Jack Of All Trades by K.C. Shaw

Jack of All Trades

by K.C. Shaw

II

Published byAncient Tomes PressImprint of Cyberwizard Productions1205 N. Saginaw Boulevard #DPMB 224Saginaw, Texas 76179

Edited by Crystalwizard

Cover and Illustrations by Richard Svensson

Jack of all Trades copyright © 2009 Cyberwizard Productions

ISBN: 978-0-9821352-8-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008943473

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher and the individual authors, excepting brief quotes used in connection with reviews.

III

For my brother.

IV

Foreword

In March 2009 the publisher of this book asked me if I'd like to read it with a view to doing a possible foreword. Ever happy to read a free new book I agreed. It was a very good decision. I don't know the author, I didn't know the book, but I was quickly engrossed in the tale of a Jack of all Trades, his pet dragon, the curse that follows him and a host of interesting minor characters and their everyday doings in a series of small villages.

I e-mailed the publisher a day later. Normally I don't stay reading any books on a computer, I have too much to do, and I have a damaged leg that doesn't like it. But with this book after the first chapters, I took my laptop to bed instead so that I could finish it that evening. And I noted one thing in particular. That I was surprised and sorry when it finished, being left with a feeling of "I was enjoying that book and it should have been longer."

The work held up very solidly, and my all-over impression was that while it was generic fantasy in one way, it also came with charming and well-written characters, and an excellent set-up of the major plot. Jack of all Trades is set in a skewed version of early America small towns and villages, with hearsay excursions overseas on the side.

There are mythical creatures, magic, wizards, unpleasant spirits lurking, and curses that really work. Yet this background blends into a seamless and fascinating whole that enhances the story in a setting where it seems natural. All of which is conducive to a possible series diving up and down the time-line introduced through the book and I hope that this occurs.

Frankly, I really liked Jack of all Trades. If it was being offered for sale in a bookshop and I picked it up AND flipped through the pages... yes, I’d pay up and buy it and that’s the most flattering thing that a reader can say. That they’d pay out hard-earned cash for a book. If you’re reading this, either you have paid for it - in which case, smart move. Or you’re thinking about it. Stop thinking. Buy the book!Lyn McConchie.

V

Introduction

The idea for Jack of All Trades came to me when I was working as a temp at various office jobs. I found myself wondering what a temp worker would do in a fantasy world. Maybe my fantasy-world temp would accept a job training dragons one day, and the next day he’d be copying magic spells for an overworked wizard.

It was a fun exercise, but I shelved the idea for a few years to work on other projects. Then one day I got a mental image of two characters meeting for the first time: a man walking along one side of a hedge, and a woman popping up from the other side. “Hallo, ugly,” the woman said, and Jack and Helen were born. I had to write their book.

I had just moved to a new town and was temping again while I looked for a permanent job. Naturally enough, Jack became my fantasy-world temp. I’ve seldom had more fun writing a story, and half the fun was thinking up Jack’s next job. Like me, Jack prefers some tasks to others and likes to have frequent days off; but also like me, he can’t be too picky when accepting the next job. I admit I had the most fun when Jack was having the worst time of things, but at least I never made him set up any spreadsheets.

K.C. Shaw

VI

Chapter One: The Mad Colt 4

Chapter Two: The Wasp Orchard 14

Chapter Three: Haying 25

Chapter Four: The Ghost in the Abbey 34

Chapter Five: The Fretful Old Man 48

Chapter Six: The Damsel in Distress 67

Chapter Seven: The Crown of Britain 79

Chapter Eight: The Modern Farmer 101

Chapter Nine: The Wishing Well 116

Chapter Ten: The Fairies’ Infestation 130

Chapter Eleven: The Stranger 150

Chapter Twelve: The Highwaymen 162

Chapter Thirteen: The Cursed Wedding 175

Table of Contents

Jack of All Trades

1

Prologue: It Pays to Advertise“You’ll never get anywhere, Pepper, if you don’t advertise.”

Jack set his leather bag down in the grass and rummaged inside it, taking out a hammer, a jar of nails, and a square of cardboard. He glanced down at Pepper, who watched him without comprehension but with her usual boundless good humor. “When I say you, of course I mean me.”

He laughed, and Pepper opened her remarkable jaws wide in a doglike grin. She looked a little like an oversized bulldog, except that she was bright red and had a long tail. Her smoothly-scaled hide gleamed in the morning sunshine.

Jack turned to the wooden fence beside him. It was sturdy, and while it wasn’t in a particularly busy location, the same could be said of the entire town. He and Pepper stood on the edge of Tolchester’s main thoroughfare, a neatly kept dirt road. It was entirely deserted.

Jack nailed the cardboard to the fence with four swift strokes, handling the hammer with the ease of long use. When he was done he stepped back to examine his handiwork.

The card was cheaply printed, but drew the eye. It read:

“That’s sure to get us some trade,” Jack said. He rubbed his beard absently with his knuckles. He had only grown the beard recently and wasn’t certain he liked it; it was short and tidy, dark brown like his hair. Jack himself was not very tall and was a little

2

Prologue: It Pays to Advertisestout, but he looked strong as well. If people are said to grow to look like their dogs, Jack had grown to look like his dragon: friendly, open, and perhaps just a bit stupid.

“Here — you! You can’t post notices on that fence. It’s private property.”

Jack turned and tipped his hat to the approaching policeman. “I’m sorry, constable. I didn’t know. I’ll remove it at once.”

“See that you do that,” the constable said, but he sounded mollified and a little distracted. He stared down at Pepper. “Is that animal safe?”

“Of course. That’s Pepper; she’s quite tame. Pepper, sit up.”Pepper had been slouched in the grass with her tail trailing

into the street. She sat up on her haunches now, forepaws folded against her barrel chest, and watched Jack’s face. Sitting like that, her head came nearly to Jack’s waist.

“Good girl.” Jack bent down and rested his hand on the dragon’s head for a moment. She relaxed and grinned again, her pointed tongue lolling over a double row of fangs. “See? She’s as tame as a dog.”

