Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (21 page)

“
Hello,” she said tentatively and gave some sort of shallow
curtsey.

“
Hello,” greeted Krinsky.

While Winger
shouted, “How-do-you-do,” as he was a little further away, and
Dodkin said, “Welcome, young Blackthorn. It’s good to see you once
more, all grown-up like. Our apologies for your mother. We did the
best we could.”

Nettle flicked a look at her father,
that’s an odd thing to
say.
She
shrugged. “I don’t think you could of made her stay, if we
couldn’t.”

“
I don’t like being stuck put,” grumbled Burban, ignoring the
present conversation. “Same view, nothing much happening. And stuck
with this lot, day after day. Does your head in.”

“You can talk,” jeered Krinsky, his branches rustling.
“Call us boring, all you ever do is complain and moan. We want rid
of you just as much,
Mr.
I’m-Better-Than-Everyone-Else.
”

“
We’re a copse,” said Dodkin. He had more of a baritone and
his speech was much slower and pronounced. “This is what we do.
Stay put. Not go rolling off, on these so called adventures you
keep droning on about. Ridiculous notion you got stuck in your
head.”

“
You got pebbles for brains, you have,” scoffed
Krinsky.

“Baaaaah
,” replied Burban, then pressed his fat lips together in
irritation.

Nettle cleared
her throat, earning herself a distrustful glare from Burban. “How
do you protect the cottage?”

He eyed her
keenly. “Folk got to announce themselves. Maybe we let them in,
maybe we don’t.”

“
Like an alarm?”

“
No,” he said his tone dripping with scorn. “We let you know
through a series of charades.” This earned Burban a cackle from the
others, their branches swishing with mirth. “Well lads, shall we
show her?”

“
Don’t see why not,” shouted Winger.

There came a series of various throat clearings and
tentative
pah-pah’s
, then a thunderous, “
BarooOOOOMMMMmmm!!!
”

Nettle clamped
her hands over her ears. The sound they made was deafening. Birds
shot to the air in swirling clouds of fright. The noise eventually
trailed off and Nettle tentatively lifted her hands from her ears.
Fred was grinning.

Burban gave
her a look, as if daring her to claim otherwise, “Well then girl,
hope that satisfies you.”

“
Impressive,” agreed Nettle.

“
We haven’t finished yet, got a day or two before we’re set up
proper like, when we’ve completely encircled the perimeter.” Burban
assured her, his branches crackling as he spoke.

Krinsky added,
“We can’t exactly keep out those more dangerous-”

Fred loudly
coughed drowning out what Krinsky was about to say and shook his
head at the boulder, who getting Fred’s meaning added quickly in a
flustered way, “But at least we can put up a darn good fight, until
you get yourselves away.”

Fred tried to smile reassuringly, but Nettle was having
none of it, she gave him a withering glare.
Protect them from faerie,
indeed,
she
thought doubtfully.

“
Pesky little low-lifes are something else. They’ll not get in
unless they’re already here,” Dodkin added.

“
Which a few already are,” said Fred referring to the
spriggans. “But from now on, nobody gets in, or out, without our
say so.”

“
Right you are,” agreed Burban, nodding as much as a head half
buried in the ground could nod. He yawned and his companions soon
followed in suit. “All this yacking and showing off does you in,”
mumbled Burban, his eyelids growing heavy. “We’ll just have a wee
kip, a wee nap, and by morning the copse will be finished growing.”
By the time he’d finished speaking he was asleep. Dodkin had been
snoring for some time and Krinsky and Winger soon
followed.

Nettle and
Fred made their way to the cottage’s front door. Nettle had a
slight coffee moustache and she was rubbing it off with a wrist.
“So, do you really think they’ll be able to keep us safe?” She
wasn’t sure a group of rocks, making a lot of noise, was going to
be able to protect them from anything.

“
They may gripe a fair bit, but they do a fine job. Been
protecting our cottage since I married your mother. She’s the one
who grew the copse.”

The mere
mention of her mother left a bitter taste in Nettle’s mouth and the
bridge of her nose furrowed. Her jaw set in a hard line, but Fred
didn’t notice. “They’re a bit like the Thicket. A wall of rosebush
that can protect us from faerie that mean us harm.”

