crispina kemp

Continuing the story of Thredwyl’s adventure. Read it all FOR FREE on Thredwyl’s very own site

* * *

Daisy turned, and turned again, looking round Thredwyl’s high security room. “They never should keep you in here, it’s appalling. If it weren’t for that window I’d think it a cupboard.”

“Nay, Little Daisy,” Thredwyl objected, and why were they wasting time talking of this? “I’m only small, I don’t need it big.”

“Are they feeding you?” she changed her focus.

“Seeds, exactly as I asked,” he assured her.

“But they keep you in bed.” Her lip curled in disgust which didn’t make her look pretty.

He knew he ought to put her straight on the bed-thing, like he’d nipped into bed rather than have his visitor see him in his padded pants. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it.

They talked some more. Or rather, she rattled non-stop with her chatter while he reeled through his thoughts for how best to make use of the windfall, this gift horse, this unexpected golden ticket. His nocturnal cerebrations still lay heavy with him, and he’d still more to think of regarding his sacrifice. Such would-be thoughts ducked and dived and consistently escaped him as if afraid to come into the light. Daisy sighed, shrugged, dangled her legs on the hard-seated chair, and looked at him with a gamut of emotional expressions. Though Thredwyl didn’t sigh and shrug, he did look at her in much the same way.

A companionable silence settled between them…which then lasted overlong and morphed to almost full gaucherie. How to break it, how to broach it? Ah! Inspiration took hold. Thredwyl looked at the door.

“How does that work?” he asked. “Did you happen to notice as you came in?”

Daisy looked around at the door. At first, she seemed not to understand.

“Oh, the lock? Yea, sure, it’s a simple press-pad.”

He’d been in this land long enough now to know what was simple to her was nothing similar to him. “You mean it’s tied into technology? Like your magical box of Information and Games.’

She scrunched her nose. “Not quite the same, though probably that lock has the same gadgetry in it.”

“You mean a chip? Everything here works on chips.”

“I know, that’s why everyone’s so fat,” she said, slapped her hands and spread them in a theatrical flourish. “Tra-la.”

He stared at her.

“Something Pops says.”

It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t laughed. And he shouldn’t have let his lack of lustre show, and her so good as to sneak and wangle a visit to him. It was just in his world magic worked everything. Now exiled to this world, without his magic he was but a step removed from impotent. And what male of any species, little or not, enjoys that feeling. Still, he pursued the thought.

“If it’s all chip-work,” he said, with another look and a nod at the door, “would you be able to open it? If you went outside, would you be able to come back in?”

Daisy was a bright child, she knew what he meant. But she didn’t smile. Her face grew long. “Threddy, I can’t get you out of here—I can’t even get me out of here, I have to wait for Bessy. The door can only be opened from outside. Truly, it’s just like a cupboard.”

“But if you were outside…?”

“If I was outside and knew the code, then I could do it, easy, yea.”

“Would Bessy and Louisa know the code?”

“I guess, but…Threddy, I want to help you—I’d do anything to help—but I don’t know what I can do. And even if I could get you out, what then? I couldn’t take you back to Oldham House—Pops would go ballistic.”

“Nix nay, that wouldn’t do anyway. In here or out there, I know my end and I don’t want you involved in it.” He’d said too much. Too late he tightened his lips. He didn’t want Daisy to know his ultimate fate. She’d cry – he’d noticed that on her magic-box, how easily females of the species cried. Better that she remembered him smiling and happy.

He looked down at his hands as another silence washed over the room like a flood of wet-season gault.

Though this wasn’t the best time for the full realisation to clobber him, yet another piece of his midnight revelation now slotted into place. It seemed most likely that Professor Angelus Margev had had him ‘picked up’ by warrant of the Home Office and held safely out of public notice in this place of high security until he – Thredwyl – was ready to do the deed. Yet something in that scenario screamed for attention and he couldn’t attend it while Daisy visited. That wouldn’t be fair on her.

Daisy looked again at the featureless high sheened metallic door. “You know, that’s dangerous.”

“What is?” Thredwyl asked.

“That door, locking only on the outside—or rather, opening only from that side. What if the building caught fire? How would you get out, and how would Bessy?”

Thredwyl shrugged, his thoughts not really aligned with Daisy’s.

“Though I suppose during the day that’s not such a problem. Always someone in a place like this. But at night…?”

