CHAPTER THIRTY
There’s Someone Else Inside!
After an uneventful but bumpy ride back, Burban let them onto the property. As the trio made their way to the cottage’s porch steps, Bram asked about Nettle’s dour expression. She heaved a sigh, thinking she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. “I saw Claudine kiss another man.”
“Really?” Bram’s eyes were as wide as Nettle had ever seen them. His mouth crooked sadly. “I thought she liked Dad?”
“I did too.”
Jazz was blunt. “Of course she’s got another boyfriend. She’s probably got tons of them. Look at her - she’s lovely. I doubt Uncle Fred ever had a chance with her. I mean, look at her, and look at him.” She startled at Bram’s and Nettle’s stunned expressions at her callousness. “What? I’m just saying, is all.”
Bram shook his head at Jazz who was heading toward the front door. “Just ask,” was his advice to Nettle. “Next time you see Claudine, just ask her. Maybe she’s seeing someone else, or maybe it wasn’t as it looked.”
Jazz disappeared into the cottage and as Bram followed, Nettle grabbed his arm just before he got through the front door. “There’s more.” Bram gave her a peculiar look as she motioned for him to follow her to the corner where the rampant white rosebush had been slashed back and they’d fixed the broken railings. “I saw something really strange up top of Olde Town. There was this man, this really, really, big mean looking man – what did Claudine call him? Dresden? Or was that the dog’s name? Anyway he was guarding the opening of the mine with a sword and this dog the size of a small pony.”
Bram leaned against the balustrade, gazing up with open curiosity. Sunlight glinted off his tousled hair, gilding it in strokes of amber and honey. “A sword and a dog?”
Nettle nodded. “He heard me up there, spying, and he set the dog after me.” The smell of the dog’s rank breath, the ferocious glint in its red eyes came back to her and she shuddered at the memory of being a hair’s-breadth away from being eaten alive. “I got away, obviously. But if I hadn’t, I think he would have let the dog use me as a chew-bone”
“Sounds like an extreme reaction,” Bram said his gaze a little sceptical. Nettle knew he’d find it hard to imagine her fear and the treacherous situation she’d found herself in; he hadn’t been there.
“There’s something else.” Her swampy green eyes were serious. “I don’t think they’re mining as shallowly as Claudine thinks.”
Bram cocked his head, and he opened his mouth to ask something further when all of a sudden Jazz skittered back out of the front door, looking pale. She wore a bewildered expression, and hissed, “Someone’s in there!”
Nettle and Bram exchanged a worried look. “What do you mean?” Wasn’t the copse supposed to keep everyone else out?
Jazz gave an annoyed look. “I mean, someone, besides us, is in the house. I heard voices talking.”
Nettle went first, creeping into the house, and then stopped near the entrance. She dug into the wicker basket by the door and handed Bram a horse shoe, and a frying pan to Jazz. She took for herself a large candlestick, holding it much like a baseball bat. Fleetingly wishing the sword her father had given her wasn’t wrapped up in a blanket underneath her bed, she moved forward. “Come on,” she whispered in encouragement. “We can take them.”
Bram wasn’t so sure. Only a day ago Quary had blown himself up to the size of a colossal balloon, squishing them all in his bedroom. “I don’t know…” he said, but his sister had already gone on ahead.
Nettle stealthily made her way through the living room, keeping close to the far wall so it shielded her presence from those in the kitchen. Her nerves were taut, and her heart began to pound in her chest like a train building momentum. She gripped the candlestick a little tighter. Her cousin was right, there was someone in the house. Or more correctly, faerie. Voices wafted from the kitchen, muffled and high pitched, as well as the sound of cupboard doors being opened and cans and cardboard boxes rifled through. It was as her father had predicted - Quary’s band of thieves here to rescue him. Her faith in the copse was restored, for the spriggans had already been in the cottage long before the copse grew to protect them.
As she edged near the end of the wall, the conversation became more distinctive. A female voice said, “So, why should we bother? Seems like we’re doing pretty good without you.”
