Growned, Page 2

  Charlock bowed, a smile upon his lips. The Vapourer waved a dismissive hand. “Help yourself to one of the dragonflies,” he called as an afterthought. But Charlock had disappeared into the shadows.

  The Vapourer rubbed his hands together. Charlock was a very efficient and thorough assassin. There was no way Mezereon, the old fool, was going to succeed.

  He laughed maniacally. It was a good laugh. He had been practising it in the bath. The bathroom had particularly good acoustics for that sort of thing. He glanced around the room. There was no one here to hear him. A pity. But never mind. When he seized power there would be plenty of people to hear him, and they would quiver with fear. He smiled and rubbed his hands together again. Yes, he thought, he deserved to seize power with a laugh like that.

  He pushed his hand into the pocket of his robe and rummaged. He really must see Bogbean about putting a little breast pocket in each of his robes, so he could find Important Items quickly. It did not look particularly efficient, rummaging amongst old tissues and pieces of string for Important Items. Important Items should have their own, special pocket.

  Frustrated, the Vapourer emptied the contents of his pockets onto a table. There it was. The List.

  Maniacal laugh. Check. Regal glide. Check. Turn. Almost there. What next? Point and sneer. Yes, they would go very nicely together. It would mean he could point at his victim and sneer as he pronounced their doom. And then, of course, the maniacal laughter as they were dragged away.

  He sighed happily. His destiny couldn't come quickly enough. He was born to wield power. Not like that stupid lump of a Queen. Hardly an impressive creature. And as for that husband of hers, King What-ever-his-name-was, well, he deserved to be trodden on by a fox and peeled out of that muddy paw-print, looking like some kind of awful rug. And their sons were no better. What a waste of space the eldest had proved to be. And the other one, what was his name? Prince Cinnabar? Always out carousing with his friends, interested in nothing but a good time. Yes, it was time for a clear out in the Royal Household. Time for someone with a bit of panache and a firm idea of the direction Fairyland should take now. Time for a revolution!

  He faced the mirror and pointed. Not too bad, but lacking in flair. It would not, in its present state, do for signalling the doom of fairykind.

  He tried the Sneer next. His upper lip stuck to his teeth. No. That wasn't a good look.

  He unrolled the lip with his finger. He tried again. This time he looked like he was trying to stifle a sneeze.

  He stood back and surveyed his reflection. Maybe he should grow a moustache as well. It would accentuate the Sneer. When he'd got it right. For now it was practice, practice, practice.

  *

  IT was a beetle. Or something like a beetle. Liam stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. When did beetles grow this big? He was lying on top of a creature that seemed to be covering the ground at an extraordinary rate. It was a bronze-green colour and smelled strongly of wet earth.

  Once he was sure he wasn’t going to fall off, Liam sat up.

  “Ah,” said a voice from behind him, “I see you’re joining us at last.”

  “Unghh,” squeaked Liam, turning. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. It appeared to be an elderly man with a shock of white hair and a long white beard. What held Liam’s attention, however, was the man’s green skin and the pair of bright pink wings that appeared to be growing from his back.

  “It’s a dream,” muttered Liam. “It’s just another dream and I’ll wake up soon. Just go along with it. Nothing nasty has happened yet.”

  The elderly man smiled sympathetically. “Yes, Highness,” he said. “It is probably very confusing for you. I’m guessing your father hasn’t told you about us.”

  “Er...” said Liam.

  “No, obviously not. Well, I don’t blame him. I expect he wanted a clean and uncomplicated start after the banishment.”

  “Banishment?” said Liam, curiosity overcoming the battery of emotions currently vying for his attention.

  “Well, yes. After leaving to marry your mother―well, it’s the normal punishment for fraternising with humans. And,” the elderly man sighed, “the law is the law, and must be applied to everyone if it’s to be worth the paper it’s written on.” He gave a wry smile. “We’ll be stopping for what's left of the night shortly. A hot drink and some food in you and you’ll probably find the story easier to digest. Which is perhaps more than can be said of Hornbeam’s cooking,” he muttered.

