A Witch Alone Read online

  ‘Been doing anything interesting with your stay, then?’ Gimma asked, but she only sounded bored.

  ‘Salle’s been for some auditions, haven’t you?’ Arianwyn said.

  Salle nodded, but didn’t look at Gimma; her flag-flapping became rather less enthusiastic.

  ‘Oh . . .’ Gimma replied, flicking her hair back across her shoulder. ‘Of course you probably know that I’m on probation, pending further investigation or something like that,’ she added, as though it was quite an everyday sort of thing to open a rift and let a night ghast through from the void, placing a whole town at risk. ‘And I have to go back to dreary old Lull. To retrain with dotty old Delafield and . . . oh, you, Arianwyn.’

  Arianwyn nearly choked. Someone was having a great deal of fun at her expense, it would seem. ‘What? Is that a . . . good idea?’ she asked carefully, trying not to sound unkind.

  ‘Precisely what my mother said,’ Gimma answered. ‘But the director was having none of it, so back to Lull it is. Wretched little place!’

  Arianwyn looked at Salle, who rolled her eyes. Near the palace the royal party were finally seated in several carriages, which were now moving slowly away. At the head of the parade, a pair of guards sat astride two huge white horses. The horses held their heads as though the parade was for them alone.

  ‘Are you ready to wave your flag?’ Salle asked the small girl, who smiled up at her shyly. She handed her ice cream to her mother and flicked her flag this way and that.

  ‘Oh, you can do better than that!’ the girl’s mother encouraged, and Salle gave her flag a sudden crazy swoosh and whooped with delight.

  The girl giggled and tried to match Salle’s movement. But she was a little too haphazard. As the girl moved her flag back and forth she knocked her mother’s hand. The pink ice cream flicked from the sugar cone and splodged on to Gimma’s pristine white dress before sliding to the floor, leaving a gooey pink trail.

  ‘Watch it! You clumsy idiots!’ Gimma roared. She spun round, towering over the small child and the mother who both shrank back a little. The girl burst into tears.

  Arianwyn rushed forwards. ‘Gimma, it’s just a little bit of—’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—’ The mother tried to apologize.

  ‘Oh, be quiet, you fool!’ Gimma spat.

  ‘Gimma!’ Arianwyn gasped. She turned to the mother. ‘I am so sorry, she’s—’ Arianwyn started to apologize on Gimma’s behalf, but what could she say? ‘She’s not usually like this’? That wasn’t entirely the truth. But even so, this seemed more than usually unkind, even for Gimma Alverston.

  The mother looked quickly at the three girls, grabbed up her daughter and her basket and hurried away into the crowd as fast as she could.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Arianwyn asked, turning to Gimma.

  Gimma, pale and blinking, gazed up at Arianwyn as though she had just woken from a dream. ‘I . . .’ she faltered.

  ‘Do you want us to help you home?’ Salle asked, stepping forwards and reaching out a hand towards Gimma.

  ‘Just boggin well leave me alone!’ Gimma snapped. She pulled away from Arianwyn and turned, crashing into a gentleman behind her.

  ‘Watch it, love!’ he said merrily, but shrank back when Gimma glowered at him.

  ‘Gimma!’ Arianwyn called.

  She turned and her eyes suddenly looked dark and blurry, locking with Arianwyn’s for a second. She looked quite unlike herself. Her gloved hand came up to brush her hair from her face and then she was swallowed up in the mass of people.

  Gone.

  Chapter 3

  ROYAL PANDEMONIUM

  hat was a bit weird, wasn’t it?’ Salle sighed.

  Arianwyn looked off into the crowd, rather stunned. ‘What on earth do you think is wrong with her?’

  ‘Who knows. Just Gimma being . . . Gimma. But she seems to be worse than ever, don’t you think? Are you OK, Wyn?’ she asked, placing her hand on Arianwyn’s back.

  Arianwyn looked off in the direction Gimma had gone. ‘I guess people don’t ever really change, do they?’ she said, distracted and unnerved by the outburst. Was that really true, though? She felt she had perhaps changed a little in the last nine months.

