Telling Tales - 1/2 (HP; Natalie Dennis Blaise; ~14K words; G)
Summary: Natalie, Dennis and Blaise each tell a tale about witches, pirates and love to Blaise's ill son. Would have been for witchesbigbang, title by kittydesade; split in two due to post length restrictions.
[ Part One | Part Two | Read on DW ]
Telling Tales (HP; Natalie Dennis Blaise; ~14K words; G)
"I'm nod sig," Nicodemus complained.
"I'm nod sig," Nicodemus complained, sniffing. "I'm mud bedder."
"That was very convincing," Natalie said, hiding a laugh. Nicodemus crossed his arms and scowled at her. "You're not allowed out of that bed, young man. You heard your father."
"Bud ids borin'," Nicodemus wailed, falling back heavily into his pillows.
"You don't want to start throwing up again, do you?" Natalie asked. He gave her a defiant look which she cheerfully ignored. "And both Dennis and your father said they'd check in on us whenever they could."
"They don' hab to stay in bed," Nicodemus grumped, pushing his covers down, making silver stars dance across the navy field of his charmed bedspread.
"They have to work, kiddo," Natalie said, gently pulling the covers back up, "which is just as bad when they know you're stuck here feeling poorly."
"You hab work with the goblins."
"I don't have to go yet, and Dennis or your dad will come and sit with you when I do, so you'll have plenty of company. Why don't you try and sleep for a bit?"
"I've been sleepin' for a bajillion years," Nicodemus whined, kicking his feet a little, though he didn't complain when Natalie pressed a cool hand to his forehead. He still felt hot and clammy to her, though less than he had before, when Dennis had been all for dragging him to St. Mungo's and Blaise had been all for dragging the entire hospital into the house if it would've been faster. "I don' wan' no more potions neither. They dase bad."
"'Any more'," Natalie corrected automatically. "They may taste bad now, but they'll make you feel better, so you can get out of bed faster."
"Today?" Nicodemus asked hopefully.
"We'll see how you feel later," Natalie hedged. She freshened his water with a tap from her wand. "I could open the curtains for you for a little, if you'd like to try it?"
The converted attic room that now formed Nicodemus's bedroom when he was staying with Dennis and Natalie had two big windows cut into one side of the sloping roof, one right next to Nicodemus's bed, so he could look out over London -- at least when the curtains, blue and silver to match the bedspread, weren't drawn. The Christmas lights were still up outside, random scatterings of white and red lights in the trees and lines of green and gold across the street.
Nicodemus shook his head listlessly. "The lides mayg my head funny."
"Would you like me to read to you for a bit?" She moved Nicodemus's glasses off the pile of books and spread them out a little to see what was there. A few were old favourites that Nicodemus was really too old for now -- like the Crup with Two Bones or You Are Here, which contained a pop-up version of whatever house you were in -- and which had been brought out in a fit of illness induced nostalgia. (She would judge him well when he started complaining about them being baby books again.) One of the others turned out to be a rather violent Wen Chang mystery, The House on Godric's Corner, and she would be having words with Dennis later about age-appropriate things to be reading to children. She paged through the rest. "How about some Henry Thrower: Boy Auror?"
"I'b read 'em all." Nicodemus turned over on to his side to watch her go through the books, huffing when his dark curls fell over his eyes. "That one and that one and, and, all of 'em. Loads of dimes."
Given the way pages were falling out, this was pretty undeniable; Natalie stacked them up again. "All right. Want your glasses so you can pick, kiddo?" He shook his head. "How about I just tell you a story, instead?"
"Father dells 'em," Nicodemus informed her gravely. "He knows all of 'em. Like about the pirads and mer-men and old wizards and kings and--" A coughing fit over took him and he curled up on himself. Natalie stroked his back until he was done, feeling his thin body shake, hoping he'd be able to keep some solid food down soon. When the coughs finished, she helped him drink some water and settle back into the bed.
"Your father isn't the only one who knows things." She absently brushed his curls away from his forehead. "I happen to know all the famous Mediterranean witches."
"You're from Scodland," Nicodemus said suspiciously.
"Och aye, of the great clan MacDonald me father Hamish was," she agreed, faking an accent that wandered somewhere between Edinburgh and Orkney and back again, making Nicodemus giggle, "and ne'er was there bonnier a laddie e're wore the tartan or fought the dreaded Haggis 'cross fen or highland--"
"Haggis is food," Nicodemus scoffed. "You don' fide it!"
"Nonsense," said Natalie. "They let them run wild in the Hebrides and every boy and girl has to go out and bring one down using nothing more than their bare hands in order to be considered a proper adult."
"...really?" asked Nicodemus suspiciously.
"Maybe," Natalie allowed. "But, before my mother married my father, years and years and years ago, her name was Jeanne Orsini and she was from Sartène which is in Corsica." Nicodemus tried to get up and Natalie pushed him down again. "Uh-uh, kiddo. I can get your map book from here."
She summoned it across the room, a great monster of a thing with thick green leather covers and more waxy pages than you'd think would fit between them, each covered in a vibrant map of incredible detail. Setting the book between them, Natalie found the map of the Europe. Nicodemus pushed under her arm so he could see better, grabbing his glasses too, biting his lip in concentration until he pointed triumphantly. "Dere! Dere, see, Nadalie? Sar-denny."
"Sartène," she corrected, and he just nodded against her, peering at the page. "The old town was built high on a hill, carved from ancient granite..."
"You never know when a skillet might come in handy," Jeanne said.
The old town was built high on a hill, carved from ancient granite, strong and persistent. There was little room and lots of people so they built down into the hill and put new houses on top of the old ones, fitting them in wherever they could. People also needed room to get around, which meant the city was full of tiny little alleyways and tunnels turning it into a maze even the local residents sometimes had trouble remembering their way around.
Really, Jeanne thought, hefting the skillet by the handle her father had repaired and which she was supposed to be returning to the Costas who lived ... somewhere around here, it could happen to anyone.
She wasn't sure her father would agree with her. Always got your nose in a book or your head in the clouds or your feet in someone else's way, he'd say and sigh and shake his head and be all grumpy until she made him one of her special beef sandwiches -- which really, just proved that reading was good for you or, at least, reading recipe books could prove useful. Not that her father didn't have a point too, because if she'd been paying more attention to going to the Costas rather than what she might be able to do with a good skillet like this one, she probably wouldn't have gotten lost. On the other, other hand, books also had maps in, but on the fourth hand, she didn't actually have a map book and wasn't sure one existed of the city, anyway. Certainly not a proper one, with all the narrow alleys and secret tunnels drawn on it.
Still pondering this, she turned down what she was vaguely sure should have been a gentle descent to the city square and found herself instead slipping down a short embankment and dropping into a rather murky lower level. There were cobbles down here, which made for a very uncomfortable landing. When she peered upwards, she could just make out a sliver of light between two buildings leaning in so close that might as well be kissing. To her left, there was a murky set of dusty glass bricks set into the wall, through which she could see nothing but the barest outline of her own reflection. Below her was the skillet which had, at least, remained undented. To her right was a boy about her age, wearing a most peculiar tartan skirt and puffy white shirt, his skin far paler than her natural tan and his hair a bright sunset red to her own midnight black.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, picking herself up with as much dignity as she could and smoothing out her sundress.
He said something incomprehensible in what she was sure was supposed to be Corsican but sounded more like someone gargling Italian, and then tried again in French, which sounded almost as bad, but was at least understandable. "What are you here doing?"
"This is my country," Jeanne sniffed. "I can go where I like."
The boy frowned at her. "No. This is--" He floundered around for a word. "Not you place. Very bad for--" He finished with a word she either didn't know or which she did but he had mangled completely.
"You have the worst accent," she complained. "We can speak English if you want."
"Thank geez," he whistled. Even his English sounded funny, but she supposed they had lots of accents over there the same way they did here. "I sound like a right eejit in French. Listen, lass, you oughtn't to be here, see? It's pretty dangerous for the likes of you--"
"Because I'm a girl?" Jeanne said dangerously.
He blinked at her, confused. "What's that got to do with anything?" He frowned at her some more, adding, "And how come you've got a frying pan there?"
"It's a skillet, not a frying pan."
"Sure and it's a lot of use to you either way!" he scoffed.
"You never know when a skillet might come in handy," Jeanne said airily, because she definitely wasn't going to tell him she was lost, no sir! "What are you doing here, anyway? What's your name?"
"Hamish MacDonald," he said promptly, bowing to her, "of the Clanranald Donalds."
"Jeanne Orsini," she replied, curtsying quite properly before hefting the skillet in his direction menacingly. "Now, then! What's all this about?"
"You'd never hit me with that thing, lass," Hamish said with unfounded certainty.
"Sure I would," Jeanne replied. "Quicker than you can say please."
