The Promptuary

by P J Whittlesea

Anaïs looked at herself in the mirror again. 'Great! Now what?'

  'We get out of here,' said the librarian.

  'No,' said Anaïs, pulling at her pyjama front. 'Look at me. I'm huge! And my hair!' It too had grown and was a tangled mess, falling below her waist.

  The librarian shrugged. 'Growth spurt I guess? We checked on you yesterday and it'd already happened.'

  Anaïs's voice rose in pitch. 'Weren't you surprised? Why didn't you wake me?'

  'Surprised? You're a witch. What do I know? Maybe this is normal.' Immi flipped her thumb at the shade. 'She said to let you sleep. Not my choice. I would have preferred to get out of here.'

  Anaïs scratched her head and looked first at Nan and then at the librarian. 'What? You can talk to her now?'

  'No, not really.' The librarian looked at Nan. 'Show her.'

  Nan stood up and walked across to the mirror. She frosted it with her breath. Using a finger, she drew her name in the ice crystals on the glass.

  'Ingenious,' said Anaïs.

  'I know, it was my idea,' said the librarian with a smug look on her face.

  'I'm truly shocked,' said Anaïs. 'I never would have guessed you had that kind of brainpower.'

  Nan cried out in her head. 'Anaïs!'

  The librarian folded her arms and glared at the witch

  'Anaïs, apologise! She's not so bad once you get to know her.'

  Anaïs sighed and looked at the librarian. 'I'm sorry. My bad. It is very clever.'

  The librarian eyed her and then decided the apology was reasonably genuine. 'Thanks, but I can't take all the credit. You've been asleep forever and we had a lot of time on our hands. Boredom can do strange things to your head. We didn't do it alone. We had a little help from the butler.'

  As if on cue, the butler walked into the room balancing a huge cake on his gloved hands. He set it down on the dining table and pulled a box of matches out of his pocket.

  Immi grinned at Anaïs. 'By the way, happy birthday!'

  Growth Spurt

  Not only child witches, but all children, have moments of immense growth. They can go to bed and, after a good night's sleep, get up the next morning transformed. There are usually telltale signs that this will occur. Quite often pain is involved. There will be cramps, legs will ache and such. If your body is going to stretch and suddenly explode on you, it's not surprising that it hurts.

  Witches are prone to similar moments of exponential growth. However, as with most things in comparison with natural human beings, there are extremes.

  In the first few years of human life, children tend to grow erratically. No two people grow at the same rate. One child will shoot up overnight while another will remain petite for years. Growth cycles are not an exact science and are generally very unpredictable. Even so, most children grow at an incredible rate.

  Human development is similar to that of other species. Youth is inevitably short. Held up against the amount of time we generally have on the planet, our formative years fly by. Yet the amount of physical growth in that short period is astounding.

  Young children in particular have the most amazing jumps in growth. If you see them on a day-to-day basis this is not always obvious. Usually this is only apparent to the outsider. To the occasional visitor the physical changes can be truly shocking. These revelations are not always restricted to a visitor. A guardian or parent can experience the same. To those close to them there are moments when a child's sudden acceleration in physical development can be jaw dropping.

  Overnight a child can grow several centimetres, or their facial features can completely transmogrify. In older children the change continues. Vocal cords can magically lower in tone, lumps of flesh appear where there were previously none. Their entire physique alters. The baby fat melts away, hips form and waists contract. Legs become slender and elongated. The skull, which starts off out of balance dimensionally, allows the rest of the body to catch up with it. The entire figure stops being a ball on a stick.

  There is also the inevitable forest-like expansion of hair. In the case of manes, tresses and the humble fingernail this growth continues throughout life. Even death cannot stop it. Corpses have been documented sprouting the most incredible things. The human body is an unstoppable force when it comes to growth.

  Witches are not immune to these peculiar physical idiosyncrasies. They are essentially human. The laws of nature apply to them in much the same way as to everyone else. Although their general process of ageing is torpid, they are also prone to the occasional growth spurt.