“What sort of place is it?” he asked.

“Offices, from what I’ve seen of it. It’s not a prison or a hospital. Your little room is well out of place—that’s why I thought it a cupboard.”

“Food…” Thredwyl said, mostly to himself.

“I didn’t bring any. Sorry.”

“I mean food for thought – something to ponder upon. And it’s in Cambridge?”

“Mmm.”

“Close to the Anthropology Geeks?”

“Gosh, no, they’re slap in the middle of the old town. Here, we’re out in the subs—something-or-other Business Park.”

Thredwyl didn’t say any more for many long ticks of the clock, deeply cogitating. He knew how to escape this place, but he’d need to acquire a certain stone. And if he did escape, then he knew what he must do, and how to do it. It was the bits in between he didn’t know.

“Will you visit me again?” he asked his freckle-faced friend.

She nodded and smiled and hugged him. He sighed, if only she’d brought her schoolbag with her. He’d endure the smells. But no, he mustn’t involve her beyond the inescapable.

“Daisy,” he said as she pulled out of the cinch. “Do you remember those stones I showed you in your garden?”

“And then you told me, none of those were your clan.” She sadly laughed.

“They’re the ones, aye. Do you remember that grey one?”

“With the conchoidal fracture?”

“With the what?”

“It means shell-like—that’s what wiki says.”

Thredwyl nodded. “That will be the one. Well, could you find me one of those and bring it with you next time you visit?”

Though how he’d hide it from Night-Shift Louisa he didn’t yet know.

Continuing the story of Thredwyl’s adventure. Read it all FOR FREE on Thredwyl’s very own site

* * *

While Thredwyl liked his day-time carer, Blessed Bessy, by the cringe, he couldn’t abide her oppo, Louisa. Louisa cared only for her wages. Within a sweep of the clock’s long hand after Bessy had left, Louisa beeped her way through the high sheen door. She made her raspy jottings on her clipboard – hers was a purply-blue – angled the hard-seated metal-framed chair to where she could see all points of the room without turning her head, just a slight raise of her eyes, and flipped open her magazine. Thereafter, except that she completed her two-hourly checks, she rhythmically flipped the night away. She never spoke – never – except to say she was going to ‘spend a penny’. Then she’d be absent for five sweeps of the clock by its longest arm.

Within two hours of meeting the angular-bodied sharp-nosed night-carer, Thredwyl decided now was the time to pop out his poop. And every two hours thereafter. Let her deal with the stinking stuff. He only wished he ate something more offensive than seeds. He knew it was childish of him, but treat an adult like a child, sealing him into these huge hip-hugging padded-pants, and you’re asking for him to behave like one.

Every two hours her schedule required her to check on his pants, and every two hours he popped out a poop, so he didn’t sleep much at nights. But that gave him ample time to dream up a scheme: How to get a message to Daisy?

If nothing else, he must let her know she was safe. Safe? Aye, by Aunt Diddly’s doodads, he was safe from the dastardly machinations of Professor Angelus Margev – at least while he was resident at the facility for holding illegal aliens and questionable little fellows, sealed away from all malevolent intruders by a handle-less high sheen metal door.

But there was the rub. Safe he might be, but he didn’t want to remain here forever. Sooner or later the presence of this unaccountable little fellow would be leaked to the press and then…. But he had to be gone before then. Gone back home, to Dolstone. Yet how? He had lost his magic, and him a magical being. Without his magic, what use were his spells?

Sapphire, he sub-vocalised his cogitations, an eye to Louisa who, anyway, was enthralled by her mag.

Sapphire, Beloved of Grandma. Beloved, aye, yet marred.

Aye, marred by a deep flaw, the crack sustained when, as a young Kupie undergoing the clan’s unofficial initiation rites, he had fallen from the Giant’s Knee. Marred and marked. MARKED, the word shouted at him.

He jerked up straight.

Louisa the night-attendant shot to her feet. Her glossy mag, dropped, flopped in a sprawl on the cold lino floor. “What?”

Thredwyl blinked, forced a yawn, and fell back into a feigned deep sleep.