"Ple--" Hamish started, and Jeanne swung, only just catching the skillet before it could hit. Hamish blinked at her like a startled owl before bursting out with the deepest laugh she'd ever heard on a boy. "I'll be blowed! You could beat for England, Ms Jeanne, and no mistake."
Jeanne was sure that had been a compliment, even if she hadn't quite understood it, so she just smiled a little, still hefting the skillet. Now she was up close, she couldn't help noticing that he had a scroll of parchment tucked under his belt.
"I bet you're looking for treasure," she decided.
He stared at her, amazed. In the dim light his eyes seemed almost as black as hers would be even in bright sun. "How'd you know that?"
"Everybody comes looking for treasure," Jeanne said. "Everybody hears about how there used to be pirates here and how the pirate queen was lost, so they all started fighting each other until they were all gone. It's pretty silly," she added, a little wistfully. "People have been digging and building here ever since, so if there was any treasure, they would have found it years ago."
"Nuh-uh," Hamish said. "Not if it was hidden from Muggles--" He clamped a hand across his mouth. "Ach! I wasnae supposed to say that!"
"Like I don't know what a Muggle is," Jeanne lied. "Come on then. Show me this map of yours."
Hamish gave her a suspicious look, but he pulled it out from his belt and spread it out for her. "You cannae see a thing -- here." He drew a stick from inside the sleeve of his shirt and waved it, making yellow light spill from the end. Jeanne quickly hid her surprise and pushed him to one side so she could look at the map too.
"We're here," Hamish said, tapping one spot, which was marked with a cross. "There's supposed to be a secret entrance here to where the pirate queen--"
"Lady Bloodfang," Jeanne supplied promptly. "They say she was the greatest pirate and the greatest sorceress and the most beautiful woman of her day. But they also say she was seven feet tall, and that's rubbish."
"She could have been," Hamish said. "Don't you know she was also part giant? That's why she had to turn to piracy, because none of the pureblooded clans would have her."
Jeanne sniffed. "The more fool them, then." Hamish looked pleased at this, though Jeanne wasn't entirely sure why, so she ignored it. "Does it say how to get in, then?"
"I just says 'ecce video'," Hamish said, bringing his stick closer to the map to show her the awkward, barely legible calligraphy. "That means something like behold, I see."
"I knew that," Jeanne complained. She looked around them, but couldn't see anything that would be a clue. "Can't you give us more light? A proper torch would be better."
"I don't see you using your wand," Hamish said. She waggled the skillet at him, but he didn't seem perturbed. "What sort of witch are you?"
"Oi! I--" She reconsidered saying 'am not a witch', because he was quite clearly a witch himself of some sort, and settled instead on, "don't have to answer none of your cheek, boy. You're the one looking for treasure probably doesn't even exist. Anyway, I bet you can't even make it brighter, can you?"
"Bloody can," Hamish said stung, and swung his wand again. Light flooded the alley, so that Jeanne could see his eyes were actually hazel, that the cobbles beneath their feet were a dusky pink, and that the glass bricks in the wall were still an impenetrable shade.
"I've looked all over the floor and walls," Hamish said, examining them again. "Nothing seems to be loose, or move when I push or pull it, so I think it must be charmed closed. Do you know any unlocking spells?"
"My dad always just gives the door a good kick if it won't go," Jeanne said thoughtfully. Hamish tried kicking the wall and then winced, dancing back and clutching at his toes. "It helps if you have solid boots on at the time."
"Oh, now you tell me!"
"I didn't think you'd go around kicking things! Who kicks a wall?! Here, put some light over here; there's something weird about this glass."
"Who makes a wall out of glass?" Hamish retorted, which Jeanne thought was very silly, and came over to look.
She grabbed his hand and moved his wand around, looking at how the bricks reflected light or, rather, didn't, except for just one, in the very middle, and then only if she held his wand in just the right place.
"I think that must be a clue of some sort, but I don't know what," she admitted. They pushed and pulled at it, but nothing happened. "You should try kicking it."
"I'm not kicking it," Hamish said.
Jeanne raised her skillet to give that a go but then noticed the shadow it cast because of the still lit wand. She grabbed Hamish's hand again, pulled him back into the right spot, and looked across the alley. The wand cast a circle of light on the stones opposite that was buttery yellow most everywhere; exactly opposite, where the glass brick reflected the light, there was now a smaller section that was all white, save for a tiny dark hole at its centre.
"It's a keyhole," she said.
"What is?" Hamish asked, staring until she went right up to the hold and put her finger in it to show him. "I couldnae see that at all." He bent down to look through it but saw nothing more than she had.
"Stick your wand in," Jeanne suggested.
"Stick your own wand in," Hamish retorted, and dodged away when she tried to grab it. "Off with you, lass!"
"I will give you such a wopping!" Jeanne called back, lunging after him, and they went back and forth, chasing each other in circles until finally Hamish was just a step too slow and Jeanne crashed into him, both of them tumbling into the wall.
Afterwards, neither was quite sure what exactly had set it off, just that the ground had vanished beneath their feet and they had gone sliding down and down and down a dark and twisting slide. Hamish's wand flashed over and over as he fell, and only Jeanne's quick grab stopped her being brained by her skillet. Down and down they slid until suddenly there was nothing under Jeanne but air and she let out a shriek she would strenuously deny making later before falling into a surprisingly comfortable pile of cushions.
"...blimey," she said breathlessly.
Hamish moaned off over to the side. She turned to look and gasped in wonder, for they were in a great cave, a shimmering lagoon in its centre with an island in the centre of that, the dark granite walls split by big crests of blue quartz that was glowing and pulsing quite brilliantly, sending the shadows from the stalagmites and stalactites dancing this way and that across the jewel strewn floor.
"Ohh," Hamish groaned, sitting up. "Ma heid's mince."
Jeanne crawled over the cushions to get a look at him, but he didn't seem to be bleeding, so she settled for giving him a clip around the ear and saying, "Man up, Hamish!"
"Your a vicious wee thing," Hamish complained, pushing her away before looking around himself. "Blimey! Will you get a gawp at that!"
"I'd rather get a look at the exit, if it's all the same to you," Jeanne said, even though she too was still looking around in something that would have been awe if she wasn't far too composed to let a silly thing like a king's ransom impress her. No matter how very, very shiny it was.
"We're never getting back up there," Hamish said, looking back up the slide. "Not without a broom."
Jeanne, not sure why a broom would be useful, said nothing to this, preferring instead to make her way between stone outcroppings to approach the lagoon -- which was really an underwater lake, she supposed, given there was no nearby sea, but it put her very much in mind of a lagoon, all placid and blue and--
She shrieked. Hamish was at her side in a second, asking what was wrong, and she could only point at the water, her hand clasped across her mouth. It was clear enough and shallow enough that you could see all the way to the bottom, a bottom covered in pieces of what, the cracked skulls made very clear, were human bones.
"Bloody hell," he said. "It's man soup!"
Jeanne found herself giggling, which set Hamish off, even though it wasn't really funny. At least the bones were dry white, and not all fleshy. Although that also meant no one had been here for ages. Or the lake was made of acid, maybe. She dipped her skillet in it, but nothing happened, and touched the droplets left on it gingerly; they certainly felt like water. She could smell salt, but nothing else.
"Here," said Hamish from halfway around the lake, "look, there's stepping stones this side. And there's something on that thing in the middle; I can see it shining."
"It's probably bits of people left over from being caught in the blatant trap," Jeanne said, but she hurried to join him anyway. "Right. You go first."
"Why do I have to go first?"
"Because I'm not going first," Jeanne said sensibly.
Hamish snorted at that, but he stepped gingerly out on to the first stone. When nothing happened, he tried the next, and then the next, until he was on the little island in the middle of the water. "Seems fine," he called back. "There's a sort of table of rock, here. It's got a big crystal thing sticking out with some kind of crown thingy."
"Maybe it's a pirate crown," Jeanne suggested, intrigued despite herself, stepping out on to the first stone. "Does it look piratey?"
"It's not got skulls and crossbones, if that's what you mean," Hamish said. He poked it with his wand. "I think it's just metal. It's all gold and knotty -- like the Celts, I mean, not like shoelaces."
Jeanne took the next step. "Is it attached to anything? Like a rope that makes the cave fill with water so we end up in the soup?"
"What? No," Hamish scoffed. "It's just a bit of jewellery. No traps or magic I can see; It probably caught here by accident."
He lifted it off the crystal just as she stepped on to the island. Instantly, the stones dropped away and the water rose, rushing around them in a howling vortex, making Jeanne jump back to the very centre of the island as it came hissing up over the edges.
"No magic you can see?!" Jeanne yelped at Hamish who shrugged sheepishly. "Put it back, put it back!"