  There is nothing especially magical about the transformations. In general witches have a lot of catching up to do. Their bodies are constantly trying to find their natural age. There is very little known about what causes these sudden bodily changes, nor what prevents the usual standard rate of growth. Just as the human body remains a mystery, so it is with the physical shells of witches. Until they reach adulthood there are no certainties about what will occur. Even adult witches go through a variety of stages.

  In her relatively short life, Anaïs had experienced a particularly abnormal rate of growth. As a baby she had grown very quickly. She had been able to walk at the age of three months and hold a lucid conversation at six. In the first two years of her physical existence, her rate of vertical expansion had been surprising. Then it had all stopped.

  Except for the occasional minor spurt, her growth had stagnated. For over fifteen years she had been cursed with physical dimensions equivalent to those of a toddler. Nothing extraordinary had occurred to her physically. Anaïs had actually given up all hope of ever continuing to grow. She had accepted her lot as one of the vertically challenged.

  Perhaps it had been the olives. Although this was improbable, she was particularly partial to them and it wasn't the first time she had devoured an entire bowl at one sitting. It was unlikely a nibble on a piece of pepperoni pizza had been the catalyst. Maybe food had nothing to do with it. Perhaps all she needed was a decent night's rest. That, she had certainly had.

  Witches have an enormous capacity to just keep going. It has something to do with the amount of supernatural energy which surrounds them. Most people will require stimulants to keep going for days on end without proper rest. Witches are better off without extra chemical additives. They only cause havoc with their system and, in some cases, can be particularly harmful. Naturals also suffer from this. Human consumption of stimulants is legendary, but eventually there is a price to pay. You can party till you drop, but your body won't be thanking you.

  This is not to say witches haven't dabbled in experimentation in order to prolong their waking hours. Sometimes, when you are on the job and must see it through to the bitter end, there'll not be the opportunity to take a break. Occasionally superior supernatural energy will not suffice. Even it has limits.

  Apothecaries the world over have done their best to find safe analeptics. Some of these products have even found their way onto the open market. Unfortunately, some apothecaries also took the opportunity to earn a bit on the side. The Organisation clamped down hard on this behaviour, but even they cannot prevent the very human desire for consumerism. Greed is never an easy vice to control. Especially when the governments of the world continue to not only support, but encourage it.

  Anaïs was not a consumer of stimulants. Yet she had changed dramatically. As it was doubtful the pizza and olives contained magical properties, more than likely Anaïs was simply ready to grow. She had exhausted her toddler form. She needed room. Her physical self was automagically giving her the opportunity to expand. As she aged she would be required to do more with her talents. The universe would have to allow her to make full use of them. Trapping her physically was a barrier which could inhibit her reaching her full potential. As a witch she had more to do than most.

  Eighteen

  Happy birthday? It was all too much for Anaïs. 'I have to sit down.'

  The butler, who was about to light the candles on the cake, blew out the match in his han
d. He pulled a chair out from the table. 'Take a seat, madam. And many happy returns.'

  Anaïs grumbled, 'Thanks.' She sat down.

  He went to push her in. She waved him away. 'Just … just … Oh leave it.'

  'As you wish.' The butler released the chair, walked around the table and lit a fresh match. He began to light the candles. Anaïs sat and watched him, brooding in silence. The cake stood in the centre of the table in front of her. The butler moved meticulously from one candle to another, keeping his hand cupped around the match as he went. The candlelight flickered on her sullen face.

  Nan made an attempt to cheer her up. 'Anaïs, you should be happy. It's your birthday.'

  'Birthday, pfff … Who cares? This is too weird. Most people celebrate turning a year older. I just aged three.' She stretched her arms and looked at them. 'At least, I think I aged three years. Maybe more. Who in the world has a birthday like that?'

  Nan sat down beside her. 'I thought you would be happy. You were always complaining about being so small.'

