Flitterwig

  flitterwig

  by Edrei Cullen

  illustrated by Gregory Rogers

  For Daisy, Molly & Bill. E.C.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  chapter 1: pixies & packages

  chapter 2: sparkles & spectacles

  chapter 3: bubblegum & bad guys

  chapter 4: shaken & shrunk

  chapter 5: fanciful folk & flitterwigs

  chapter 6: dribbles & departures

  chapter 7: giraffes & grandparents

  chapter 8: frogs & fearfulness

  chapter 9: willows & woodpeckers

  chapter 10: manna & magic

  chapter 11: lessons & laughter

  chapter 12: duke & duplicity

  chapter 13: mishap & misadventure

  chapter 14: traps & tiddlywinks

  chapter 15: malaga & mischief

  chapter 16: classrooms & castanets

  chapter 17: pigeons & ponkaluckas

  chapter 18: legacies & literditties

  chapter 19: lollipops & lobster claws

  chapter 20: debris & doubts

  chapter 21: folks & frailty

  chapter 22: love & lunacy

  chapter 23: heresy & hunches

  chapter 24: battles & baubles

  chapter 25: tussles & teamwork

  chapter 26: lizards & long drops

  Copyright

  chapter 1

  pixies & packages

  Had the Troggle at the corner been watching, instead of trying to flick bubblegum off the end of his middle finger, he would have seen the pixie. It scrambled up from the gutter, scuttled along the ice-cold railings near the front door, and launched itself onto the windowsill of Number 26, Chester Row, Chelsea, London.

  Only yesterday the Troggle had been a pixie himself. Now, because of all the sugar he’d eaten, he had Trogglified into a greasy-haired, moulding slime-ball of a creature, smelling of rotten turnips and rat poo. He cursed under his breath, and hopped about on one foot. Having successfully flicked the bubblegum off his finger, it seemed he had stepped on it, and was now having trouble unsticking it from the bottom of what looked like a hobnailed boot. Abandoning the Magical Kingdom of Magus to join forces with the Grand Duke did not come without its drawbacks.

  The pixie, being somewhat scatty by nature, had not even noticed the thing hopping about on the corner. Instead, he stood with his head tilted to one side, and stared through the window. He let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘There she is,’ he said. His breath was cloudy in the crisp evening chill.

  Before him, kneeling with her feet splayed out behind her like wings, was a slight human girl, about ten years old. She was staring, transfixed, into the remnants of an open fire burning in the hearth.

  The pixie was taken by the way her long honey-brown hair swung about her, as if drawn by magnetic forces. She blew a loose strand of it out of her face and turned to pull one of the braces of her dungarees back onto her shoulder with a slender finger. As she did so, she looked up for a moment at the window. The pixie froze in the intense gaze of her green eyes. Seeing nothing, the girl turned again to the fire. As her hair fell back across her face, the pixie glimpsed an ear. He marvelled at its fine proportions.

  Remembering that he was on Serious Elf Business and had been given express permission to approach a human, the pixie squashed his face against the window to get a better look.

  Serious Elf Business. Now, that was quite a weight to bear. To be an emissary of the Kingdom of Magus, about to appear before a human being in an attempt to save this magical world from ruin, was a very great responsibility.

  The pixie’s eyes bulged as he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He sat down on the windowsill and his forehead crumpled with the effort of concentrating. Then he gave a long, low whistle.

  A small purple parcel tied with gold ribbon hopped out of the gutter and pulled itself with muscly arms onto the pavement. Saluting the pixie, it scaled the carved panels of the shiny black front door, balanced itself on the edge of a slit marked LETTERS, hoisted open the flap, and tipped itself inside.

  The pixie started to jump about with the thrill of it all, but the jingling of the bell on the tip of his hat reminded him again that he was on Serious Elf Business. Life-changing, world-order-rearranging, magical business. Smacking a hand fiercely across his mouth to stifle a whoop, he scrambled back onto the railings, leaped into the air, and landed, with a tinkle, on top of the brass doorbell.

