Growned

  “Which was?”

  “There is no news, Master. Of anyone.”

  The Vapourer nodded. “Is that good?” he said to himself. “Should I be worried?”

  “Well, Master,” began Bogbean.

  “It's a rhetorical question, Bogbean,” interrupted the Vapourer impatiently. “It requires no thought or answer from you.”

  He paced the room in silence for a few minutes before muttering, “But without Charlock to lead them, how can I release the Frenzy? Hmm.” He looked at Bogbean. “Just how ready are they, Bogbean?” he asked his servant.

  “Oh, very ready, Master. Any more ready and I think they might explode, Master.”

  “Hmm,” thought the Vapourer. He would never admit it to anyone, least of all his servant, but he was not sure whether he'd be able to control the Frenzy, en masse, without Charlock's presence.

  “Can we... can you... calm them down a bit, Bogbean?” he asked.

  Bogbean nearly choked. “Calm them down!” he squeaked, looking at his master, horrified. The look said it all.

  “Ah. And how long until they “explode”?”

  Bogbean shrugged.

  Somewhere in the back of the Vapourer's brain, a small but confident little voice tried to tell him he was about to get himself out of his depth. The Vapourer chose not to ignore it.

  “We have to wait for Charlock,” he told Bogbean firmly. “Play them soothing music or something. Just keep them quiet until Charlock joins us. And we are sure both princes are disposed of.”

  A very worried look limped awkwardly onto Bogbean's face. “Master?” he almost sobbed. “I really don't think—”

  “Yes, I know that!” the Vapourer interrupted curtly. “It's one of your better points. Very well. Look in my drugs cupboard. Find something to put on their meat.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Bogbean, the relief evident in his voice. “Right away, Master.” He bowed and walked backwards out of the room.

  The Vapourer pursed his lips. Was his carefully woven plan about to unravel, he wondered.

  He looked at his reflection in the mirror. No. He had to be patient. He had heard nothing to suggest his plan wasn't proceeding as, well, planned.

  He sneered and pointed his finger dramatically. He growled. It was no good. He still looked like he was chewing a wasp. He really wanted to get the look right before he made his bid for power. “Oh, well,” he sighed. “Practice, practice, practice.” There was no rest for the wicked.

  *

  CHARLOCK had walked through the day and part of the night, trying to catch up with the two princes. He'd tried to run after them, but his eyes were so puffed up from the wasp stings, he now had very limited vision. He found himself prone to colliding with things which, at speed, resulted in further painful swellings. He decided, reluctantly, to walk, albeit very quickly. He had made reasonable progress despite his handicap, and was confident he was now far enough ahead of Mezereon and his servant for them to be unable to help Cinnabar and the human, when he found them.

  Unfortunately, as the sun began to go down and the day darkened, his vision deteriorated further. He could see very little through the slits that were his eyes and relied on his other senses to guide him. The human still smelled of blood. Charlock could detect it, even at this distance, on the breeze that blew over the lake. He stood and sniffed the air. Was the smell getting stronger? He wasn't sure.

  There was a loud crackle of twigs. Charlock stood stock still and listened. A large animal of some sort was to his left, and behind him.

  Charlock turned his head slowly and sniffed.

  Fox. Male. Quite elderly.

  He sniffed again and the twigs crackled, louder and close behind him. Charlock sank into the leaves and debris on the floor beneath him. He was too small to be of interest to a fox, particularly if he didn't attract its attention by running. He would just wait until the animal had passed, and then resume his pursuit. Now he had the human's scent in his nostrils...

  A shower of warm liquid hit him and even under the cover of the leaf mould, it soaked him. The scent of the fox filled Charlock's nostrils, covering and impregnating his clothing. The fox was marking its territory right on Charlock's head.

  Charlock seethed inwardly. This was another insult for which he would make the human child pay.

  He forced himself to wait until the fox had finished and left the area. Now, he thought, as he heard the animal crashing off through the undergrowth, now he would catch up with his victims and put an end to them.