“Listen here, Sandee Garnete, I’m the Captain. Don’t you go mutiny on me!” Quary must have forgotten where he was – he shook the bars of the bird cage, and a squeal of pain soon followed. The others laughed, their cackles and guffaws interweaving. Maybe two or three others besides Sandee, Nettle deduced.
Sandee spoke to the others. “What do you think, fellas, should we?”
“Curse you!” Quary bellowed. “I shoulda never let you join me band!”
“You let me join the band,” retorted Sandee, “because none of you were any good at thiev’n! Especially you Gravell.”
“Blasphemy!”
Sandee replied, in a mocking tone, “Come now, Captain, no need for name calling. We’re here aren’t we? To save your sorry hide.”
Another voice, an elderly male. “Even yer precious rooster is here.”
Quary answered with malice. “So he should be, Egnatius. I’d pluck him, otherwise.” And there came a sudden sound of an indignant rooster squawking and a sharp cry went up from Quarry. “Get back you bleed’n vindictive bird!”
Nettle turned to the others, who were huddled close-by, and mouthed, “On three. One… two… three-”
Nettle burst into the kitchen, wielding the candlestick above her head. “EVERYONE FREEZE!”
Bram and Jazz followed behind whooping and yelling.
All four of the spriggans swivelled around to stare at the children with pitch black eyes.
Nettle gawked, her candlestick drooping. Quary’s rooster, a beautiful glossy bird with auburn feathers and a brilliant emerald neck, had its head twisted to the side so as to get its beak between the branches of the birdcage. At first she thought he was trying to free Quary, but soon realised the bird was actually pecking at the little man and thoroughly enjoying it. Quary had his hat off and was beating it against the rooster. “I swear it, I’ll roast you for dinner when I get me hands around yer bleed’n neck!” The rooster crowed at Quary and imparted another flurry of vicious strikes driving the spriggan back.
Sandee, her mouth open wide with mirth, was leaning against a burley spriggan near Quary’s birdcage on the kitchen table. She was convulsing with laughter, while an elderly spriggan - Nettle assumed it was Egnatius - sat wearily upon a bag of sugar while his young companion rustled through the open cupboard where Nettle kept the boxes of cereal and canned fruit. Like Quary they were small gray creatures with a rocklike resemblance, short squat necks and broad shoulders. Tucked into their wide belts were various weapons and tiny velvet pouches. All the spriggans, but Egnatius, were dressed similarly to Quary, in colourful shirts and vests and leather boots, and bits of Jazz’s jewellery knocked together and fashioned into armour. Nettle heard Jazz’s gasp of surprise. “That’s where my necklace and earrings got to!”
“Well that’s made you all shut up and take note,” grinned Quary gleefully, slapping his hat back on his head, as he plonked himself down on his bed, crossing his arms, getting comfortable.
Sandee Garnete, her black hair braided and twisted high on her head in a topknot was the first to react. She drew out her sword and shouted, “Get em lads!”
The spriggans were incredibly fast. Must faster than Nettle anticipated. Self-doubt flashed through her. There’s no need for them to blow themselves up like puffer fish, they’re going to overrun us before we know it!
Egnatius had risen, shouting orders at the band of thieves. The young spriggan had leapt from the cupboard to land onto Bram’s back. Bram spun around, frantically trying to grab hold of the spriggan, but his reach was not enough.
The stocky spriggan bearing a mouthf
ul of half broken teeth ran across the table and hurtled himself at Jazz, like a cannonball rolling through the sky. She shrieked and struck out with her frying pan, hitting the little man, sending him spiralling into the wall. He crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned. Shaking his dazed head he awkwardly got to his feet. Jazz took an involuntary step back, the pan handle slipped a little in her sweaty hands. The spriggan fixed a furious glare upon her, his obsidian eyes narrowing. He tucked his head down and barrelled toward Jazz like a charging bull.
“Get away!” Jazz screamed as he grabbed hold of her right leg. She tried kicking him away, but he held on tightly and hauled himself up her leg like a lumberjack - over her knee, up her waist, swiftly reaching her chest and drew out his axe from his back.
Jazz and Bram were immobilised.
