by James Nicol
With her back to the room she whispered Briå – the air glyph – and quickly spelled the smoke away into a swirling vortex that blew straight out of the window. She hoped nobody had noticed. ‘Won’t you have a seat?’ she asked, pointing to the table that was laid with one of Aunt Grace’s best tablecloths and the mismatched teacups and saucers she had inherited with the Spellorium.
Miss Newam eyed the table with suspicion but took a seat, as did Colin.
‘Have you baked all of this yourself?’ Colin asked, pointing to the cake and biscuits on the table.
‘With Salle’s help.’
Arianwyn filled the kettle and placed it on the stove just as more steps sounded on the spiral staircase. She heard Gimma snap, ‘Stop fussing, Uncle. I told you I’m fine! Why we have to come and see Arianwyn Dribble, I have no idea—’
Gimma and Mayor Belcher halted at the top of the stairs staring at the assembled ‘party’. The apartment fell silent except for the rattle of the kettle as the water boiled.
‘Hi, Gimma!’ Arianwyn said, stepping forwards, doing her best to ignore the ‘Dribble’. ‘We’re so pleased to see you back in Lull.’
Gimma didn’t say anything at first; she looked at the floor and then at her uncle, who made an encouraging ‘go on’ type gesture. ‘Hi,’ she mumbled at last.
‘Come and sit down, Gimma. Do you remember Miss Newam?’ Arianwyn gestured to the table.
Miss Newam sniffed. ‘Miss Alverston,’ she offered coldly. ‘We met at your evaluation.’
Gimma stared ahead and sat next to her uncle as Arianwyn poured the hot water into the teapot and placed it at the centre of the table. ‘Well, here we go.’
Miss Newam ignored her. ‘So, I gather you’ve returned to Lull to retrain with Arianwyn and Miss Delafield?’ she asked with all the subtlety of a volcanic eruption.
Arianwyn nearly knocked over the teapot as she stirred the tea leaves, trying to brew the tea as quickly as possible. ‘Tea, Miss Newam? Gimma?’ she asked, desperate to change the conversation.
Gimma ignored her and glared back at Miss Newam. After a moment she replied, a cool smile on her pale lips: ‘And why have you been banished to the backside of beyond, Miss Newam?’
‘Gimma!’ Mayor Belcher warned.
‘Milk, Miss Newam?’ Arianwyn said quickly, as she poured weak tea into Miss Newam’s cup. She didn’t wait for a reply, clumsily sloshing half the milk jug into the cup as well. The tea looked grey and had puddled into the saucer. ‘Oh, let me get you another,’ Arianwyn said, whisking the cup quickly away.
‘Actually, I’m here to conduct a very important study regarding hex samples on behalf of the C.W.A., reporting to the High Elder herself, thank you very much indeed.’ Miss Newam sniffed.
‘How fascinating,’ Gimma replied with a sneer.
‘Well, really!’ Miss Newam gasped.
‘When is it that you’re off on your expedition?’ Salle asked Arianwyn quickly.
‘The end of the week, if the weather isn’t too bad,’ Arianwyn replied, as she finished pouring the first proper cup of tea and started on the next. She eyed Gimma cautiously.
‘Off to look at mould in the wood. Can’t imagine anything more boring,’ Gimma said derisively. ‘Apart from being stuck here of course.’
Salle stepped in quickly with her plate of scones. ‘Mayor Belcher, how was your meeting in Cranniston today?’
‘Oh, it was Conniston actually, but yes it was all right as meetings go.’ The mayor reached for a blackened scone, but Salle suddenly smacked his hand away.
‘No!’
‘Salle!’ Arianwyn cried as she refilled the teapot.
‘I’m sorry – but it was burnt! Sorry! Sorry, Mayor Belcher.’ Salle blushed.
This really wasn’t going very well at all.
‘Really—’ started Miss Newam, glaring at Salle.
There was an icy silence until Colin said brightly and little louder than was necessary: ‘Well, this all looks really delicious, Arianwyn. You must have been baking all afternoon.’
‘The scones look like they’ve been baking for about two weeks,’ Gimma said quietly, though not so quietly that nobody heard her. She glanced at Salle and sipped her tea.
