Flitterwig Read online

  As the car with its peculiar entourage pulled on to the motorway, Dribbles, sitting in the front seat, explained to Ella that she would be practising French verb conjugations during the trip. After all, it was Friday, a school day for normal children.

  Ella’s grandparents wouldn’t allow her to go to school (to protect her after the accident, they said, but Ella wasn’t sure she believed this anymore), and she was used to doing her lessons whenever it suited her governess, so today really wasn’t unlike any other day. Except that today she had elves in the hood of her sweatshirt and sprites stuffed into the front pocket of her dungarees, not to mention the Elf Queen of Magus herself in her skateboard bag and a mad pixie standing on her left shoulder. To say that Ella was eager to put on the spectacles to check the reality of these unbelievable things was an understatement indeed, and it wasn’t as if Dribbles could see her from the front seat anyway. So, instead of keeping them tucked safely in her pocket, she slipped them on. Then she unzipped the skateboard bag at her feet. Wrinkles and three gnomes popped their heads out almost immediately.

  ‘A bit stuffy in here, Ella,’ said Wrinkles.

  ‘Stuffy. Stuffy. Rhymes with puffy,’ Dixon sang in her ear.

  ‘Please recite the present tense of the verb être,’ Dribbles instructed Ella from the front of the car.

  ‘Je suis, tu es, il est…’ Ella began obediently, offering her hand for the Magicals to step on. One by one they hopped onto her lap. Ella drew in the satisfying smell of cinnamon, rain and orange peel that came in their wake.

  ‘And then?’ Dribbles demanded.

  ‘Um…’ Ella hesitated. She was distracted by a couple of smoky-blue elves who had fluttered out from under her hair and were hovering in front of her face, staring at her dreamily. She tried to uncross her eyes.

  Dribbles pulled out the walking stick with which she poked Ella when she thought it necessary. The child bruised easily, and a stick was more difficult to trace than a handprint. But Dribbles was also wary of touching her because, in truth, she didn’t want to chance what the girl might do if she were to come into direct contact with her. She’d been there all those years ago. Oh yes she had. Dribbles’ mind wandered back seven years to the day of the accident, and a shiver passed through her so powerfully that her whole body wobbled like jelly. She brought herself back to the present with an effort.

  ‘I asked you what comes next,’ Dribbles said, holding the stick up so Ella could see it. Her voice was low and menacing, but the fact that she was entirely oblivious to the two sprites buzzing about her head, pulling faces at her, made it hard for Ella to take the threat seriously.

  His eyes watching the stick keenly, Mr P interjected. Although his jaws were clenched, he kept his voice steady. ‘Ma’am, I wonder if you could explain to me how you come to have such an extensive knowledge of French? I always knew you were an intelligent, not to mention a handsome woman, but I had no idea you were a linguist too.’

  Dribbles stared at Mr P in amazement. She had no idea he thought her handsome, and as it happened she had always rather fancied him herself. She loved a skinny man with a strong forehead, and if she ignored the unbecoming ears, he was really terribly attractive. Dribbles lowered her stick and, with a small tremor in her vast bosom, she began the tedious tale of her time at the French Lycée in Paris.

  Ella watched Mr P curiously. What was going on? He had always stood up for her and distracted Dribbles in any way he could when she was angry, but never quite as foolishly as now. A white elf brushed her cheek with his wing as he flew across the car.

  ‘Um, hello,’ Dixon called out, stamping on her shoulder. ‘We need to talk to you! You, you. Rhymes with poo.’ The pixie fell off her shoulder laughing. He loved the poo word. Wrinkles frowned at him disapprovingly.

  A gnome sitting on Ella’s lap cleared his throat in order to get her attention. Ella looked down into the chocolate-brown eyes set deep in the furrows of his bearded face and wondered at the wisdom she saw there. He smelt distinctly of honey. Ella loved honey. She loved anything sweet.

  ‘When we arrive at Willow Farm, we must go to the willow tree in the Dell at the bottom of the garden,’ the gnome said gently. ‘There is a Mirror of Foreverness on the pond there, for that pond lies on one of the magical meridians. We will stay close to the waters on this meridian, for they are extremely powerful and clean. Their energy will sustain the Queen and her Court a little longer. We will set up camp and advise you from there.’