Before he could move, lightning burst from the crystal outcropping, crackling to strike from blue quartz to blue quartz around them, faster than she could turn her head to follow. Even as they started ducking it had already raced all around the cavern and was blazing back, striking the central crystal and bursting into a massive cloud of lights that somehow became a tall, beautiful, strangely transparent woman. On her head she wore the ghostly twin of the headpiece twisting in Hamish's sweaty fist and in her hand she carried a wand as long as her arm.
"Who dares disturb the diadem of Lady Bloodfang?" the apparation demanded.
Hamish and Jeanne exchanged a look and then both tried to retreat, except what with the viciously swirling water -- bone shards clacking at them like teeth -- there really wasn't anywhere to go.
"I asked you a question," Lady Bloodfang said in a dangerously soft voice, raising her wand and flicking it like a fishing rod.
Something invisible caught at Jeanne and dragged her forward, Hamish too, until they were at the skirts of Lady Bloodfang. She towered over them, would have even if she hadn't been floating off the ground. Part of Jeanne noticed she could see the crystal outcrop right through the woman; the rest of her was too busy being terrified as Lady Bloodfang leaned forward and sniffed them both.
"Children is it now?" she sneered. Hamish, trembling, tried to raise his wand and then jerked back as she leant in again. "A pict! And what about you, girl?" She turned on Jeanne, who squeaked, clutching her skillet harder. "Another witch contending to be queen of the pirates? Oh, but no!" Lady Bloodfang laughed incredulously. "Not a drop of magic in you! Even better!"
"Yer a Muggle?" Hamish said, gawping at her. "Oh, I am in soo much trouble."
Jeanne stared right back. "More than the pirate witch queen?!"
"Children or not, this place will be your tomb," Lady Bloodfang said dismissively.
"Right," said Hamish, shoving in front of Jeanne. "Get behind me, lass!"
"Oi!" said Jeanne, annoyed, before she saw him raise his wand again and changed her mind. "No, actually, yes, magic her with your stick!"
"It's a wand!" Hamish said, glaring at her.
Jeanne waved pointedly at Lady Bloodfang, and he swung back, slashing with his wand and yelling something in what she assumed was Latin, although he still had a terrible accent. Lady Bloodfang came apart under the blow, a cloud of wispy lights that melted right back together. It made Jeanne think of blowing on a steamy dinner. Hamish attacked again, with as little effect, and again, stepping forward each time, trying to drive Lady Bloodfang into the waters.
"Pathetic," she sneered. "What are they teaching you children these days?"
"If you let us go, we could go and learn better spells," Jeanne suggested without much hope.
"Muggle magic?" Lady Bloodfang laughed. Hamish lunged again, and passed completely through her, coughing and gasping out the other side as Lady Bloodfang focused on Jeanne. "Come on then, child. Show me what great magic you can do."
"You know what? I don't think you're a real witch or even a ghost witch at all," Jeanne said, hefting the skillet. "I think you're just a nasty projection, like in the cinema -- just a moving picture."
"And what if I am?" Lady Bloodfang sneered. "What are you going to do about it, little girl? Hit me with your frying pan?"
"It's a skillet," Jeanne said and, spinning away from Lady Bloodfang, brought it down as hard as she could on the crystal spur. There was a healthy crunch.
"Huh," Lady Bloodfang said.
She exploded. Light burnt Jeanne's eyes, even through the arms she threw up to block them. Wind caught her, threw her back. She heard Hamish yell, expected to come down in water but hit jagged rock instead, crying out. She blinked away after-images, trying to see. The water was gone, the bones too -- no, not gone, but blown back, the fallen jewels too, glittering shards and white spurs driven into the walls of the cavern, breaking them. Of Lady Bloodfang and the previous little island there was no sign.
"Now that's what I call magic," Hamish said admiringly. He was scratched up and bleeding, but on his feet, reaching down, so she let him pull her up and took her skillet back when it was offered. "You put her right out."
"My dad's going to kill me," Jeanne said. "Have you seen the bumps in this?"
"Er," said Hamish.
"Maybe we can bash them out? Or you could magic them with your wand! Right? Hamish?" She turned to follow his gaze. Some of the bones and jewels hadn't just been driven into the rock; they'd split it wide. Now water was beginning to run in, first in trickles and then, as the rock crumbled, faster and faster. "Oh, come on!"
Hamish grabbed her and dragged her towards the slide they'd come in by. "Maybe we can climb!"
They both tried, pressing against the slick walls and each other for leverage, but the slide was too steep, and the water was rising, already filling the cavern floor and pouring in ever increasing torrents from widening gashes in floor and ceiling.
"Maybe we can swim?" Hamish said dubiously, backing up. "Or block it in--"
The ceiling gave way in a thunderous roar of water.
"I have a terrible idea," Jeanne yelled over it, waving the skillet at him. "Can you make this bigger?"
He blinked at her before bursting out laughing. "That is a terrible idea."
A twist of his wand set it to enlarging as the water rushed towards them, and he pulled Jeanne aboard as it hit. So great was the force of the water behind it that the skillet-boat shot up the slide with the force of the rocket, making Hamish swear and Jeanne whoop. In a massive plume they burst out the top and went rolling down the street, bruised and battered and soaked through. As the water finally receded, it left them up against a wall, covered in mud, precious jewels, and a knotted golden diadem.
"So," said Jeanne eventually. "What are we doing tomorrow?"
Hamish grinned, big as anything.
Hamish grinned, big as anything.
"And then they god married?" Nicodemus asked.
Natalie chuckled. "It was a few more years before that happened, kiddo, but, yes, eventually they got married."
"We could look for pirads," Nicodemus suggested hopefully.
"When you're better," Natalie said.
"Promise?"
"Promise." She offered him her hand, little finger raised, and he did they same, and they shook them, solemnly, before she pulled him into a hug, tickling his sides, making him giggle. "I'll get you a hat and everything."
The giggles threatened to become coughs, so she relented, absently straightening his hair as he snuggled against her.
"Are we getting hats, then?" asked a familiar voice from the stairwell, a head of wild, mousey hair rising into the room above a cheerful smile.
"Dennis!" Nicodemus said happily, trying to get up, making annoyed sounds when Natalie gently pushed him back into his bed.
"I'd look good in a hat, I think," Dennis said, climbing the rest of the way into the room. "It could have dangling mirrors so I could see behind myself when I walked, and a light on top to warn people that I was coming. Hello, you two! Are you feeling better, Nicky?"
"Yes," he said promptly.
"He's still a little warm and bunged up," Natalie corrected, "but I think he's feeling a bit better. Another pepper-up potion later will do it."
"Puh," Nicodemus said, sticking his tongue out, and Dennis laughed.
"Don't encourage him," Natalie said, smiling. "Let you out early, did he?"
"Blaise said he wouldn't be long," Dennis said, leaning in to kiss Natalie before sitting down next to the bed, "but you know how he gets. Always has to be right! Plus he wanted to get Croaker out of the way, so he can be home while you're at work. You get your dad all day tomorrow, Nicky!"
Nicodemus gave a heartfelt, if rather listless, cheer.
"Are you working?" Natalie asked Dennis.
"Only a bit," he said cheerfully.
"You shouldn't let him bully you into doing extra shifts. We don't want you getting sick too."
"I volunteered," Dennis said placidly. "It's fun! We're doing all sorts of, um, completely safe and totally mundane stuff that's hardly mysterious at all. Department of Mild Puzzles, that's what they're calling us now."
Natalie gave him a Look, which Dennis cheerfully ignored in favour of asking Nicodemus, "What have you been up to today, then? Why are you getting hats?"
"Pirad had," Nicodemus corrected quickly, giving Natalie a look, like he was making sure she remembered.
"Pir-- Oh, pirate hat?"
"Like in the sdories," Nicodemus elaborated.
Dennis nodded. "Are we telling stories, then?"
He looked at Natalie expectantly and she rolled her eyes. "How old are you?"
"Aww!" Dennis puppy-eyed at her.
"Dell another," Nicodemus put in, sensing opportunity.
"Perhaps Dennis could tell a story," Natalie suggested, happily passing the buck,
"Uh, okay? Ooh, I know!" Dennis grinned at her. "Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a little girl named, um, Matalie and she was ever so pretty and smart and kind and, also, magical! And so she went to a school for magic, because it's important to be well trained at magic because otherwise things might start exploding all the time for reasons that aren't you fault--"
"As opposed to when they explode for reasons which are your fault?" Natalie asked dryly.
"Exactly," said Dennis, uncowed. "And so Matalie learned how to do all sorts of interesting things like turning tea-cups into tiger-cubs and how to fly a broom and how to look at things with numbers and tell whether people are breaking the law."
"I actually learned most of that last one at Gringotts," Natalie said. Dennis pulled a face at her, and she grinned. "Go on then."