  He sniffed the air to get his bearings, but all he could smell was the fox's scent. Charlock screamed into the night, his temper at last getting the better of him. He immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. The time would come when he could lose control, but not now.

  He took a deep, slow breath and calmed himself down. Then he slipped off his sodden clothes and threw them into a heap. His skin also smelled of fox, but that would dissipate as his skin dried. And maybe his own sweat would wash some of it away.

  He walked away from the clothing and sniffed. Yes, he could smell it, just faintly, over the stench of fox. Human blood. He took a long, slow breath through his nose until he was sure of the direction the scent was coming from. Then, cautiously, his hands stretched out in front of him, he made his way after Cinnabar and the boy.

  He progressed slowly and steadily, the scent of the lake now joining that of the fox and the human. He guessed they were at the edge of the lake, probably trying to follow it round until they reached familiar territory. He'd do the same thing in their position. It was very easy to get lost out here, especially if your sense of smell was as pathetic as a fairy's.

  There was a noise behind him. Charlock stopped dead. He turned his head and sniffed. Not fox this time. He strained his ears.

  Nothing.

  Was it a passing creature, come and gone before he could even turn his head? Or was it still waiting, watching for the moment to strike?

  Charlock waited. And waited. He was very good at waiting. Unfortunately, he was not, currently, very good at seeing, which was why he didn't notice the threads of a spider's web across his path until he walked into them.

  The spider dropped on Charlock's head, its jaws snapping on the assassin's right ear.

  Charlock rolled over, his knife already flashing in his hand. But the spider clung on, its eight legs wrapped around Charlock's head, chest and hips. The pain in Charlock's right ear was excruciating. It continue to be so until the venom started to work and the right hand side of Charlock's face began to go numb. The venom spread to his shoulder and he began to feel a tingling in his right hand.

  He staggered backwards until he came to a huge boulder. With all his might, he rammed the spider against it. The spider squealed in pain and dropped off him.

  Charlock stumbled forward, trying to get away from the spider before its venom rendered his right leg useless. He stole several glances behind him as he ran, and then limped, away. That was why he didn't notice his old friend the fox attacking a hedgehog, until he ran straight into the hedgehog.

  *

  “WHAT, by Titania's tatty tiara, was that?” exclaimed Cinnabar.

  “I don't know, but whatever it was, it hurt,” replied Liam.

  They both heard the scream, a scream that suggested the most exquisite pain. They had just got the log into the water and Cinnabar had nearly fallen in with it, such was the shock of the noise. They stood in silence as they waited for further screams, but none came.

  Cinnabar shrugged his shoulders and turned his thoughts to their makeshift craft.

  “We need something to paddle with,” he said.

  “I'm glad you said that. I was beginning to wonder,” said Liam. He looked at their craft doubtfully. Initially, he had thought of it as a log, but now, looking at the scale of their surroundings, he had to concede it was more of a large twig or a small branch. He had extreme reservations about this.

  “Here you are,” said Cinnabar, handing him a len
gth of bark.

  Ergonomically designed for paddling, it was not. It was almost the same width all the way down, and was rough and difficult to hold.

  “You've got to be kidding,” said Liam in disbelief.

  “They'll do,” said Cinnabar, with misplaced optimism. He noticed the look on Liam's face. “C'mon,” said the fairy, “how hard can it be?” He smiled broadly.

  “If we do this,” said Liam slowly and distinctly, “we are going to drown. There's no two ways about it. This is a stupid idea.”

  Cinnabar frowned. “It's a great idea,” he insisted. “Now, let's get going.” He strode out into the lake and clambered onto their craft. He looked back at Liam. “C'mon!” he called.

  “No!” said Liam firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

  Cinnabar looked back at him, nonplussed. “No?” he repeated.

  “No,” said Liam. “It's stupid.”

  Cinnabar thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “Fine,” he said. “I'll go on my own.”

  “What?” squeaked Liam.

  “It's okay, I'll go on my own. I'll meet you there—if you make it.”