  ‘We’re also going to get in touch with your grandmother, the Flitterwig one,’ Wrinkles interrupted, leaning across the gnome, all sparkles and satins. ‘Your mother’s mother. Since the accident she has tried to have as little to do with magic as she can, but you are going to need her guidance if you are to master any of your skills in a hurry. We Magicals are not well versed in Flitterwig ways.’

  Ella was finding it hard to concentrate on anything because the car was full of little creatures flying this way and that, escapees from her skateboard bag and her pockets. A leafy imp hung upside-down off her head like an acrobat, dangling in front of her left eye.

  ‘Ella?’ interrupted Dribbles from the front. She turned around and squinted at her charge. ‘Ella, are you listening to me? Take those ridiculous spectacles off.’

  Ella looked up. ‘Sorry,’ she said, pulling the specs off her face. No sooner was the word out of her mouth than Dribbles’ walking stick poked painfully into her right arm.

  ‘Give me the present tense of avoir, I said. For heaven’s sake, concentrate, you stupid child.’

  ‘J’ai…’ began Ella. As soon as Dribbles wasn’t looking, she put the spectacles on again. She rubbed her arm to soothe it, but it was impossible for her to focus because an apoplectic Dixon had thrown himself across the car and was now jumping furiously up and down on top of Dribbles’ head. An audience of Magicals clapped him on. Dribbles couldn’t feel or see or hear a thing, although she did absently scratch the top of her head. Dixon pulled a fistful of white dust out of his backpack and sprinkled a little over the woman’s flouncy hair, at the same time tweaking his ear and saying something under his breath.

  ‘Ooooh,’ said Dribbles, scratching her head with increased vigour.

  Dixon winked at Ella, who stifled a giggle. Dribbles was rubbing her skull with all her might now, thrusting her head this way and that as though she’d just been doused with itching powder.

  Wrinkles growled at Dixon, ‘You know very well you are not supposed to use elf dust without very good reason. That was given to you for emergencies only!’ He squeezed his eyes tightly until two tiny gold bubbles popped out, and then tossed them to a lone elf-in-waiting floating near the ceiling of the car. The elf flew over to Dribbles and popped the bubbles into her mouth. Dribbles stopped scratching her head immediately, and was asleep before the elf could perform a twirl and a backflip.

  Wrinkles smoothed down his sequined waistcoat and turned back to Ella. ‘Where were we, my dear?’ he asked.

  Mr P, all the while, appeared to have noticed nothing at all.

  chapter 7

  giraffes & grandparents

  Granny stood in the driveway at Willow Farm, her hands tucked firmly into the pockets of her Barbour jacket, her white hair ruffling lightly in the breeze. Noughts and Crosses, her beloved labradors, sat at her feet. They wagged their tails excitedly. A frown from Granny reminded them to keep still.

  ‘What on Earth took you so long to get here?’ Granny asked Dribbles as she stepped out of the car. ‘Ella must be starving.’

  ‘I know,’ gushed Dribbles. ‘The poor darling. I’m so terribly sorry, Mrs Montgomery, but the traffic was dreadful.’

  Granny nodded understandingly. She patted Dribbles on the shoulder and called to Ella, who was still in the car.

  Ella tucked a stray imp into her pocket, then took off her spectacles and shoved them into her other pocket. As she tried to get out of the car, Noughts and Crosses crowded about her. Granny ordered them off with a sharp repri
mand, but, quite out of character, they took no notice. Back and forth they ran, sniffing first at Ella and then at the skateboard bag Mr P had deposited by the front door.

  No one noticed the zip open. No one saw Dixon peering out of the bag and up Noughts’ nose, or Wrinkles covering his head against Crosses’ slobbery lick. All anyone would have seen were two labradors, one gold and one chocolate brown, refusing for the first time ever to obey their mistress.

  What Mr P did notice, however, as Granny and Ella tried to rally the dogs to order, was that the luggage in the boot was slimy and smelt of rotting turnips. He scratched his chin and looked out across the garden, frowning deeply, before setting off for the house, a suitcase in either hand. As he did so, four Troggles squeezed out of their hiding place in the shadows of the boot. Hopping out, they shuffled over to the lawn, dizzy and disorientated.