"Anyway, at this school was also a boy named Den - I mean, um, Bennis! A boy named Bennis who thought Matalie was the prettiest witch ever, which she was, and then there was a, well, let's just say that lots of complicated stuff happened that your dad will tell you about when you're a bit older, because lots of it was very sad. But then they grew up, and got jobs and Bennis asked Matalie out, like, a bajillion times and she finally--"
"Decided to have him arrested for being a creepy obsessive stalker?" Natalie suggested innocently.
"No! She said yes," Dennis said. "And so that happened, which was awesome! And, um, also! Bennis worked for a man named, um, um." He frowned. "Claise? Splaise? Flaise? Those are all pretty terrible, really. Anyway, they all ended up friends, even if sometimes they argued a lot, and Maise had a son called Ricodemus and they all lived happily ever after, even if sometimes they got sick and had to stay in bed. Which was okay, because then they got to hear stories!"
"Thad's nod a proper sdory," Nicodemus complained. "Thad's jus' us with the names changed."
"I think he's seen through your cunning disguise," Natalie said.
"He is very clever," Dennis pointed out. "Just like his dad, and you!"
"Dell a proper one," Nicodemus said, tugging at Natalie's sleeve.
"It's still Dennis's turn," Natalie said.
"Um, okay!" Dennis beamed. "I know a good story. A proper one," he insisted at Nicodemus's suspicious look. "It starts with 'once upon a time' and everything, and there's a princess. And more goblins! Everybody likes goblins, right?" Natalie hid a smile at Nicodemus's solemn nod. "There you go then. Oh! Wait! Props!"
He bounced to his feet to dig through Nicodemus's chest of toys, bringing a whole armful back and dropping them on the bed. Natalie gave a little sigh, smiling, and plumped up Nicodemus's pillows before settling in beside him to watch. Dennis pulled his wand out and span it idly between his fingers.
"Okay, let's see... You can be the knight!" He tapped a dragon, making it stand up and march across the bedspread. "And, um, you can be the squire," he decided, tapping a cow, "and you guys can be goblins--" More toys went dancing to join the rest, each bowing to a giggle Nicodemus. "--and then we just need a princess."
He looked hopefully at Natalie who rolled her eyes but drew her own wand, picking out a raggedy doll with floppy limbs and conjuring a little crown and a dress for it.
"Perfect!" Dennis beamed. "Okay, so! Once upon a time, long, long ago..."
"Perfect!" Dennis beamed.
Once upon a time, long, long ago and far, far away, in the great kingdom of Bluestar Blanket there lived a beautiful princess named Floppy who had lovely brown button eyes and a crown and dress and everything! And lots of other different peoples lived in this land, and everybody was happy, mostly, because Floppy was a good princess and listened to everybody equally and was very kind and wise. She listened to people's plans and she looked at what they had and if the plans were bad, she told them so, and if they were good, she helped them to get all the things they needed to make the plans work, and so everybody benefited and people said, "What a wise and pretty princess you are, Princess Floppy!"
And Floppy just smiled a little and said "Thank you," and didn't mention it again, because she was quite modest.
Now, in this kingdom, there happened to live lots of people, some of whom were goblins. Goblins came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, big ones and little ones, thin ones and fat ones, hairy ones and ones as bald as a seaside rock somewhere where there's no seaweed or lichen or things. Lots of people were afraid of the goblins, for no really good reason, but everyone agreed that if you needed your money looked after, or you wanted something special made out of metal, like swords or jewellery, there was no one better to ask about it than the goblins. They could make anything, from the tiniest engraving on a pin to giant towers and there was only one catch: except under certain special circumstances, like carefully worded contracts or other goblin intervention or true love, anything made by the goblins belonged to the goblins, and would eventually have to be returned.
Sometimes this made people very cross, even though they all knew it before they asked the goblins to do anything, so, really, it was their own fault. But still, they thought they should be different and special, usually for no more reason than because they had lots of money or could trace their family tree back for generations upon generations, which isn't all that hard if you study genealogy and you look at records, but there you go. And so these people would try and steal things from the goblins and keep them to themselves, which was sad, because it meant many pretty and/or interesting things would get hidden away and lost all the time, so no one could have them, not the goblins or the people who had had them made in the first place or anyone.
Generally when this happened, the cross people tried complaining to Princess Floppy about it, but not always, because Princess Floppy was scrupulously fair and always investigated thoroughly to see who was at fault, and quite often it was the cross people, which just made them even more cross and more determined to keep things which, probably, weren't actually theirs to keep. And, of course, once the goblins found out about this, they weren't too happy either! So it was all very complicated, and everybody else was quite happy Princess Floppy was there to help sort things out, especially when they could show up at the Cushion Castle and complain to her about it.
"What's all this about, good citizens?" asked Princess Floppy.
"Your uncle, Lord Donald, is up to something," said the little Quidditch player. "He keeps having secret meetings and arguing with everybody."
"Some of the goblins are up to something," said the Your First Broom™. "They keep having secret meetings and arguing with everybody."
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Princess Floppy. "Send for Uncle Donald and a goblin representative."
Uncle Donald, who was actually a quite distant uncle and not someone that the princess had had much dealing with, and who happened to be a duck but was certainly no relation to any other duck that might happen to share his name, arrived straight away. Unfortunately, so did the goblin, who was called Sockmonkey, and so they pushed and pulled at each other, trying to get into Cushion Castle first until Princess Floppy came and split them up.
"What's going on?" Princess Floppy demanded.
"Absolutely nothing," they both said.
"But if something was going in, which it isn't, it would be that he has a diadem that belongs to us," Sockmonkey said. "That's a type of headwear, like a crown -- oh, well, I see you knew that. I was just testing! Anyway, he has it! In this hypothetical situation he would, I mean."
"No, I wouldn't," said Donald, "and if I did have a diadem, which I don't, it definitely wouldn't be one belonging to the great pirate queen, Lady Bloodfang, and even if it did, she happened to be a witch, and so, if I did have her diadem, it would belong to me, a wizard, and not you, a goblin. But I can assure you that I don't have such a thing and that this goblin is, in fact, completely mistaken."
"No, I'm not," cried Sockmonkey. "Or, anyway, I wouldn't be, if something were going on, which it isn't, is it, Donald?"
"No," agreed Donald, glaring. "Not a thing."
And they both refused to say another word until Princess Floppy gave up and dismissed the both of them. Soon word came to her that both Donald's men and the goblins were gearing up for war, even though both sides continued to insist to her that absolutely nothing was wrong and they certainly hadn't been building swords (the goblins) or practicing curses (the wizards).
"This really is a bit of a riddle," the Princess mused. "If no one will admit there is a problem, how is anything supposed to be resolved."
As it happened, in that kingdom, there were a group of knights who specialised in puzzles and enigmas and confusing conundrums, so Princess Floppy sent for them.
"Good morning," said the first knight of mystery, who happened to be a dragon -- dragons had long since gotten bored of being attacked by knights in Bluestar Blanket and so decided to become knights themselves. "My name is Burny, and this is my squire, Cole."
"Hello, Cole," said Princess Floppy to the squire, who happened to be a cow with a bell that rang when he nodded seriously, so you could tell.
"Hello, Princess Floppy," he said. "We're here to help!" And he nodded and rang his bell.
"There is a great commotion in the Bluestar Blanket kingdom," said Princess Floppy. "The tiny Quidditch players and the plush snitch are all in a tizzy, and the felt phoenix keeps falling over. Yet no one will admit what's going on. Whatever can we do?"
"We could give them all talking potions so they all talk," said Cole, "except they would all talk about everything so, first, you wouldn't know what was important and, second, it would probably be a bit of an invasion of privacy, really."
"We could have them all arrested, lock them up somewhere far from us, and leave them to fight it out," suggested Burny.
"But then people would get hurt," said Princess Floppy. "We have to find out what, exactly, they are fighting over."
"An ancient shiny crown thing," Burny announced.
"How did you know that?" asked Princess Floppy.
"I am a Knight of Mystery," Burny pointed out. "They think the crown belonged to a famous pirate witch."
"Oh! I know about pirate witches! There were two really famous ones who once slew this really evil dragon and then made thrones out of its bones, which doesn't actually seem all that comfortable, really, but I try not to judge! One of them was Delphinia, Empress of Auruk, who ruled in the East, and the other was--"
"Lady Bloodfang!" said Princess Floppy. "Queen of the pirates and greatest witch of her age!"
"That's right!"
"They think they have Lady Bloodfang's diadem?" Princess Floppy frowned prettily. "Well, that's impossible. They must be mistaken."
"They don't have to be right to fight over it," Burny said. "They just have to think they're right. The diadem is just an excuse, really."
"That's not good enough!" complained Princess Floppy. "We have to prove them wrong, so that they won't fight, which would be quite dangerous and also economically disadvantageous."
"It's a shame we can't just go and look at it!" Cole said.
"That's exactly what we should do," Princess Floopy said.
"But it's hidden in your distant Uncle's super secret special cave mountain maze trap treasure horde thing," Cole pointed out.