  ‘Is that what you really think?’ Salle asked. She looked rather cross.

  ‘What?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘Well, I don’t know. But look at Gimma.’

  ‘Never mind her,’ Salle grumbled. ‘Just forget I said anything. Don’t let her spoil the day entirely – oh look, here they come!’

  First came the royal guards mounted on their huge white horses. The guards were dressed from top to toe in red and gold, silver breastplates gleaming in the afternoon sun like brilliant mirrors. They kept their eyes fixed on the road ahead as the music from the band played on further around the crescent. There was a small break and then came a gleaming, maroon, open-topped carriage. It moved slowly along the crescent, stately and elegant, pulled by eight dark horses, their manes and tails twisted in tight braids entwined with ribbons in the colours of the Hylund flag: yellow, blue and red.

  ‘Oh, it’s him!’ Salle cheered. ‘It’s the king!’

  There was a loud cheer from the crowd as the carriage drew closer. And then Arianwyn saw him, the king himself, waving and smiling from the carriage.

  Salle started to wave her flag again as the cheers grew louder and the carriage drew nearer. ‘This is so exciting, Wyn. I can’t believe it!’

  There was a flash of light. And the sky was suddenly full of fluttering, falling shapes. The crowd cooed. Was it some sort of firework? Or perhaps flowers or streamers, shot into the sky from somewhere nearby?

  But for Arianwyn the surprise and excitement were speedily, hurriedly, replaced with a tug of fear. She felt the urgent prickle of magic around her. And she looked up at the sky again. Whatever it was that filled the air above them now was not confetti or flowers or fireworks, of that she was certain. And now the things began to move, to twist in the air, to dive and swoop.

  ‘Oh no,’ she breathed.

  ‘What is it?’ Salle asked as the oohs and aahs turned to low, uncertain murmurs.

  Flying just a metre or so above their heads was a flock of spirit creatures, each one no larger than a cat but with wide bat-like wings, tusked mouths and four legs that ended in grabbing, snatching, many-fingered hands.

  ‘Jinxing-jiggery!’ Arianwyn groaned. ‘Where did they boggin well come from?’

  ‘What are they?’ Salle asked, her eyes now fixed on the airborne swarm.

  ‘Winged grippets!’

  ‘Is that . . . bad?’ Salle asked.

  ‘Well, it’s not good.’ Arianwyn reached for Salle and pulled her back, away from the edge of the street. ‘They’re not entirely dangerous, but with so many of them they could cause—’

  At that very moment a small portion of the swarm nose-dived into the crowd a little further along the pavement and chaos erupted around them. There were shrieks and agitated cries as the winged grippets snatched at anything and everything they could get their many grabbing hands on to. Flags, hats, ice creams, purses, parasols and shawls were wrenched from their owners and carried speedily aloft before being hurled or dropped back down just moments later.

  Then another group broke away from the flock and spiralled down over the mounted guards who were now about three buildings along from Arianwyn and Salle, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. Before Arianwyn could react, it was already too late and the guards were taken by surprise as the winged grippets fell upon them and then lifted them from their horses and up a few metres into the air. Legs and arms kicking wildly, all guardly composure fled in the face of this magical menace. Their swords were snatched away and sent shooting across the street as people darted for cover. The shouts of confusion were now changing to screams of fear.

  The horses – spooked by the chattering, snorting cries of the winged grippets and the frantic shouts from their riders – charged off along the road, three of them mount
ing the pavement as bystanders leapt out of their way into shop doorways and alleyways. One lady even jumped into a rubbish bin as one of the out-of-control horses raced past as though it were about to win first place at the Kingsport Derby.

  ‘Stay here!’ Arianwyn called to Salle as she ducked under the bunting that was strung up as a cordon for the crowds on the pavement. She ran forwards and aimed a swift kick at a nearby winged grippet that was running to rejoin the others. It went tumbling across the street and she quickly stunned it with a spell orb. It twitched against the kerb and then fell still. There was a small cheer from the crowd that watched nearby.

  But this was followed by a scream. Someone pointed up to the winged grippets who had just released the guards they had lifted from the horses. And the men were suddenly dropping through the air, like huge red-and-gold rag dolls.

