Hapenny Magick
Jennifer Carson
Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Carson
Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.
Spencer Hill Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA
Please visit our website at www.spencerhillpress.com
First Edition: December 2011
Second Edition: April 2014
Carson, Jennifer, 1975
Hapenny Magick: a novel /by Jennifer Carson - 2nd ed.
p. cm.
Summary: The smallest hapenny must find a way to save her village from a troll invasion.
Cover design and interior illustrations
by Patricia Ann Lewis-MacDougall
ISBN 978-1-937053-91-8 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-937053-86-4 (e-book)
Printed in the United States of America
For all those who believe in finding the magick every day.
Chapter One
Mae peered out the front door, scanning the forest at the edge of the farm. Mother Underknoll had been missing for a week, and rumors of troll sightings near the village were spreading like poison ivy. She scratched at an itchy spot and pulled a tick from the fur on the back of her ear.
The mud squished between her toes as Mae headed for the henhouse. Mist clung to the still morning air, making her hair curl like a goat’s beard. The rising sun dappled the bark of the tree her home was built beneath.
She rolled up her frayed sleeves, the cuffs soft and worn from many washings. Mae unlatched the henhouse door and pushed it open on creaky hinges. She pulled the stool along, its legs squeaking across the wooden floor. The basket for gathering the eggs teetered on the seat as Mae climbed the rungs.
“What have you got for me today, Bernice?” she asked the youngest hen in the brood. The hen had roosted on some peculiar things lately, like rocks and acorns and a red marble Mae thought she’d lost.
Her hand slid under the warm feathers and closed around a single egg.
The hen clucked softly.
“It’s okay, Bernice.” Mae pulled the egg out from under the hen. “At least it’s an egg this time. Soon you’ll be laying more eggs than you—”
She stared at the egg in her hand. It was a vibrant shade of purple.
If her guardian, Gelbane, saw it, she’d fly into an all-out, henpecking fit.
Mae’s ears perked at the sound of hooves pounding outside the henhouse and her guardian’s shrill scream.
“You little twit!” Gelbane screeched from the house. “This is the third time the pigs have escaped this week!”
“Day-old biscuits!” Mae cursed and dropped the purple egg into the basket, jumped off the stool, and scuttled out the door.
The pigpen gate swung on its rusted hinges. The once securely- tied rope dangled from the top crossbar. Piglets chased each other around the well. The boar rooted in the vegetable patch. The sows feasted in the flowerbeds.
Dropping the basket, Mae dove for a squealing piglet. She hugged him so tight his bristly fur pricked through the thin cloth of her dress. The piglet kicked and squirmed as she stumbled under his weight. Mud streaked her clean apron. She tossed the squealer into the pen and slammed the gate shut.
How had the rope come undone? She’d tied it properly this time. She’d even triple knotted it!
Forgetting the escaped piglets, Mae froze as her guardian stormed across the yard.
Gelbane’s double chin wobbled. Her tattered, homespun skirt flared. The brass buttons on her green vest flashed. Catching the end of the rope between her sausage-like fingers, Gelbane narrowed her small, dark eyes. “How many times have I shown you how to tie the gate proper-like?”
Mae peered through her thick bangs as she hung her head. “More times than a cow chews its cud, ma’am.”
Gelbane looked so cross, Mae thought she saw fangs sprouting out from under her upper lip. She snuck a second peek, just to be sure she’d imagined it.
“Then why do we have piglets trampling the yard again?”
Mae shuffled her feet, toes digging in the soft dirt. She wished she could sink down into the mud and disappear. She sniffled and ran a ragged sleeve under her nose.
“Speak up!” Gelbane screeched.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what happened. I tied the gate shut before slopping the pigs like you taught me—”
Gelbane’s jaw jutted forward. “If you had done as I taught you, we’d be eating breakfast by now.”
Breakfast! Mae scanned the ground. The basket lay tipped on its side, trampled and muddy from the runaway pigs, but the purple egg lay undisturbed in the grass.
Mae hoped her guardian didn’t follow her gaze.
“Out of the kindness of my heart, I took you in when your ma took off,” Gelbane sneered over her bulbous nose. “I’ve treated you like my own kin for six long years because your mother was so sweet in my time of need. But you’ve caused me nothing but grief!”
Tears formed in Mae’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t let them fall. Her fingers closed around the blue pendant tucked away under her blouse.
Gelbane wiped her hands on her skirt as if even the thought of Mae was disgusting. “You all but stopped growing when your ma took off. It’s not like you don’t get enough food. Odd you are. Too small and twitchy, even for a hapenny.”
Tangled red hair spilled forward as Gelbane bent to poke a finger into Mae’s shoulder, punctuating her words. “You’ll have no breakfast and no mid-morning bite. I don’t care if you starve until midnight nibble. Nothing until you catch all those pigs!”
Mae nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Gelbane shuffled her vast weight past the pigpen and across the yard; her wide feet made sucking noises as she slogged through the mud and back into the house. Mae gave one last squeeze to the pendant under her blouse and picked up the lone purple egg.
