Scilly Seasons

by Chris Tookey

  “This plant,” said Osprey, wonderingly, “is new even to me.”

  He picked up a bottle made of brown glass. Inside it was the most evil-looking plant that Wenda had ever seen: a misshapen, contorted mass of grey, snakelike twigs, each one writhing as if it were alive.

  “Do you know what it is, girl?” Osprey asked Wenda.

  Wenda shook her head.

  “It’s ratwort,” said Morgana. “Very rare, but you can have a specimen if you like. I have plenty more.”

  “What does it do?” asked the wizard.

  “Grind a little of its root into somebody’s food or drink, and they will do whatever you tell them to. No mind has any defence.”

  “How long do its effects last?”

  “That depends on the amount,” replied Morgana with a mischievous grin. “Anything from hours to days. Take it!”

  “No, thank you, my lady,” said Osprey, replacing the bottle on the table where he had found it. “I do not dabble in the darker side of magic.”

  “Why not?” asked Morgana. “It’s the best fun!”

  “I try not to do anything that conflicts with my Christian principles,” said Osprey. “I am sorry.”

  “You think something is wrong with the dark arts? I learned them from your mother,” said Morgana.

  “I daresay you did,” said Osprey. “My mother has little time for religious scruple. I am rather different.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” replied Morgana, with a toss of her head.

  “Believe me, I do,” said Osprey.

  “Well, perhaps you’re right,” said Morgana, abruptly. “It would seem you really don’t have any more to teach me.”

  Wenda noticed that a round crystal ball in the corner of the room had suddenly become active. It was filling with orange light, and strange purple patterns were playing within it, though they had not yet formed themselves into any recognisable shape.

  “Sir,” she said to Osprey, “your palantir.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I shall take it in my room. Excuse me.”

  Osprey took the ball in both hands and walked from the room, leaving Wenda to tidy up after the lesson. Not for the first time, Wenda felt Morgana’s eyes examining her.

  “Was there anything you wanted, my lady?” asked Wenda.

  “I want to know why he treats you like a lowly scullery maid,” said Morgana.

  “Because that’s what I am, miss,” said Wenda.

  “Come now, you’re worth more than that,” replied Morgana.

  “I wouldn’t know about that, miss,” said Wenda, turning away.

  “I would,” said Morgana softly.

  Wenda half-turned.

  “What do you want from me, my lady?” she asked.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Turn round and look at me,” purred Morgana, “or do I have to use ratwort on you?”

  Wenda turned and found Morgana staring into her eyes.

  “You could be very pretty, you know,” murmured Morgana. “A little eye make-up, a more feminine dress-sense, that’s all you need.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so,” said Wenda, curtseying. “But I’ve a lot to do here, clearing up.”

  “Why don’t you come and work for me?” asked Morgana.

  “Doing what, my lady?”

  “I am in need of a maid and, more than that, I am in need of a friend.”

  “I wouldn’t presume…” began Wenda.

  “Do not interrupt me,” said Morgana sharply. “Remember your place!”

  Wenda was startled by the sudden change in Morgana’s tone. Suddenly she realised that the Empress’s daughter could, if her mood was right, be extremely dangerous.

  “No, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Wenda. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

  “Now, now. There’s no need to be frightened of me, is there?” asked Morgana soothingly. “Here, let me hold you. You’re shaking.”

  Wenda found herself encircled in Morgana’s arms and pulled towards her full, soft body.

  “We could make this room our own enchanted island,” breathed Morgana. “Do you know of the Greek island of Lesbos?”

  “I don’t think I do, ma’am. Oh!” cried Wenda, as Morgana’s hand slipped inside the top of her toga and began to caress her left breast. Wenda felt her nipple harden under the enchantress’s touch.

  “You see? You want me, don’t you?” breathed Morgana.

  “I’m not that kind of… person,” said Wenda, breathing with difficulty. She felt Morgana’s right knee between her legs, prising them apart.

