She instinctively checked the time on her alarm clock. It was almost eleven o’clock in the morning, barely an hour after she’d left home in the taxi.
Confused, Bryony slipped from her bed and onto the landing. Edwin was coming out of his room, as bleary eyed and befuddled as his stepsister.
The children looked at each other. Then, without a word, they ran down the twisting stairs, along the hallway and into the lounge.
“Good morning.” The carved wooden face beamed down at the children from the fireplace. “Although there isn’t much left of the morning now. I trust you both slept well?”
“We weren’t asleep,” Bryony told Inglenook. “You were the one snoozing.”
“I may have partaken of a five minute nap,” conceded the Keeper of the Ancient Wisdom. “Just to preserve my magic powers.”
“You were out for hours,” said Edwin. “It was the Hypnoflax spores.”
“Hypnoflax spores?” There was a creaking noise as Inglenook’s wooden features folded into a frown. “What are you speaking of, Young Master?”
Edwin noticed there wasn’t a trace of pink webs in the lounge. “It’s all gone now,” he explained to Inglenook. “But it sent you to sleep. That’s how we ended up in your dreams.”
“I was in the dungeon,” added Bryony. “Your dungeon. With slunge and giant cockroaches and…”
“Slunge?” More creaking as Inglenook’s frown deepened. “What is slunge?”
“A mixture of slime and gunge. It was everywhere. I got covered in it. And troll bogeys. Can’t you see?”
Bryony glanced down at her clothes. She was wearing a clean nightdress, not a globule of slunge or troll snot in sight.
Inglenook chuckled. “I suspect it was your dream, not mine, Young Mistress.”
“Perhaps it didn’t happen. Maybe it was all just a dream.” Edwin showed Bryony his wristwatch. “It’s not been an hour since you left in the taxi, but I reckon I was in Maddergrub Manor for the best part of a day.”
Bryony shook her head. “You heard what Magister said. Time passes quicker in the dream realm.”
“Magister?” Inglenook’s voice was suddenly sharp. “What do you know of him, Young Mistress?”
“A lot more than you ever told me.” Bryony stared at Inglenook. “He was in your dreams too. Locked in a dungeon for hundreds of years. Or had you forgotten about him?”
There was a long pause before Inglenook replied.
“Magister is no more. He passed from this life a long time ago.”
“But we just saw him,” Bryony contested. “We spoke to him. In your dreams.”
“Then he was only part of my dream,” said Inglenook. “No more real than dungeons and cockroaches. You have nothing to fear from Magister in the real world.”
“But what about you?” Bryony stood on tiptoes, craning her neck to meet Inglenook’s gaze. “What do you have to fear from him?”
“Leave him be,” Edwin whispered to Bryony. “Magister is gone now. And anyway, none of it was Inglenook’s fault.”
Bryony wasn’t so sure about that. But Inglenook had fallen silent again, and she knew it was pointless asking more questions, at least for the moment. In any case, there was someone else to be thinking about.
She turned back to Edwin. “I’m sorry about Maddy.”
“I know she tricked us.” Edwin struggled to swallow a rising lump in his throat. “But she only wanted to be with her family.”
Bryony nodded, recognising for the first time how Maddy must have felt.
“That reminds me,” said Inglenook, suddenly back to his old cheery self. “It would seem young Malady popped round this morning whilst I was enjoying my short nap. She left her bag, which I assume she must want us to look after for a while.”
Edwin spotted Maddy’s satchel in the corner of the room. He walked over and opened it, delving inside to retrieve five rolls of canvas.
“The paintings of her family.” Edwin unrolled each canvas in turn. They were all present: Lord and Lady Maddergrub, pretty Rosabella, little Floriana and Alphonsus. Edwin had seen the portraits before, but noticed something different about them.
“They’re all wearing glasses.” It was Bryony who spotted it first, peering over Edwin’s shoulder as he spread the canvases on the floor. “They weren’t in the paintings before.”
But there was something else, another change that Edwin found even more striking.