Salle’s cheeks flashed red – not only had Gimma been rude about her scones, but she was also too illmannered to have even taken her gloves off. Did she think the hot scones might actually burn her stupid delicate Highbridge skin? She was clearly on the verge of replying when Miss Newam sneezed loudly, spilling her tea all across Aunt Grace’s pristine white tablecloth. ‘It’s the flowers!’ she mumbled through her handkerchief and pointed at the jug of wild flowers on the table. ‘I have an allergy!’
Arianwyn reached forwards with the tea towel and dabbed at the spreading stain. ‘Shall I make you a fresh cup?’
‘No!’ Miss Newam squawked. She looked as though the very idea of more tea terrified her. ‘I, er, just remembered I have to go and make a phone call back to my office in Kingsport.’
‘But it’s after five,’ Colin said, oblivious to what everyone else was aware of: that this was Miss Newam’s excuse to escape.
‘Yes, perhaps we should be getting back as well, Gimma. You must be tired?’ Mayor Belcher asked, raising his bushy eyebrows theatrically.
‘Oh? I feel fine. I’d love some more tea actually.’ Gimma grinned and held her cup aloft towards Salle. ‘Less milk this time.’
Salle, who was in the middle of slicing a lemon sponge cake, suddenly froze. When Salle and Gimma had first met, Gimma had treated Salle like a servant, ordering her about for this and that. Arianwyn winced, guessing the comment had hit just the right nerve . . .
‘How about . . . I shove this cake up your nose!’ Salle said, standing suddenly, holding the slice of cake threateningly, and looming over Gimma.
‘Salle!’ Arianwyn gasped.
The apartment fell silent. Salle had turned bright red and seemed unable to believe her own outburst. Her eyes looked watery as she sat back down, dropping the slice of cake on her own plate, while Gimma just sat quietly, looking away, a dark scowl on her face. Arianwyn was worried there was about to be a repeat of Gimma’s outburst at the parade. But instead, she suddenly burst into tears. She jumped up from her seat, tugging the tablecloth a little and upsetting the tea things in the process. A plate slid off the table and smashed on the floor as Gimma fled down the stairs in floods of tears.
‘Oh my goodness, I ought to go after her,’ the mayor said quietly, getting to his feet. ‘Thank you . . . for the tea, Miss Gribble.’
Arianwyn watched the mayor hurry away as Miss Newam also stood up, her cold gaze falling on Arianwyn. ‘What an interesting afternoon,’ she said. Then she turned and followed the mayor downstairs. Salle, Arianwyn, and Colin sat in awkward silence for a few moments.
‘Sorry,’ Salle said eventually, blushing.
‘I’m not sure a tea party was your best idea, Salle,’ Arianwyn sighed, reaching for the back of a nearby chair for support.
Salle pouted. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. But . . . well . . . I was only trying to help. But she is so flaming rude!’ Salle threw herself into the armchair near the stove and pouted.
They heard the Spellorium door close after Miss Newam, the bell charm ringing a few times, and then all was silent. ‘I think that was possibly the worst tea party in the history of the world,’ Arianwyn groaned.
‘Blimey,’ Colin sighed, picking up a plate. ‘Anyone fancy a scone?’
Chapter 15
THE MISSION BEGINS
rianwyn, Miss Newam and Colin stood at the edge of the Great Wood, their tents and provisions loaded and strapped on to their backs. Miss Delafield, Salle, Mayor Belcher, Aunt Grace and even Gimma (though she hung back and looked far from happy to be there) had come to wish them well on their trip. It was a cool grey morning but autumn colours of pale greens, lemony golds and silvers lit up the trees on the edge of the Great Wood.
Miss Delafield stepped out of the small ga
thering, leaning heavily on her stick. The white cast was gone at last. ‘Well, dear,’ she said to Arianwyn. ‘Good luck with your expedition. Still seems utterly bonkers to me to go off into the Great Wood when there is so much work to do here.’ She glowered at Miss Newam. ‘But orders are orders!’ She straightened the strap of Arianwyn’s new charm kit and looked at her closely.
‘It’ll be fine!’ Arianwyn said, smiling brightly. She felt suddenly less sure under her supervisor’s gaze.
‘I do hope so. But still, I’d like you all to have these.’ Miss Delafield reached into her satchel, produced three pairs of dark leather gloves and handed them to the travellers. Arianwyn could feel small tingling vibrations of magic running through the leather. ‘I’ve placed a fire spell on these,’ explained Miss Delafield. ‘Wear them when you come into contact with any hex in the wood – they will help to keep you safe.’