Nettle looked
sharply at her father, her heart skipping a beat. “Why should it
matter to anyone if we’ve come back home? Are we in danger
here?”

Fred stopped and turned to look at her, and read
apprehension in her expression.
When had she become so much older than her
years?
He
supposed quite rightly he was to blame, so caught up with trying to
find his wife, he’d allowed her to fill the role as mother and
housekeeper and chief worrier, when they’d taken to the road. She’d
grown up quicker than she should have, with having to look after
him and Bram. Right now, he needed to allay her fears. He smiled
winningly, “There’s no need to worry. No one knows we’ve returned
and that’s how I intend to keep it.”

Nettle wasn’t
reassured. If there wasn’t anything to worry about then why was
there a need to keep their return secret? And Aunt Thistle hadn’t
arrived. She asked intuitively, “Do you think something’s happened
to Aunt Thistle?”

“
I hope not,” Fred replied, forging forward. Reaching the back
porch steps he turned and said, “She’s been looking for your
mother.”

“What, in the Wilds?” That was one thing she hadn’t
anticipated: her mother entering the Wilds.
And why is my Aunt assisting in
this ludicrous task?
Nettle prickled. “What? All this time?” It seemed
ridiculous to keep looking for someone all these years who
obviously didn’t want to be found. “You said it was dangerous,
treacherous, why would she go in there? And you said yourself,
people disappear and die every day. She’s probably been caught in
one those traps you talk about.”

“
No, not your mother,” answered Fred, putting a reassuring
hand on her shoulder.

Nettle
bristled and shook his hand off. “I don’t care about my mother, I’m
worried about Aunt Thistle. You just let her go in there, with all
those things you warned us about.”

Fred met
Nettle’s stony stare and stiffened. “Trust me, your Aunt can handle
herself.”

Nettle squared
her shoulders and levelled a fierce glare at her father. “Can’t you
just let her go?” She was no longer talking about her aunt. “She’s
gone Dad. She doesn’t care, or else she’d be here.”

Fred sighed
and rubbed his forehead wearily, “Come on Nettle, don’t do
this.”

“No Dad, don’t
you
do this. Obviously the only reason you’ve dragged
us here is so you can find out if there’s been word on Mum.” She
flung an arm upwards, her gaze softening. “There are other people
out there, you know. You could meet someone else and fall in love.
It’s OK to do that.”

Fred’s olive eyes were alight with golden flecks and
something else - devotion. He spoke clearly, so she’d understand he
meant it, “I don’t
want
anyone else.”

Nettle’s mouth twisted cruelly and her eyes darkened to the
colour of dirty moss. “Well I don’t want her as my mother. I wish
she’d died. It’d be easier for you to forget her -
like we
have
.”

Fred looked
like he’d been slapped. Nettle watched the colour drain from his
face. His voice was lacklustre and hurt. “I’m sure you regret
saying that.”

For a brief
moment, she did. But she’d gone too far to back down now. She
fidgeted with her travel mug, and said petulantly. “Well I don’t,
and I won’t.”

For quite some time Nettle and her father silently stared
at one another. Nettle’s flinty gaze bore right through her Dad’s,
but inside she was devastated. She could see in his wounded eyes
the anguish her harsh words inflicted on him. She felt guilty for
what she’d said and how it made her father feel. But it was too
late to take it back.
Why? Why do I keep on doing this to
him?

Fred was
gutted, how had his daughter become so hardened? He wondered, not
for the first time, if he should have told his children the truth
about Briar, right from the beginning. Would that knowledge have
left a different impression on their daughter?

From above
came the creaking sound of a window being opened. Bram hung out his
bedroom and yelled, “Dad! You better get up here!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Make
Good Beddin’ for the Rats

Earlier that morning, Bram had quietly taken the bird-cage
to his bedroom. He was curious as to Quary’s skill as a thief, and
hoped the spriggan might teach him a thing or two. Instead he spent
most of the morning being spat at, shouted at and insulted, the
creature calling him things like
puckered-poo
and
pus-head.
A minute ago, Jazz blew into his bedroom
brandishing a sewing needle and a very devious
expression.