The constable looked unconvinced, but as Pepper was now leaning against Jack’s legs and gazing up at him adoringly, he apparently could find nothing to complain about. “Well, see that you keep her under control. She could do a great deal of damage to livestock.”

“I shall be very careful, I promise. I shouldn’t like to spook anyone’s cattle or sheep, even by accident. That wouldn’t be a good way to meet new neighbors.” Jack smiled and began prying the nails from the fence.

“Oh, so you’re the man who’s taken Rose Cottage, are you?” The last traces of suspicion disappeared from the constable’s round face.

“Is that what it’s called? It’s a good name; I’ve never seen more roses in one garden.”

“That was thanks to old Mr. Segall, who had the house until last autumn. He moved to Hillgate to live with his daughter. A keen gardener.” The constable caught the card, which, freed from its last nail, fluttered away from the fence. “Beastmaster?” he said, after

3

K.C. Shaw - Jack of All Tradesreading the card. “Do you know much about horses?”

“Oh, yes. Do you have a beast you need trained or retrained?”The constable pushed his helmet back to rub his forehead.

Jack thought he looked a bit worried. “My nephew has a colt he can’t break. There’s something odd wrong with it, my nephew says, and he knows horses — he keeps the finest stable in the county.”

“I’d be happy to take a look — free of charge, as I’m new to town.”

“Oh? That’s generous. I’ll tell him to expect you tomorrow, then; Goodacre, his name is.”

“I look forward to meeting him. In the meantime, is there someplace where I can post my notices lawfully?”

“There’s a board at market. Take the third left and go a quarter mile; you’ll see it.” The policeman gestured down the road, then offered Jack’s card back to him.

“Do keep it. I have more.” Jack tipped his hat again. “Thanks very much. Come along, Pepper.”

With Pepper ambling at his heels, and his bag of notices over his shoulder, Jack walked along the street. It was a stroke of luck that he had a job first thing, after only moving into Rose Cottage two days before. Sometimes it took him weeks to get his first nibble, particularly in the smaller villages. Close-knit communities were always the most suspicious of outsiders.

Tolchester seemed a friendly place, though. He liked the look and feel of it, and trusted his judgment in such matters. It was only a pity that he couldn’t stay.

He couldn’t stay anywhere for very long, no matter how much he wished he could. It would catch up to him.

4

Chapter One: The Mad ColtThe May morning was drenched in sunshine and glorious

with birdsong. Jack strode down the lane, his dragon Pepper padding behind him with her tail carried clear of the ground like a crocodile’s, and felt himself smiling. The hedges were full of flowers, the fields full of lambs and calves; the world was full of promise. Jack paused a moment beside a fence to watch a pair of lambs gambol; they pirouetted and leaped like ballerinas, or like butterflies that hadn’t quite found their wings.

Jack had dressed for a morning working with horses, and wore light tweeds with a slouch cap and hobnail boots. Every so often he rubbed his beard with his knuckles, as though checking that it was still there and hadn’t shaved itself off during the night.

“I have a good feeling about today, Pepper,” he said, and Pepper rolled her eyes up to him at the sound of her name. Her pupils were round and black but with whites all around them, like a person’s eye, which gave her an unexpectedly friendly expression.

Goodacre’s farm was larger than Jack had imagined, a patchwork of fields and paddocks separated by white fences. The stables and barns were painted white too, and looked well-kept. Elegant tall horses grazed in the fields.

Mr. Goodacre and several farmhands waited in the lane; Jack had no trouble telling which of the men was the constable’s nephew, for he had the same round face with disarmingly keen eyes. Jack sized him up professionally as they shook hands: a good businessman, with native cunning rather than education, blunt but fair.

“What the devil is that creature you’ve got there?” Mr. Goodacre said. Pepper, sitting next to Jack and leaning against his leg, grinned up at him.

“That’s Pepper. She’s a species of dragon.”Mr. Goodacre stared at Pepper for a few minutes, frowning.

“She doesn’t look much like the dragons we get roosting on the moor. She won’t spook my horses?”

“Absolutely not. Tell me about this colt of yours — your uncle said there was something wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.” Mr. Goodacre gave a slight shrug, looking

5

K.C. Shaw - Jack of All Trades

worried. “I’ve not seen one like him in all my days, and I’ve had every kind of problem horse through my hands and got them broke with no difficulties. I’ve been calling this colt Blaze, but some of the lads have renamed him Bucephalus, after the horse that old king tamed — and we’ve no king to hand.”

Jack smiled and rested his hand on Pepper’s head. “My mother’s maiden name was King. Will that do?”

Mr. Goodacre guffawed. “That’s good enough for me. Come along and look at the colt.”

Jack walked beside Mr. Goodacre, lengthening his stride to match the taller man’s. They passed a handsome large stable, its windows open to the sunshine, and crossed a barnyard that had been planed entirely smooth.

On the other side of the yard was a smaller stable, and from the smell of fresh wood and paint, and the building’s crisp look, it was new. Mr. Goodacre led them around the stable and said, “There he is. That’s his own paddock, and you can see there’s nothing visibly wrong with it or him. But he won’t let anyone touch his back, not even to groom it — not even to put a rug on him after he’s been worked on a line and sweated.”

The colt, a leggy two-year-old with bright bay coat shining in the sun, grazed in the paddock with a pony gelding as a companion. Jack looked the colt over, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You’ve examined his back, I suppose?”

“Yes, as well as I can. And I’ve had Dr. Baker over twice, fetching him all the way from Little Pinning. He’s the best horse doctor in the county. He can’t find a thing wrong with him either; he said it might be a sensitivity of his kidneys, though, particularly as this only started a few months ago.”

“A few months, you say?” Jack leaned on the fence, frowning in thought and watching the colt graze. “How long have you had him?”

“A year, just about. He was bred at Drake’s, and I know both the sire and the dam. His sire’s on the spirited side, but his dam’s intelligent and of good disposition. So’s Blaze, if it comes to that.”

“Hmm. You’ll allow me to examine him?”“Go ahead, but be careful.”

6

Chapter One: The Mad Colt

“Pepper, stay.” Jack clambered over the fence and approached the colt confidently but slowly. He chirruped as he neared him and the colt raised his head.

