified! Poor little things.”
Granny reluctantly released the bottle, and the fairies flew away, dragging the wine between them. “Good luck, travellers!” shouted Trevor, as the two lights flitted between trees and were swallowed by the darkness as cloud cover hid the moon. “You will need it!”
Barney grabbed my wrist, pulling me to my feet and dragging me towards the boat. “Come on!” he said, “I’ll start the engine. Let’s get out of here. I didn’t sign up for this mission to end up being murdered by horsemen!”
“Too late,” said Boris, staring into the gloom. “They’re here. I can smell them.”
A loud snort from an animal shrouded in darkness confirmed the horsemen’s presence, and the scraping sound of a sword been drawn from a scabbard made my blood run cold. “What do we do?” I said. “Magic won’t work here! We’re unprotected!”
“Everybody calm down,” said Granny. “I’ll deal with this.” She took a few steps along the beach and spoke into the darkness. “Make yourselves known, vile horsemen!”
A low voice answered, the words muffled and echoing as if spoken from within a helmet. “I wouldn’t say we’re vile. Some of us may be a little uncouth, but vile is a very harsh word. Take it back at once!”
“Make yourselves shown!” said Granny, “and I’ll reconsider my choice of word. Until I see you, I consider you vile.”
“Don’t antagonise them, Granny,” said Willow. “They’ll kill us!”
“We’ll do no such thing!” said a high-pitched voice.
“Quiet, Bertram!” said the voice in the helmet. “Let me do the talking.”
“Sorry,” said Bertram, the sincerity evident in his tone.
Barney stepped next to Granny. “We heard a sword being drawn. If you mean us no harm, why are you armed?”
“That was me,” said a third voice. “It wasn't a sword being drawn, it was the pipe of peace. It’s very long so I store it in a sword scabbard. Sorry for the misunderstanding. It’s not the first time its happened.”
“Who are you people?” said Granny. “Who are you, horsemen of the deep? Show yourselves!”
“You've been speaking to the fairies, haven’t you?” said Bertram. “Only the fairies call us the horsemen of the deep. We live beneath the mountains, yes, but deep? Not really. We live in caves, I’d say we live just below ground level if I’m being totally transparent. Gossiping fairies — they really are a pain.”
“Why do you hunt the fairies?” said Granny. “If you are a peaceful people, why would you pursue such small folk?”
“Were the fairies drunk?” said the helmeted person.
“They were on their way to being drunk,” said Willow.
“The fairies of the Silver Mountains have a complicated relationship with alcohol,” came a voice from the dark. “They like it a little too much, and the only time we chase them is when they steal our mead. It takes us months to make, and they’d clear us out in a night if we didn’t see them off. Those fairies are their own worst enemies, and they leave a terrible mess after a night on the sauce. We once found King Trevor’s underwear floating in a vat of our mead. We had to pour the whole batch away.”
The clouds finished their journey across the moon, and Granny laughed as the area was bathed in a silver glow. “Stand down, everybody. I think we’re safe.”
Boris snorted. “Horsemen of the deep, my hairy backside!”
I stifled my own laughter. I was politer than Granny and Boris, but it was an amusing sight. Standing in a small semi-circle were three bedraggled donkeys, each carrying a dwarf on its back. Each dwarf wore a mismatched ensemble of dull silver armour, which clanked as they shifted nervously in their saddles. The dwarf in the centre wore a helmet with a small slit to see out of, and the other two wore leather hats, buckled beneath their chins.
“You’re dwarfs!” said Granny. “On donkeys! How wonderful!”
“And you’re strangers on our land,” said the helmeted dwarf, climbing from the saddle and jumping to the ground with a clang of metal. “Please, tell us who you are and what you desire. Are you here to buy our wares?”
Granny smiled. “I am Gladys Weaver, and these people are my family. I apologise for trespassing, sir, we needed somewhere to moor our boat for the night, and this was the perfect spot. We have no wish to buy your wares.”
“Sir? I am no sir!” said the dwarf, removing the helmet and bowing. “I am Gretchen the bold of the Silver Mountains.”
“You don’t look bald,” said Boris. “You’ve got a fine head of hair going on there, madam dwarf.”
“Bold!” said Gretchen. “Not bald!”
“My apologies, your boldness,” said Boris.
Granny wrung her hands and frowned. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “How dare I assume your gender! You must believe that this isn’t something I do regularly!”
“Be at peace, Gladys Weaver,” said Gretchen. “You are forgiven.” She addressed the other donkey riders. “Dismount, companions.”
The other two dwarfs hopped from their donkeys and stepped into the golden ring of light cast by the fire. “Allow me to introduce Bertram and Ulric,” said Gretchen. “My most trusted companions.”