  Anaïs folded her arms, slid them onto the table and rested her chin on her forearms. 'I'm still small.' She flexed her fingers and scrutinised the back of her hand. 'Just not as small as I once was.' She reached out and drew a circle on the table with her index finger. 'I guess I need some time to adjust.'

  'I understand. It's a shock for me as well. Another big change. But we'll get through it. We've had to deal with worse things in the past.'

  'Yes, I know, you're right.' Anaïs leaned back, turned and gave her a smile. 'I'm just a bit worried about what will happen next. Who knows what's possible? I could go to sleep and wake up in the body of a sixty-year-old or something.'

  'Just don't sleep,' said the librarian.

  Anaïs rolled her eyes. 'You're not helping.' She shot the librarian a stern look. 'If you don't have something constructive to say, then don't bother saying anything at all.'

  The librarian raised her hands in mock defence. 'Sheesh!'

  The butler finished lighting the candles, blew out the match in his hand and stood back to admire his handiwork.

  'I doubt you will age that quickly, Anaïs, but I suppose anything is possible. I'm as much in the dark as you are. Maybe we should see if we can find someone who knows more about this sort of stuff?'

  'Yes, I think that would be a good idea.' She bit her bottom lip and sniffed. 'Right now, I'm feeling a bit lost. We need help.'

  The librarian picked up a wicked looking carving knife from the table and flicked the blade with her fingernail. The metal pinged. 'Cake anyone?'

  Anaïs shot her another steely glance and snapped at her. 'You really have no empathy, do you?'

  'Empathy? I have empathy.' The librarian was genuinely insulted. She waved the knife at Anaïs. 'You stress too much. Get over it. Hurry up and blow out the candles. The icing is melting.'

  The train swung unexpectedly from one side to the other, reminding them they were in a moving vehicle. The librarian lost her footing and dropped the knife. It clanged on the floor. She dodged the blade as it bounced and grabbed the edge of the table with both hands for support. Anaïs did the same, her knuckles showing white. The train abruptly slowed, sending everything on the table sliding to one end. Fortunately, it had a raised bevelled edge which prevented everything from ending up on the floor. Even so, the butler swept around the table and assumed a catcher’s stance. He relaxed once the vehicle had settled into a slower pace. He looked around at the others in the room, stood up and self-consciously smoothed the front of his jacket.

  'Whoa!' exclaimed Immi. She steadied herself with the table. 'Someone needs driving lessons.'

  'I do believe we have arrived at our destination,' announced the butler.

  'Great, let's get out of here,' said the librarian.

  Anaïs stopped her, 'Just a moment.'

  She stood and pushed her chair back. 'I'm still going to have a piece of this.' She eyed the cake with determination. 'No matter what stupid physical form I take, I'm only going to be eighteen once.'

  She took a deep breath, held it for a moment and blew out all the candles in one go.

  The Hunting Lodge

  The hunting lodge sat on the shore of a man-made lake and was surrounded by thick forest. It had the proportions of a castle and even all the prerequisites for one. There was no moat, but a high, stone wall surrounded its internal structure. A collection of buildings encircled an expansive courtyard. A disproportionately high, narrow, square tower rose from the centre of the largest building and jutted out from it like an afterthought. Its extreme dimensions set it out of kilter with the rest of the property. If it had been circular in form it would have looked exactly like a rocket with its spire-shaped roof. Standing in the open gates and looking up, he pondered whether the tower was actually some form of escape conveyance.

  Even though the lodge was in the middle of open countryside, and the only structure on the expansive property, it had a number: 258. Presumably post had to be delivered somewhere. In order for that to occur, there needed to be a post box, an address. Nevertheless, he doubted whether a mailman would have the gall to approach such a strange building. It wasn't exactly inviting. But that could have just been his own impression. He was there to face the music for what had happened.

  He proceeded through the gates and across the courtyard. Heading towards the main building, he walked through the shadow cast by the tower. A chill ran through him and he shivered. The winter sun was weak but had at least provided a glimmer of warmth. The steel and glass awning which protruded out of the building, and above its front door, looked as if it had been stolen from another structure. It looked like the entrance to a train station. Maybe the structure was indeed a launch pad.