"Then we'll just have to steal it," Princess Floppy said.
[ Part One | Part Two | Read on DW ]
[ Part One | Part Two | Read on DW ]
Telling Tales (HP; Natalie Dennis Blaise; ~14K words; G)
"I'm nod sig," Nicodemus complained.
"I'm nod sig," Nicodemus complained, sniffing. "I'm mud bedder."
"That was very convincing," Natalie said, hiding a laugh. Nicodemus crossed his arms and scowled at her. "You're not allowed out of that bed, young man. You heard your father."
"Bud ids borin'," Nicodemus wailed, falling back heavily into his pillows.
"You don't want to start throwing up again, do you?" Natalie asked. He gave her a defiant look which she cheerfully ignored. "And both Dennis and your father said they'd check in on us whenever they could."
"They don' hab to stay in bed," Nicodemus grumped, pushing his covers down, making silver stars dance across the navy field of his charmed bedspread.
"They have to work, kiddo," Natalie said, gently pulling the covers back up, "which is just as bad when they know you're stuck here feeling poorly."
"You hab work with the goblins."
"I don't have to go yet, and Dennis or your dad will come and sit with you when I do, so you'll have plenty of company. Why don't you try and sleep for a bit?"
"I've been sleepin' for a bajillion years," Nicodemus whined, kicking his feet a little, though he didn't complain when Natalie pressed a cool hand to his forehead. He still felt hot and clammy to her, though less than he had before, when Dennis had been all for dragging him to St. Mungo's and Blaise had been all for dragging the entire hospital into the house if it would've been faster. "I don' wan' no more potions neither. They dase bad."
"'Any more'," Natalie corrected automatically. "They may taste bad now, but they'll make you feel better, so you can get out of bed faster."
"Today?" Nicodemus asked hopefully.
"We'll see how you feel later," Natalie hedged. She freshened his water with a tap from her wand. "I could open the curtains for you for a little, if you'd like to try it?"
The converted attic room that now formed Nicodemus's bedroom when he was staying with Dennis and Natalie had two big windows cut into one side of the sloping roof, one right next to Nicodemus's bed, so he could look out over London -- at least when the curtains, blue and silver to match the bedspread, weren't drawn. The Christmas lights were still up outside, random scatterings of white and red lights in the trees and lines of green and gold across the street.
Nicodemus shook his head listlessly. "The lides mayg my head funny."
"Would you like me to read to you for a bit?" She moved Nicodemus's glasses off the pile of books and spread them out a little to see what was there. A few were old favourites that Nicodemus was really too old for now -- like the Crup with Two Bones or You Are Here, which contained a pop-up version of whatever house you were in -- and which had been brought out in a fit of illness induced nostalgia. (She would judge him well when he started complaining about them being baby books again.) One of the others turned out to be a rather violent Wen Chang mystery, The House on Godric's Corner, and she would be having words with Dennis later about age-appropriate things to be reading to children. She paged through the rest. "How about some Henry Thrower: Boy Auror?"
"I'b read 'em all." Nicodemus turned over on to his side to watch her go through the books, huffing when his dark curls fell over his eyes. "That one and that one and, and, all of 'em. Loads of dimes."
Given the way pages were falling out, this was pretty undeniable; Natalie stacked them up again. "All right. Want your glasses so you can pick, kiddo?" He shook his head. "How about I just tell you a story, instead?"
"Father dells 'em," Nicodemus informed her gravely. "He knows all of 'em. Like about the pirads and mer-men and old wizards and kings and--" A coughing fit over took him and he curled up on himself. Natalie stroked his back until he was done, feeling his thin body shake, hoping he'd be able to keep some solid food down soon. When the coughs finished, she helped him drink some water and settle back into the bed.
"Your father isn't the only one who knows things." She absently brushed his curls away from his forehead. "I happen to know all the famous Mediterranean witches."
"You're from Scodland," Nicodemus said suspiciously.
"Och aye, of the great clan MacDonald me father Hamish was," she agreed, faking an accent that wandered somewhere between Edinburgh and Orkney and back again, making Nicodemus giggle, "and ne'er was there bonnier a laddie e're wore the tartan or fought the dreaded Haggis 'cross fen or highland--"
"Haggis is food," Nicodemus scoffed. "You don' fide it!"
"Nonsense," said Natalie. "They let them run wild in the Hebrides and every boy and girl has to go out and bring one down using nothing more than their bare hands in order to be considered a proper adult."
"...really?" asked Nicodemus suspiciously.
"Maybe," Natalie allowed. "But, before my mother married my father, years and years and years ago, her name was Jeanne Orsini and she was from Sartène which is in Corsica." Nicodemus tried to get up and Natalie pushed him down again. "Uh-uh, kiddo. I can get your map book from here."
She summoned it across the room, a great monster of a thing with thick green leather covers and more waxy pages than you'd think would fit between them, each covered in a vibrant map of incredible detail. Setting the book between them, Natalie found the map of the Europe. Nicodemus pushed under her arm so he could see better, grabbing his glasses too, biting his lip in concentration until he pointed triumphantly. "Dere! Dere, see, Nadalie? Sar-denny."
"Sartène," she corrected, and he just nodded against her, peering at the page. "The old town was built high on a hill, carved from ancient granite..."
"You never know when a skillet might come in handy," Jeanne said.
The old town was built high on a hill, carved from ancient granite, strong and persistent. There was little room and lots of people so they built down into the hill and put new houses on top of the old ones, fitting them in wherever they could. People also needed room to get around, which meant the city was full of tiny little alleyways and tunnels turning it into a maze even the local residents sometimes had trouble remembering their way around.
Really, Jeanne thought, hefting the skillet by the handle her father had repaired and which she was supposed to be returning to the Costas who lived ... somewhere around here, it could happen to anyone.
She wasn't sure her father would agree with her. Always got your nose in a book or your head in the clouds or your feet in someone else's way, he'd say and sigh and shake his head and be all grumpy until she made him one of her special beef sandwiches -- which really, just proved that reading was good for you or, at least, reading recipe books could prove useful. Not that her father didn't have a point too, because if she'd been paying more attention to going to the Costas rather than what she might be able to do with a good skillet like this one, she probably wouldn't have gotten lost. On the other, other hand, books also had maps in, but on the fourth hand, she didn't actually have a map book and wasn't sure one existed of the city, anyway. Certainly not a proper one, with all the narrow alleys and secret tunnels drawn on it.
Still pondering this, she turned down what she was vaguely sure should have been a gentle descent to the city square and found herself instead slipping down a short embankment and dropping into a rather murky lower level. There were cobbles down here, which made for a very uncomfortable landing. When she peered upwards, she could just make out a sliver of light between two buildings leaning in so close that might as well be kissing. To her left, there was a murky set of dusty glass bricks set into the wall, through which she could see nothing but the barest outline of her own reflection. Below her was the skillet which had, at least, remained undented. To her right was a boy about her age, wearing a most peculiar tartan skirt and puffy white shirt, his skin far paler than her natural tan and his hair a bright sunset red to her own midnight black.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, picking herself up with as much dignity as she could and smoothing out her sundress.
He said something incomprehensible in what she was sure was supposed to be Corsican but sounded more like someone gargling Italian, and then tried again in French, which sounded almost as bad, but was at least understandable. "What are you here doing?"
"This is my country," Jeanne sniffed. "I can go where I like."
The boy frowned at her. "No. This is--" He floundered around for a word. "Not you place. Very bad for--" He finished with a word she either didn't know or which she did but he had mangled completely.
"You have the worst accent," she complained. "We can speak English if you want."
"Thank geez," he whistled. Even his English sounded funny, but she supposed they had lots of accents over there the same way they did here. "I sound like a right eejit in French. Listen, lass, you oughtn't to be here, see? It's pretty dangerous for the likes of you--"
"Because I'm a girl?" Jeanne said dangerously.
He blinked at her, confused. "What's that got to do with anything?" He frowned at her some more, adding, "And how come you've got a frying pan there?"
"It's a skillet, not a frying pan."
"Sure and it's a lot of use to you either way!" he scoffed.
"You never know when a skillet might come in handy," Jeanne said airily, because she definitely wasn't going to tell him she was lost, no sir! "What are you doing here, anyway? What's your name?"
"Hamish MacDonald," he said promptly, bowing to her, "of the Clanranald Donalds."
"Jeanne Orsini," she replied, curtsying quite properly before hefting the skillet in his direction menacingly. "Now, then! What's all this about?"
"You'd never hit me with that thing, lass," Hamish said with unfounded certainty.
"Sure I would," Jeanne replied. "Quicker than you can say please."
"Ple--" Hamish started, and Jeanne swung, only just catching the skillet before it could hit. Hamish blinked at her like a startled owl before bursting out with the deepest laugh she'd ever heard on a boy. "I'll be blowed! You could beat for England, Ms Jeanne, and no mistake."