“They’re smiling. All of them.”
“There’s another one.” Bryony pulled a sixth roll of canvas from the satchel, gasping when she unfurled it.
Edwin gasped too when he saw the painted features smiling back at him. “It’s Maddy! But how did she end up as a painting?”
“That was her dream,” said Bryony. “To be with her family, even if it meant turning herself into a painting. Guess she must have transported herself out of the dream world like we did.”
“So she finally made it home.” Edwin couldn’t stop his bottom lip wobbling. “She looks happy now. They all do. We must look after these.”
“I shall see they are stored securely.” As Inglenook spoke, the paintings vanished. “At least until Malady returns to claim them.”
“I don’t think she’ll come back,” said Edwin. “She’s where she wants to be. She’s living her dream.”
“Dreams are part of what we are,” said Inglenook. “But we must not let them control our destiny. What’s most important is what’s real, here and now. The present, and those we live our lives with.”
“That’s right.” Bryony smiled at Edwin. “I never realised it until today. Thanks for the pendant.” She clasped the silver leaf at her throat. “It’s the best present I ever had.”
“You’ve opened it already!” A disappointed looking Bill came striding into the lounge. “And I wanted to see the look on your face.”
Bryony ran and hugged her father. “Oh Dad. Thank you. Thank you so much. And you…” She embraced Jane who stood waiting in the hall. “Thank you. I love you guys.”
Jane and Bill exchanged bemused glances.
“That’s lovely.” Jane smiled and stroked Bryony’s hair. “We love you too.”
Edwin threw himself at his mother, almost knocking her over.
“And we love you,” Jane told Edwin. “All of us.”
“Now it’s about time we had a spot of lunch,” said Bill. “I wonder if anyone’s laid the table?” He ushered Bryony into the dining room. “Oh look, they have!”
Although Bryony now knew about her birthday surprise, she was still impressed by the food and decorations.
“Edwin cooked most of it.” Jane patted her son’s shoulder. “And the cake, icing and all.”
“I didn’t use any magic.” Edwin whispered to Bryony. “So it’s not quite up to Maddergrub standards.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Bryony winked at him. “I prefer it this way.”
“I put the sign up,” claimed Bill.
“That’s why it’s wonky,” clarified Edwin.
“That sign is perfectly straight,” said Bill. “It’s the rest of the house that’s wonky.”
Given the state of the ancient cottage, Bryony was prepared to give her father the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t care if the sign is wonky or not,” she declared. “What matters is we’re all together again.”
“Again?” Jane frowned. “But we haven’t been apart.”
“No.” Bryony checked herself, remembering that the grown ups knew nothing about events in the Dungeon of Dreams. Then she thought of something. “Did a letter turn up for me this morning?”
“I didn’t see one,” answered Bill.
“Me neither,” said Jane.
“Oh.” Bryony shrugged. “Must have dreamed it then.”
Bill and Jane glanced at each other, before Bill smiled a forced looking smile at Bryony. “Your mother will write again soon, I’m sure.”
Bryony didn’t share his optimism. “I haven’t heard from her for years.
I can’t rely on Mum, but I can rely on you, Dad. Jane, too. And Edwin.”
Bill’s forced smile became more genuine. “But don’t give up on your mother. She loves you, I know she does.”
“Maybe,” conceded Bryony. “But I’m not going to sit around waiting for a letter anymore. It wouldn’t surprise me if I never heard from her again.”
Bill picked up a knife. “Let’s cut the cake.”
“I think we should have sandwiches first,” said Jane. “Savoury before sweet, dear.”
“It’s Bryony’s birthday,” said Bill. “Let her decide.”
“Cake,” said Bryony, without a moment’s hesitation.
The family sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Bryony before she blew out the candles in a single puff. A grinning Bill plunged the knife into the cake. Edwin crossed his fingers, hoping they wouldn’t need a hammer and chisel. But he needn’t have worried, the knife sliced through icing and cake with ease.