If she threw it at Gelbane’s head, what a satisfying splat it would make! But it wasn’t worth the beating she’d get afterward. She stomped over to the crumpled basket and settled the egg into the bottom. Her fists clenched into tight balls. She was always getting into trouble for things that weren’t her fault.
“So much for starting the day out clean.” Mae sighed and flicked the clumps of mud from her apron. She tried to scowl at the pigs, but it just wasn’t in her heart to be mad at them. It wasn’t their fault she couldn’t tie a knot properly.
The farmyard was in shambles. The grass was trampled deep into the mud. The mud had a thousand little ditches from the pigs’ hooves. At least the piglets had stopped chasing each other when Gelbane started yelling. Most of them now rooted in the vegetable garden at the edge of the small farm.
“Here, pig-pigs!” Mae called.
She took her mother’s old flute from her pocket and turned it in her hand. The sun shone on its walnut finish. It was one of two things belonging to her momma that she’d managed to keep from Gelbane. She was only six when Momma left, but she had been smart enough to know that Gelbane wasn’t like the other hapenny villagers.
The pendant was the second thing Mae had managed to keep. It carried a secret inside—a lock of her father’s hair. Mae barely remembered him. He was one of many lost on one of the Great Expeditions, two years before her momma went away. No one but Momma had left the safety of the village since, until last wee
k, when Mother Underknoll disappeared.
Chapter Two
Life would be so different if Mae’s momma would just come back. Her home would be tidy, the floor swept, the spider webs kept to the too-high corners. Furniture would shine with polish, and the hearth would never go cold. The lacy curtains on the windows wouldn’t be tatty or covered in faerie dust. And Mae wouldn’t have to hide things away to keep them safe.
The chimney of her home poked out between two large tree roots, but there was no smoke curling from the flue. The fire had gone to ashes during the night. No sparkle was left on the grime-covered window panes, either. Climbing vines grew over the small, round windows, which made it impossible to see if Gelbane was spying on her. On the other hand, Gelbane probably couldn’t see Mae, either. She swiveled her ears toward the house and heard banging and cursing. Her guardian was fooling around with another one of her contraptions.
Ever since Mae could remember, Gelbane had tinkered with the making of odd machines. Her latest contraption was made of iron gears that ground with a moan and jaws that snapped with a clang. Gelbane said the machine was to make the grinding of grain into flour faster, but it looked rather more like a torture device than a gristmill, and it had yet to prove itself faster than Mae with a pestle and mortar. In fact, the machine had yet to prove itself at grinding even a single kernel of grain.
Mae flipped her flute over in her hand, losing herself in the gentle curving lines that ran through it. Using her flute was the easiest way to catch the pigs, but if Gelbane caught her, she would surely have to sleep in the barn tonight instead of in her cozy dreaming nook.
She really didn’t want to chase down every pig. Not today. Not for the third day in a row. She sighed and put the flute to her lips, blowing a catchy tune. It had enough spirit to get the pigs’ attention away from the flowers, but hopefully would not rouse Gelbane’s ire.
Gelbane didn’t understand how the music could lure the pigs into the pen, and she didn’t like Mae doing it. Mae didn’t know how it worked, either, but if she was going to catch all the pigs and make Gelbane’s breakfast on time, she’d better catch them quickly. And that meant using her flute to do it.
Mae pretended that her flute playing was her own little bit of magick. Her best friend, Leif, said that hapennies had no magick. He said only the wizened Protector of the Wedge, who patrolled the borders of their village and kept the forest trolls away, had magick. Mae was glad the Wedge had a protector to defend it, but she wished hapennies were capable of protecting themselves. She wished she could be a Protector of the Wedge.
Skipping to the tune she played, Mae made her way to the edge of the hayfield. One by one the piglets came, trotting in a line like a gaggle of newly hatched goslings. A sow at the rear kept the piglets in line. The boar took the lead. Mae’s skirt swayed against her knees as she led the swine parade. They trotted up the hill that the barn was built into, through the damp and dewy grass, and to the pigpen. Kicking the gate open, Mae danced into the sty.
Most of the pigs were safe once more—except for a few wily piglets and the sow still nipping the heads off the flowers. The sow’s head nodded to the beat; she even let out a happy oink, but she didn’t join the march through the farmyard. The piglets were always hard to catch, but sometimes one of the sows would go missing for weeks and then show up one morning like she’d never been gone. It was a good thing Gelbane never paid much attention to how many pigs they actually had.
“Looks like those piglets are going to lead you on a merry chase!”
“Oh!” The musical notes floated off into the morning as Mae jerked in surprise. “Leif! You scared me.” Her heart did a little tap dance on her ribs. It always did that when Leif was around. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, dropping the flute into the pocket of her apron for safekeeping.
Jumping out of the hayfield, Leif pointed to the piglets. “I can catch them for you, if you want me to.”