‘Thank you.’ Arianwyn smiled and pulled her gloves on. Colin and Miss Newam did the same. Miss Newam nodded curtly at Miss Delafield.
Mayor Belcher stood in front of the yellow and black cord that was still strung partly along the edge of the wood, the warning notices flapping in the breeze. He looked as though he was standing guard against the wood itself. Gimma now hovered at his side, her eyes fixed and staring straight into the trees.
The mayor clapped his hands and then puffed himself up. ‘Well, before you set off I feel I should say a few words . . .’
‘Oh dear,’ Miss Delafield muttered.
‘So therefore, without further ado, I and indeed the whole of Lull, wish you all good luck with your mission. And we hope to have you all home again soon.’ He smiled straight at Miss Newam who blushed and began to fiddle with the buttons on her new gloves.
There was the smallest spattering of applause.
A splash of rain landed against Arianwyn’s cheek; she glanced up at a dark rolling sky, swollen with clouds. ‘We should get going!’
The mayor lifted the cord, sweeping his other arm towards the trees as if he were ushering them into a restaurant or theatre.
‘Wyn, wait!’ Salle darted forwards. She looked at the grass, and then off across the meadow. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry – about the tea party. I didn’t mean to ruin it. I shouldn’t have said that to Gimma,’ she said quietly. The girls glanced over at Gimma, who was still watching the Great Wood, just out of earshot.
Arianwyn sighed. ‘It’s OK, Salle. Honestly, I think the tea party was doomed from the start. But you shouldn’t let Gimma wind you up like that.’
‘I know,’ Salle mumbled as Miss Newam barged past.
‘Come along, Miss Gribble. We’re already behind schedule!’ she barked sourly. She ducked under the black and yellow cord and stepped into the wood. She glanced back at Colin and Arianwyn. ‘Well, are you coming?’
‘Try and be nice to Gimma while we’re away,’ said Arianwyn. ‘I’m worried about her.’
Salle smiled. ‘I will. Good luck, see you soon!’
Arianwyn gave Salle a quick hug and then followed Colin under the cordon.
They had only walked a few miles, according to Colin’s calculations, but with Miss Newam stepping carefully over every rock and around every jutting branch as though it might be deadly, they were not moving quickly.
‘How long have we been walking?’ Arianwyn whispered to Colin.
‘Only about an hour and a half.’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘She’s going to have to move quicker than that or we’ll be in the wood for ever!’ Arianwyn glanced back over her shoulder at Miss Newam who was negotiating a small holly bush, very slowly. ‘Do you need any help?’ Arianwyn called.
‘No thank you,’ Miss Newam replied quickly, just as a branch snapped back, narrowly missing her face. Arianwyn stifled a giggle as Miss Newam tried to dodge the branch only to stumble over her own feet. She fell with a cry into the damp undergrowth.
Arianwyn dropped her heavy backpack and moved quickly to where Miss Newam had fallen. She heard Colin following behind. ‘Are you all right?’ She crouched down to help.
‘Wretched place!’ Miss Newam spat, shoving Arianwyn’s hand away. ‘I’m perfectly able to get to my own feet, thank you, Miss Gribble!’
Leaves cascaded to the floor as Miss Newam stood, though quite a lot clung to her suit and hair. ‘Perhaps we should stop for a bit?’ Colin suggested. ‘Let you catch your breath—’
‘Will you stop fussing!’ Miss Newam snarled. She pushed past Arianwyn and Colin, and hoisted her backpack on to her shoulder again, muttering. She turned and looked at Arianwyn and Colin. ‘Well, shall we get a move on? I really can’t be doing with this glacial pace of yours, Miss Gribble!’
Arianwyn looked at Colin, the disbelief on his face matching her own. ‘This is going to be a very long trip!’ she said, as she hefted on her pack again. ‘Well, come along, Mr Twine!’ she added in her best impression of Miss Newam. ‘I can’t be waiting all day!’
They set off again, laughing, but had only gone a few metres when they heard another shout of dismay from beyond the trees ahead: ‘HELP! Miss Gribble!’
They broke into a run, jumping over tree roots and dodging tumbles of bramble and ivy. They had just cleared a bunch of tangled blackberry creepers when they found Miss Newam, frozen to the spot.