“You’re a right beauty of a colt, Blaze,” Jack murmured. “I can see why Goodacre wants to keep you, but give him much more trouble and you may end up as dog meat.” Jack took the colt’s halter and scratched his throatlatch. Blaze looked friendly and interested, and gave a whicker of greeting.

The colt showed no reluctance in having his head or feet handled. Jack ran his hands over the horse’s face, down his legs, over his belly and rump, all with no ill response from Blaze. Only when he put his hand on Blaze’s barrel did the animal begin to tense.

“Afraid I’ll bother your back, are you?” Jack said. The colt’s back looked like any other horse’s back. There was no visible sign of any abnormality or healed injury. Perhaps some deformity of the spine that might be felt rather than seen.... Jack ran his hand up the colt’s shoulder, making soothing clucking sounds to ease Blaze’s increasing tension, and over the withers.

The next thing Jack knew, he was sprawled in the grass five yards away. He groaned.

Mr. Goodacre rushed over. “I did warn you,” he said. “That’s what he does, and he’ll kill someone one day. Are you all right?”

“I fancy he’s cracked one of my ribs.” Jack sat up gingerly. His side throbbed where the colt had kicked him.

“Well, I thank you for coming out to try, but I think this colt will never be broke. Come in and have a cup of tea for your trouble, at least.” He helped Jack up and handed him his hat.

Jack looked back at Blaze, who had retreated a short distance and was grazing again, his black tail swishing. “I’m not ready to give up yet. Let me examine his stall first.”

Mr. Goodacre said, “It’s a new stable, and he has a big roomy loosebox. There’s nothing wrong with it, but you’re welcome to look about.” Jack noted the approval in the man’s voice.

The stall had two doors, one into the stable aisle and one leading to the colt’s paddock. Jack examined the latches closely. The aisle door had a wrought iron latch, but the paddock door had only a wooden bar that could be turned to open it.

7


“He can’t have injured himself on the latch,” Mr. Goodacre said. “He can’t even reach it.”

“No,” Jack said. He crouched down to look at the door. “Has he ever had anyone on his back?”

“Not that I know of.”“No mischievous boys, perhaps, who might have got in and

whipped him?”“There’s not a boy in the county who would treat a colt that

way. Besides, that would make him shy around boys, and he adores my sister’s lads.”

Jack turned the wooden bar back and forth, thinking. “Has he ever been injured at all?”

“No, never. Never had a moment’s trouble with him except for his accursed back.”

Jack straightened up. “I suspect this bar might be our culprit, in a way. Mr. Goodacre, I need to sleep in the colt’s stall tonight. You’re welcome to join me. I think I can solve your problem.”

“What is it?”“I might be wrong, but I suspect he may be hag-ridden.”“Hag-ridden! I never thought of that. We’ve never had any

trouble with fairies in this area.”“It only takes one. But they’re the devil to catch at it.”

Mr. Goodacre hitched up his buggy and drove them into town for luncheon at the Hare and Hounds. Pepper caused some comment among the regulars, and Jack noticed that while Mr. Goodacre seemed pleased to introduce him, he was definitely proud to introduce Pepper — as though by showing Pepper off, Goodacre had scored some small victory among his friends. Jack was simply happy to be introduced at all.

They spent the afternoon letting Blaze get used to Pepper, for Jack wanted Pepper in the stall with them. But everyone liked Pepper. By nightfall the colt was as used to her as he was the farm dogs.

Jack observed the stable hands as the horses were bedded down for the night. The colt entered his stall without hesitation, ate

8


and drank well, and leaned his head over the half-door into the aisle to watch the evening bustle with interest. “He’s intelligent, you can see that,” Jack said to Mr. Goodacre.

“So he is, and it’d be a shame to lose him. I hope your idea works, Mr. Bywater.”

“So do I. I’ll feel a fool if I’m wrong.”The two of them, along with Pepper, joined Blaze in his

stall once it grew dark. The colt snuffled at them as they stretched out in the straw — gingerly, in Jack’s case, as his cracked rib ached abominably. “If you hear or see anything tonight,” Jack said to Mr. Goodacre, “don’t make a noise until I’ve dealt with it.”

The stable was full of the sounds of content animals settling down to sleep. Jack rested his head on Pepper’s warm side and watched the door to the paddock. It was shut and barred, but the top half of the door had been left open, which Mr. Goodacre assured him was the usual practice in fine weather.

From his vantage point on the ground, Jack could see a square of sky above the door. It was deep blue with a few stars, but gradually the blue faded into black. Jack resisted the impulse to close his eyes for just a minute.

Pepper had no need to resist sleep. Soon she was snoring loudly, and Jack had to poke her to wake her up again. She licked his hand, her saliva burning like mustard until he wiped it on his trouser leg.

He was settling back against Pepper when Mr. Goodacre gave a small hiss that would have been inaudible if the night weren’t so silent. Jack glanced at him; the stablemaster pointed at Blaze.

Blaze had been drowsing, but now he was awake and standing to nervous attention. He stared out the paddock door.

Jack turned his eyes to the door again. For a long minute there was no sign of anything unusual. Then Jack heard the sound of the wooden bar being moved stealthily.

He tensed. The sound stopped and the door swung open a few inches. Blaze snorted and shifted his feet in the straw.

Then there was a flurry of activity, all the more startling for its silence. A small figure darted into the stall and flung itself at Blaze, and a moment later had swarmed up his foreleg and was clinging

9


with misshapen-looking limbs to the colt’s back. Blaze threw his head up, eyes rolling white.

Jack spoke three well-chosen magic words and pointed at the creature. It froze and tumbled from the colt’s back, but almost immediately began to move again.

Jack lunged and just caught it by one leg. The leg was hard and too-thin, slightly prickly.

The creature kicked, still eerily silent. Jack felt his grip slip and muttered an oath, then clenched his teeth against revulsion at touching the creature and grabbed for a better handhold. This time he felt smooth, slick flesh and stiff fur.