  Inside, Ella washed her hands and sat down at the kitchen table, breathing in the luxurious smell of pumpkin soup. Now that she was suddenly a powerful Flitterwig, she wondered whether it was worth telling her grandmother something she had given up trying to tell her a while ago: that Dribbles only pretended to be nice to her when Granny was around. But something told her that her grandmother still wouldn’t believe a word of it. Granny and Dribbles went back years together. Granny even let Dribbles live in the gatekeeper’s cottage at the end of their long driveway. Whatever it was that Ella had done wrong all those years ago, Granny and Dribbles seemed committed to not talking to her about it.

  ‘Where’s Grandpa?’ Ella asked instead, between spoonfuls of soup.

  Granny stood, dishcloth in hand, examining her only surviving grandchild from behind the kitchen bench-top. ‘Outside, of course, with his new pet, silly old fool,’ she said with a practised look of disapproval. ‘You’ll never guess what he’s brought home this time.’

  ‘I think I might,’ Ella said, pointing with her spoon to the window.

  The house at Willow Farm was hundreds of years old. The walls were as thick as the trunks of ancient oaks, and the windows were small, to keep out the cold. The light from one kitchen window was completely blocked by orange and brown blotches. Ella went to the other window to look outside.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she mouthed. Getting a nod of approval from her grandmother, she ran out to the garden.

  There, with his neck stretched high up into a low-hanging tree, stood a baby giraffe.

  Grandpa appeared through a gate in the hedge. ‘He’s called Truffles,’ he said. ‘His mother was shot by poachers in Africa.’

  Ella smiled adoringly at her windswept grandfather in his wellington boots and sou’wester. When he had retired from his lollipop empire, Grandpa had become an animal trainer, famous worldwide for his interest in training unusual animals.

  ‘Can I touch him?’ Ella asked.

  ‘Of course, darling,’ Grandpa said. ‘It’s lovely to have you back. Stay, Truffles,’ he instructed the giraffe. ‘I must be getting back to the llamas.’ He headed off into the house. Seconds later he reappeared, shaking his head, and set off in the right direction, back through the gate in the hedge.

  Ella gazed into the timid eyes of the baby giraffe. He seemed so strange and out of place in this English country garden. Looking at her own translucent hands, she absently fiddled with the tip of her ear. The giraffe watched her every move, his knock-kneed legs trembling.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ Ella said gently. ‘We’re not so different, you and me. My mum’s dead too.’ She edged a little closer. Frozen to the spot, the giraffe batted his eyelids.

  Ella leaned forward. ‘I can see little people through a pair of spectacles,’ she told the giraffe. ‘Do you think that means I’m mad?’ She stretched out her hand. The giraffe sniffed at it. As if finding something safe and reassuring in her smell, he relaxed and stepped closer. Ella rubbed between his ears lovingly, and looked across the grounds at her vegetable patch and her rose garden. She must go and check them in a minute. Ella loved to garden. Having no friends to play with, skateboarding and gardening were her favourite things.

  Granny said she had the greenest fingers she’d ever known, and that was something, for Granny was a great gardener herself.

  And then she remembered. The Royal Court! How could she have forgotten? Where were they? And where was her skateboard bag?

  She ran out to the drive. The baby giraffe, getting an awful fright, ran in the opposite direction, colliding with a hedge.

  Groping for the spectacles in her pocket, Ella slipped them on. Her skateboard bag and the rest of her luggage lay by the front door, but the zipper of the bag was open, and the Magicals were gone!

  Noughts and Crosses sniffed around her legs and gazed up at her with doleful eyes. Ella looked at the bag. She looked at the dogs. The bag, the dogs. The dogs sat back on their haunches as though expecting a treat, until suddenly their attention was caught by something in the distance. They were away in a flash.

  Ella’s mind raced. Had the dogs spotted the Royal Court? If the butterflies could see Dixon, then perhaps all animals could see Magicals. She had to catch those dogs!