  “Don’t speak,” whispered Morgana. “Just enjoy the sensation.”

  The young sorceress pulled Wenda’s hair so her head tilted upwards. Wenda’s mouth opened involuntarily to gasp, only to find Morgana’s mouth greedily upon hers. As Morgana’s tongue started to work its way inside her, Wenda broke away. She stood with her back to a mural of an exotic tree, shaking.

  “I told you! I’m not that kind of person!”

  “You’re not to talk to me like that!” said Morgana. “I can make you do whatever I want you to do.”

  “I’m not taking any of that ratwort,” cried Wenda, “if that’s what you mean!”

  “I would have no need of that,” replied Morgana, scornfully. “Look what I can do without it!”

  Morgana’s eyes flashed and she lifted one arm, pointing at Wenda and pronouncing words that Wenda had never heard before. Hardly had the words left her mouth than the wall behind Wenda came to life. Branches gripped her arms and legs. Another whipped across her mouth to stop her crying out.

  “You see?” said Morgana. “You can choose to be my prisoner, or you can choose to be my lover. Which is it to be? Either way, you have no defence.”

  Wenda tried to call for help and was relieved by the sudden arrival of Osprey.

  “And what,” he asked, “is the meaning of this?”

  Morgana looked round guiltily at the wizard standing in the doorway.

  “We were just… fooling around,” she said. “I was showing this scullery maid my imprisoning spell.”

  “Let her go, please,” said Osprey, barely bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. “Immediately.”

  With a casual wave of the hand, Morgana made the tree-mural sink back into the wall.

  “I am afraid,” said Osprey, “that Wenda and I must return to Castle Otto immediately.”

  “Why?”

  “We are needed there,” said Osprey. “Or rather I am needed. I have had disturbing news from Queen Elinor on my palantir.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Wenda, readjusting her toga and deciding to act as though the last few minutes had taken place in her imagination.

  “I am afraid it is Buzzard,” said Osprey.

  “My brother,” he added, as a concession to Morgana.

  He turned again to address Wenda.

  “He’s vanished. Naturally the school is in disarray without one of us being there. I must return to the castle.”

  “Now?” asked Wenda.

  “But night is falling,” said Morgana. “And there will be ghouls and vampires abroad. Perhaps even other, darker forces.”

  She spoke as if in warning, but her eyes were shining, as though she were describing her favourite night of the year.

  “Tonight is Lammas Eve,” she breathed, with a strange kind of reverence.

  “That is a risk we shall have to take. If necessary, I shall use my magical powers,” said Osprey, with a curious look at the princess. “There is no time to lose. Wenda, do you know where Wyrd is?”

  “From the noises I heard coming from my mother’s bed chamber,” said Morgana, snapping out of her reverie with a wry and twisted smile, “I think he might be in there. Shall I
fetch him?”

  “By all means,” said Osprey, frostily. “Wenda, gather your belongings and bring me three strings of garlic and three crucifixes. And wipe those tears from your eyes. We leave at once.”

  18

  Return to Castle Otto

  In which Wyrd and Wenda fall out

  Wenda averted her eyes from Wyrd. It was only too obvious what he had been doing with the Empress. There was a new, more knowledgeable look in his eyes.

  “Why do you think Buzzard’s buzzed off?” he asked, yawning.

  “How should I know?” asked Osprey, testily. “I am not my brother’s keeper. Now, are you both ready? Remember, one item of baggage only.”

  Osprey bent forward, held his arms out straight behind him and changed into a man-sized version of his bird namesake.

  Wenda gasped. It was the first time she had seen a wizard shape-shift.

  “Will your body take our weight?” she asked.

  “It will have to,” said Osprey. “We can’t risk travelling on foot through Atlantis on Lammas Eve.”

  “Couldn’t it be just as dangerous in the air?” asked Wyrd.

  “Not if Wenda has brought those things I asked her to,” snapped Osprey. “Wenda, hang them round my neck and around your own and Uther’s.”