Jeanne was sure that had been a compliment, even if she hadn't quite understood it, so she just smiled a little, still hefting the skillet. Now she was up close, she couldn't help noticing that he had a scroll of parchment tucked under his belt.
"I bet you're looking for treasure," she decided.
He stared at her, amazed. In the dim light his eyes seemed almost as black as hers would be even in bright sun. "How'd you know that?"
"Everybody comes looking for treasure," Jeanne said. "Everybody hears about how there used to be pirates here and how the pirate queen was lost, so they all started fighting each other until they were all gone. It's pretty silly," she added, a little wistfully. "People have been digging and building here ever since, so if there was any treasure, they would have found it years ago."
"Nuh-uh," Hamish said. "Not if it was hidden from Muggles--" He clamped a hand across his mouth. "Ach! I wasnae supposed to say that!"
"Like I don't know what a Muggle is," Jeanne lied. "Come on then. Show me this map of yours."
Hamish gave her a suspicious look, but he pulled it out from his belt and spread it out for her. "You cannae see a thing -- here." He drew a stick from inside the sleeve of his shirt and waved it, making yellow light spill from the end. Jeanne quickly hid her surprise and pushed him to one side so she could look at the map too.
"We're here," Hamish said, tapping one spot, which was marked with a cross. "There's supposed to be a secret entrance here to where the pirate queen--"
"Lady Bloodfang," Jeanne supplied promptly. "They say she was the greatest pirate and the greatest sorceress and the most beautiful woman of her day. But they also say she was seven feet tall, and that's rubbish."
"She could have been," Hamish said. "Don't you know she was also part giant? That's why she had to turn to piracy, because none of the pureblooded clans would have her."
Jeanne sniffed. "The more fool them, then." Hamish looked pleased at this, though Jeanne wasn't entirely sure why, so she ignored it. "Does it say how to get in, then?"
"I just says 'ecce video'," Hamish said, bringing his stick closer to the map to show her the awkward, barely legible calligraphy. "That means something like behold, I see."
"I knew that," Jeanne complained. She looked around them, but couldn't see anything that would be a clue. "Can't you give us more light? A proper torch would be better."
"I don't see you using your wand," Hamish said. She waggled the skillet at him, but he didn't seem perturbed. "What sort of witch are you?"
"Oi! I--" She reconsidered saying 'am not a witch', because he was quite clearly a witch himself of some sort, and settled instead on, "don't have to answer none of your cheek, boy. You're the one looking for treasure probably doesn't even exist. Anyway, I bet you can't even make it brighter, can you?"
"Bloody can," Hamish said stung, and swung his wand again. Light flooded the alley, so that Jeanne could see his eyes were actually hazel, that the cobbles beneath their feet were a dusky pink, and that the glass bricks in the wall were still an impenetrable shade.
"I've looked all over the floor and walls," Hamish said, examining them again. "Nothing seems to be loose, or move when I push or pull it, so I think it must be charmed closed. Do you know any unlocking spells?"
"My dad always just gives the door a good kick if it won't go," Jeanne said thoughtfully. Hamish tried kicking the wall and then winced, dancing back and clutching at his toes. "It helps if you have solid boots on at the time."
"Oh, now you tell me!"
"I didn't think you'd go around kicking things! Who kicks a wall?! Here, put some light over here; there's something weird about this glass."
"Who makes a wall out of glass?" Hamish retorted, which Jeanne thought was very silly, and came over to look.
She grabbed his hand and moved his wand around, looking at how the bricks reflected light or, rather, didn't, except for just one, in the very middle, and then only if she held his wand in just the right place.
"I think that must be a clue of some sort, but I don't know what," she admitted. They pushed and pulled at it, but nothing happened. "You should try kicking it."
"I'm not kicking it," Hamish said.
Jeanne raised her skillet to give that a go but then noticed the shadow it cast because of the still lit wand. She grabbed Hamish's hand again, pulled him back into the right spot, and looked across the alley. The wand cast a circle of light on the stones opposite that was buttery yellow most everywhere; exactly opposite, where the glass brick reflected the light, there was now a smaller section that was all white, save for a tiny dark hole at its centre.
"It's a keyhole," she said.
"What is?" Hamish asked, staring until she went right up to the hold and put her finger in it to show him. "I couldnae see that at all." He bent down to look through it but saw nothing more than she had.
"Stick your wand in," Jeanne suggested.
"Stick your own wand in," Hamish retorted, and dodged away when she tried to grab it. "Off with you, lass!"
"I will give you such a wopping!" Jeanne called back, lunging after him, and they went back and forth, chasing each other in circles until finally Hamish was just a step too slow and Jeanne crashed into him, both of them tumbling into the wall.
Afterwards, neither was quite sure what exactly had set it off, just that the ground had vanished beneath their feet and they had gone sliding down and down and down a dark and twisting slide. Hamish's wand flashed over and over as he fell, and only Jeanne's quick grab stopped her being brained by her skillet. Down and down they slid until suddenly there was nothing under Jeanne but air and she let out a shriek she would strenuously deny making later before falling into a surprisingly comfortable pile of cushions.
"...blimey," she said breathlessly.
Hamish moaned off over to the side. She turned to look and gasped in wonder, for they were in a great cave, a shimmering lagoon in its centre with an island in the centre of that, the dark granite walls split by big crests of blue quartz that was glowing and pulsing quite brilliantly, sending the shadows from the stalagmites and stalactites dancing this way and that across the jewel strewn floor.
"Ohh," Hamish groaned, sitting up. "Ma heid's mince."
Jeanne crawled over the cushions to get a look at him, but he didn't seem to be bleeding, so she settled for giving him a clip around the ear and saying, "Man up, Hamish!"
"Your a vicious wee thing," Hamish complained, pushing her away before looking around himself. "Blimey! Will you get a gawp at that!"
"I'd rather get a look at the exit, if it's all the same to you," Jeanne said, even though she too was still looking around in something that would have been awe if she wasn't far too composed to let a silly thing like a king's ransom impress her. No matter how very, very shiny it was.
"We're never getting back up there," Hamish said, looking back up the slide. "Not without a broom."
Jeanne, not sure why a broom would be useful, said nothing to this, preferring instead to make her way between stone outcroppings to approach the lagoon -- which was really an underwater lake, she supposed, given there was no nearby sea, but it put her very much in mind of a lagoon, all placid and blue and--
She shrieked. Hamish was at her side in a second, asking what was wrong, and she could only point at the water, her hand clasped across her mouth. It was clear enough and shallow enough that you could see all the way to the bottom, a bottom covered in pieces of what, the cracked skulls made very clear, were human bones.
"Bloody hell," he said. "It's man soup!"
Jeanne found herself giggling, which set Hamish off, even though it wasn't really funny. At least the bones were dry white, and not all fleshy. Although that also meant no one had been here for ages. Or the lake was made of acid, maybe. She dipped her skillet in it, but nothing happened, and touched the droplets left on it gingerly; they certainly felt like water. She could smell salt, but nothing else.
"Here," said Hamish from halfway around the lake, "look, there's stepping stones this side. And there's something on that thing in the middle; I can see it shining."
"It's probably bits of people left over from being caught in the blatant trap," Jeanne said, but she hurried to join him anyway. "Right. You go first."
"Why do I have to go first?"
"Because I'm not going first," Jeanne said sensibly.
Hamish snorted at that, but he stepped gingerly out on to the first stone. When nothing happened, he tried the next, and then the next, until he was on the little island in the middle of the water. "Seems fine," he called back. "There's a sort of table of rock, here. It's got a big crystal thing sticking out with some kind of crown thingy."
"Maybe it's a pirate crown," Jeanne suggested, intrigued despite herself, stepping out on to the first stone. "Does it look piratey?"
"It's not got skulls and crossbones, if that's what you mean," Hamish said. He poked it with his wand. "I think it's just metal. It's all gold and knotty -- like the Celts, I mean, not like shoelaces."
Jeanne took the next step. "Is it attached to anything? Like a rope that makes the cave fill with water so we end up in the soup?"
"What? No," Hamish scoffed. "It's just a bit of jewellery. No traps or magic I can see; It probably caught here by accident."
He lifted it off the crystal just as she stepped on to the island. Instantly, the stones dropped away and the water rose, rushing around them in a howling vortex, making Jeanne jump back to the very centre of the island as it came hissing up over the edges.
"No magic you can see?!" Jeanne yelped at Hamish who shrugged sheepishly. "Put it back, put it back!"
Before he could move, lightning burst from the crystal outcropping, crackling to strike from blue quartz to blue quartz around them, faster than she could turn her head to follow. Even as they started ducking it had already raced all around the cavern and was blazing back, striking the central crystal and bursting into a massive cloud of lights that somehow became a tall, beautiful, strangely transparent woman. On her head she wore the ghostly twin of the headpiece twisting in Hamish's sweaty fist and in her hand she carried a wand as long as her arm.