  Furious with herself, Ella pulled the spectacles off her face and her skateboard out of her bag. Jumping on it, she headed off down the path, after the dogs. Down and down she sped in hot pursuit, hoping that she hadn’t lost her first ever friends already.

  If she’d kept the spectacles on, she’d have seen that the dogs were chasing four disoriented Troggles down the hill, not the Royal Court at all. If she’d kept the spectacles on, she’d have known that Dixon, returning from the Dell to look for her, had caught hold of the back of her dungarees as she whizzed by.

  ‘Wheeeee,’ he trilled, his legs flying out behind him. ‘Whoopeeee,’ he yelled. ‘Yeeeeehaaaaa!’

  But she didn’t have the spectacles on, and her natural instincts were not yet strong enough to sense magic without them.

  chapter 8

  frogs & fearfulness

  Charlie Snoppit stood beside a muddy pond at the bottom of his garden, rendering innocent frogs speechless. Now that he knew he wasn’t insane – for the Duke had shown him that to make the frogs stop talking, he had only to take his spectacles off – he was feeling terribly pleased with himself. To celebrate, he intended to use another trick the Duke had taught him to shut up every frog in the pond, even with his specs on. All he had to do was catch a frog, tweak his ear in a certain way, say two secret words – and hey presto, the creature stopped talking and started croaking. So this was what Charlie was doing, one frog at a time.

  Being able to silence animals was not the only reason he was feeling pleased with himself, however.

  Charlie had always known he was different, but to discover that he was different in an ‘I-have-a-pair-of-magical-spectacles’ way rather than an ‘I-am-completely-and-utterly-mad’ way was such a relief he could hardly contain his joy. For it wasn’t only being able to hear animals that suggested he was odd. Oh no. That was just the most annoying bit.

  Often, he’d see a little creature running across a field or ducking behind a rock. He’d try to tell himself it was just a mouse or a giant grasshopper, but the fact that these creatures wore clothes and had human arms and legs made that really hard to believe. Whenever he’d tried to point them out to anyone else, they’d either laughed at him, or burst into tears, or flushed his head down the school toilet.

  He’d noticed grown-ups doing strange things, too. Not all of them, of course. Only secretive ones who didn’t know he was watching. The local publican, for example, a man with incredibly hairy nostrils, was always out in his garden talking to his plants. Once, on the way home from school, Charlie had seen him touch his right ear, mumble to himself, and sprinkle white stuff over his herb patch. Charlie had nearly had a heart attack when the herbs popped out of the ground all by themselves and floated into the publican’s basket. If Charlie had had any friends, he could have asked them to come and see for themselves. But he didn’t have any, precisely because he saw stuff l
ike that all the time!

  That would all change now. Taking the magical spectacles off would stop all these weird things happening. What a stroke of luck meeting the Duke had been! Even the fact that the Duke looked more like a giant reptile than a human being made Charlie feel better about his own big ears and large forehead and white hair. He couldn’t wait to see how scared the Fowler boys would be when they saw the Duke walking home with him from school, as he had promised to do. They’d definitely stop bullying him then.

  It didn’t occur to Charlie for a second that the Fowler boys, being ordinary humans, wouldn’t be able to see the Duke, a pure Magical, in the first place, even if they were wearing magical specs, which they wouldn’t be. For Charlie didn’t know he was a Flitterwig or that the Duke was a Magical. He didn’t even know what those words meant. In fact, he knew nothing at all other than that he and the Duke had reached an agreement whereby Charlie would help him capture Ella in return for lessons in how to harness the powers of the magical spectacles. And he was far too excited thinking about that to wonder who or what the Duke might be in the first place.

  What was making Charlie feel most pleased, however, was the fact that the Duke had cured his stutter. With a pull of the ear, a shot of white dust out of his finger and a few weird words, the stutter was gone. Charlie would be eternally grateful to the Duke for that.

  He thought of his parents, a terribly shy couple, so shy that the local townsfolk called them hermits. He thought how short-sighted he had always been, and how his parents had never taken him to an eye-doctor to get his eyes tested. Instead, his father had rummaged about in the attic and found an old pair of battered and faded specs that had belonged to Charlie’s grandfather, hoping they would do the trick.