Nettle was swiping her candlestick at Sandee, who cackled manically. “Is that all you’ve got girl?” Sandee nimbly ducked and dived, avoiding Nettle’s strikes. In a series of rapid jumps, the spriggan then leapt from the kitchen table to the oil lamp and swung from that onto Nettle’s shoulder.
Sandee yanked Nettle’s hair, pulling her head back. Nettle yelped as a sharp pain flared across her scalp. She struggled in vain but the spriggan only yanked harder on her hair. “Let go!” Nettle yowled, and froze as she felt the cool tip of the sword press against her exposed throat.
Quary let out a bellyful of laughter and thwacked his thigh, gaily eyeing Nettle. He wagged a finger at her. “I told you I’d get you in the end.” He rose from the bed, stretching leisurely. “Thank you my friends. Now if you’d be so kind to let me outta here.”
Sandee gave the rooster a nod, and the bird flicked open the latch on the cage with its beak and pulled the door open. In a hurry to obtain freedom, Quary tumbled out. With a little more dignity, he rose, dusting himself off and addressed his band. “I hoped you’d of come earlier, but I suppose later is better than never.”
“Yer lucky we came at all,” mumbled Sandee.
Nettle, a little breathless, locked gazes with her brother. She could tell he was frightened but he held himself bravely, a stoic expression on his face. She grimaced, this was all her fault, she should have run back to Olde Town instead of barrelling in thinking they could handle a handful of spriggans. She had to get them out of this, ideally in one piece. She squared her shoulders, ignoring the bite of the blade at her throat and the sting of fresh blood dripping down her neck. She eyed Quary and dared ask, “Who are you all?”
Quary gave her a wink and swaggered up and down the table, enjoying the sense of newly found freedom. He threw his arms into the air, indicating his comrades, “Meet my thieving band of brigands.” He pointed to the elderly spriggan. “Egnatius Granitt, who always seems to know how to do something better, yet never seems to take his own advice.”
“I do know better, you bleed’n buffoon,” the old spriggan spluttered, leaning wearily on his walking stick. “I got years on you Gravel.”
“And don’t we know it.” Quary grumbled. “The young’n here is Spix Shingel. All fingers n’ toes. The reason why we nearly got caught by the Catchers. ”
“He’s young and he’s learning,” soothed Sandee. “Besides we got away didn’t we?” She leaned close to hiss in Nettle’s ear. “Sandee Garnete be my name, girly.” Nettle shied away, pinching her nostrils closed, the spriggan’s breath smelt oily and fishy.
Quary pointed at the burly spriggan sitting astride Jazz’s shoulder. “My brother, as brainless as boggart and as disloyal as a goblin.”
His brother merely let out a guffaw at the description and idly drew the axe’s cheek down the side of Jazz’s face. She let out a little squeal of fright. He grinned, enjoying her terror. “And you, pretty one, can call me Roq.”
Nettle addressed Quary, he’d found a piece of old crust and was busily crunching on it. “What do you want with us?”
“Why we bother’n talking to `em? We should be skin’n `em.” Roq said, not taking his black eyes off Jazz.
“You wouldn’t?” Nettle hissed, her eyes flaring wide and her heart lurching. They wouldn’t, would they? What are we going to do? What would Dad do? Offer something? Distract them? But with what? And before she’d thought it through properly, she threw out the first thing that burst into her head that she could think of to save their hides. “Work for us!”
Quary stopped chewing on the stale toast to glare at her with his one good eye. “What did you say?”
Yes, what did I say? Out loud it sounded utterly ridiculous – work for them indeed. Nettle deliberately cleared her throat, trying to buy more time. Quary’s coal-black eye narrowed so thinly he almost looked asleep as he considered her, and a moment later he gave Sandee a measured nod. She withdrew her knife, but didn’t let go of her hair. Nettle rubbed her neck. Her fingers came away coated thinly with blood. Here’s hoping this is going to work, she thought worriedly. “Er, so I was saying, why don’t you work for us?”
