by Greg Curtis
“Of course. He has a gift.” She had to tell him that, even though she didn't want to. It was in her report. “A useful one. But the Fae aren't interested in him. They're interested in his books,” Dariya lied. “And not the ones sitting in the store front.”
“He has an extensive collection of rare books, some many centuries old and what he doesn't have he can get – for a price. He has a large network of contacts. I suspect he can even get some ancient Fae writings – and they don't write a lot. I've never seen a collection like his. I never thought I would.”
“You should speak with him. If you want to find anything written about the Golden Concord, either its creation or its operation, he is the man to see. The Order will be using his services.”
Was that convincing, she wondered? Dariya wasn't sure. He had caught her off guard with his question. But she didn't want to expose the wizard for the powerfully gifted man he was, nor reveal his family. Not when he could prove useful. And not when he had already provided a service in stopping her uncle's men escaping the Hallows. But the Inquisitor was trained to spot deception in those he interrogated and she wasn't trained in lying.
“I see,” he answered her non-committally, giving nothing away.
“In any case, I believe we have taken up enough of your time Miss Morningstar. And so I would simply thank you for your information and bid you a good evening.” And with that, a polite nod and a gesture to his men, the inquisitor abruptly turned and left her, ensuring that the latch clicked behind them.
That left Dariya sitting there, wondering just what he was intending. Because it seemed as though she had said something he intended to act on, though she didn't know what. Unfortunately she didn't think he’d been fooled by her attempt at deception. Did he know that Baen had a gift? Or was he simply a “person of interest”? Even if Baen was only the latter, she suspected the Inquisitor would learn the rest in time.
Still, she told herself as she turned the lock on the door and finally prepared for bed, the wizard could take care of himself. And she had duties to attend to. Duties like sleep.
Chapter Ten
The primrose hedge must have been twenty or more feet high! In fact it was so high that as he stood on the footpath in front of it, Baen had to bend his neck uncomfortably back to see the top. He hadn't thought that primroses could grow that high. Or that they could form hedges. Or for that matter that they had wicked looking thorns. Then again where his aunt was concerned, anything was possible when it came to plants.
Still, how had things got into this state? And why hadn't he known? Granted he hadn't been to his aunt's home since he was a child. She lived right over the other side of the city – not that that was an excuse. He'd barely seen her in years, and when he had, she'd always seemed a bit disconnected from the world. But this? Why had nobody said anything? Surely they could have hired a team of gardeners? Okay, so that probably wouldn’t have worked. But still, they should have tried. Having not done so – well. Baen looked again at the massive hedge. This was completely out of control!
His more immediate problem though wasn't the size of the hedge – if it could be called that given that clearly no one had ever pruned it into even a rough hedge shape. It was the way it smothered the top of the aged picket fence and gate. In fact that it simply covered the top of the gate like a wall of flowers and thorns. It was a fortification! How was he supposed to get in? On his hands and knees?
Baen decided that his best course of action was to search for another entrance to his aunt's property. So he stepped back a ways and started walking to the far end of the wildly overgrown mass of primroses. But when he reached it, the point at which his aunt's property finally met the neighbour's he saw that the hedge extended back from the street, unbroken.
He sighed and continued on, already guessing what he was going to find when he reached the end. And he did. The hedge was unbroken and completely surrounded the house. So ultimately he ended up back where he had started, staring at a tiny white picket fence and a gate.
How did Aunt Millie get in and out of her home? Even having seen the way the hedge completely surrounded the property he still discounted the overgrown gate. She wasn't particularly old – merely middle aged – but he couldn't imagine her getting down on her hands and knees to crawl under the hedge every time she went out. There had to be another way in.
Then an unexpected thought struck him. Perhaps she didn't go out anymore? He'd always known that she was a bit of a homebody who rarely left her home. But had she finally gone the rest of the way and become a complete hermit? Never leaving her home? But if she never left at all, how did she get supplies? Similarly, how would anyone even know if she was still breathing inside her fortress of plants? He tried to think back to the last time anyone had seen her, but eventually gave up. He simply couldn't remember.
Still, wondering about those things wouldn't help him get in to see her. And the fact remained that she was inside – hopefully not dead – and the only way in was through the gate that was all but covered by the hedge.
“Crap!” This wasn't how he had imagined his day going! Nevertheless he crouched down and crawled under the hedge to reach the latch on the gate. Then when he finally managed to pull it open – naturally it was stuck – he crawled on. Because, of course the hedge stretched out over the other side of the fence as well! It was like crawling through a tunnel but with the added nuisance that if he looked up at all those wicked looking thorns they would scratch the top of his head. And he just had to hope that no one had seen him! It was undignified! He was a respectable businessman after all!