She stood at the edge of a small clearing. It was terribly dark, and for a moment Arianwyn couldn’t work out why. But as her eyes slowly adjusted she realized the wood was somehow changed. Miss Newam was surrounded by an alien landscape, like something from a nightmare. Half the trees were black, as though they had been burnt.
But fire had not caused this devastation.
Arianwyn clamped her hand over her mouth and nose as the rancid stench of dark magic filled her nostrils. Colin gave a low whistle. ‘What on earth . . .’
‘Be careful!’ Arianwyn said slowly. ‘It’s hex!’
Chapter 16
THE HEX
’ve never seen this much!’ Colin walked carefully into the clearing. He paused to look at an affected tree more closely. ‘This is a lot, isn’t it, Arianwyn?’
It was. Every centimetre of the tree’s trunk was covered in thick layers of the magical fungus, while its leaves – all blackened – clung limply to the branches.
‘Don’t get too close!’ Arianwyn grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him back. Worry, hot and quick, crawled beneath her skin. She had brought them all into danger already – so early in the mission. ‘Colin, can I see the map please?’ she asked, her voice fluttering with nerves.
Miss Newam had carefully approached the tree and was already scraping samples of hex into a small glass container. Colin passed Arianwyn the map and she unfolded it carefully, tracing a finger across the path he had plotted.
‘We could go around, perhaps?’ Arianwyn asked Colin.
He moved closer, studying the map over her shoulder. Then he checked his compass and walked around the clearing, this way and that.
‘Well?’ Miss Newam asked, slipping the small glass dish into her bag and stowing her scalpel away into a metal tin.
‘OK. So, I think there’s a way around, as long as the hex hasn’t spread further.’ Colin glanced at Arianwyn.
‘And if it has?’ Miss Newam asked, folding her arms tightly over her chest.
There was a long silence. It seemed as if even the breeze had abandoned this part of the wood. ‘Well,’ Arianwyn started brightly, though she felt anything but bright. ‘Let’s hope for the best, shall we?’ She caught Miss Newam’s glare. ‘Which way, Colin?’
On the way out of the clearing, Arianwyn’s boot crunched against something. She peered down into the dark mulch of the woodland floor, where small shards of glass glistened in the hazy light. Had Miss Newam dropped one of her sample containers? She shook her head and walked on, into the darkness of the wood.
They walked for another hour, reaching a fastflowing river at the bottom of a deep gorge spanned by a natural, narrow bridge of arching rock. But beyond they fo
und another patch of the Great Wood that was blackened and blighted with tangled strands of hex.
‘Any ideas?’ Arianwyn asked Colin as he studied the map again.
He sighed. ‘I think so, but it looks like this area of the wood is a swamp. If we can’t get through we’ll have days extra to add on, I think.’ He studied the map again, and checked the compass, while Miss Newam busied herself with gathering more samples, lifting various glass tubes and small dishes from the equipment bag along with the silver scalpel.
‘Careful, Miss Newam, don’t drop any more of your containers,’ Arianwyn warned.
‘I haven’t dropped any so far, thank you!’ she snapped, laying her tools out on a small canvas square.
Arianwyn frowned, remembering the glass crunching under her shoes. ‘But—’
‘Believe it or not, I do know what I’m doing, Miss Gribble!’
‘Sorry,’ Arianwyn said. ‘Um, can I help at all?’
But Miss Newam scowled. ‘I suggest you two occupy your time finding a route to Erraldur and let me do my job.’
They trudged on, through parts of the wood so overgrown that it seemed to take hours just to move a few metres. They passed trees that were bigger than any Arianwyn had ever seen, their huge trunks and branches arching high above like the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral or castle.
Arianwyn had lost track of how long they had been walking for, but she could feel her feet begin to drag, while her arms and legs felt heavy. Her stomach gave a sudden loud rumbling growl. ‘Shall we stop? We should rest and eat, don’t you think?’ she called back to Colin and Miss Newam, who were lagging further behind.
Colin’s face brightened until Miss Newam said, ‘Should we not carry on until we pass the swamp? It’s likely to get dark soon, surely?’
Miss Newam was probably right – Arianwyn thought it must be teatime – but peering up through the high branches overhead she could see that the sky was bright, flat and blue: no hint of evening, no tinge of pink or darkness. She checked her watch but it had stopped at ten o’clock, about an hour after they had entered the wood. ‘Well, I’m hungry. I think we should eat.’