  He nodded towards the other curious figure ahead of them, who was sitting astride what seemed to be a black beetle. He had bright green skin and grey wings.

  “That’s Hornbeam,” said the elderly man. “He’s a good lad, but I regret his culinary expertise leaves a lot to be desired. He’s my apprentice, the best of a poor lot. But he tries, and I can’t really ask more than that. Still...” He looked at Hornbeam, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” he continued in a low voice, “the best of a poor lot. Which doesn't say much for the rest of them. In my day, you couldn't move for outstanding candidates. But, these days, well, nobody seems to set any store by standards any more. It's not deemed—what is it you humans call it? Cool? It's not deemed cool to want to be the best at what you do.” The old fairy shook his head. “And then, of course, there's the question of his parentage.”

  “Oh?” said Liam.

  Mezereon lowered his voice even further. “I believe he has no idea who his parents are. Or were. Of course, they could be...” Mezereon paused, as if considering what he was about to say. “Well, anyone, really,” he continued. Mezereon shrugged his shoulders. “He'd been taken in by another family and they were, naturally, quite pleased to be rid of him. It was rather an act of charity on my part. The boy has no magical talent. None at all.” He sighed. “And I am Mezereon, chief magician and wizard to Her Majesty, Queen Demoiselle, and His Royal Highness, the Prince Cinnabar. At Your Highness’ service,” he added with another bow of his head.

  “Highness?” queried Liam

  “Here, you are royalty,” replied Mezereon.

  Liam opened his mouth to ask further questions, but Mezereon waved a dismissive hand. “Later,” he said soothingly.

  Liam shrugged. Why not? he thought. It’s only a dream. It’s not as though any of it matters.

  Above them, a dragonfly and its rider tracked their movements.

  *

  THE lake flashed like a dark green emerald. There was no wind and the surface barely rippled. Around the edge, clumps of dense reeds provided the only cover on the vast expanse of water. Except for the raucous cry of ducks in the distance, the lake was unusually quiet. Cinnabar stood on top of a bulrush, scanning the lake for a sign of Lord Pike.

  “It’s hot,” said Hooktip, fluttering his wings. “He’s probably found a shady spot and is having a snooze. Another day, perhaps?”

  Cinnabar shook his head. “I don’t have that many Other Days,” he said ruefully. “My destiny could be upon me any time now. It’s today or perhaps not at all.”

  He cast about the lake, his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun. He sighed. “Nothing, not so much as a ripple,” he said. “Perhaps I should get higher. There’s not much of a view from here.”

  Hooktip shrugged. “As you wish, my Lord. But not too high, eh? There’s not much cover here and there are a few birds about.”

  Cinnabar laughed. “What would become of me, hey, Hooktip, if I didn’t have you to keep an eye on me?”

  “I don't mean to be such a stick in the mud,” said Hooktip, “But, my Lord, you must admit you do have a tendency to be reckless. And, well, you now have responsibilities lurking over the horizon.”

  Cinnabar scowled. Hooktip ignored him and continued. “It doesn't mean you have to stay indoors and not take risks at all, but you do, at least, have to think about what you're going to do. Let's not take any unnecessary risks, eh? Like flying too high when there are birds about.”

&n
bsp; Cinnabar clapped his friend on the shoulder. “All right, Hooktip,” he laughed. He launched himself off the bulrush, skimming in a zigzag pattern over the glassy water. “This low enough for you?” he shouted over his shoulder, oblivious to the row of razor sharp teeth approaching from the other direction.

  For an hour Lord Pike had lurked beneath the water, watching Cinnabar and Hooktip with a baleful eye. With all the self control his malignancy and spite could muster, he had kept himself still and hidden, remembering how he had so nearly caught that irritating creature, the one who had been so proficient at teasing and taunting him. But Lord Pike was an old creature, experienced enough in the stalking of prey to know patience was needed, that hot fury must be tempered with cold malice, the trap sprung and the dainty morsel caught.

  He had waited, curbing his excitement, as Cinnabar began to fly towards him, waiting, waiting, until his victim turned his head, oblivious.

  “CINNABAR!” screamed Hooktip.

