Contents of article "’Beyond the Hedge’ - Chapter 8 Part 1"
’Beyond the Hedge’
Maligna lay on her pallet in a state of excited stillness. The pent-up, stifling tension which was always with her gradually slipped away from her bony neck and shoulders and the bed beneath her floated off leaving her suspended on a sea of healing waves. Minxie had not provided the curly kelp nor the whirlpool of seahorses, but the Harpie wasn’t about to complain. She was closer to a state of pure happiness than she could ever have imagined. Minxie’s message from Pestilence had raised her spirits after endless years languishing in an arid landscape of her own despair.
Though they had never met, Maligna understood Pestilence Grimshaw. The buccaneer’s formidable reputation had made him the subject of many an exchange between her guards and she’d built up an accurate mental file on the pirate. What else had she to do but listen? Most of the time to trivial rubbish and mind-numbing, idle chit-chat, but there was a gem or a nugget once in a while.
The Harpie saw the pirate for what he was; a rare breed, a veritable thoroughbred in terms of scheming and self-serving opportunism, and that was before she considered his appetite for cruelty and ruthlessness.
His mother was a feared and respected seawitch and, although Grimshaw was half mortal, there was nothing to suggest he had taken after his father in any way.
She was certain Pestilence wouldn’t open his eyelids of a morning, let alone get out of bed, unless it was to his advantage. More significantly, he wasn’t the type to align himself with lost causes. In essence, he was a supreme asset and someone she was more than capable of dealing with once she was back in business.
The dragon’s departure had underlined her state of isolation, several times in angry red ink, but Minxie had kindled a long-extinguished fire and raised the Harpie’s expectations with her coded message.
Maligna was far from forgotten, perhaps even revered, and she couldn’t fail to notice her powers returning. When she sighed with satisfaction, she inadvertently scorched the hem of her blanket with a red-hot breath worthy of Cahoots.
With the inhabitants of Corvine in a state of barely controlled hysteria, Pestilence Grimshaw wasn’t about to take any chances. He slammed through the door of The Mischief Maker with his hand poised above the hilt of his sword and smacked into a burly goblin who howled in anger and spun round shaking his fist. The pirate cursed and the goblin shrank back into the crowd with an apologetic grin and a mumbled “All right, Cap’n? Clumsy old me!”
When the buccaneer saw how packed the tavern was he grabbed Pigsblanket by the collar. “Get cracking, sea-slug, clear the way for your lord and master.”
The cabin boy braced himself and pressed forward but he was unable to move more than a couple of feet. Pestilence kicked him repeatedly in the shins to urge him on. In his desperation to get away, the lad ducked down through the jumble of legs, leaving an irate Grimshaw in his wake. “Come back here! I’ll have you boiled alive for desertion!” But Pigsblanket had been swallowed up by the throng and was slowly making his way towards the bar. He was reduced to crawling on his hands and knees and only recognised the First Mate by his distinctive seaboots which were trimmed with strips of mackerel skin. The boy fetched up beside him, ashen faced and panting.
“Crivens, lad, you look fair done in.” Pigsblanket’s eyes were dim and expressionless and he suddenly slumped forward. Jedediah caught him under the arms and heaved him onto the stool he’d just vacated. “Get your breath back,” he said, scanning the tavern. “You did bring Captain Grimshaw, didn’t you?”
“Aye, sir. I left him by the door.” The boy was seized by a fit of coughing and clutched his ribs in agony.
Malahyde pushed his beer towards him but Pigsblanket was too weak to lift the tankard. He lapped the liquid like a dog drinking from its water bowl.
“I’ll see to the Captain. You stay where you are and order yourself some breakfast.”
“I’ve no money, Mr Malahyde.”
“Put it on my tab while I keep Grimshaw at bay. What I’ve got to tell him’ll take his attention away from you, and that’s a promise.”
Pigsblanket had never heard the First Mate refer to the Skipper disrespectfully. The omission of one word was very significant.
Jedediah moved through the crowd easily. He had an air of quiet authority which his height reinforced. No one was going to impede his progress, unless it happened to be an imp by the name of Mabel Mince. She tugged repeatedly at his sleeve until he acknowledged her.
“I did what you asked and I was quick.”
“Yes, you did and yes, you were,” he said with the faintest smile.