"Who dares disturb the diadem of Lady Bloodfang?" the apparation demanded.
Hamish and Jeanne exchanged a look and then both tried to retreat, except what with the viciously swirling water -- bone shards clacking at them like teeth -- there really wasn't anywhere to go.
"I asked you a question," Lady Bloodfang said in a dangerously soft voice, raising her wand and flicking it like a fishing rod.
Something invisible caught at Jeanne and dragged her forward, Hamish too, until they were at the skirts of Lady Bloodfang. She towered over them, would have even if she hadn't been floating off the ground. Part of Jeanne noticed she could see the crystal outcrop right through the woman; the rest of her was too busy being terrified as Lady Bloodfang leaned forward and sniffed them both.
"Children is it now?" she sneered. Hamish, trembling, tried to raise his wand and then jerked back as she leant in again. "A pict! And what about you, girl?" She turned on Jeanne, who squeaked, clutching her skillet harder. "Another witch contending to be queen of the pirates? Oh, but no!" Lady Bloodfang laughed incredulously. "Not a drop of magic in you! Even better!"
"Yer a Muggle?" Hamish said, gawping at her. "Oh, I am in soo much trouble."
Jeanne stared right back. "More than the pirate witch queen?!"
"Children or not, this place will be your tomb," Lady Bloodfang said dismissively.
"Right," said Hamish, shoving in front of Jeanne. "Get behind me, lass!"
"Oi!" said Jeanne, annoyed, before she saw him raise his wand again and changed her mind. "No, actually, yes, magic her with your stick!"
"It's a wand!" Hamish said, glaring at her.
Jeanne waved pointedly at Lady Bloodfang, and he swung back, slashing with his wand and yelling something in what she assumed was Latin, although he still had a terrible accent. Lady Bloodfang came apart under the blow, a cloud of wispy lights that melted right back together. It made Jeanne think of blowing on a steamy dinner. Hamish attacked again, with as little effect, and again, stepping forward each time, trying to drive Lady Bloodfang into the waters.
"Pathetic," she sneered. "What are they teaching you children these days?"
"If you let us go, we could go and learn better spells," Jeanne suggested without much hope.
"Muggle magic?" Lady Bloodfang laughed. Hamish lunged again, and passed completely through her, coughing and gasping out the other side as Lady Bloodfang focused on Jeanne. "Come on then, child. Show me what great magic you can do."
"You know what? I don't think you're a real witch or even a ghost witch at all," Jeanne said, hefting the skillet. "I think you're just a nasty projection, like in the cinema -- just a moving picture."
"And what if I am?" Lady Bloodfang sneered. "What are you going to do about it, little girl? Hit me with your frying pan?"
"It's a skillet," Jeanne said and, spinning away from Lady Bloodfang, brought it down as hard as she could on the crystal spur. There was a healthy crunch.
"Huh," Lady Bloodfang said.
She exploded. Light burnt Jeanne's eyes, even through the arms she threw up to block them. Wind caught her, threw her back. She heard Hamish yell, expected to come down in water but hit jagged rock instead, crying out. She blinked away after-images, trying to see. The water was gone, the bones too -- no, not gone, but blown back, the fallen jewels too, glittering shards and white spurs driven into the walls of the cavern, breaking them. Of Lady Bloodfang and the previous little island there was no sign.
"Now that's what I call magic," Hamish said admiringly. He was scratched up and bleeding, but on his feet, reaching down, so she let him pull her up and took her skillet back when it was offered. "You put her right out."
"My dad's going to kill me," Jeanne said. "Have you seen the bumps in this?"
"Er," said Hamish.
"Maybe we can bash them out? Or you could magic them with your wand! Right? Hamish?" She turned to follow his gaze. Some of the bones and jewels hadn't just been driven into the rock; they'd split it wide. Now water was beginning to run in, first in trickles and then, as the rock crumbled, faster and faster. "Oh, come on!"
Hamish grabbed her and dragged her towards the slide they'd come in by. "Maybe we can climb!"
They both tried, pressing against the slick walls and each other for leverage, but the slide was too steep, and the water was rising, already filling the cavern floor and pouring in ever increasing torrents from widening gashes in floor and ceiling.
"Maybe we can swim?" Hamish said dubiously, backing up. "Or block it in--"
The ceiling gave way in a thunderous roar of water.
"I have a terrible idea," Jeanne yelled over it, waving the skillet at him. "Can you make this bigger?"
He blinked at her before bursting out laughing. "That is a terrible idea."
A twist of his wand set it to enlarging as the water rushed towards them, and he pulled Jeanne aboard as it hit. So great was the force of the water behind it that the skillet-boat shot up the slide with the force of the rocket, making Hamish swear and Jeanne whoop. In a massive plume they burst out the top and went rolling down the street, bruised and battered and soaked through. As the water finally receded, it left them up against a wall, covered in mud, precious jewels, and a knotted golden diadem.
"So," said Jeanne eventually. "What are we doing tomorrow?"
Hamish grinned, big as anything.
Hamish grinned, big as anything.
"And then they god married?" Nicodemus asked.
Natalie chuckled. "It was a few more years before that happened, kiddo, but, yes, eventually they got married."
"We could look for pirads," Nicodemus suggested hopefully.
"When you're better," Natalie said.
"Promise?"
"Promise." She offered him her hand, little finger raised, and he did they same, and they shook them, solemnly, before she pulled him into a hug, tickling his sides, making him giggle. "I'll get you a hat and everything."
The giggles threatened to become coughs, so she relented, absently straightening his hair as he snuggled against her.
"Are we getting hats, then?" asked a familiar voice from the stairwell, a head of wild, mousey hair rising into the room above a cheerful smile.
"Dennis!" Nicodemus said happily, trying to get up, making annoyed sounds when Natalie gently pushed him back into his bed.
"I'd look good in a hat, I think," Dennis said, climbing the rest of the way into the room. "It could have dangling mirrors so I could see behind myself when I walked, and a light on top to warn people that I was coming. Hello, you two! Are you feeling better, Nicky?"
"Yes," he said promptly.
"He's still a little warm and bunged up," Natalie corrected, "but I think he's feeling a bit better. Another pepper-up potion later will do it."
"Puh," Nicodemus said, sticking his tongue out, and Dennis laughed.
"Don't encourage him," Natalie said, smiling. "Let you out early, did he?"
"Blaise said he wouldn't be long," Dennis said, leaning in to kiss Natalie before sitting down next to the bed, "but you know how he gets. Always has to be right! Plus he wanted to get Croaker out of the way, so he can be home while you're at work. You get your dad all day tomorrow, Nicky!"
Nicodemus gave a heartfelt, if rather listless, cheer.
"Are you working?" Natalie asked Dennis.
"Only a bit," he said cheerfully.
"You shouldn't let him bully you into doing extra shifts. We don't want you getting sick too."
"I volunteered," Dennis said placidly. "It's fun! We're doing all sorts of, um, completely safe and totally mundane stuff that's hardly mysterious at all. Department of Mild Puzzles, that's what they're calling us now."
Natalie gave him a Look, which Dennis cheerfully ignored in favour of asking Nicodemus, "What have you been up to today, then? Why are you getting hats?"
"Pirad had," Nicodemus corrected quickly, giving Natalie a look, like he was making sure she remembered.
"Pir-- Oh, pirate hat?"
"Like in the sdories," Nicodemus elaborated.
Dennis nodded. "Are we telling stories, then?"
He looked at Natalie expectantly and she rolled her eyes. "How old are you?"
"Aww!" Dennis puppy-eyed at her.
"Dell another," Nicodemus put in, sensing opportunity.
"Perhaps Dennis could tell a story," Natalie suggested, happily passing the buck,
"Uh, okay? Ooh, I know!" Dennis grinned at her. "Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a little girl named, um, Matalie and she was ever so pretty and smart and kind and, also, magical! And so she went to a school for magic, because it's important to be well trained at magic because otherwise things might start exploding all the time for reasons that aren't you fault--"
"As opposed to when they explode for reasons which are your fault?" Natalie asked dryly.
"Exactly," said Dennis, uncowed. "And so Matalie learned how to do all sorts of interesting things like turning tea-cups into tiger-cubs and how to fly a broom and how to look at things with numbers and tell whether people are breaking the law."
"I actually learned most of that last one at Gringotts," Natalie said. Dennis pulled a face at her, and she grinned. "Go on then."
"Anyway, at this school was also a boy named Den - I mean, um, Bennis! A boy named Bennis who thought Matalie was the prettiest witch ever, which she was, and then there was a, well, let's just say that lots of complicated stuff happened that your dad will tell you about when you're a bit older, because lots of it was very sad. But then they grew up, and got jobs and Bennis asked Matalie out, like, a bajillion times and she finally--"
"Decided to have him arrested for being a creepy obsessive stalker?" Natalie suggested innocently.