“Got it, I think. Strike a light,” Jack said.A match flared. “What in God’s name is it?” Mr. Goodacre

said.“A fairy — a nasty one, too.” Jack examined the struggling

fairy quickly, feeling his mouth curve in a grimace of disgust. He had it by one cricket-like leg and one human-like arm. Its all-black eyes gleamed in the match light, its insect-like mouth worked silently. Two pairs of antennae twitched against his hands as though licking them.

“I’ve never seen a fairy like that,” Mr. Goodacre said. “Revolting-looking thing, isn’t it? What do we do with it?”

“We can do this, Mr. Goodacre,” Jack said. “Pepper, catch!”He tossed the fairy at Pepper, who was staring at it eagerly.

Her great mouth gaped wide, snapped — and the fairy was gone.The match went out, plunging the stable into darkness again.

“My word,” Mr. Goodacre breathed. “Won’t it harm her insides?”“Have no fear — I’ve yet to find anything that will harm

Pepper’s insides.”They secured the colt’s stall door again and went into the

farmhouse. It was warm inside and smelled of woodsmoke and baking; Jack followed Mr. Goodacre to the kitchen, which was warmer still.

“This is my wife, Jenny,” Mr. Goodacre said with considerable pride. Mrs. Goodacre looked up and smiled as she took a pan from the oven; she was darkly pretty, and Jack felt a stab of jealousy. “Jenny, darling, Mr. Bywater has cured Blaze. Hag-ridden, he was!”

10


11


“The poor colt — no wonder he didn’t want anyone on his back,” Mrs. Goodacre said.

“Yes, and this particular fairy was a nasty spiky one,” Jack said. “Could I possibly wash my hands?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Goodacre said, and Jack washed his hands thoroughly at the kitchen sink. “What did you do with the fairy? It won’t come back, will it?”

Mr. Goodacre guffawed and pointed at Pepper. “No, it won’t come back — crunched up in that little dragon’s not-so-little jaws. I wish I had a dragon.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack said with feeling. “I wouldn’t give her up for anything, but trust me — I’ve given up a lot to keep her.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along.” Mrs. Goodacre filled a dog bowl with water from the sink and set it on the stone floor; Pepper lapped messily.

Mr. Goodacre brought two bottles of beer up from the cellar; he and Jack sat down in a small but comfortable dining room. “Now, then, Mr. Bywater — how did you know? And will we have any other trouble with fairies?”

“That sort of fairy is solitary, fortunately. I doubt you’ll find many more in the area. But I recommend you change that wooden bar for an iron latch. Fairies don’t like the magic in iron; they won’t touch it. That’s what gave me the clue, since nothing else seemed to fit. I don’t envy you the difficulty you’ll have with retraining Blaze.”

“Ah, well, we’ll take it slow and easy, give him time to realize that horrid prickly thing won’t ride on his back anymore. It must have been a torture.”

“And it would have taken its toll on his health soon enough.”Mrs. Goodacre came in with a plate of cakes. “How are you

liking Rose Cottage, Mr. Bywater?” she said, setting the plate in front of him. “It’s such a pretty place, I think.”

“I think so too. And I’m very comfortable there, thanks. Tolchester seems a pleasant village so far.”

“Oh yes, everyone here is very friendly. And we’re always happy to have a new face.”

Mr. Goodacre said, “That’s true — although some of the women in Tolchester are nothing more than busybodies.” He

12


grinned and took a swig of beer. “Where are you from?”Jack had just bit into a cake, and for a moment made

appreciative noises while he chewed. “I knock about a fair bit,” he said after he’d swallowed. “I lived in a village called West Blister last, but I don’t expect you’ve heard of it. There wasn’t much to recommend it; I didn’t stay there long.”

“Well, we hope you decide to settle down here,” Mrs. Goodacre said, and her husband nodded.

Jack looked around the room, with its crackling fire and comfortable furniture, and noted particularly the womanly touches his own cottage lacked — a vase of flowers on the sideboard, lace curtains in the windows. “I’d like to, very much,” he said, but he felt bleak inside.

He turned the conversation to horses, and listened with interest to Mr. Goodacre’s talk of the local bloodlines. Mrs. Goodacre brought them fresh bottles, and they discussed the training and care of horses until all the cakes were gone.

At last Jack noticed Mr. Goodacre stifling a yawn, and realized how late it was getting. “I’d best be off home,” he said, standing up. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

“Thanks for your help today. Do you want a ride home? I can hitch up the buggy in no time; you ought to be careful of your rib.”

“No, thanks — the walk will do me good. Pepper, wake up, girl. Time to go home.”

Pepper had curled up with the Goodacres’ rat terrier in front of the fire; she got up reluctantly, blinking, and followed Jack out the door.

Mr. and Mrs. Goodacre waved him goodbye from the doorway. Jack waved back, and paused for a moment while Pepper caught up to him. The house’s windows shone in the darkness, friendly and cheerful. Jack turned away.

His rib ached, and he walked slowly. Once on the lane, with the trees nearly meeting overhead to shadow the moonlight, he slowed even more, afraid of stumbling. “Well, Pepper,” he sighed, “we’ve found friends already. Mr. Goodacre’s a lucky man, to have such a fine home and a beautiful wife.”

13


He looked up through the branches at the stars, which shone clean and bright in a cloudless sky. “We might have till harvest, that’s all — and then a new town, new friends to make if we can, new lodgings that never really feel like home.”

But when he turned onto the path to Rose Cottage, its windows looked nearly as welcoming as the Goodacres’ home. He was glad he’d left a lamp burning.

He built up the fire to chase the chill away, and went to bed. The ache in his ribs kept him from sleep, though. He lay awake for some time, staring at the ceiling and listening to Pepper snoring in the next room. He could feel the curse following him, traveling easily through the clear night.

14

Chapter Two: The Wasp OrchardJack spent much of the next week in bed, allowing his rib to

heal. His left side was black and blue.On Friday he was outside, carefully pruning some of the

leggier rose bushes, when a small boy rushed up to him. “Are you Mr. Bywater?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”Jack expected the boy to ask to see Pepper, but he said, “Can

you come to the major’s house? His orchard’s full of waspers and he needs them tooken care of. He told me you’d give me a penny if I told you.” The boy waited expectantly.