Once through the hedge Baen got up and examined the damage to his trousers. Both knees were extremely soiled, and though a wash would probably fix that, there was an ugly looking tear in the fabric on one knee that he thought might mean the trousers were destined for the dustbin. He'd also acquired more than a few scratches from the thorns. Damn it! They were good trousers!
“Aunt Millie!” Baen called for her as he brushed himself off, hoping she could hear him. Because there was no way he could find her in the garden unless he accidentally bumped into her. He couldn't even see the house. The primrose hedge might be behind him but ahead stood walls of greenery lining both sides of the narrow garden path and blocking his view. It occurred to him then, that maybe her entire property had been turned into a jungle. Forget about what used to be a garden. Maybe the house had been taken over by the jungle too?
His aunt didn’t answer and so Baen carefully began picking his way along the remains of the garden path, calling out to her as he did so. The bushes on either side of the path suffered from a similar problem of over growth as the primrose hedge, and a number of times Baen found he had to shuffle sideways in order to slide between the walls of greenery. He had to watch his footing too. The roots had lifted all the paving stones. It barely qualified as a path any more. Looking at the state of the garden however, he did start to worry about something else – that Aunt Millie might actually be dead. No one would know.
But as he walked through the jungle, he realised that this jungle in the middle of the city was a boon for some. There had to be hundreds of birds in the bushes, singing their songs and probably nesting. He spotted the eyes of a couple of small woodland creatures hiding in the undergrowth as he passed, and he heard the yip of a fox. It seemed that this might not be a good place for people, but his aunt had created a paradise for small creatures – and it was right in the heart of the city! No wonder his father kept planting his face in his hands every time someone mentioned Aunt Millie. Because mostly it was the neighbours complaining about the jungle next door!
He followed the curving path around the property, wondering why it curved at all. He was sure it had initially been straight when the house was new. But he forgot that when he abruptly came across the first sign of something other than jungle. Stone steps leading up to a patio! And behind it he could make out some of the house, though it too had been affected by Millie’s green finger
s. The bright brick walls were now completely covered in lichen and climbing vines. Still, at least the house was still standing.
“Aunt Millie!” He tried calling for her again.
“No need to shout, Dear,” she called back. “You'll scare my friends.”
He would have asked what she meant but when the front door finally opened and he watched her step out onto the deck with a rat, he saw the answer for himself. A rat the size of a small cat, was sitting on her shoulder! Why, he didn’t know. Nor did he know how a rat could be the size of a small cat. What he also didn't know was why she was dressed like a washer woman.
But it was definitely her. He recognised her face even if he wasn't familiar with the long tresses of greying hair cascading down all around it. Tresses that clearly hadn't seen a brush in a very long time. Not if the twigs firmly enmeshed in her hair were anything to go by.
“Aunt Millie, you have a rat on your shoulder.” Even as the words slipped out of his mouth, he knew they were stupid. She surely had to know she had a rat on her shoulder. But he simply couldn't think of anything else to say.
“Erma?” Millie smiled at him. “She's a friend. Don't worry about her.”
“Rats aren't sanitary –.” He began. But then he stopped as he took in her appearance. The heavy, coarse garments were covered in grime. More dirt was smudged across her face. The child’s bonnet that sat askew on her head was also filthy. The rat he realised, was probably the most sanitary thing about her!
“I'm sure that's not true Dear.” She smiled happily at him. “But have a seat and I'll get you a cup of tea and we can talk about it.”
Baen would have asked where she wanted him to sit – there was no furniture on the patio – when she gestured with her hand and instantly the willow tree just on the other side of the brick wall surrounding it began to stretch out its branches. Moments later it was forming a table and chairs on the side of the patio in front of his eyes.
Seeing that his eyes widened measurably. He had known she was gifted. He even knew what type of magic she had used to cause the tree to reshape itself to her whim. It was similar to the magic he'd used to grow the grasses and make them grab those foolish enough to stand on them. But this was so much more. It had taken him days to grow those grasses – and they were only thin blades of grass that moved and flexed easily. This was a tree! And yet it responded to her as if it was a puppy eager to please. Thick branches had simply bent and twisted and stretched as if they were limbs.
“That's impress –.”
Baen stopped when he looked around and discovered that his aunt had vanished. The door to the house – the perfectly white painted door full of clear glass in the three-story wall of faded red bricks covered in lichens and creepers – was open and he guessed she'd gone back inside to get the tea. He thought for a moment about following her in, but quickly decided against it. It wasn't just that the inside of the house was gloomy. He was also worried about what he might find inside. The lady had a giant pet rat after all. He didn't want to meet the rest of her friends!
Instead he stood there and waited until the willow had finished growing into a table and chairs, and then took a seat and worried.