  Trying hard not to look down, he straddled the top of the bell and pushed on the buzzer. A ding dong swelled up from inside the house, giving the pixie such a scare that he fell off the bell. He landed with a thump on the doorstep, just in time to hear heavy footsteps coming to the door.

  Now, if pleasure makes pixies dizzy with movement, panic makes them go very still. Which was just as well, for the opening of the door drew the attention of the Troggle on the corner. Perturbed by the appearance of a large human at the door, he shrank further under the hood of his cloak, into the smell of his Trogglified body. Then, the effects of Trogglitis rendering him unable to remember what he was doing watching the house in the first place, he turned and hobbled down the street, a snaillike trail of slime oozing behind him.

  An armoured tank of a woman stood in the doorway, leaning on a walking stick. She peered out into the darkness, holding her back against the strain of having scooped up the purple parcel in her pudding-bowl hand.

  ‘Well, I…’ she said, narrowing her piggy eyes and peering up and down the street.

  By an extraordinary act of will, the pixie unfroze himself and sneaked past the woman’s thick legs into the elegant entrance hall. The woman shut the door and read the address written on the parcel in bold black letters.

  ‘Ella!’ she called down the hallway. Her voice echoed like a drum-roll against the walls.

  The pixie’s tiny feet shook in their boots. His teeth chattered, and he gulped hard to keep himself from freezing all over again. The parcel slapped indignantly at the human’s doughy hand in an effort to release itself, but the human didn’t notice a thing.

  ‘There’s a package for you, Ella!’ the woman bellowed. She held the parcel right up to her face and turned it over in her hands, searching for some clue to the sender. The parcel kicked her in the nose. Feeling nothing, she thrust it on the rosewood sideboard and set off towards a door at the end of the corridor, muttering, ‘Although who delivers a package at this hour and doesn’t even stay to introduce themselves, I don’t know.’

  As the woman pulled the door shut behind her, another door opened. The girl with the long hair looked up the hall and stepped out of the living room. She skidded in her woolly socks over to the parcel and passed her hand lightly over the purple wrapping. She lifted it up to her delicate nose and sniffed it, trusting her sense of smell more than any other. It smelt of cinnamon and rain.

  She checked the address:

  Ella Montgomery

  26 Chester Row

  Chelsea

  London, S.W.1

  ‘That’s me,’ she said, puzzled. Holding the parcel, she slid back across the floorboards to the sitting room, completely unaware of the pixie gripping for dear life to her right ankle.

  Ella Montgomery settled herself down in front of the fire again and was about to open the parcel when she thought she saw it twitch. She chuckled at the thought.

  The pixie, who was invisible and inaudible to her, sat down by her side, chattering nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘Heavens, sevens,’ he said. And, ‘Golly, holly, trolley.’ Then, ‘What a thrill, what a hill, what a pill.’ A shiver of excitement passed through him, and his pale green cheeks wobbled.

  Ella s
tuck her tongue between her teeth and undid the gold ribbon. The purple wrapping fell away easily. A solitary pair of spectacles with shiny red rims lay before her.

  Ella leaned back and scratched her head, knocking the invisible pixie sideways in the process. Then, boldly, she picked the spectacles up. She was about to put them on when she heard a sound at the door. She spun around.

  The pixie stood up giddily. ‘Oh for pity’s sake,’ he said. ‘Get on with it, spit, bit. Put them on. We don’t have time for wasting. Time, time. Rhymes with lime.’

  The door opened.

  ‘Is that you, Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet?’ Ella asked.

  ‘Who else would it be?’ the governess replied impatiently, her ample frame now appearing in the doorway. ‘Well, what is it? Who’s it from?’

  Ella shrugged.

  ‘How ridiculous to have a package delivered at this hour,’ the governess snorted. ‘Now, hurry up and get to bed. Your father leaves Willow Farm in the morning and will be back here in London before noon, so we have to be gone long before then. I have assured him he won’t have to lay his eyes on you for a moment.’ She went back into the hall, leaving the door open behind her.

  Ella knew better than to ignore Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet. She gathered up the parcel at once and headed for her room, taking the stairs two at a time. It would be good to get home to Willow Farm and see Granny and Grandpa. Ella was always sent to stay at her father’s London house when he was visiting his parents at their farm in Dorset, because he absolutely refused to be in her company.