“All right. I think I have a penny.” Jack set the clippers down and fished in his pocket. “Here you go. Wasps, you said? More than one nest?”

“Yes. I seen them myself. There’s hundreds and hundreds of nests! Millions!”

Jack smiled. “All right, then. I’ll bring extra paraffin. How do I reach the major’s house?”

“Up the lane and past the church, then uphill until you see the big house with the hedges. Can I see your dragon?”

Jack set off up the lane ten minutes later, with a can of paraffin in one hand and Pepper at his heels. He was pleased when one of the men he’d met at the Hare and Hounds recognized him and waved him over.

Jack stopped at the steps to a house similar to Rose Cottage, although it looked a little larger. The white-haired man repairing the fence said, “I haven’t seen you about. Getting on all right?”

“Yes, considering Goodacre’s colt kicked me half across the paddock.” He laughed, and so did the man. “I’m off to help rid the major’s orchard of wasps.”

“Better you than me. I’ve heard he’s got quite an infestation this year. But seeing as we’re neighbors, will you come along tonight and dine with me and the missus, about eight?”

“I’d be delighted,” Jack said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. “Thank you.”

“Well, I warn you the missus plans to look you over as husband material for her goddaughter. I expect you’re getting the

15


eyeball from a lot of women, you being a handsome bachelor and new to town. Tell the major hallo from Charlie Bell.”

Jack continued up the lane, happy at the prospect of a good meal and company that evening, and admiring of Mr. Bell’s clever way of reminding Jack of his name. He glanced back to make sure Pepper was following, and called her away from a pile of horse dung.

“You don’t need to collect that stuff,” he told her firmly. “You’ve no eggs to keep warm.” He sighed a little. “I forget that it’s as hard on you as it is on me, moving on all the time. If I could, I’d breed you to a bull dragon and let you raise a brood.”

They passed the church, a modest stone building with a slate roof and a bell tower. Across from it was the post office and a few shops, including a bakery; Jack sniffed the smell of baking bread appreciatively. He hadn’t yet had his luncheon and the morning was wearing late.

He continued up the only real hill in town, and even from a distance saw the house with hedges. The house itself was not quite big enough to earn the term mansion, but it had obviously tried; it was built of the local brownish-gray stone, and the wooden porch was painted green. He fancied he could even see the orchard, well-spaced trees on the slope beyond the house.

He was puffing by the time he reached the boxwood hedge, and paused to catch his breath. As he did, a woman popped up from behind the hedge, gardening gloves on her hands and a smudge of dirt on one cheek, and said, “Hallo, ugly!”

Jack gaped at her for a moment. He was certain he had never met her before. She was stout and stolid, with brown hair straggling from under a straw hat; her cheeks were red, and turned redder still as she looked at Jack.

“Oh! How awful of me — I thought you were my father! I’m so terribly sorry.”

Jack grinned, a grin that came all on its own and masked the sudden hammering of his heart. “That’s quite all right. As Charlie Bell called me handsome earlier, you’ve balanced it all out. Now I shan’t have a swelled head.”

The woman laughed — a musical laugh, and loud. Jack started to reach up and stroke his beard, to make sure it wasn’t as

16

Chapter Two: The Wasp Orchard

bushy and unkempt as he sometimes suspected, but stopped himself. “I’m Helen Pickeridge,” the woman said.

“Jack Bywater,” Jack said, tipping his cap. “I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Pickeridge.”

“It’s miss, actually,” she said, to Jack’s secret delight. “Major Pickeridge is my father; he’s gone down to the shops to get some paraffin. We’ve a wasp problem in the orchard.”

“That’s why I’m here! A boy fetched me to take care of the wasps. And I’ve brought my own paraffin.” Jack held the can up, and then felt silly. After all, the can was marked in big red letters, “Paraffin.”

But Miss Pickeridge leaned forward to look seriously at the can. “Good. Father wasn’t sure you — oh! You have an emperor dragon! They’re terribly rare; I’ve only ever seen two before. She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. You’re the first person I’ve met in years who’s known what she was,” Jack said. “Her name is Pepper.”

“Hallo, Pepper. Gosh, I’m glad you’re here,” Miss Pickeridge added to Jack. “Come along inside and I’ll get you some lemonade or something while we wait for Father.”

They walked along the hedge, Jack on one side and the woman on the other, until they met at a gate. “The wasps are really terrible this year,” she said. “May I pat Pepper?” She squatted down when Jack nodded, and dropped her muddy gloves on the path. “You’re a lovely dragon — yes, you are! What a handsome face you have. And such lovely eyes.”

Pepper gazed at Miss Pickeridge adoringly. Jack looked down at the woman and found himself wishing she was talking to him.

They continued up the path to the house, but hadn’t yet reached the porch when Jack heard someone shout, “Hoy there! I got us some paraffin to do for those waspers!”

“That’s Father,” Miss Pickeridge said unnecessarily.Major Pickeridge was a large man, as sturdy as his daughter

and with the same weather-red cheeks. “I’m glad you could come,” he said to Jack as he caught up to them. “And I see you’ve brought paraffin too; we’ll probably need all of it.”

“Really? How many nests are there?”

17


18


“I haven’t counted. They popped up all at once, over the last week or so, and they’re already big — as big as your head, some of them. Come look and you’ll see what I mean.”

The major strode ahead so that Jack had to jog a little to catch up with him. He was disappointed that Miss Pickeridge didn’t seem to want to join them.

“Never seen so many waspers in so short a time,” the major said as they walked around the house. “I don’t bother with a nest or two — you can’t keep waspers out of an orchard, and it’s foolish to try. But this many is a hazard. I have a flamethrower contraption that’s supposed to do the job from a distance, but it’s never worked very well. We’ll have to douse the nests and set fire to them the old-fashioned way. Here we go — this is just the edge of the orchard, and you can already see how many nests there are.”

They had come to the first of the apple trees, their boughs laden with blossoms that were just beginning to open. And the boughs were laden also with wasp nests, several to a tree. Most of the nests were still small, but as Major Pickeridge had said, a few were much larger already. Wasps hummed and buzzed through the trees.