  ‘Briå!’ Arianwyn called loudly, her instincts taking over.

  Her hands sketched the air glyph at the same time. She felt a rush of magic, stronger than it would usually be in the city, but she was thankful for it as it connected with the glyph and she formed the spell. It was crude and rushed, far from fancy, but it would have to do. She sent a rush of air straight at the falling guards, hoping to cushion them against the hard road. It didn’t quite work like that, but thankfully the spell slowed them enough so that although they hit the ground – swords, breastplates and helmets clattering against the road as they landed – it looked like she’d saved them from the worst.

  ‘Oh, please be OK,’ Arianwyn muttered, hurrying towards the guards who lay worryingly still. But then one of them sat up, shaking his head in disbelief. He saw Arianwyn, his eyes falling on her silver star badge. He smiled and raised a hand.

  ‘Look out!’ Arianwyn turned at Salle’s frantic cry just as another two carriages, empty of their passengers, raced towards her, winged grippets sitting astride the horses. Arianwyn leapt aside just in time, monkey-like chatter filling the air as the carriages hurtled past. Her eyes scrunched tightly closed, she felt the rush of wind as the carriages sped past, just centimetres from her.

  A smaller group of winged grippets flew behind the carriages. Arianwyn moved to the middle of the street, where the guards were still helping one another to their feet. She readied her spell orb and waited until the winged grippets were close enough before launching the popping, fizzing ball of energy towards them. There was a gasp of surprise from the assembled crowd as the spell orb flew up into the air and amongst the creatures. But they were faster than Arianwyn’s spell and they shot off in every direction as the orb flashed in the air raining down a shower of fizzing sparks, like rather disappointing fireworks.

  Arianwyn glanced quickly back at Salle, who gave a supportive shrug that more or less said, ‘That wasn’t brilliant and you can do better!’

  Further along the street she saw another carriage was under attack by yet more of the winged grippets, and the sole occupant was calling for help as they tried to drag him feet first up into the air. The carriage appeared to have lost one whole wheel and part of another and as a result it wobbled, threatening to topple over.

  Arianwyn ran along the crescent, dodging a horse that was making a break for freedom, reins dangling behind it as it charged past. She hurled another spell orb towards the winged grippets, smacking one squarely as it tugged on the boot of the man in the carriage. The force helped the boot loosen and the winged grippet went tumbling through the air briefly before landing amidst the watching crowd on the pavement. ‘Sorry!’ Arianwyn called as she neared the carriage, the man still bravely resisting the creatures, their quick hands grasping and grabbing for his trousers, jacket and occasionally his hair.

  She was just about to launch another spell when a burst of magic arced over her head and stunned another two winged grippets. The man was freed and fell with a crash back into the carriage which then tipped on to its side. She heard quick feet on the road behind and, turning, saw two other witches racing towards her, hurling spell orbs this way and that as the winged grippets crashed to the ground, stunned. Arianwyn felt a moment of relief at the reinforcements, despite the number of winged grip-pets still swooping about.

  ‘All right over here?’ one of the witches asked Arianwyn as they drew level with her. She was tall and had warm golden hair that brushed her shoulders. The other was shorter, her hair tied up in a series of twists and braids. They stepped elegantly around the stunned grippets and debris on the road.

  Arianwyn glanced at their badges and saw the golden edge to their silver stars. They were elder witches, and more than that, they served on the Council of Elders, just like her grandmother. She bowed her head in respect.

  ‘We saw all the commotion from the other side of the crescent. Came as soon as we could,’ the witch with braids explained.

  ‘I tried to do what I could. I’m Arianwyn Gribble,’ Arianwyn explained, suddenly worrying she was in trouble. She felt herself blush.

  ‘Well done, Miss Gribble.’ The blonde witch smiled, but then her brow creased for a second and she said, ‘Oh, wait, you’re Madam Stronelli’s granddaughter, aren’t you?’

  Arianwyn nodded.

  ‘Well, excellent work. Look, we’d best go and deal with the rest of these winged grippets. Can you stay here and keep an eye out for any more of them? Reinforcements are on the way.’