  She couldn’t see the little creature scrambling up the stairs behind her, or hear him yelling after her, ‘Oi, Ella, wait up! Um, excuse me!’

  She couldn’t see or hear a thing. Even if she could, she wouldn’t have believed it for a moment.

  chapter 2

  sparkles & spectacles

  Ella sat on her bed and took the spectacles carefully out of the purple wrapping, unfolding them in her lap. She paused for a moment, then lifted them to her nose and peered through the lenses as she had seen grown-ups do.

  In a flash, a blink and a sparkle, the room lit up as though someone had shone a torch through the window. The air filled with the smell of cinnamon and oranges and fresh rain.

  Ella dropped the spectacles in surprise. The room dimmed, and the smell faded. She looked down at the spectacles and frowned. Then, reaching for them carefully, she tucked them over her ears again.

  The room lit up like a fairground! Quickly she pulled the spectacles off. Gone! Put them on again. Sparkle mania!

  Somehow, when she was wearing the spectacles, everything glittered and smelled fresher. The world veritably shimmered.

  And then she saw him.

  On her bed sat a skinny little man about the size of a pepper mill. He wore green boots, a green hat with a bell on its tip, green pants, a red-and-white striped top, and a matching red-and-white striped backpack. She peered closer. He had pointy ears, a generous mouth, lime-green cheeks and big, round, warm, watery eyes.

  She leaned over even closer, and was about to touch him when he stood up.

  Startled, she froze. There they were, the two of them, staring into one another’s eyes, big nose to little nose.

  ‘Hello,’ the little creature said. The bell on his hat tinkled softly in her ears. ‘Blow, throw, mow,’ he added, collapsing on his back. Recovering himself, he stood up and pointed to the spectacles. ‘Special delivery from the Elf Queen, don’t you know.’

  There was a noise in the hall. Ella slipped the spectacles off and hid them behind her back. The creature and his tinkling disappeared. The room lost its sheen.

  The door opened.

  ‘Are you not in bed yet?’ Ella’s governess asked unpleasantly, her little eyes darting about the room and a dribble of spittle rolling over her bottom lip. Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet was uglier than a full hanky, she really was.

  Ella didn’t reply, partly because it was pretty obvious that she wasn’t in bed yet, but also because to say anything right now might throw the governess into even more of a bad mood.

  ‘Are you ignoring me, child?’ the woman boomed. She stepped over to the bed and snatched up the loose purple wrapping, her face turning redder by the second. ‘Answer me!’ she threatened.

  At that moment the wrapping paper wriggled out of her hand. The governess caught her breath, and Ella saw fear in her eyes. It was the same kind of fear she showed when Ella’s hair sometimes flared up around her in a way Ella simply couldn’t control.

  Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet struggled in her big body to bend over and pick up the wrapping. Holding it at arm’s length, as though it were alive and dangerous, she left the room. ‘I don’t like this,’ she mumbled to herself as she left. ‘I don’t like this one little bit.’

  Ella was surprised at her governess’s hasty retreat. It was quite unlike her to behave like that. Ordinarily, there would have been a long lecture on what an odd, horrible, sickly, ill-mannered person Ella was, and how unfair it was that Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet should have to look after her, and what a bother it was that they were banished to town whenever Father visited the country. She’d never seen her lost for words because a piece of paper had fallen out of her hands. There was something very odd going on tonight, and Ella wasn’t sure quite what to make of it.

  When she was certain Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet was gone, however, she reached behind her to find the spectacles again. Hesitating for only an instant, she put them on.

  There was the skinny little man jumping up and down on the end of the bed, facing the door, yelling, ‘Save yourself, Parcel. Save yourself! Pave yourself! Oh magical mystery me, pee, tree, flee!’

  Ella looked at the little man. The little man turned and looked at her. The two strangers inspected each other in breathless silence.