  As he approached the entrance the heavy, wooden front door swung open. He was expected, although nobody stood there to greet him. A guide was unnecessary. He knew the way. It wasn't the first time he had been summoned to the main house, but it had never been under such circumstances. This time he would need to make excuses. He had failed the task. They would be seeking answers, but he doubted he could provide them.

  With some trepidation he stepped into the building and stood for a moment in the entry hall. Behind him he heard the door close with a click. The tiled ceiling hung forebodingly above him. Its bulk and form pressed down upon him and made the space feel smaller than it was. A rogue thought ran through his mind. Who had designed this odd place? And why on earth would anyone want to tile a ceiling?

  To his left the sculpture of an owl, carved in dark wood, sat on the balustrade at the foot of a set of steep stairs. The jewels embedded in the centre of its eye sockets winked at him. He avoided their gaze.

  He continued along the hallway and stood before a set of heavy carved double doors. Next to them, another sculpture, this one cast in bronze, towered over him. It was an impressionistic depiction of an eagle and stood on a low pedestal. It dominated the narrow corridor. Its size and polished metal beak were menacing.

  The doors swung open and, with some hesitation, he stepped into the next room. He lifted his hand to shelter his eyes from the glare of a row of gigantic windows. Somehow their form also reminded him of the sash windows on a train, only larger. Cutting across the room between himself and the windows was a long, wooden table with tiles embedded in its top surface. A row of high backed chairs lined the far side. Seated in them were several men with terse looks on their faces. On his side of the table was a solitary chair.

  'Sit down, Ignatius,' said the man seated at the centre of the table.

  The Inquisitor breathed in deeply. He hated it when his father used his full name.

  THE LIFT

  * * *

  They clambered into the lift. There was barely enough room for all of them and Nan brushed up against Immi. She shivered and shrank away from the shade's cold touch.

  'Give me a bit of room why don't you,' she hissed through gritted teeth.

  Anaïs looked at her ruefully. 'It would help
if you didn't insist on wearing so much clothing.'

  The librarian pulled her enormous fluffy coat in tightly around her and hunched her shoulders. 'I'm cold.'

  'Still …' began Anaïs.

  'Now, ladies, let's have little calm in here,' said the stationmaster. He gave them a stern look. He flicked his beard over his shoulder like a scarf and squeezed in between them. He turned and slammed the lift's elaborately decorated wrought-iron scissor door shut. They all cringed as it screeched loudly on it rusted metal runners. He turned a key in the door and latched it. He rattled the door to make sure it was secure.

  The lift was ancient, dating back to the 1890s. It had mirrored walls which were speckled, showing their age and barely offering any reflection. Plush red velvet was fixed to the ceiling with studs like a seat cushion. The stationmaster forced his way between the women with a plethora of 'sorry's'. Crammed in shoulder to shoulder, there was not enough room. They shuffled as one in an anti-clockwise direction to allow him access to the lift's control console. He made some space for himself and, standing in front of a giant brass L-shaped lever, planted his foot on a button coming out of the floor. He straightened, cracking his back. Using both hands he pulled the lever towards him and cranked it to one side. The numbers zero, one, two and three were embossed on a brass plate behind it. The stationmaster slotted the lever into three.

  A whirring came from above. The lift shuddered and began its ascent. Metal grated on metal, emitting a high-pitched screech and causing the women to clap their hands around their ears. It rocked violently to one side, throwing them off balance. They all searched in vain for something to hold. The stationmaster steadied himself against the lever.

  'Sheesh,' yelled the librarian above the din.

  Mercifully, the squealing and scraping of metal gradually ceased as the lift accelerated. It rumbled along on its runners, gently swaying from side to side. Through the door they could watch their ascent. Layers of sedimentary rock flashed by. It was as if they were travelling up from the bowels of the earth. The dank, salty smell of the railway station receded as they climbed higher.