  Wenda produced three strings of garlic and a similar number of wooden crucifixes roughly made out of twigs. They had not been hard to find, scattered as they were around the villa, near every door and window.

  “Here they are,” she said.

  “What good are these things going to do?” asked Wyrd.

  “No vampire will attack us if we’re wearing these,” explained Wenda. “Or so Osprey says.”

  “What about the harpies?” inquired Wyrd, clambering on to Osprey’s back.

  “They never fly at night,” replied Osprey. “Their eyesight is so poor they would be too easy a target for the vampires.”

  “Why do people call these the Fortunate Isles?” asked Wyrd. “They seem to contain every kind of danger known to man.”

  “You should see the rest of Albion,” replied Osprey grimly. “Then you’ll see why these isles are called Fortunate.”

  At this point, the Empress Honoria swept in, followed by Morgana.

  “My daughter tells me you’re having to leave early,” she exclaimed. “Such a shame! My memoirs are hardly complete.”

  Wenda’s suspicions about the Empress and Wyrd were borne out when Honoria looked across at Wyrd and put one hand on her hip.

  “Besides, Uther, I felt I was just getting to know you.”

  The Empress glanced at Osprey.

  “You’re turning into a bird,” she said, observantly.

  “In view of the late hour and the perils of travelling on horseback on Lammas Eve,” began Osprey, before he was silenced with a dismissive wave of the Empress’s hand.

  “No need to explain,” said Honoria. “I’m sure you know best.”

  “Goodbye, Wenda,” purred Morgana, kissing her on one cheek. “I know that we’ll meet again.”

  Before Morgana could kiss Wyrd, her mother had stepped in her way and taken the boy’s head in her hands.

  “Uther, farewell,” said the Empress, opening her mouth as she kissed him. Wenda noticed that Wyrd seemed only too happy to accept the Empress’s intimate embrace. After a kiss that lasted much too long for Wenda’s comfort, and a little too long for Wyrd’s if his blushing face was anything to judge by, the Empress and her daughter stepped back to allow the giant bird that was Osprey to fly off with his two human riders.

  As they gained altitude, Osprey allowed himself a sarcastic aside.

  “Well, Uther, I hope you are proud of your behaviour,” he rasped.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” asked Wyrd, defiantly.

  “I should have thought it was obvious why not,” answered Osprey, flapping his wings with great irritation. “Dammit, Uther, the woman’s an Empress!”

  “So?”

  “You’re demeaning the whole Roman Empire with this display of carnality!”

  “Why blame me?” said Wyrd. “Anyway, I don’t think your precious Roman Empire has much to learn from me when it comes to matters of the flesh. I’m not exactly Nero or Caligula, am I?”

  “It’s true that not all emperors have been perfect,” replied Osprey huffily, “but the Roman Empire still stands for, well, standards.”

  “And what have those standards got to do with me?”

  “It is that attitude,” said Osprey icily, “which got the whole of Albion into its present, parlous, barbarous state, with no respect for law and order, no religion and no civilisation.”

  “So?” asked Wyrd, rudely.

  Wenda looked crossly at the back of Wyrd’s head. Sometimes Wyrd could be just like any other sulky adolescent. Osprey might not be the easiest person to get on with, but at least he had high ideals – or did he? Wenda thought for a moment about challenging Osprey about his extra-marital relationship with Queen Elinor, but thought better of it. After all, she thought, I am just a kitchen maid.

  The rest of the journey passed in silence, except for a few intakes of breath from Wenda and Wyrd as huge, bat-like vampires flew too close with their fangs bared and red eyes glittering. No sooner had the monsters smelt the garlic or seen the crosses, though, than they changed direction abruptly and flew off in search of less protected prey.

  Wenda tried not to look down, but now and again she caught sight of fires flickering, with green-skinned ghouls hunched around them, toasting the bones of their latest victims. Their skeletal faces turned upwards to see the great bird above them, with his human cargo, but the ghouls soon turned back to their grisly banquets.