That’s why the spell had failed him, he continued to unfold the story. That’s why he had ended up here in the Land of Giants. He stifled a groan. It had been no chance happening that he’d stolen that spell. Destiny, aye destiny wanted him here in this Land of Giants. But why? Well, to serve as a Hero of course. The thought didn’t please him. In fact, it thoroughly chilled him. He shuddered beneath his covers. But like it or not, the logic held out. Except…

He didn’t want to complete that thought. But it hung around him, pestering for attention despite he had thoughts more pressing than that. Thoughts like how to get out of this secure and secret facility and get himself home.

Sacrifice, the word shouted at him. The word jumped up and down. It spun around him, tracing rings. For as everyone knew, a Hero’s not a Hero unless he sacrifices himself.

Yikes, yowl. Nix nay. But aye, he couldn’t argue himself from it. From the day of that dare gone wrong at the Giant’s Knee, Thredwyl’s destiny had been marked upon him. And no matter his reluctance – of all his high-climbing, risk-taking escapades, he’d never sweated the way he did now – Thredwyl knew what he must do. And despite his breath in clutching his lungs refused to come out, he nodded definitively. Problem solved.

Except that high sheen metal door still sat between him and his exit home – that very same high sheen metal door through which Night-Shift Louisa swiftly exited and, cheery as ever, Blessed Bessy entered.

She wished Thredwyl a bright good morning. Thredwyl looked away, no attempt to smile.

“Hey, whazzup, little fella? You’re looking glummer than a black clouded day. We can’t have that.”

He shrugged and kept his head down.

She frowned, put her clipboard down on the hard-seated metal-framed chair, and squatted down beside his bed.

“Hey, little fella,” she said, barely audible, and as close to his ear as he’d allow, “Today is Dock-Man Ireson’s day off.”

He sniffed. “And?”

“And I’ve a little surprise for you,” she said, still whispering close to him.

He looked up. Her large brown eyes looked back at him with a look he’d last seen on the Dooley’s dog Helas.

“What, I’m free to leave?” he asked, head atilt, and no serious belief that she’d say aye.

“Well, not quite that but…now, we have to be very quiet about this. No jumping and shouting. There’s a visitor for you.”

Thredwyl felt himself shrink. “Professor Angelus Margev?”

“No, silly you,” Blessed Bessy laughed, then continued on in a hushed voice, “No, it’s a little friend. Be here in” – she glanced back at the clock – “oh, about an hour.”

He had one friend in the Land of Giants, one amongst these Men and their Menacing Kind, and she wasn’t little, not compared to him. To be little it had to be one of his cousins. He didn’t stop to ask which one it was, he’d find out soon enough. One of his cousins come in search of him and now captured. Not a visitor as Bessy had said, but a fellow inmate. He scowled and drew in his breath.

But whichever cousin it was, Thredwyl wouldn’t have him see him in this sleep-slurred state. He was out of his bed, head dunked into the water provided fresh twice daily for his ablutions, face splashed, other bits wiped.

He tugged at his padded pants. “What about this? Can’t I take it off, just for the while? Please?”

‘Indeed you cannot!” She sounded shocked. “You’ll get me locked up.”

“How about clothes then?” He asked. “So this embarrassment” – he tugged again at his padded pants – “doesn’t show.”

“Soz,” said Bessy, and she did sound sorry.

He sat back down on his bed with a harrumph. Bessy swapped water for seeds. He picked at his food, not hungry, torn between excitement at seeing whichever cousin had found his way here, and a deep fret that that same cousin was now to share this secret facility.

His eyes strayed to the opposite wall, to the camera hidden in the small white box high above the lone hard-seated chair. Blessed Bessy had pointed it out to him on his first day, saying if he threatened her in any way, they – whoever they were – would soon know. Were they to observe the two together? What if they didn’t know about a Kupie’s sexual orientation? What if he and his cousin were expected to – gulp – mate?

At a knock on the handle-less high sheen door, Thredwyl leapt onto his bed and under the covers, pulling them up to his chin. At least that hid the embarrassment of his padded pants – though likely his cousin would be padded the same.

Blessed Bessy opened the door, a finger held to her lips. Thredwyl saw who waited there, and his sapphire eyes popped. This wasn’t the anticipated visitor. His eyes followed his visitor from the door to the room’s sole chair, then tracked up to the camera on the wall above her, and then to Bessy. Again, Bessy held a finger to her lips, and sidled out of the room.

A grin slowly spread across his face.

Daisy held up her hand, and silently counted off on her fingers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. “Yay!” she exploded. “That’s the camera and mike switched off. Now we can talk.”