Quary stared at her in bewilderment, as if she’d spoken a foreign language, then burst into riotous laughter, the others quickly following with hoots and crowing and thigh-slapping. Sandee’s cackling pierced her ears like needles stabbing a cloth. Nettle flinched and glanced uneasily at the other spriggans, all chortling and looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. She scrambled to add, “Dad’s away. He’ll appreciate it if we were to have extra security about the cottage.”
Quary’s spluttering quietened and he asked while adjusting his hat on his head, “And you got something of interest to pay for our services?”
“Yes.” She confidently held his gaze hoping he didn’t see through it and realise she was bluffing. I have absolutely no idea what I can trade.
He started swaggering down the long table toward her. “We’re thieves, we don’t work for our pay.” He gave a wicked grin. “Why should we bother? Why shouldn’t we just take what you’re offering right now, without all the fuss of working for it?”
He had a point. In fact if she were a spriggan, that’s exactly what she’d do too. “Well, because…” She sifted through her mind, what do we have that is any value to a spriggan? Besides furniture, there was little else. Maybe their mother might have some trinkets up in the bedroom stored away. She didn’t know if Briar did, she hadn’t ever looked, she never wanted to step foot into her parents’ bedroom.
She looked at Bram, help!
Bram quickly jumped in. “Of course you could do that, but you’ll find our offer more appealing!”
Nettle could practically see him thinking - what do we have that Quary would want? He was running his thumb across each of his fingertips the way he always did when his mind swiftly considered things. Then his thumb stilled on his ring finger. He had struck on an idea! Bram gave Quary a tight-lipped smile, self-assured. “But what we’re offering is our services.”
Quary’s inky eyes glimmered with unease. “What yer talking about lad? First you’re asking for us to work for you and now you’re saying you’ll work for us. Well lad, which is it?”
With Quary calling Bram lad instead of something like whiffy-breath or squat-face, Nettle knew her brother had him. Her spirits lifted a little. They could get themselves out of this without being skinned.
Bram took his spectacles from his nose and gave them a clean on the edge of his shirt. He replaced them while he spoke. “We can procure for you something you can’t get enough of, nor can get hold of yourself.” Quary knew instantly what Bram referred to. The other spriggans didn’t and were sharing perplexed glances. Bram gave a nonchalant shrug. “We’ve one or two stored in Bessie right this moment, but you’ll be wanting more, I’m sure.”
Nettle shared a worried look with Jazz, both wondered what he was offering.
“What’s he talking about?” Roq asked suspiciously. “Gold? Coin? Gems?”
Quary ignored his brother, keeping his gaze locked on Bram.
“We can get more if you like,” Bram offered, dangling it before Quary like a ball and string before a kitt
en. “But you know only we can get it for you. There’s no one else who can.”
Quary leaned back on his heels, eyeing Bram thoughtfully with his one eye. He tucked his hands into his vest pockets. “And you’re the only ones that can get us more?”
Bram nodded as cool as a poker player.
Quary stroked his chin. It was a while before he answered. “Well then, I think a bargain has been struck.” He addressed his band. “Let ‘em go.”
It was his band who was now confused. “What did he say?” Egnatius inquired of Spix. He shouted it, as if he were hard of hearing.
“He said let `em go,” answered Spix, completely astonished.
“Captain, you can’t trust the mortals,” protested Sandee.
“This lot, we’re gonna have to.” Quary glowered darkly. “I said lay down yer swords.”
The spriggans looked at one another in bewilderment, but one after the other they tucked their weapons back into their belts or slipped into boots or through leather loops hanging from packs and withdrew reluctantly from the children and gathered upon the table near Quary. Nettle hurried over to Bram and Jazz huddled behind them.
“Now,” said Quary, pleased to be back in charge of his band. “We’re gonna be staying here for a bit of respite. Look after the young’uns while their father is away.”
His band didn’t look convinced.
“There better be a bit o’ gold in it,” growled Roq.
“Don’t you worry, Roq me fellow,” said Quary with a good-natured pat on his brother’s broad back. He made his way to the end of the table where the children had earlier eaten breakfast. An empty plate scattered with toast crumbs and a honey-smeared knife was still on the table. Quary gave the rooster a good kick as he passed by. The bird squawked and hopped out of reach, a quiver of angry feathers.
Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters Page 23