“So where’s ma doubloon?”
“You mean this doubloon?” Malahyde produced the coin from behind her ear.
Mabel laughed before she could stop herself. Then added scornfully, “Not that old trick!” She held out her hand palm upwards and Jedediah let go of the coin. Her fingers closed round it like a steel trap.
With a swift “thanks, mister” Mabel headed for the door.
The First Mate caught up with Pestilence in time to see him throw a spectacular punch which would have floored its target had there been any available floor. The dazed gnome’s response made it abundantly clear he was from out of town. “I tried to get out of your way, matey, but I’d nowhere to go.”
Malahyde pulled the buccaneer away before he had time to react to the slur. “He’s not worth the trouble, Cap’n. Just another daft galoot. It seems there’s no shortage of them these days.”
Jem Slack came towards them out of the gloom. He was sweating profusely and smelt of stale dishcloths. His worn leather apron was a map of cracks caked with years of accumulated grease and slops. If he’d had a forelock to tug, he’d have been tugging his forelock. As it happened, his hair was on the skimpy side.
“I’ve reserved your usual chairs, gentlemen, and I’ve chucked an extra log on the fire.”
Grimshaw sneered lavishly. “Oh my, Jedediah, what have we done to deserve this? A measly handful of coal is what we’re used to. Though to call it coal is to dignify nutty slack.” The buccaneer’s face crumpled with mirth at his unintended joke. “How appropriate in a dump run by Mr Nutty Slack himself!”
The landlord’s watery smile evaporated and the wretched wolf that was once an energetic young cub looked out of Jem’s bloodshot eyes and recalled wistfully what it was like to be bold and fearless.
Grimshaw whooped and, capitalising on his superiority, went in for the kill. “Are you sure you can afford to burn a log on that meagre fire of yours? Come into an unexpected inheritance, eh Slack? Or perhaps you’ve sold that ugly wife of yours. Mind you, that’s unlikely. I doubt you could give her away.”
Slack’s subservient mask slipped and the old wolf’s yellow eyes flashed defiantly before Jem snatched the mask back into place. “Gertie’s still here with me and she’ll be along with your drinks directly. Will you be wanting some victuals?”
The buccaneer’s mouth was a thin, quivering line. “What do you think, bone-brain?”
“It’s just that Mr Malahyde’s already eaten.”
Pestilence was in danger of upstaging himself. “So it’s ‘Mr Malahyde’s already eaten’, is it?” The buccaneer waggled his head from side to side in a perfect imitation of the landlord. “I’m delirious with joy to discover my First Mate’s had his breakfast, but I bally well haven’t had mine, you cretin, so jump to it.”
“Yes, sir, Cap’n. One ‘Full House’ on its way.” Slack’s heart was thumping and his head ached from the tension of his encounter with the pirate. He stumbled off towards the kitchen, vowing to stay well out of Grimshaw’s way for the rest of the day. The wolf slunk to the back of Jem’s mind again where it curled up and drifted off into a dreamworld where wolves never grow old and decrepit.
Pestilence flung himself into his chair by the fire which was still little more than a damp squib in spite of the addition of a skinny branch of green oak. He was starting to feel the effects of his over-indulgence the night before and there was only one target for his displeasure. “Where’s that disreputable sea-slug? I’ll give him two fat ears for abandoning me like that.”
Malahyde lowered his voice. “I know you’re vexed with the lad, but what I’m about to tell you is for our ears only.”
Grimshaw narrowed his eyes in anticipation. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Jedediah. I’m not in a mind to be trifled with. This’d better be good news you got me out of bed so early for.”
Malahyde checked Smidge and Filch were where he’d left them. “I reckon it’s that and more.”
The Royal Steed had dropped Sammy and Will at the Cave of Sublime Spirit just before the first earthquake hit Crawdonia.
Kismet and Wainscot found themselves in the thick of the action as the huge cat galloped along the eastern shore of Moonglow Lake. The forest cat and fairy mouse were under assault from rocks and loose stones raining down from the escarpment that shadows the lake south of Cressmere until it reaches the Flighty Fairy Falls.
Kismet was forced to lengthen his stride as he navigated ever-widening cracks in the ground that spread like frenzied forks of lightning in front of him. He took to the water to escape the worst of the landslide, creating a churning, frothy wake as he hurtled along.