“Here you are.” Bill presented Bryony with a slab of birthday cake. “Happy birthday, love.”
“Thanks.” Bryony reached for the cake, but then withdrew her hand. “But I think someone else should have first slice. Someone who put so much effort into the party.”
“That’s nice of you.” Bill raised the cake to his mouth. “After all, signs don’t put themselves up.”
“Ahem.” Jane seized Bill’s arm before he could bite into the cake. “I think Bryony meant someone who cooked all the food. Which would be Edwin.”
“Of course.” Bill smiled, thrusting the cake at his stepson. “Here you go, lad. And well deserved.”
Edwin looked at Bryony. “Are you sure?”
“Like Dad says, you deserve it.” Bryony chuckled. “Plus I want to check it’s not poison.”
Edwin knew she was only joking, and smiled as he took the cake from Bill. He was about to bite into it when a loud knocking noise came echoing from the hallway.
“There’s someone at the front door.” Bill looked questioningly at Jane. “Did we invite any guests?”
Jane gave her husband a puzzled look before leaving the dining room.
“Hurry up,” Bill urged Edwin. “At this rate she’ll be another year older before we get to sample the cake.”
Again Edwin lifted the cake to his mouth, but froze when Jane came back into the room. She beckoned at Bill, mouthing something that Edwin couldn’t make out.
The grown ups left the room. Edwin sensed something was wrong, but received an elbow in the ribs before he could voice his concerns to Bryony.
“So come on.” Smiling, she gave him another encouraging nudge. “Let’s get on with the party.”
Edwin was happy to oblige. But when he raised the slab of cake to his lips, he saw something poking out of it: a small furry head with a conical snout, long whiskers, large round ears and a pair of shiny black button eyes…
“Oi!” Edwin glared at the mouse. “What are you doing in Bryony’s birthday cake?”
“Just carrying out some routine structural checks,” explained Stubby. “Prior to taking up residence.”
“That’s my birthday cake,” said Bryony. “You can’t live in it.”
“Of course I can,” argued Stubby. “Cakes make perfect housing for mice. I have a Great Aunt who spent several years living in a three-tiered wedding gateau. Problem was she was on the top floor. Nice view but a pain when the lift was out of order.”
“Hey.” Edwin noticed that Stubby’s cheeks were bulging. “You’re eating it!”
“Naturally. What use is a house made of cake if you can’t eat it? And I have to say this is the best house I’ve ever tasted. My compliments to the builder.”
Bryony couldn’t help but laugh, and Edwin found himself chuckling along with her.
That was until Bill and Jane came back into the room.
“What’s the matter?” Bryony sensed something was wrong from her father’s troubled expression. Jane looked anxious, too.
“We have a visitor.” Bill shifted uncomfortably. “Um…”
“Prepare yourself,” whispered Jane. “This might come as a bit of a shock.”
A woman strode into the dining room. Tall, slender, with long golden hair. Wearing a smart designer suit. And smiling. Smiling at Bryony.
But Bryony couldn’t smile back; every muscle in her face was suddenly paralysed.
“Hi,” said the woman. “Sorry I’m a bit late. Delays at the airport. But never mind, I’m here now.”
The woman stepped towards Bryony, arms spread wide.
Bryony just stood there, although it took a considerable effort to do that. Her head was reeling, and her legs had turned to jelly.
“Oh come along, Poppet.” The blonde haired woman frowned at Bryony. “This is no way to greet your mother.”
Epilogue
It was a quiet night in the maternity ward. Or would have been, except for the ceaseless crying of a newborn baby.
“Hush,” whispered the mother, cradling the mewling infant in her arms. “There’s no reason to cry, Poppit.”
A shadow fell across the bed. The mother looked up to see a lady nurse staring down at her.
“I’m sorry,” she told the nurse. “I’ve tried everything, but I can’t make her stop. Are you sure my baby’s not sick?”
“Our tests have revealed nothing amiss,” advised the nurse. “At least not physically.”