  “You know I won't make it!” said Liam in angry disbelief.

  “Then get on board,” said Cinnabar. “I'm going. With or without you. But I'm going.”

  Liam stared at him. Cinnabar stared back and then shrugged his shoulders again. He dipped his oar into the water.

  Spitting out every swear word he had ever heard his parents utter, Liam ran into the water and threw himself onto the stick.

  “Good choice,” said Cinnabar.

  Liam was so angry by this time, he was shaking. He dug his oar violently into the water, imagining he was sticking it into Cinnabar's head. To have gone through everything he had, to have survived the assassin, not once, but twice, and now he was going to die sitting on a twig in the middle of a lake. He might just as well have let Charlock kill him. It had all been for nothing.

  “Steady!” shouted Cinnabar. “You're paddling too hard. We're starting to go round in a circle!”

  “Good!” snapped Liam. “At least we'll still be in sight of land.”

  Cinnabar stopped paddling. “What land?” he asked.

  Liam looked. Already the dark hid everything. It bled into the lake from all sides, obliterating the shoreline and hiding the skyline. It was almost as though he had shut his eyes. Only that light told them where anything was, and that might just as well be a lone star in the sky for all the chance they had of reaching it.

  Liam's heart sank. He already had no idea of his bearings. How would they fare tomorrow morning when they were exhausted and in the middle of this damn lake? In full view of every predator above and below the water. With no food or drink. It was already ages since he'd had a drink. It would be like that poem—what was it? “Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,” he said aloud.

  Cinnabar started. “What? What was that you said?”

  “Sorry,” said Liam, “just thinking aloud. I guess we'll have to pass on that fresh, dewy water tomorrow morning, eh?”

  Resignedly, Liam put his paddle in the water and tried to co-ordinate his strokes with those of Cinnabar's, in the forlorn hope they might actually arrive at their intended destination.

  *

  HOOKTIP had been flying over the lake all day. He was exhausted, but determined to man the Great Tree for the night. Myrtle joined him as night began to fall.

  “You look shattered,” commented Myrtle, her voice full of sympathy. “You really should get some rest.” Hooktip frowned. Myrtle ignored him and carried on. “It's all very well taking the whole thing on by yourself, but if you make yourself ill, you'll be no good to anyone, will you? What if we have to rescue him or something?”

  She dropped the bag she had been carrying onto the floor between them. “Food,” she explained. “Even you can't object to something to eat. Or are you going to wait and see which gets you first? Starvation or exhaustion. Or maybe you're hoping they'll work together to finish you off quicker.”

  Hooktip forced a smile. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I really didn't want to come across as the biggest sulk of the year, but—” He paused. “There's just no sign. I'm starting to...” His brain filled in the blank with lose hope, but he managed to say, “get really worried,” instead.

  Myrtle put her arm around her brother and hugged him. “You're tired,” she told him. “Things always look worse when you're tired.”

  She began unpacking the bag. “You will eat, dear brother.” She said it as if it was an order. “And then you will get some sleep.”

  Hooktip opened his mouth to object. Myrtle wagged an admonishing finger at him. “No, you will. I'll stay and watch, and I promise I will wake you should anything noteworthy happen.”

  She put food in front of him and said, “Eat!”

  Hooktip smiled at her and began to eat. He suddenly found he did have an appetite after all and ate everything Myrtle put in front of him.

  Myrtle watched him, a look of satisfaction on her face. When he'd finished, she threw him a blanket. “Now, sleep!” she ordered. She shook her head when he tried to protest.

  “Look!” she said, holding up a metal tube. “I got into Mezereon's rooms today and I've got the Longseer. I'll be able to watch everything, and see anything worth looking at. I am perfectly able, so you can put your head down and get some rest.”

  “You've been to the Palace then,” said Hooktip in surprise, as he saw sense and threw the blanket over himself.

  “Hmm,” replied Myrtle as she stared out into the night. “It's mayhem, as you might imagine.”

  “Is Queenie enjoying herself?”