  ‘We don’t have much time, I’m afraid, Ella,’ said the little man, becoming businesslike all of a sudden. ‘Hmm. Time, time, rhymes with slime,’ he sang. ‘Clever Dixon for enchanting the Parcel. Brave Parcel,’ he said, to no one in particular, ‘distracting the giant dumpling by falling like that. Hope he’s okay, hay, sleigh, neigh.’

  Ella pinched her leg to make sure she was awake. She could feel the pinch, so she must be.

  As though suddenly remembering something important, the little man waded across the quilt. ‘First things first,’ he said. ‘I am quite forgetting myself.’ He held out a miniature hand. Ella bent down towards him and uncertainly offered him a finger. He touched its tip with his own and blinked twice.

  ‘Dixon Delightly Ever So Slightly the Twenty-Third at your service,’ he said with aplomb. ‘Special Pixie Envoy to the Elf Queen.’

  Ella was speechless. She could clearly hear the imaginary thing that had just called itself a pixie talking, and she had definitely felt it touch her finger. This was getting stranger by the second.

  Dixon did a cartwheel and let out an excited whoop. ‘That is, Tirabelle Rose the Nineteenth of the Magical Kingdom of Magus,’ he added by way of explanation, assuming a very serious expression.

  Ella felt an impulse to start laughing. Obviously she’d been on her own for too long.

  Dixon gazed about him, uncertain what to do next. Then, clapping his hands, he looked back up at Ella. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s get down to business, shall we? We? Hmm. We? Rhymes with pee,’ he added with a naughty giggle.

  Ella shook her head, sure now that she was seeing and hearing things, the way she did when she had a really bad asthma attack. That was it – she was having an asthma attack! But her throat wasn’t constricted and her lungs felt perfectly clear.

  ‘We must go to the garden now, Ella,’ the pixie said, looking left and right, like a busy person trying to cross a motorway. His tone was a mixture of conspiracy and urgency. ‘The Queen is there with her Royal Court, waiting for you to take us all to Willow Farm. Farm, farm, rhymes with charm.’ He opened his eyes wide and shot her a grin. ‘We came through a Mirror of Foreverness in Hyde Park, mark, lark. Before the Mirrors al
l froze. So we could get to you fast, see. Fast see, teedleedee.’

  ‘I’m having a dream,’ Ella said out loud, willing the little green creature away. ‘Yes, that’s it, I’m asleep.’

  The pixie’s big eyes shone brightly with a soft sapphire light. He bounced his way over the quilt and scrambled onto her knee. Pulling himself gently up the strap of her dungarees, he stood on her shoulder and stroked her cheek with his little hand.

  Ella felt an electricity pulse through her body, setting every hair on end. No one touched her, ever. Granny and Grandpa told her it was because she bruised so easily, although that didn’t stop Mrs Dribbleton-Faucet from giving her a poke with her walking stick when she didn’t do what she was told.

  ‘It’s okay, Ella,’ Dixon said gently. ‘Once you’ve met Mr Wrinkles, you’ll understand better. Sweater.’ He flipped off her shoulder and back onto the quilt. ‘You’re just going to have to trust me. Yes, yes. Trust, trust. Really must. Rhymes with dust. Queen’s in the garden. Everybody’s waiting. Have to zoom. Rhymes with moon.’ He slapped his hands over his face. ‘Stick to the point, Dixon,’ he said, jabbing at his chest with a finger. ‘Be brief! Don’t be a ditsy pixie. No, no. Serious Elf Business. Yes, yes.’

  Not sure what to think anymore, Ella pulled her long legs in about her and took a big sniff of the rainy cinnamon smell hanging in the air. It calmed her nerves a little.

  Dixon frowned. ‘Ah yes. Queen’s in the garden. Very sick.’ He took a long, deep breath and pressed the tips of his fingers in a prayer-like fashion between his eyes. ‘My orders are simply this,’ he said, trying to speak slowly. ‘I must get you to the shed at the back of the garden and stay with you at all times, rhymes, limes. And then –’ The pixie scratched his head. ‘And then? Hmmm. I’m not really sure what happens then.’

  He let out a sigh of relief. ‘Well done, buddy,’ he said to himself. ‘Keep up the good work, jerk, berk.’ He patted himself firmly on the back and did a little dance across the quilt.