“Good God,” Jack said. “They’re everywhere!”“See? We’ve a good day’s work ahead of us. I hope you don’t

mind a sting or two — it can’t be avoided, I’m afraid.”“I don’t mind.” Jack surveyed the trees; the orchard sloped

uphill, and appeared to be a large one — several acres at least. Even if not every tree had a wasp nest, it was still a lot of work. “I propose we let my dragon Pepper do the flame-throwing, since there are so many. She’s not a bad aim.” He began to hunt through the long grass for a stick.

“Does she breathe fire? I thought that was just a myth.”Jack picked up a long, straight stick that turned out to be

the handle of a lost rake. “She doesn’t ordinarily, but I discovered quite by accident that she has a peculiar reaction to paraffin. And we’ve done this before.” He unscrewed the top of the paraffin can and said, “Come on, Pepper, my girl. Help us get rid of the nasty wasps.”

He tilted the can up, and Pepper took a few gulps of the paraffin. Major Pickeridge said, “My God, man, you’ll kill her!”

19


“No — it’ll come right back out in flames. Stand back.”Pepper hiccuped and burped, and Jack pointed the rake

handle at the nearest wasp nest. Pepper opened her jaws wide, and a gout of flame roared out of her throat and struck the nest squarely. It shriveled and burned, and Jack knocked it from the branch.

“Oh, neat work! How long can she keep it up?”“I don’t know. Another one, Pepper.”They worked their way down the row of trees, destroying

wasp nests. Whenever Pepper’s flame guttered out, Jack gave her a few more swallows of paraffin.

After an hour, they had cleared nests out of half an acre of trees. Jack had lost count of how many nests, only that it was far too many to be natural. He offered Pepper the can again, but she turned her head away.

“Poor darling,” Jack said, feeling a pang of guilt. He had never made Pepper work so hard, and he worried that the paraffin or the flaming would do her harm after all.

“Look — they’re all going!” the major shouted, waving his arms. “The waspers — they’re flying away!”

Jack stared in amazement. The major was right. Every wasp remaining was spiraling out of the trees in a great cloud and flying away over the hill.

“We can knock the empty nests down and burn them on the ground,” the major said, sounding gleeful. “They’re frightened of your Pepper, that’s what it is. Let’s hurry, before they decide to come back.”

It took them another two hours to burn the remaining nests. Not a single wasp remained to bother them. Jack let Pepper rest in the shade of a tree while he and Major Pickeridge knocked down nests, poured paraffin on them, and lit the paraffin. It was sweaty, smelly work.

At last the orchard was clear, and none too soon. Jack’s can was empty, and the major’s nearly so. They retrieved Pepper and returned to the house.

“You’ll stay for luncheon, I hope,” the major said, and Jack brightened.

Then he noticed Pepper, drooping by the back porch. She

20


looked the picture of misery, panting and drooling. “I wish I could,” Jack said, “but I need to take Pepper home and take care of her. This took a lot out of her, I think.”

“She looks done in,” the major agreed. He took out his wallet. “I forgot to ask you how much you charge, but I’d say you’ve earned two pounds at least. Will that cover it?”

Jack’s rent at the Rose Cottage was three pounds a month. “Oh — that’s far too generous,” he stammered, surprised and a little embarrassed.

“Nonsense. Take it, and use part of it to buy that excellent animal a good bone, or whatever she likes as a treat. And I’d be obliged if you could drop by from time to time and take her for a walk through the orchard. We’ll show those waspers that Pepper won’t shirk from her duty, ha!” He waved and went inside.

Jack put the money in his pocket and rubbed Pepper’s head. It was hot. “Let’s go home, my dear. I’ll look after you. You’ll be right as rain before you know it.”

They walked around the house, Pepper trailing behind with her tail dragging, and started down the walk. Jack heard the front door open and close, though, and looked back to see Miss Pickeridge hurrying after them.

“Good — I thought I’d missed you. Poor Pepper! I hope the poor dear is all right. Do let me know, will you?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “Er, your father invited me for luncheon; I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

“Perhaps some other time. You must look after Pepper first. But — I was going to ask, when you get a minute in the next few days, could you come out and take a look at the back porch steps? One of them wobbles a bit, even after we had Dick Bailey out to fix it. Do you do carpentry?”

“Absolutely. I can probably come out tomorrow morning to fix the steps.”

“Good-oh! And you can stay for luncheon then.” She waved, and said, “Goodbye, ugly!”

Jack laughed, and despite his worry about Pepper he felt his heart flutter with unaccustomed emotions.

21


He stopped on the way home and bought a beef leg bone for Pepper, but his concern deepened when she showed no interest in it. He carried it himself, and once they were back at Rose Cottage he led Pepper tenderly to the bathroom.

“Up in the tub, my girl. We’ll wash the stink off, and that might be all you need. And I stink as well. We’ll both wash.”

He sent water gushing into the tub, and stripped down to his pants before bending to the difficult task of scrubbing Pepper. Ordinarily she loved baths, but today she just sat drooping in the lukewarm water, staring at Jack in mute appeal.

Once the tub was full he turned the taps off, mostly so he could talk to Pepper. Like most solitary people, he talked to his pet frequently, and now he had a lot to say as he sat on the edge of the tub and soaped Pepper’s red hide. “There was something unnatural about those wasps. I don’t know if we’ve seen the last of them. But I promise I won’t make you drink any more paraffin — ever again. I’m sorry, my girl. Close your eyes while I clean your face.”

Pepper closed her eyes obligingly. Jack had never been able to decide how intelligent she really was; she understood some commands he had never taught her and often made clever decisions that hinted at the ability to reason, but other times she seemed far dimmer than the average dog.

He scrubbed her face with soap and rinsed it carefully. “All right. There; isn’t it better to get the smell out of your nostrils?” And in fact Pepper was starting to perk up, Jack was glad to see. “What did you think of Miss Pickeridge? She liked you a lot. I wonder what she thought of me?” He was silent a moment, and soaped Pepper’s throat. “I liked her. Gosh, Pepper, I do like her. She’s just my sort.” For a few moments he allowed himself to dream a future that included a Mrs. Bywater, and the Rose Cottage with lace curtains and vases of flowers — roses, of course. And a second emperor dragon to be a mate for Pepper, and little dragon cubs tumbling on the floor with a human infant with ruddy cheeks. His hands shook a little as he washed Pepper.