The fairy mouse clung tightly to the cat’s left ear while he swerved and jinked his way out of trouble.
When they were clear of danger Kismet stopped to compose himself. Wainscot loosened her grip and the cat started to purr. “That was a wee bit scary,” she said, straightening her bejewelled collar. “I’m glad I wasn’t making the trip on my own.”
Kismet gave a low growl. “Let’s hope we get home to our beds without any more mishaps.”
The Attendant to the Royal Raven floated above his body which was lying comfortably on a mound of midnight-blue cushions beneath the Giant Sapphire. Will couldn’t fail to notice how dashing he looked in his plush velvet and gold uniform which set off his scarlet curls a treat. The imp had been a member of the Royal Raven’s household for a trifling amount of time, but he was already displaying characteristics worthy of the great bird herself.
The fact that he was disembodied and could see himself from every angle, even though he was floating on his back, didn’t bother Will in the slightest. He’d slipped into another dimension as easily as he might a favourite old cardigan, not that the imp is the cardigan type, you understand. His Grannie would have been mortified if she’d known about the drawerfuls of striped, checked and diamond-patterned cardies she’s knitted for him that have never been worn.
Spondoolicks had set aside his homemade bagpipes in favour of a small set of quartz crystal bowls. The spider hung on a platinum thread above the circular formation and was playing increasingly complex sequences of notes. The strange music filled the cave with warm, nurturing sounds.
Morgana stood on the Sentinel, an uncut amethyst crystal which sits near the entrance to the cave. The magpie had been assured her husband and fledglings were safe but she couldn’t rid herself of persistent, niggling worries.
The Prince of Cobalt-Sibilance rotated gently in a clockwise spiral above the glittering gemstone. There was potent magic in the making and the serpent’s third eye was as keen as ever but, try as he might, he was unable to find any trace of the Harpie’s black gold and clovenstone anklet.
Morgana reacted to a noise behind her. Indigoletta had entered the cave and was picking her way through piles of treasure. She inclined her regal head towards the magpie who dropped a half curtsey. Crawford was right behind her and his eyes were taking in every inch of the cavern.
Indigoletta spoke in a whisper. “Do you feel the powerful magic emanating from the Sapphire? My head feels clearer than it has for days. I thought the mulberry wine was a good tonic, but this puts it well and truly in the shade.”
“Indeed it does, ma’am.” Crawford undid his bow tie and inhaled deeply. “I’ve never seen the Sapphire radiate so many colours before.”
“Nor I. It’s staggeringly beautiful and no mistake.”
The raven was drawn to the ethereal sounds coming from the tiny bowls. “How delightful. I had no idea Spondoolicks was such a talented musician.”
“It’s far from obvious when he’s belting out a tune on his knitted bagpipes.”
Indigoletta acknowledged Crawford with a wink and he turned a soft shade of pink under his feathers.
The snake came to rest on the Giant Sapphire and the instant he opened his startling yellow eyes Will snapped back into his body. The imp got to his feet smartly when he realised his boss was standing over him.
“My dear boy, you look wonderful. This rich blend of magic obviously agrees with you.”
“So it seems, ma’am. The lightshow’s not bad either; spell-binding even.”
“In more ways than one, if I’m doing my job properly.” The blue and yellow diamonds on the snake’s skin were almost luminous and he looked magnificent framed by the shimmering light radiating from the gemstone. “Indigoletta, Crawford, a word with you, please.”
Before they had time to respond Spondoolicks swung across the cave to join them. He looked around eagerly and fixed Indigoletta with his bright, beady eyes. “What do you reckon, Your Majestic Featheriness? Am I not the bee’s knees on those bowls, or even the spider beside her?”
Spondoolicks changed tack before Indigoletta had time to respond. “Your aura’s showing again, SSS.”
The snake’s eyes were half closed and he was showing signs of irritation. “I’m enchanted to hear that, dear one.”
“You’re enchanted, full stop,” said the smug arachnid.
“Very clever, Spondoolicks.”
“Nothing goes by me!”
Sammy’s expression was cold enough to freeze a lake in high summer.
“Perhaps I ought to leave you to it. You obviously have things to discuss. I’ll be meditating in the casket of rubies.”
“Sleeping more like,” said the snake as he watched the nimble spider spin his way back across the cavern.
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