The mother glowered at the nurse. “Are you suggesting there’s something wrong with my baby’s mind?”
“I am no expert at such matters,” said the nurse. “But luckily I know someone who is. And he’s going to take very good care of you and your child. And here comes Doctor Masters now.”
The mother didn’t pay much attention to the tall man in a white coat striding up the ward. She was studying her crying baby, whose dark eyes were focussed on the window opposite the bed.
“It’s something outside.” The mother realised what her child was looking at. “It’s the moon. She’s crying because she’s scared of the moon.”
The mother looked up to see a grey haired man with a hawk’s beak nose leaning over her bed.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Platt.” Doctor Masters’ voice was softly reassuring. “Your daughter Bryony will soon be fast asleep.”
“Not drugs.” The mother wrapped her arms protectively around the infant. “I don’t want my child on medication.”
“Of course not.” Doctor Masters smiled, his silver eyes glinting as he studied the baby. “I favour more old fashioned methods. And I know a little nursery rhyme that will help …”
To be continued…
###
Thanks for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I would be grateful if you could spend a few more moments of your precious time leaving an unbiased five star review at your retailer.
Also feel free to check out the other titles in the Wychetts series:
Wychetts
Wychetts and the Key to Magic
Wychetts and the Farm of Fear
Wychetts and the Tome of Terror
Wychetts and the Thunderstone
Wychetts and the Moon of Magister
And to whet your appetite, here’s a taste of what to expect in the next Wychetts story…
The sky was melting. Streaks of red, amber and gold oozed across the horizon, a dazzling contrast to the expanse of darkening blue above. The full moon shone brightly, framed by a halo of pale light that made it look somehow larger than normal.
“Which way now?” Bill slowed his posh company car as they neared another road junction.
Ensconced on the back seat, Bryony studied the paper in her hand. “Turn left, Dad.”
“That will take us further into the countryside.” Bill aimed a doubting glance at her via the rear view mirror. “No town or village for miles. Are you sure you know where we’re going?”
Bryony wasn’t sure at all. It was hard work deciphering the squiggly lines on the paper, and she was largely relying on guesswork.
Or maybe something else…
She peered out of the car window. There was nothing to see except empty fields. Yet despite the lack of landmarks, Bryony found the scenery familiar. She couldn’t help but feel she’d been this way before. Just when, and who with, she couldn’t be sure. But the lack of shops meant it wouldn’t have been with Mum.
Mum. Thinking of her now made Bryony’s stomach churn with guilt. Despite what Bryony had told her father, Mum thought Bryony was still in her bedroom. She’d come up to check several times that afternoon, but Bryony had told her that she just needed a few hours rest, and that she’d be right as rain for their family dinner. At which point Mum had seemed to get the message and retreated to the kitchen to prepare the lavish feast.
Bryony wasn’t sure why she’d kept the letter a secret from Mum. She told herself it was because she didn’t want Mum to worry, but deep down she knew there was more to it than that. If Mum knew about the letter, there was no way she’d have let Bryony set one foot outside the house, let alone embark on some magical mystery tour. If Mum knew about the letter, she’d have locked the bedroom door and called the police.
No, maybe not the police. What would the neighbours think if the police turned up at the door?
But Bryony knew whom Mum would have called…
Doctor Masters.
Again Bryony saw a flickering vision of a man with a hawkish face dressed in a long white cloak, with eyes glowing bright silver.
Magister, that was his name, another face from her dreams becoming real.
Bryony didn’t know if this Magister was good or evil. Like everything else in her dreams, she just couldn’t make sense of it.
But she sensed the letter was the key to unlocking the mystery.
Wherever it had come from, the purpose of the mysterious message was now obvious. The scribbles on the back had turned out to be some sort of map. A very crude map, but with just enough information to guide her on the ten mile journey. She could tell they’d travelled ten miles from the dashboard milometer. Ten miles wasn’t that far, but it seemed a million times that distance from Mossy Glade Close.
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