  After a few more minutes, the familiar shape of Castle Otto appeared on the horizon, and soon Osprey made a landing inside the gates. Guards rushed to deal with the intruders but halted when they saw Osprey changing back into human form.

  Wenda noticed that the first member of the household who came to greet them was Queen Elinor. She was in a nightshift but looked as though she had spent many hours on her appearance. With her face lit by a dozen flaming torches, she looked more beautiful and dangerous than Wenda had ever seen her.

  “Thank God you’re safe!” said the Queen. But she was looking only at Osprey. Wenda knew at that moment that the stories about Osprey and the Queen were true. He had travelled across to Atlantis from Lesser Britain to be with her, and it was Osprey whom she loved, not the King.

  “My lady,” said Osprey, kissing her hand.

  “Perhaps you would care for a nightcap?” suggested the Queen.

  “We-e-ell,” said Osprey, doubtfully, as though he wondered if it would be politic to visit her at so late an hour.

  “Or have you lost your heart to the Empress Honoria?” whispered Elinor, softly.

  “I think I may be a little old for her,” said Osprey, with a half-smile, looking at Wyrd.

  “You don’t mean?” The Queen glanced at Wyrd with an amused expression. “My, my, boys grow up so quickly nowadays. I should have thought he was more suited to the Empress’s daughter.”

  “I would have thought so too,” responded the wizard, “but the young one’s tastes are not confined to the male sex.”

  The Queen followed his gaze to Wenda.

  “Heavens,” said the Queen. “You have had an eventful time. You must tell me all about it.”

  As the Queen and Osprey walked away in the direction of her bedchamber, Wyrd turned to Wenda.

  “What did Osprey mean,” he asked, “about you and Morgana?”

  “I could ask you the same about you and the Empress Honoria.”

  “There was nothing serious,” he mumbled. “I mean it was just… you know. I could hardly… you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. And let me assure you there was nothi
ng going on between me and Morgana,” replied Wenda. “Not on my part, anyway. And I managed to stop her from… well, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Wyrd, in a way that made Wenda stare at him.

  “You didn’t,” she said. “With Morgana? Did you?”

  Wyrd opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly his face flushed red and no words came out.

  “Oh, great,” said Wenda. “Mother and daughter! Haven’t you the slightest notion of… you know?”

  “You’re a fine one to talk!” said Wyrd, lowering his voice so that the departing Queen and Osprey could not hear. “What about you and the King?”

  “That’s not the same thing at all,” hissed Wenda, wishing she could tell him the truth.

  “Isn’t it?” asked Wyrd.

  “I’m not saying I’m perfect,” said Wenda, miserably.

  “Well, I’m not perfect either,” retorted Wyrd.

  “Oh, that’s perfectly obvious,” said Wenda. “You don’t seem to have an ounce of decency or self-control.”

  “I never said I did.”

  “A fine mythic hero you’ll make!”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” said Wyrd, angrily.

  “I don’t know,” said Wenda. “I thought you were better than that, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m not,” said Wyrd. “Okay? I’m just ordinary. There’s nothing heroic about me. Right?”

  “I see that now,” said Wenda.

  “Good,” said Wyrd.

  “Fine,” said Wenda.

  It was at that point, as Wyrd marched off to be alone at the top of his ruined tower, that Wenda knew something she hadn’t before. Wyrd could be surly and wilful, but deep down he was sensitive and insecure. He needed her. That was why he blushed so often in her presence, and was one of the many reasons why, for all his faults, she loved him.

  ***

  Returning to her place in the kitchen, Wenda learned from Mrs Scraggs that Buzzard had left the castle, saying he needed to go away on business, but had left no indication of when he would be back.

  It was a fortnight before he returned, and he seemed a changed man: older, more tired. He refused to say anything about where he had been, or why he had gone. And he started to drink.