Nettle
followed her father and hurried toward Bram’s bedroom, they met him
down the hallway. He waved them onward. “Quick Dad, I think she’s
going to kill him.”

When Nettle
entered the bedroom. Jazz was jabbing a long and dangerous sewing
needle through the bars of the bird-cage. “Take that you little
rat-faced-freak!”

The spriggan leapt out of the way, but every time he did,
the little faerie came into contact with the rose branches making
up the bird-cage. He squealed in agony, stuffing a fist into his
mouth to stifle the sound. Wafts of singed flesh stung Nettle’s
nostrils and she shuddered,
that’s got to sting.

“
Hope that hurts - really, really, badly,” goaded Jazz with a
malicious grin. “Now tell me why you stole my earrings?!” She poked
at the creature, and this time the sharp needle caught Quary in the
shoulder. He shrieked, and clutched himself with short stubby
fingers. His voice was high-pitched and his breath short,
“Armour... I wanted a nice shiny breastplate…”

“
Jazz!” roared Fred. He grabbed his niece by the shoulder.
“Stop right this minute!”

Jazz whipped
around feeling righteous. “Uncle Fred, it ransacked all my clothes.
Everything I own is ripped or torn or smashed or stained beyond
repair. And that thing, whatever it is, it’s going to tell me what
I did to deserve that.”

“
You got a nasty tongue girly,” spat the faerie, “You deserves
what you gets,” he made little cutting motions with his fingers,
“Especially yer hair.”

Jazz shrieked
with fury. She lunged at the bird-cage. The spriggan skittered
back, laughing raucously. “Ha-ha, yer hair looks good, aye
girly.”

Jazz grabbed
hold of the cage and shook it viciously. “Why?! Why did you do
it?!”

The spriggan
was bounced around inside, screeching and yelping as his skin
burned on contact.

Her uncle was
glowering, infuriated with her bad behaviour, and boomed,
“JAZZ!!”

For once Jazz
was astounded by her uncle’s forcefulness and froze. He took the
cage from her. Quary’s breathing was ragged, he got to his knees
and pushed himself to his feet. His hand clutched his arm, which
hung uselessly, his flesh was burnt raw in patches.

“
You want to know why we cut yer hair off lass?” The creature
pointed a finger at Nettle, “Cos, she said to. Good idea too. Yer
hair will make good beddin’ for the rats.”

Jazz’s fingers
curled into fists and she spun to face Nettle. “I knew you’d be
behind this!”

Nettle was
stunned. She looked from the faerie to Jazz and back again. “What
do you mean?”

“You said,
if it were you, ye’d cut her hair off.
”

A slight guilty feeling twisted Nettle’s stomach, she felt
sick. She had a vague recollection making some sort of statement,
but she’d never have acted on it. “Why...
would you do
... what I said?” she asked,
confused.

The little
creature looked taken aback. “You forgotten how nasty an’ spiteful
she’s been to you. It made me ears hurt just listening to all her
yap-yapping.”

Well, he was right about that,
Nettle thought
, but that was just
Jazz.

Jazz was
looking at the spriggan as if it had just starting speaking
Russian. Quary tentatively wriggled his wounded shoulder and glared
at Jazz. “Griping and wailing, saying mean things, and you knows it
well enough, so don’t be denying it. Got no manners, girly. It was
a good idea an all, me and the lads thought. Cut her hair off. Make
a mattress out of it. Maybe just give it to the birds for a nest.
Teach her a lesson.”

At that, Jazz
crumpled onto the bed and burst into tears. “My hair,” she wailed.
“It’s not fair, it’s just not fair.”

Nettle
felt terrible, it was all her fault, if she hadn’t suggested such a
spiteful thing, her cousin would have all her glorious hair still
on her head. She down next to Jazz. “Come on, it’s going to be OK.
We can do something with your hair. A hat maybe?” Nettle laid a
comforting hand on her shoulder. “And, your skin,” she said,
grasping at anything that might cheer up her cousin, “it’s
completely healed. No more dots.” It was true, whatever her father
had put in that lotion had worked wonders on all the little
lacerations, leaving only a faint reminder they had been there in
the first place.