  “I'll say. She's had a whole wardrobe of mourning dresses made, and has taken to swooning dramatically every time Cinnabar's name is mentioned. She's been through hysterical and heartbroken and I think she's working on depressed at the moment. Nothing is being done to find Cinnabar, or the human—who is also missing, along with Mezereon and Hornbeam. No one knows what they're supposed to be doing, and that's everyone from the cooks to the guards, so they do nothing. And then—”

  She was interrupted by a snore. Hooktip had finally given in to his exhaustion and was asleep. She smiled and turned back to the lake. It was now a moonless night, with little chance of anything worth watching being seen. At least it was warm.

  She flew up to the collection of lanterns Hooktip had tied together into the tree. There were a lot of lanterns and it took quite a while to light them all. When she had finished, she took some food out of her bag, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and collected the Longseer. She settled herself down amongst the branches, in an area they had found gave a good view over the lake without the lanterns interfering with their vision.

  She gazed out over the water. It looked like a black hole. There would be nothing to see tonight, she thought. She made herself uncomfortable, in the hope this would prevent her from falling asleep if the night became, as she suspected, long and dull.

  She hummed to herself as she put the Longseer to her eye and methodically scanned all before her. But even with the Longseer, there was very little to see.

  The bats were out as it was a warm night and a lot of insects were about. She watched the bats deftly catching moths, and shuddered. They could just as easily catch herself or Hooktip if they were foolish enough to fly at night. The world was full of danger when you were a fairy.

  She dutifully scanned the lake again, but it was too dark to see anything. She sighed. It was going to be a long night, even with the Longseer to make it a little more interesting.

  Then she heard the scream, a scream of agony. She waited, holding her breath.

  There was no other sound. The victim had screamed only the once.

  She looked down at her brother. He was still asleep, undisturbed by what might have been the death of some poor creature, perhaps even of someone they knew.

  She shook her head. It did not do to dwell on such t
hings. Life out here was very often short and brutal—there was no getting away from it. Almost all fairies had lost at least one relative to the casual snatch of a bird or an unseen spider's web. Carelessness was often a fatal condition in fairyland.

  She woke up suddenly, some time later and with some alarm. She glanced anxiously down at Hooktip. He would never let her forget it if he'd seen she had fallen asleep on watch. It was with relief she saw he was still dreaming.

  She wondered what time it was and looked up into the sky. There were still no stars and no moon, but even so, it looked a little lighter than before. She could definitely make out the vague shapes of trees now. They were nearly at morning, she guessed.

  A large drop of water landed on her face. She coughed and spluttered the water out of her mouth and lungs. That had taken her by surprise. She heard the sound of raindrops and moved quickly to join her brother in the shelter. It did a fairy no good to get caught in a downpour. Fairies weren't waterproof, particularly not their wings, and a fairy with sodden wings had a problem.

  Her arrival in the shelter awoke Hooktip. “Sorry,” she muttered. “It's raining. Can't stay out in that.” She could hear the rain really hammering down now.

  Hooktip rolled over and sat up. “I hope he's not out in that,” he yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Just before morning, I think,” replied Myrtle.

  Hooktip nodded and signalled to her to pass him the Longseer. “I remember when Mezereon made this,” he said, putting it to his eye. “Cinnabar took it without asking and Mezereon thought it had been stolen.” He looked down at the lake. “It looks really wet out there,” he commented

  He fell silent as he surveyed the lake and its banks, and then, suddenly, “What the...? No!”

  “What? What is it?” asked Myrtle, startled.

  “There's someone—no, two—out there. Out on the lake.”

  *

  “I THINK,” muttered Cinnabar, as he slumped forward over their floating branch, “I think that maybe I over estimated our abilities. Or underestimated the task. Or possibly a bit of both.”

  He looked out into the grey that was the lake. The light on the other side looked no nearer. “And I think,” he continued, “you were—are―right. We are going to die out here. I'm sorry. I should have listened. I never do, though. It's one of my less endearing traits.”