“Maybe.... We don’t know what the curse will do.” But the sultan had been angry, frightfully so, at the theft of his rare dragon cub. Jack rinsed Pepper’s forepaws. “You were worth it, my dear;

22


at least, to me. I’m sure the sultan would never have forced you to drink paraffin, and you’d be a pampered pet with everything you’d ever wanted. I’m sorry I took you away from that, but I’m not sorry to have you with me now. We’ll be all right. Just you and me, the way it has been for — five years? We’ve outdistanced the curse for five years, and who knows? It might evaporate one day.”

Pepper sat up and licked Jack’s face with a paraffin-scented tongue. He hugged her tight.

Pepper looked as though she felt better after her bath. Jack toweled her off and was glad to note that her hide no longer felt overheated to the touch. He gave her the beef bone and she romped round the kitchen with it for a few moments before settling down under the kitchen table.

Jack went back to the bathroom and washed, then dressed in clean clothes. After that he pottered about the kitchen getting luncheon. When he peeked under the tablecloth, Pepper was sound asleep with her snout resting on the bone.

He fixed a sandwich and green salad, and sat down at the table with a bottle of beer and a gusty sigh. He was worn out. Now he had nothing more strenuous to look forward to than dining with the Bells that evening.

He had just taken his first bite when someone knocked on the door. He considered ignoring it, but it might be important. He pushed his plate aside and got up.

A young man with a narrow scowling face stood on the front step. He was remarkably thin, his limbs so bony that if he hadn’t also been tall, Jack would have wondered if he was a kind of fairy. But fairies were always short. The man wore mismatched clothes that were too small, so that several inches of ankle and wrist showed below his cuffs.

The man hitched at his trousers and said, “I saw your notice. You write letters?” He had an unpleasantly whiny voice.

“Yes. I charge sixpence a page, and write small,” Jack said. He usually charged threepence a page, but his luncheon was waiting for him.

“All right. I need to send a letter home. It’s frightfully

23


urgent!” The last was almost a shout, and Jack took half a pace back, startled.

“Come on in, then. Let me get my writing things.”Jack retrieved his stationery kit and sat back down at the

kitchen table with the thin man across from him. He dipped his pen and said, “Dictate to me and I’ll write.”

The man looked frozen. “I don’t know how to start?”“Well, who is the letter for?”Again the man paused. Then he shouted, “My mother!”

triumphantly.The sooner he finished the letter and got the man out of his

house, the better Jack would feel. He wrote, “Dear Mother,” and waited. “Take your time,” he said after a few minutes.

The man started to speak abruptly. “I have failed,” he said, and Jack realized he was dictating. He dipped his pen again and started to write. “I did everything you asked, but I failed and don’t know what to do now. I am staying where you told me to stay. I will keep looking for the — for it.”

He paused, and Jack felt his back prickle with unease. The man was either mad or simple. “Is that all?” he started to say, but the man continued in a rush.

“There were too many flames! Everywhere! I can’t go back — it might burn the rest of me! Help! Help!”

Jack wrote frantically, and while he wrote he wondered if the man had seen Major Pickeridge and him clearing the orchard, and had possibly taken a strange fancy about the flames.

The man fell silent, staring blankly at the wall above Jack’s head. Jack had his feet propped against Pepper’s side; he felt her stir a little now and heard her teeth begin to grate on the bone.

After another few minutes the man said, “I think that’s all.”“How shall I close the letter?” When the man looked blank

Jack added, “What’s your name?”Another pause, and then he said, “Jack Bywater!”“That’s my name,” Jack said. He glanced with regret at his

plate and bottle, which he’d removed to the counter, out of the way. He had set aside his luncheon for a madman.

“It’s my name too,” the man said.

24


“I refuse to believe it.”“All right — it’s, it’s — sign the letter ‘your son’!”Jack nodded and finished the letter. “Now, the address to

send it?”He expected another long pause, but the man rattled off an

address in Austria, to Jack’s surprise. He wrote out the envelope and folded the letter inside. “All right. It’s done. That’ll be sixpence.”

A loud crack came from under the table, and the man jumped. “What’s that?”

“It’s only Pepper. She’s got a bone under there.”The man bent down to look under the tablecloth. Then he

screamed and fled the room.Jack followed, more irritated now than anything. He

suspected he would never see his sixpence. “She’s not dangerous,” he said.

The man was hammering at the front door. “It’s not locked,” Jack said, hurrying over. “And she’s not dangerous.” He lifted the latch and the man rushed out the door.

After only a few steps the man crumpled. Jack stared as the clothes fell to the walk, and the man himself dissolved into a solid swarm of wasps. The swarm rose and flew away west, into the distance.

Jack closed the door quietly. Then he went back to his luncheon.

25

Chapter Three: HayingThe next few weeks were taken up with ordinary tasks. Jack

repaired the back porch steps for Miss Pickeridge, and a few days later she called him back to fix a squeaky hinge. The following week she needed him to help her plant some cuttings, and the next day he replaced a broken pane in the greenhouse, and the next day she needed one of the shutters repaired.

When he didn’t hear from her for a few days after that, he walked up to the major’s house anyway. Miss Pickeridge was working in the front flowerbeds as usual, but she stood up with a smile as he approached.

“I had to go to the post office,” Jack said, which was true — he had posted the wasp man’s letter, since it was addressed. It might be important and not the ravings of a madman, after all. “I thought I’d drop by and see if you needed anything more.”

“Oh — no, not right now. I can’t find anything else. I’ve been looking.”

“I hope you don’t have to knock out another window or anything.”

“I hope not either. Father was frightfully annoyed when he found out.”

They smiled at each other, and Jack said tentatively, “I don’t suppose — well, there’s not much to do in Tolchester, and I thought I might hire a buggy tomorrow and explore the area. Would you like to come with me?”

“Gosh, I’d love to! Have you visited Little Pinning yet? There’s a stately old home there, with a quite nice tea-room.”