  Cinnabar turned to look where Hooktip was pointing. Too late, he saw his danger.

  SNAP!

  Lord Pike and Prince Cinnabar disappeared beneath the water.

  *

  LIAM felt exhausted. The journey had been long, the ride uncomfortable and the company—well, strange. He felt relieved to get off the beetle, with its peculiar sideways movement, but found that, when he hit the floor, the ground felt as though it was moving. Afraid he might fall down and look rather stupid, Liam sat with his back to an enormous birch tree and stayed there while Mezereon and Hornbeam prepared their camp for the night.

  Now a fire was crackling merrily in front of him, and a strange smell he assumed must be food was permeating the air. He was starting to nod off when he heard a polite cough. His head snapped back up and his eyes focussed on Mezereon, who had squatted next to him with two bowls of something steaming in his hands and a smile on his face.

  “I expect you’re hungry,” he said to Liam, handing him one of the bowls. Liam now noticed he was very hungry and took the bowl gratefully. Mezereon settled himself beside Liam and began stirring the contents of his own bowl.

  “Not his best,” Mezereon sighed, nodding towards Hornbeam, “but I think you’ll find it palatable. Eat up! Eat up!”

  Warily, Liam put the wooden spoon to his lips. The food was spicy, but not unpleasantly so, and had a vague tomato flavour. After Mezereon’s comments about Hornbeam’s cooking, Liam was quite relieved to find it was actually rather tasty.

  Mezereon, he noticed, was watching him very closely. Liam stopped eating, his spoon half way to his mouth.

  Mezereon forced a smile. “To continue our conversation,” he said, “regarding your father and your royal credentials.”

  Liam put his spoon back in his bowl. “Ye-es?” he said slowly.

  “Well, it’s like this,” continued Mezereon. “Many years ago, before you were born―obviously―your father was heir to the throne of this kingdom.”

  “What? He was... like a fairy?”

  “Yes, but―”

  “You do know my father’s six foot three?”

  “Yes, but―”

  “He works as a computer consultant!”

  “Yes, but―”

  “You are quite sure you’ve got the right person?”

  “Yes, yes!” snapped Mezereon impatiently. “The point is, when your father fell in love with your mother, he forfeited his crown.”

  “His crown?”

  “Yes, he was Prince Swallowtail, the Heir Apparent.”

  “His name’s Rodney.”

  “What?”

  “My dad. He’s called Rodney. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mother call him Swallowtail, not even when she was tipsy.”

  “I doubt your mother even knows your father was a fairy. He would probably have growned every time he met her, you see.”

  “Growned?”

  “Made himself human size. Some of the fairy types can do it sort of naturally, particularly members of the Royal Family. I, being a magician, know a spell. That’s how we were able to get you, you see. I made myself and—er—Hornbeam, human size.”

  “So you can make me bigger again?”

  “Well, not at the moment, no.”

  “Why? Why not? If you did it once, you can do it again, surely?”

  “But it requires fairy dust, Your Highness. I only took enough to grow and shrink us the once. I regret you will have to wait until we reach the palace,” said Mezereon apologetically. “Anyway, I digress. He was given the choice of giving up your mother or giving up his family and his people. Giving up being a fairy, that is. He chose to give up being a fairy. His mother―your grandmother, I suppose―was beside herself. She begged and begged him to change his mind, but he wouldn’t have it. He could be very stubborn, your father.”

  “That hasn’t changed much,” muttered Liam.

  “Anyway, the point is, any fairy, royal or―or―”

  “Ordinary?”

  “Yes, royal or ordinary, has to leave the fairy world if they fall for a human. And they are on pain of death if they reveal our world to their chosen partner. Or any other human, for that matter.”

  “This happens a lot then? Fairies falling for humans?”

  “Well, to tell the truth, no, not really. Well, not in recent times. It used to happen quite a lot―I suppose when men were much closer to the land, and so more likely to meet fairies. But recently? No. It’s caused a lot of problems, I can tell you. Not least of all the problem of succession.”

  “Succession?”

