Continuing the story of Thredwyl’s adventure. Read it all FOR FREE on Thredwyl’s very own site
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Thredwyl, a creature of the deepest caves, from the widest caverns to the tiniest bone-constricting cubbies, needed no light to feel safe. Yet the darkness that now engulfed him in Daisy’s school bag rubbed him sore. And the smell! What had Daisy been putting in here?
She hadn’t explained about the distance. Aye, she had said five miles, and that was by bus. But what was five miles to him? And she hadn’t explained about the near-enough mile she had to walk first, ‘cos, as she explained while they waited at the bus stop, Oldham House – the Doleys’ five storied Georgian abode – wasn’t in the ruffing village served by that bus. Jiggledy-jig, jaggedly-jog, he feared his teeth might be jolted loose as she half-strode half-jogged down the connecting lane. And then that interminable wait. Couldn’t she open her school bag a jot to let in some air? Did she really fear he would stick his head out and alarm the oldsters of Oldham? All Thredwyl wanted was a small gap so he could breathe.
At least now the worst of his journey was over. They were close to destination. How did he know? Not from any constant – nor occasional – report from her. She hadn’t spoken to him once since they boarded the bus. No, it was the difference in her step and how it jarred through his body. She was no longer walking on a hard surface, but on what, in saying of Oldham House, she had referred to as a ‘lawn’. A green springy open place with a nice integral smell. So why didn’t she let him out of this bag, so he could enjoy it?
The lawn gave way again to hardness, followed by a distinct coolness. Within a short span the jolt-and-jar, which had tortured his body, ceased. He heard a sharp rap, though as with the other noises he’d heard since she’d zipped him into here, it was muffled. A knock, but not the familiar hammer on stone.
Moments passed during which, in the stillness, Thredwyl began to recover his equilibrium. At least, he didn’t feel so bilious, and his muscles began to loosen and unknot. Then his transporter, Young Daisy, grown impatient, began to shuffle from foot to foot – or so Thredwyl guessed from the rhythmic jostle. He puffed out an irritated sigh and tried very hard not to clench his teeth.
Ah, at last, a response. He heard the (muffled) creak of an old door opening.
“Daisy, Daisy Doley!” exclaimed a deep rumblesome voice. Professor Angelus Margev, it must be. “But what are you doing here, out of term and on a Saturday? It can’t be homework to do. A summer project perhaps? But no mind, you find me alone. Do come in.”
The temperature inside Daisy’s school bag suddenly dropped, and what little Thredwyl could smell of the external environment – beyond the nauseating whiff of the bag – changed from fresh to cloying. This was a new smell to Thredwyl, slightly reminiscent of Fleur’s wicked perfume. Thick, sweet, and – Thredwyl grimaced – acrid.
“And what work have you for us today?” said the rumbling voice of Professor Angelus Margev. “I know I said my computer was yours to use, but a text or a call is always polite. I could have been otherwise involved, don’t you know.”
“I…” Daisy sounded stunned, like this wasn’t the usual greeting. “I wanted to surprise you. I’ve an astounding discovery I think you’ll like.”
“A discovery is it? Then you must follow me through to my study,” Professor Angelus Margev said.
And I must come out of this bag. But first she had to set that bag down on the ground. “Woah-there, watch my bones.”
He waited, holding hard to his patience, while she unzipped the bag.
The relief that flooded Thredwyl was more total than peeing after having held it too long. Light, blessed light. And air. He took a deep draught – and choked on the sweet acrid smoke that hung thick in the air.
Daisy, seeming impatient to display him, grasped him tightly around his waist and heaved him out of the bag, never mind waiting for his lungs to settle. She set him down on the floor.
“Stay,” she said, as if she were Fleur commanding Helas the Hound.
With hand to mouth and narrowed eyes, Professor Angelus Margev peered down at him. But that wasn’t close enough. He dropped to a chair, all fancily styled with bits wrapping around, and strained forward.
Thredwyl turned, not to cough in the professor’s face.
“I’ll open the window,” Professor Angelus Margev said and signed for Daisy to do it. “It’s the incense, Good Fellow, nothing illegal, nothing. My, but you are a surprise.”
“You know what he is?” Window opened, Daisy took the chair beside Thredwyl, who having finally stopped coughing, stretched and eased his cramped muscles.
“He’s for real, too.” Professor Angelus Margev peered even closer. “My but I’ve not seen one of these since…since…since. They used to be commonly seen, you know, in the mines, even after the Church forbade trucking with them. The burgeoning scientists claimed them hallucinations – illusions, delusions. That’s what they said. And the little fellows never did talk. Or if they did none reported it. No, I thought them all gone from this world. Well well well, an actual gobeling.”
“A gobeling?” Daisy said. “Don’t you mean goblin?”
Beside her on the floor, Thredwyl shuddered. That was a name not heard in Dolstone for nigh on an eon.
“Goblin, gobeling, same thing. Kobold, Kofey, Cuppy, Cubbie, all the same word. Remember what I said of the slide of ‘gee’ to ‘cee’, and sometimes back again. And ditto the indistinction of ‘pee’ and ‘bee’. The name is old, very old. It means—”
“Dweller of the caves,” Thredwyl cut in.
“Indeed, the cubby-dweller. And he speaks.” Professor Angelus Margev seemed to glow, but improbably…darkly.
There was something of this professor that Thredwyl didn’t like. There seemed to be some untruth about him, but Thredwyl couldn’t see what. He seemed as old as Daisy had said. And yet he did not. An old Nixies’ saying sprang to mind: Whitened hair and wrinkled flesh an aged chappie does not mesh. According to his cousin Chrean, who claimed himself wiser by an aeon, the saying referred to the lust the staid old Stones often retained. But Thredwyl was sure lust wasn’t the problem here. No, though Thredwyl admitted he didn’t know how age affected these Giants, perhaps somehow different to how it manifested amongst the Nixies and Kupies, yet something other seemed wrong. That shock of white hair, those deep graven wrinkles, yet no trembling hands. Thredwyl did not trust him. When the professor held out his hand Thredwyl backed away.
“Daisy,” Professor Angelus Margev waved that same hand at her. “Why don’t you make us all a nice cup of tea and take it through to my inner sanctum. Then you can return here and delve into our intranet to your heart’s content and find all you can on the folklore on kopies and cublings while your friend and I have a…yes a chat.”
“But….” That wasn’t what Daisy wanted. “We were hoping you’d know a way of….” Her voice trailed to silence beneath the look the professor shot at her.
“Daisy thought you might know a way of sending me home,” Thredwyl said. Then wished he had not.
“Oh yes, I’ve a way,” Professor Angelus Margev chuckled.
The words, the chuckle, the look: Thredwyl couldn’t deny there was something…evil…about the professor.
“Oh yes, I’ve a way,” the professor repeated. “And one that must be executed without much delay. But first, that chat, hey?”
Thredwyl didn’t like the sound of that. That professor knew slightly too much. And the curve of his lips when he said of knowing a way to send him back. Crushed, was that his intent? Crushed, as were the Stones in a mine? Oh, Grandma, what did I do when I stole that spell from you?
He didn’t yet know what the trouble, but he knew that it brewed.
crispina kemp 