"No! She said yes," Dennis said. "And so that happened, which was awesome! And, um, also! Bennis worked for a man named, um, um." He frowned. "Claise? Splaise? Flaise? Those are all pretty terrible, really. Anyway, they all ended up friends, even if sometimes they argued a lot, and Maise had a son called Ricodemus and they all lived happily ever after, even if sometimes they got sick and had to stay in bed. Which was okay, because then they got to hear stories!"
"Thad's nod a proper sdory," Nicodemus complained. "Thad's jus' us with the names changed."
"I think he's seen through your cunning disguise," Natalie said.
"He is very clever," Dennis pointed out. "Just like his dad, and you!"
"Dell a proper one," Nicodemus said, tugging at Natalie's sleeve.
"It's still Dennis's turn," Natalie said.
"Um, okay!" Dennis beamed. "I know a good story. A proper one," he insisted at Nicodemus's suspicious look. "It starts with 'once upon a time' and everything, and there's a princess. And more goblins! Everybody likes goblins, right?" Natalie hid a smile at Nicodemus's solemn nod. "There you go then. Oh! Wait! Props!"
He bounced to his feet to dig through Nicodemus's chest of toys, bringing a whole armful back and dropping them on the bed. Natalie gave a little sigh, smiling, and plumped up Nicodemus's pillows before settling in beside him to watch. Dennis pulled his wand out and span it idly between his fingers.
"Okay, let's see... You can be the knight!" He tapped a dragon, making it stand up and march across the bedspread. "And, um, you can be the squire," he decided, tapping a cow, "and you guys can be goblins--" More toys went dancing to join the rest, each bowing to a giggle Nicodemus. "--and then we just need a princess."
He looked hopefully at Natalie who rolled her eyes but drew her own wand, picking out a raggedy doll with floppy limbs and conjuring a little crown and a dress for it.
"Perfect!" Dennis beamed. "Okay, so! Once upon a time, long, long ago..."
"Perfect!" Dennis beamed.
Once upon a time, long, long ago and far, far away, in the great kingdom of Bluestar Blanket there lived a beautiful princess named Floppy who had lovely brown button eyes and a crown and dress and everything! And lots of other different peoples lived in this land, and everybody was happy, mostly, because Floppy was a good princess and listened to everybody equally and was very kind and wise. She listened to people's plans and she looked at what they had and if the plans were bad, she told them so, and if they were good, she helped them to get all the things they needed to make the plans work, and so everybody benefited and people said, "What a wise and pretty princess you are, Princess Floppy!"
And Floppy just smiled a little and said "Thank you," and didn't mention it again, because she was quite modest.
Now, in this kingdom, there happened to live lots of people, some of whom were goblins. Goblins came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, big ones and little ones, thin ones and fat ones, hairy ones and ones as bald as a seaside rock somewhere where there's no seaweed or lichen or things. Lots of people were afraid of the goblins, for no really good reason, but everyone agreed that if you needed your money looked after, or you wanted something special made out of metal, like swords or jewellery, there was no one better to ask about it than the goblins. They could make anything, from the tiniest engraving on a pin to giant towers and there was only one catch: except under certain special circumstances, like carefully worded contracts or other goblin intervention or true love, anything made by the goblins belonged to the goblins, and would eventually have to be returned.
Sometimes this made people very cross, even though they all knew it before they asked the goblins to do anything, so, really, it was their own fault. But still, they thought they should be different and special, usually for no more reason than because they had lots of money or could trace their family tree back for generations upon generations, which isn't all that hard if you study genealogy and you look at records, but there you go. And so these people would try and steal things from the goblins and keep them to themselves, which was sad, because it meant many pretty and/or interesting things would get hidden away and lost all the time, so no one could have them, not the goblins or the people who had had them made in the first place or anyone.
Generally when this happened, the cross people tried complaining to Princess Floppy about it, but not always, because Princess Floppy was scrupulously fair and always investigated thoroughly to see who was at fault, and quite often it was the cross people, which just made them even more cross and more determined to keep things which, probably, weren't actually theirs to keep. And, of course, once the goblins found out about this, they weren't too happy either! So it was all very complicated, and everybody else was quite happy Princess Floppy was there to help sort things out, especially when they could show up at the Cushion Castle and complain to her about it.
"What's all this about, good citizens?" asked Princess Floppy.
"Your uncle, Lord Donald, is up to something," said the little Quidditch player. "He keeps having secret meetings and arguing with everybody."
"Some of the goblins are up to something," said the Your First Broom™. "They keep having secret meetings and arguing with everybody."
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Princess Floppy. "Send for Uncle Donald and a goblin representative."
Uncle Donald, who was actually a quite distant uncle and not someone that the princess had had much dealing with, and who happened to be a duck but was certainly no relation to any other duck that might happen to share his name, arrived straight away. Unfortunately, so did the goblin, who was called Sockmonkey, and so they pushed and pulled at each other, trying to get into Cushion Castle first until Princess Floppy came and split them up.
"What's going on?" Princess Floppy demanded.
"Absolutely nothing," they both said.
"But if something was going in, which it isn't, it would be that he has a diadem that belongs to us," Sockmonkey said. "That's a type of headwear, like a crown -- oh, well, I see you knew that. I was just testing! Anyway, he has it! In this hypothetical situation he would, I mean."
"No, I wouldn't," said Donald, "and if I did have a diadem, which I don't, it definitely wouldn't be one belonging to the great pirate queen, Lady Bloodfang, and even if it did, she happened to be a witch, and so, if I did have her diadem, it would belong to me, a wizard, and not you, a goblin. But I can assure you that I don't have such a thing and that this goblin is, in fact, completely mistaken."
"No, I'm not," cried Sockmonkey. "Or, anyway, I wouldn't be, if something were going on, which it isn't, is it, Donald?"
"No," agreed Donald, glaring. "Not a thing."
And they both refused to say another word until Princess Floppy gave up and dismissed the both of them. Soon word came to her that both Donald's men and the goblins were gearing up for war, even though both sides continued to insist to her that absolutely nothing was wrong and they certainly hadn't been building swords (the goblins) or practicing curses (the wizards).
"This really is a bit of a riddle," the Princess mused. "If no one will admit there is a problem, how is anything supposed to be resolved."
As it happened, in that kingdom, there were a group of knights who specialised in puzzles and enigmas and confusing conundrums, so Princess Floppy sent for them.
"Good morning," said the first knight of mystery, who happened to be a dragon -- dragons had long since gotten bored of being attacked by knights in Bluestar Blanket and so decided to become knights themselves. "My name is Burny, and this is my squire, Cole."
"Hello, Cole," said Princess Floppy to the squire, who happened to be a cow with a bell that rang when he nodded seriously, so you could tell.
"Hello, Princess Floppy," he said. "We're here to help!" And he nodded and rang his bell.
"There is a great commotion in the Bluestar Blanket kingdom," said Princess Floppy. "The tiny Quidditch players and the plush snitch are all in a tizzy, and the felt phoenix keeps falling over. Yet no one will admit what's going on. Whatever can we do?"
"We could give them all talking potions so they all talk," said Cole, "except they would all talk about everything so, first, you wouldn't know what was important and, second, it would probably be a bit of an invasion of privacy, really."
"We could have them all arrested, lock them up somewhere far from us, and leave them to fight it out," suggested Burny.
"But then people would get hurt," said Princess Floppy. "We have to find out what, exactly, they are fighting over."
"An ancient shiny crown thing," Burny announced.
"How did you know that?" asked Princess Floppy.
"I am a Knight of Mystery," Burny pointed out. "They think the crown belonged to a famous pirate witch."
"Oh! I know about pirate witches! There were two really famous ones who once slew this really evil dragon and then made thrones out of its bones, which doesn't actually seem all that comfortable, really, but I try not to judge! One of them was Delphinia, Empress of Auruk, who ruled in the East, and the other was--"
"Lady Bloodfang!" said Princess Floppy. "Queen of the pirates and greatest witch of her age!"
"That's right!"
"They think they have Lady Bloodfang's diadem?" Princess Floppy frowned prettily. "Well, that's impossible. They must be mistaken."
"They don't have to be right to fight over it," Burny said. "They just have to think they're right. The diadem is just an excuse, really."
"That's not good enough!" complained Princess Floppy. "We have to prove them wrong, so that they won't fight, which would be quite dangerous and also economically disadvantageous."
"It's a shame we can't just go and look at it!" Cole said.
"That's exactly what we should do," Princess Floopy said.
"But it's hidden in your distant Uncle's super secret special cave mountain maze trap treasure horde thing," Cole pointed out.
"Then we'll just have to steal it," Princess Floppy said.
[ Part One | Part Two | Read on DW ]