Leif always tried to be noble, like the hapennies in legend who wore gilded armor and saved ladies in distress. Like the time he’d spent the whole day picking berries for the village baker, Mrs. Birchbeam. It had been the day before Mr. and Mrs. Belowpine’s wedding, and Mrs. Birchbeam had been frantic for time, scrambling to and fro to get everything prepared, or so Leif had told Mae. The cake was to be a scrumptious white cake with wedgeberry jelly between the layers and purple frosting flowers decorating the top. Leif had promised to bring her a piece, but he never made it to the wedding. The berry patch he’d foraged in was riddled with poison ivy, and Leif had spent the next week in bed, with cotton mittens on his hands to keep from scarring up his skin when he scratched.
“I can catch them,” Mae said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble, too.”
Bushy brows arched over Leif’s sky-blue eyes. He swiped at the ginger curls that bounced over his forehead. “You’re already in trouble this morning?”
Mae nodded. She scooped up the trampled basket and put the egg in Leif’s hand. “A purple egg! What’s wrong with that hen?”
Tossing the egg in the air and catching it again, Leif laughed, a dimple pulling his left cheek. “Strange things happen at your house.”
“Well, they’ve been happening a lot more lately, and it’s making Gelbane even crankier than usual.” Mae grabbed the egg back from her friend. She wished she could be as unconcerned as Leif. “You know what strange things usually mean.” Mae lowered her voice. “A wizard must be in the Wedge.”
“Oh, troll dung! There haven’t been any wizards actually in the village since the Great Protector, Gythal.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the barn wall. His eyes sparkled brightly against his copper skin. The fur on his ears shone with golden highlights in the sun. Leif’s blue, homespun shirt was new, but he still wore the same patched-up overalls as always. Mae remembered how he got the patch on his left knee, and blushed a little to think about the day he’d saved her from falling into the river.
“What did Gelbane say about the purple egg?” Leif asked.
Mae swallowed. “She didn’t notice the egg because the pigs escaped from the pen.”
“Again?” Leif slapped his palm against his forehead. “That’s the third time this week!”
“That’s what she said.” Mae scowled. “I don’t point out all your faults. I just don’t understand why the gate keeps coming undone. If I didn’t know better, I would think Gelbane does it just for a reason to punish me.”
Leif slid his hand into hers. “Hey, Mae, I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s not your fault that the pigs got out. There has to be something wrong with the fence.”
Mae gave her friend a sad smile. She was pretty sure whatever was wrong with the fence had more to do with her than Leif wanted to believe.
“Come with me and Reed. Momma needs us to go to the market. It’s been a really long time since anyone in the village has seen you. Mr. Whiteknoll has been asking where you’ve been.”
Mae thought about the tall village tailor with his spiky white hair and bright eyes. He liked to laugh and sew lace on everything. Her eyes took in the yellow-green grass drooping over the hill and sweeping across the barn doors. She followed the line of fence separating the barnyard from the pigsty and remembered helping her mother dig the holes for the fence posts, and the first piglets they’d brought home from Farmer Burrbridge’s. That was the day she’d met Leif. She was four, and he’d told her that he liked the heart-shaped pocket on her apron. They’d been best friends ever since, even though Leif was now fourteen winters and she was only twelve. He’d been the only hapenny to come and visit after her mother left. The others were too afraid of Gelbane.
“Have they found Mother Underknoll yet?”
Leif shook his head. “There’s no sign of her. I don’t understand why she would leave the Wedge.”
“Perhaps she didn’t leave—”
“I need my breakfast!” Gelbane’s holler bounced off the barn and rang in Mae’s ears. Mae cringed as a window s
lammed shut against a sill.
“How will I ever be able to go with you to the village again?” Mae sighed. “I might as well be chained to the fence post. She never lets me out of her sight anymore.” Mae squeezed Leif’s hand and then let go.
“We will be fishing at the river later; maybe you can sneak away. Reed just got some new flies.” Leif shoved his hands in his pockets and drew pictures in the mud with his toes. His ears flicked at a bee buzzing near. “It’s weird the way the fishing flies just appear on our doorstep.”
“See?” Mae gave his shoulder a friendly punch. “It’s not just my house where strange things happen. Tell Mr. Whiteknoll I’ll visit as soon as I can.”
Leif bit his lip. “Before I go…I made something for you.” He took his hand from his pocket and uncurled his fingers.
Mae picked up the wooden bird from his palm. It was a raven with its wings spreading out from its body, head posed high. She held it up and studied the finely carved lines. The wood was almost as soft as a pat of warm butter. “He’s magnificent! Look at his eyes! It’s like he could come alive in my hand.”
A dimple puckered Leif’s cheek as he grinned. “A bunch of ravens have been gathering in our cornfield lately, so I got to study them real close. I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it!” Mae threw her arms around her friend.
Leif dropped his head and quickly kissed her on the cheek. When he pulled back, his cheeks were strawberry red. “See you later, Mae!”
As he trotted around the barn, Mae touched the spot where Leif’s lips had left behind a bit of moisture; he’d never kissed her before! She waved as he trotted through the field. She had to get to the bridge this afternoon. Perhaps she could sneak away like Leif suggested. Maybe she could lull Gelbane to sleep with a lullaby. If the flute worked on the pigs, perhaps it would work on her guardian as well.
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