Bertram held up a long silver pipe. “It is our custom to welcome strangers with the pipe of peace. Would you do us the honour of joining us for a smoke of some happy herb?”
Granny rubbed her hands together. “I’m in,” she said. “I haven't had a good toke since January the first, nineteen-eighty-four.”
“What?” said Mum. “You used to smoke cannabis?”
“I’d like some too,” said Boris. “Beats a cigar.”
“Light the pipe of peace, Bertram!” said Gretchen, placing her helmet on the sand near the fire and sitting next to it. “We have new friends to make.”
“Have they had too much?” said Bertram, throwing the skeleton of the trout he’d eaten into the fire. “They look like they’ve had too much.”
“I’d say it looked that way,” said Mum, shaking her head.
Gretchen took a long puff on the pipe and blew a perfect circle of smoke, scattering the mosquitoes which had gathered above her head. “We brought the strong stuff,” she said. “It’s not meant to be taken in such large quantities.”
Boris and Granny had both taken drag after long drag on the pipe, while the rest of us had politely refused — with Barney needing to be reminded that he couldn’t confiscate the drugs, or press charges against dwarfs of the Silver Mountains. He’d finally relented and sat back to watch Granny and Boris get high. It had been quite the show, and it seemed that they hadn’t yet reached the crescendo. They lay in the sand, side by side, a few feet from the fire, Boris’s hooves pointing heavenward, and Granny marvelling at the size of the moon. “I feel like I can touch it, Boris,” she murmured. “I feel like I can touch the moon.”
“You can do anything you put your mind to, Gladys,” said Boris, waving a hoof left and right. “You’re a special woman.”
“Special, my foot,” said Mum. “Irresponsible more like.”
“Leave them to it,” said Willow. “They’ll frazzle out and fall asleep soon enough.” She looked at Gretchen. “You mentioned selling wares. Are you dealers in the happy herb?”
Barney made a strangled sound in his throat, but managed to compose himself.
“No,” said Gretchen. “We don’t sell our happy herb. We give that away to anybody who requires it — happiness should be free for all. We sell the metals we mine from the mountains. The metals which give our home its name — the Silver Mountains.”
“You sell silver?” said Mum. “You must be rich!”
“No, not silver,” said Bertram. “We have no name for the metal we sell.” He rapped his knuckles on his armoured chest plate. “This is made from the metal we mine.”
“And that’s only a recent development,” said Ulric, the plait in his long beard swinging dangerously close to the fire as he tossed another log into the flames. “Nobody wanted our metal until a few months ago.”
Barney leaned across me. “May I?” he said, forming a fist over Ulric’s armour.
Ulric nodded. “Be my guest.”
Barney tapped the metal and dragged his fingernail across it. Satisfied, he sat back. “I bet it’s heavy to wear, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Very heavy,” said Gretchen. “But we’re strong enough to shoulder the burden.”
“It’s lead,” said Barney. “You really shouldn’t be wearing it. It’s poisonous if ingested.”
“Those rules don’t apply here, Barney,” I reminded him. “Nobody gets ill in The Haven.”
“Well, lead is not very protective either,” said Barney, undeterred. “It’s too soft to stop a sword. It doesn’t make very good armour.”
“We do not wear it to deflect the blade of a weapon,” said Gretchen. “We wear it to look good.”
“It works,” said Willow. “You look lovely.”
Gretchen couldn’t hide the smile that crept over her face. “How very kind of you to say,” she said. “You’re certainly people of high standing and fine manners.” She passed the pipe of peace to Bertram, and looked at Mum. “Pray tell, what brings such well-mannered folk to our lands?”
“We’re investigating a mystery,” said Mum. “On behalf of Maeve. We’re searching for six witches who have gone missing. They were last seen in the City of Shadows. We plan to arrive there tomorrow and begin our search.”
Barney took the opportunity to exercise his policing muscles. “Have you heard or seen anything? Anything suspicious that might help us?”
Gretchen shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Our lands are quiet, we are a simple folk who rarely see strangers, and we stay out of the business of the rest of The Haven. I’m afraid your questions are wasted on us.”
“I understand,” said Barney. “I’m sure we’ll have more luck in the City of Shadows.”
Ulric frowned. “Gretchen,” he said. “What about those three lady witches who were bound and gagged in the boat of the man who buys our metal?”
Gretchen sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said to Barney. “Forgive his stupidity.” She knocked on Ulric’s leather hat with her knuckles. “Hello? Anybody home? He asked if we’d seen anything suspicious, you silly dwarf.”
“That is quite suspicious,” said Barney, sitting up straight.
“Really?” said Gretchen.