  Arianwyn nodded silently again, thrilled to have been asked by the council elders for her help.

  ‘I say, I think that chap might need a hand.’ The other witch pointed to the upturned carriage and they both smiled as they dashed off towards the sounds of more shouts further along the crescent.

  Arianwyn could feel her own smile stretching across her face, pride making her feel two metres tall. Then she heard a muffled squeak from behind her. She turned just as one of the wheels from the carriage fell with a loud crack on to the ground. She saw a hand waving from behind the carriage and heard another muffled call of help. The man the elder had asked her to help – she’d already forgotten! She winced, her momentary pride deflating. She crossed to the carriage, which lay on its side, the fine dark wood all smashed and scraped now. ‘Hello?’ Arianwyn said tentatively as she reached the carriage.

  She walked slowly around it. The man lay on the road, his leg pinned under the toppled carriage. He glanced up at Arianwyn – uncertainly at first – but then smiled with a slight grimace. ‘Rather gone and bashed up my leg, I think.’ He winced.

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘Can you help me out please? I’d rather not lie here like this.’ The man smiled, his face marked with dust and filth from the road, his hair ruffled and sweaty.

  ‘Yes – right – of course.’ Arianwyn stood, thinking for a moment. Then she moved quickly round the side of the carriage and knelt by the man’s side. On the dusty road she sketched Erṯe, the earth glyph, and waited for a seam of magic to connect with it.

  She felt the magic pulse around the glyph and then she moved her hands, making the street buckle and wobble a little, creating a small earthquake under the overturned carriage. It shifted and the man managed to quickly pull his leg free. He gave a small cry of pain and at the same moment a winged grippet that must have also been trapped under the carriage shot out straight at the man.

  With the spell still working under the carriage Arianwyn didn’t think about summoning another glyph; she used the magic that was to hand already, which was a mistake. The Erṯe spell was already strong and the hurried, clumsy spell she threw towards the winged grippet sent it rushing back against the carriage where it then burst open like a balloon filled with putrid purple jelly! The grippet slime splashed back at Arianwyn who managed to cover her face just in time. But as she lowered her hands she saw that the man had not fared so well.

  ‘Oh – I am so sorry,’ Arianwyn said.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ the man replied, wiping the slime from his face.

  ‘That does seem to happen to me quite a lot . . .’ Arianwyn smiled.

  ‘There’s
really no need to explain—’

  There was the sound of more hurried feet and a small group of guards and smartly dressed attendants rushed past her, towards the man. They paused and eyed the purple slime with suspicion.

  ‘Oh, it’s not dangerous.’ Arianwyn explained. ‘In fact, winged-grippet slime was once used to treat burns. Some people think it’s quite good for rashes as well,’ she added, as a large dollop of slime fell off the man’s nose. He laughed loudly and smiled at Arianwyn but everyone else looked rather . . . horrified.

  ‘Well, Your Majesty. We had best get you back to the palace and have the royal physician take a look at your leg,’ one of the finely dressed people said.

  Your Majesty? Arianwyn swallowed hard. It couldn’t be, could it? And then she saw one of the guards retrieve the crown from the other side of the carriage where it must have fallen off when the man, the king, was attacked.

  She looked up at the king, who just laughed gently again and smiled. ‘Thank you for your assistance. It was most . . . interesting!’

  Unsure what else to do, Arianwyn waved as the king – THE KING, who she had just covered in grippet slime – was led away towards the royal palace.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ Salle said, her words mixed with bright laughter as Arianwyn explained what had happened.

  ‘I’m going to go down in history as the witch who slimed the king!’ Arianwyn wailed as they crossed back towards the pavement. The crowds were dispersing, the excitement of the afternoon over at last.

  ‘Miss Gribble, wasn’t it?’ A voice called from behind them and Arianwyn turned, expecting to be summoned before the king now. Was sliming the monarch an act of high treason? she wondered.

  But thankfully it was the tall elder witch from earlier.

  ‘Hi . . .’ Arianwyn said uncertainly.

  The elder witch smiled. ‘You handled that all very well.’