  “Yes, who succeeds as king, you see. Well it seemed fairly obvious your father’s brother would inherit, but apparently it’s not that simple.”

  “No?”

  “No. I researched it, you see. To make sure. Well, we hadn’t had one of the royal family being off to the human world, not in living memory. So when the King, your grandfather, was killed―”

  “Killed?”

  “Yes, yes. Well―”

  “How?”

  “How? Is it relevant?”

  “How was this grandfather I didn’t know, killed?”

  “He was squashed.”

  “Squashed?”

  “Yes. It’s not that unusual when you’re only as big as we are. Anyway―”

  “By what?”

  “Eh?”

  “What squashed him?”

  “A fox.”

  “A fox? How? What happened?”

  “He was with a party hunting spiders and didn’t realise a fox was behind him. A bit of an accident, really. The fox was after the mouse, which in turn was after the spider. It happens all the time.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes, yes. Now, can we get on? Right. I researched the law on succession for these particular circumstances and apparently―apparently, the crown doesn’t just pass across to the next son. Apparently―what was that?”

  Liam had heard it as well―something snapping underfoot. Hornbeam was up on his feet, a knife in his hand, peering into the darkened undergrowth. Still staring into the shaded gloom, Hornbeam sidled over to their luggage, stooped and picked up a spear. He belted his knife and held the spear in both hands, ready for an attack.

  “Shouldn’t we get one of those?” whispered Liam, as his heart began to hammer in his chest.

  “Do you know how to use one?” asked Mezereon.

  “No,” replied Liam.

  “Me neither,” said Mezereon, “so let’s leave it with Hornbeam, eh?”

  They stood motionless, each of them listening to the sounds in the undergrowth, each of them hoping for a warning before the attack came.

  They waited.

  Then they waited some more.

  Finally, Mezereon said, “It’s gone, surely. Whatever it was. No animal would wait that long. Surely.”

  Hornbeam lowered his spear and looked carefully around. He looked at Mezereon and shrugged.

  “It’s nothing,” muttered Mezereon, as much to reassure himself as Liam. “It’
s nothing.” He turned to Liam and smiled brightly. “Now, where was I?” he continued.

  It happened quicker than a blink. With a blur and a curse, Hornbeam was slammed onto his back and his spear’s shaft forced across his throat, as his assailant started to choke him.

  “Hornbeam!” gasped Liam and rushed towards him.

  Mezereon grabbed him and pulled him back. “Don’t be a fool!” he hissed. “That’s the Vapourer’s assassin! You won’t stand a chance!”

  Liam glared at Mezereon. “What?” he cried, trying to wriggle from Mezereon’s grasp. “We just let him throttle your apprentice? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You don’t understand,” hissed Mezereon, grappling desperately with Liam. “He's a killer. He's been raised to it, it’s his purpose in life. You won’t stand a chance! You can’t save him! Don’t you understand? You can’t save him!”

  With one mighty effort, Liam wrenched himself free. He threw a look of disgust at Mezereon and ran at the creature that was throttling Hornbeam. The wizard’s apprentice was visibly turning a nasty shade of brown. Liam threw himself at their attacker. He didn’t dislodge it, but surprised it sufficiently to loosen its grip on the spear shaft for a moment. Liam heard Hornbeam take a huge, noisy gasp of air. Then the boy picked himself up and found himself face to face with Hornbeam's assailant.

  Liam looked into the eyes of the creature, black fathomless eyes, set into a face as white as snow. It smiled at him, a greedy, mirthless smile, that revealed rows of yellow and brown teeth filed into points. Liam nearly yelped in panic, and then grunted in pain as a thunderous fist hit him full on the right temple and sent him sprawling.

  Liam saw stars. Bright purple and yellow ones. In front of his eyes and behind. He tried to get to his feet, but he couldn’t remember where he’d left them. As his eyes came into focus, he found himself staring at a pair of black, steel toe-capped boots. He didn’t remember leaving his feet there, and certainly not dressed in those boots. Where had he got those boots from?

  Somewhere at the back of Liam’s brain, in a small space that could still think, a warning was trying to make itself heard.