Barney frowned. “You don’t think that seeing three women tied up and gagged is suspicious?”
Gretchen’s eyes clouded with confusion. “Why would it be? We assumed he was having trouble with his wenches. When our wenches misbehave, we tie them up and gag them until they can behave. Doesn’t everybody?”
“Aren’t you a wench, Gretchen?” said Willow. “What if you misbehaved? Would you be tied up too?”
Ulric and Bertram gasped in unison. “Gretchen is not a wench!” said Bertram, spittle flying from his mouth. “She is a lady! From a high family! How dare you!”
Barney held up a hand. “Stop, please. She didn’t mean to be rude. We come from different cultures. In our culture, we don’t tie women up, but that’s not the point. What you’ve told us is very suspicious… please tell us more. Who is the man on the boat?”
“Don’t tie naughty wenches up?” muttered Bertram. “Heathens.”
“It was almost half a year ago when he first arrived,” said Gretchen. “In a boat, as red as the morning sun. We were happy to sell him our metal — nobody had ever asked us for our metal before.”
“Were the captive witches in his boat the first time he visited you?” asked Barney.
“Oh no,” said Bertram. “He came a few more times before that night.”
“What does he want your lead for?” asked Barney, his notebook and pencil in hand.
“He does not tell us,” said Gretchen. “He buys a tonne in weight each time he visits.”
“How does he pay for your metal?” said Willow. “With gold?”
“We don’t swap metal for metal. We have no use for gold,” said Ulric. “We are paid in condiments that are hard to come by in The Haven. Spices, pepper, mustard… all the things that finish a nice meal off. The mustard is particularly good — especially on a salt baked trout. His payments have certainly changed our diets.”
“They certainly have,” said Bertram, rubbing a hand over his armour protected belly. “I’ve put pounds on since I discovered spicy food, and doesn’t my donkey know it.”
“He pays for the metal you’ve risked life and limb to mine from the mountains, with spices?” said Mum. “That hardly seems a fair swap.”
“Not just condiments,” said Gretchen. “He pays us with his promise too. The promise that when he acquires the one true power, he will bestow upon us such glory that the name of the dwarfs of the Silver Mountains will be forever enshrined in the folklore of The Haven. We will be a people to be reckoned with — his words, not mine, although I do like the way they roll off the tongue.”
“Power?” said Barney. “What power?”
Gretchen shrugged. “We only know what he tells us.”
“One true power!” said Mum. “Hilda warned us of a power! Her vision was correct!”
“Does the man have hair as black as coal?” said Barney, recalling Hilda’s prophecy.
“I do not know. He shroud
s himself in a hooded cloak as black as the depths of the night sky,” said Gretchen. “But if he matches his clothes with his hair, there’s a good chance his hair is black.”
“And the witches in the boat?” said Willow. “Can you tell us anything about them?”
“It was a few weeks ago, and it was a very dark night,” said Bertram. “They were chained up in a corner of the boat’s hold. We didn’t really pay them much attention. We assumed they’d been very mischievous. We helped the man load his metal and went on our way.”
“How is it possible to imprison a witch?” said Barney. “Surely they could use magic to escape?”
“Not if the man had more powerful magic than the witches,” said Mum. “It would be easy. He wouldn’t need chains; a simple spell would capture them. The chains were to stop them escaping when he brought them here, where no magic can be used.”
“Do you know where he takes his metal?” said Willow. “Do you know where he took the witches?”
“He speaks of a ten-hour journey, and he comes from, and returns west along the river,” said Gretchen. “I would guess that he travels to the City of Shadows.”
“We should leave now,” said Barney. “Hearing of witches chained up in a boat has made this whole thing seem far more urgent!”
“The lamp on my boat isn’t bright enough for night travel,” I said, “and we can’t use a magical light until we’re clear of these mountains. It would be far too dangerous. Besides, I don’t think we’d have much luck getting Boris and Granny aboard.”
“What on earth are they doing?” said Mum.
At the rim of the circle of light cast by the fire, Granny stood on tiptoes, her fingertips grasping at the air above her head. “I can’t reach it, Boris,” she wailed. “I can’t touch the moon!”
Boris reared up on his hind legs, his front hooves waving. “Me neither, Gladys. I can’t touch it either. There’s only one thing for it. You must ride me to the moon!”
“You’re a genius, Boris, a genius,” murmured Granny.
“Thank me when our feet touch cheese, Gladys,” said the goat. “Climb aboard, dear lady, and ride me hard and fast. Ride me like there’s no tomorrow!” He dug all four hooves firmly into the sand and tilted his head rearward. “Use my horns to steer, and trust in my abilities, Gladys, for I am your steed tonight. I will fly you to the moon.”