What were the Fae going to make of her? Clearly her gift was far more powerful than he'd realised. They would probably like that. But equally her mind had to be slipping. If she couldn't see that this jungle she was living in was unfit for people, and she couldn't take care of herself, it had to have already slipped a long way.
In time his aunt returned with a tray of chipped tea cups and a copper kettle full of something that he hoped was tea. Clearly things inside the home weren't much better than those outside. But he kept his peace as she put the tray down on the table of interwoven branches and started playing the considerate hostess.
“Milk? Honey?”
Baen shook his head, not least because there was no milk or honey on the tray and he couldn't imagine how she could have any if she was locked away in this jungle all the time. Instead he just let her pour the tea which was steaming and politely took a sip. Then he gagged and barely managed not to spit it out.
“What is that?!” Because the one thing he was certain of was that it wasn't tea.
“Tea of course, just as you wanted.” She smiled sweetly and poured herself a cup.
“That's not tea!”
“Of course it is. Willow bark and oak worm. Good for the digestion.” And then as if to prove her point she took a sip of the concoction and even swallowed it.
Bark and fungus? Baen carefully put the cup back down on the table. None of that bitter mess was ever making it into his mouth again. He didn't understand how she could actually stand to drink it. But more importantly, he had the horrible thought that she was poisoning herself.
His aunt, he realised, needed help. And perhaps the Fae could be the ones to offer it?
“Aunt Millie,” he began carefully, “are you aware of what has been happening in the city?” He would have continued but just then a sparrow unexpectedly landed on her head, pushed the edge of her bonnet to one side, and then started rummaging around in her hair, and he forgot what he was going to say. Birds didn't do that! And this one he thought, looked as though it was nesting!
“No, what's been happening?” She sipped calmly at her tea, unbothered by the bird fluttering about in her hair.
“The Fae have arrived.” He couldn't stop staring at the sparrow as it hopped about and tugged at her grey hair with its beak. How could she not notice it?!
“The Fae? Aren't they a children's tale? Living in that great southern forest?”
“Apparently not.” But really all his attention was still on the bird. And finally he could stand it no longer. He had to say something.
“You do know there's a sparrow in your hair?”
“Well of course. It's spring. He's just hunting for nesting materials.” She said it as if it should be obvious.
“In your hair?!” His hand went to his mouth in disbelief.
“Why not? It's long and soft, and probably warm for the little chicks when they hatch.” She took another sip of her tea. “You were saying about the Fae, Dear?”
She'd gone completely mad! That was the only thing Baen could think. More than mad. It didn't even seem to bother her when the sparrow finally managed to tug a small beak full of her hair free and then flew off with them. But at least once it had left Baen was able to concentrate a little more on what he was trying to tell her.
“The Fae are here and they're looking for people with gifts.”
“Gifts?”
“People who are gifted like you. You know, with your gift for plants. How you make them respond to you.”
“Oh?” She stared at him, her eyes growing wide in surprise. “That? That's not me. I just talk to them and the plants do as they want. I'm sure they'll do it for you too – if they like you.”
“Shite!” Baen swore. And then he swore a few more times for good measure as he realised the truth. Aunt Millie didn't even know she had magic! She thought what the plants were doing was completely normal. And she was slowly poisoning herself, while her home crumbled and her garden turned into an impenetrable jungle. And she still had a huge rat on her shoulder!
Her mind had gone completely!
“Language dear!” She chided him. “We don't speak like that in polite society.”
Baen stared at her in disbelief. She really believed that this was a normal, polite morning tea with a guest? That this was what well respected people did in homes all across the city? He would have asked just to make sure, but he knew it wouldn't help. There was no helping this. She was demented! And the only hope she had he realised, was with the Fae.
How had she been able to go this far? Why had no one seen that her mind was slipping so badly? But even as the question popped up in his mind, so too did the answer. She had become a recluse and the family was full of other, more obviously crazed, relatives. They'd just forgotten about her. It was easy to forget someo
ne who simply vanished from society. Especially when you had others screaming about assassins or riding naked through the city. And by the time anyone had remembered, it had obviously been too late. By the gods was he suddenly ashamed of that! Because he was as guilty as the rest.
“Anyway, Aunt Millie,” he continued once he'd regained some semblance of reason, “they'd like to speak to you.”
“To me? Why?” She took another sip of her poisonous tea.
“Because of the way the plants do as you ask. They don't do that for everyone.”
“Well, I don't know.” She paused for a moment, thinking about it. “I am rather busy at the moment. But you'd understand that, with all your books. Aren't you planning on opening a store?”
Eight years ago! She was talking about things that had happened nearly a decade before! But he kept that to himself. There was no point in telling her that. It might upset her. Instead he concentrated on keeping her focussed on the present.
“The Fae really would love to speak with you. Maybe tomorrow. For morning tea? It would mean a lot to them.”