Jack returned home in high spirits, and spent the afternoon working in his own garden with Pepper lying in the shade nearby. It was a hot day, the first week of June. Once Jack had worked enough to feel he had earned a pint or two, he washed the dirt from his hands and walked into town to the Hare and Hounds.

He knew enough people in town by now that he wasn’t surprised when a farmer named Harrison sat down beside him. “I’ve been meaning to catch you,” Mr. Harrison said. “Do you do weather magic at all?”

“Yes, although there’s a limit to what weather magic can do.

26

Chapter Three: Haying

I can’t make it snow today!”Mr. Harrison laughed. “No, no — I just want to make sure

it doesn’t rain during haying.”“Haying? Isn’t it a bit early?”“We’ve had a good warm spring. My fields are ready for the

first cut; I’ve got the lads lined up ready to start work Friday, but if you could do something about the weather I’d make it worth your while. And if you have time, I could use another hand for the haying itself.”

“Friday, you say? All right. I’ll see what I can do to keep the rain away, but I warn you it’s likely to finish up with a storm afterwards. It always seems to, anyhow.”

“As long as we’ve got the hay in, it can storm all it likes.”The next day Jack hired a buggy from Mr. Goodacre and

drove to the major’s house to pick up Miss Pickeridge. She was waiting by the gate, wearing a blue frock and hat.

“You look smashing, Miss Pickeridge,” Jack said, feeling a little awkward. He held his hand out; she grasped it and climbed into the buggy. Her hand was broad and warm, her grip firm.

“Thank you, Mr. Bywater. It’s a beautiful day for a drive, isn’t it?”

As before, the day was clear and hot. Jack admired Tolchester’s neat houses, its green and gold fields, the little river that curved around the town. They crossed the river on a stone bridge that looked older than the town itself.

“Mr. Harrison is haying Friday,” Jack said. “He wants me to keep the weather clear until it’s done.”

“Can you do that?”“Yes, it shouldn’t be a problem this time of year. The autumn

haying is more of a danger for rain.”“Gosh, you must be a frightfully good wizard.”Jack knew his magical powers were modest, but the

compliment still felt good. “I get by,” he said. “I thought I’d help Harrison out with the haying, too, so if you need me to help you with anything, tell me before Friday.”

“I think I’m all right for now. If you’re going to be haying, I’ll bring some lemonade out for everyone. I know it’s hot work.”

27


Secretly Jack thought the laborers would prefer beer, but he only said, “That’s thoughtful of you. I’m sure we’d all be glad for some cold lemonade.”

The day passed in perfection. They drove through picturesque hamlets, and Miss Pickeridge told him the history of each one. In Little Pinning they toured the stately home and had tea in its tea-room, which was situated in what had once been the conservatory. After tea, they roamed the grounds and gardens, and it seemed only natural to walk arm in arm.

When at last they returned home, Miss Pickeridge said, “Thanks awfully for inviting me. I had such a nice time.”

“So did I.” Jack bowed, and for a moment he had to fight the urge to kiss her hand — or her cheek. To cover his confusion he said, “I’ll see you Friday, then, I hope? If you haven’t forgotten your promise of lemonade.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”He returned the horse and buggy to Mr. Goodacre, and

collected Pepper from inside the house. “She’s a lamb,” Mrs. Goodacre said, patting Pepper on the head. “She simply follows me around everywhere.”

“I’m glad she wasn’t any trouble. Thanks for looking after her while I was away.” Jack smiled at Mrs. Goodacre; she was pretty, but after Miss Pickeridge’s company she seemed skinny and young, a flighty filly; he preferred the dependable mare that was Miss Pickeridge.

Thursday morning dawned cloudy. “I hope I haven’t left it too long,” Jack said to Pepper, eyeing the sky with concern. “I ought to have done the spell yesterday, but I was so tired after helping Mr. Catcuddle with his ditch.... Well, I’d better start now.”

He brought a chair out of the house and set it in the back yard, where he wouldn’t be disturbed. “Pepper, I’m going to do a working. Don’t let anyone bother me,” he said, sitting down.

Pepper made no sign she understood, but she settled down in the grass nearby as though guarding him.

Jack let his mind go blank and stared up at the sky. It was cloudy now, but he could make it clear up. He breathed deeply

28


and sent his mind out of his body — carefully, because this was the dangerous part of magic. For a moment he resisted the separation, even though he knew it was temporary. Then, just when he thought it wouldn’t work, his mind slipped away and into the sky.

He was soaring, rushing up and out faster than a bird. He couldn’t see, precisely, because the mind had no eyes, and he couldn’t feel or hear for the same reason, but while his mind was free he had other senses that couldn’t work when his body was in charge. He sensed clouds swirling in on the remains of a storm, a storm that had shaken continents on the other side of the world. He sent out his magical senses, pushing the clouds away from Rose Cottage in a circle — gently widening the circle until it encompassed all of Tolchester and the surrounding farms.

That was the easy part. Now he had to make sure his circle stayed in place for a week, to give the hay time to cure in the fields. He sent magic out in waves, one wave for each day. Each wave was harder than the last. Weather magic was dreadful. At last he sent the seventh wave out into the world and let his mind settle slowly back into his body.

As always, there was a moment when his mind didn’t want to go back. The trick was to push ever so lightly, and then — he opened his eyes. He ached all over, and the sun burned hot in a cloudless sky. It was afternoon. He stirred and stretched painfully.

“Oh, thank God,” Miss Pickeridge said, and Jack looked round in confusion.

Miss Pickeridge had been sitting in the grass nearby, her arms wrapped round her knees. Now she stood up, looking upset. “I stopped by to bring you some biscuits — they’re not very good, but I made them this morning and Father and I can’t eat them all by ourselves — and I found you in a sort of fit or trance. And Pepper wouldn’t let me go near you, and I was ever so worried.” She sniffed a little, to Jack’s surprise. “I thought I ought to call the doctor, but then I thought I’d just watch over you, but I didn’t know what to do.”

Jack stood up. “I’m so sorry. I was only casting the weather spell.” He stooped down to pat Pepper. “Good girl — you did understand me after all.”

29


“Is that all? I was so worried!”“That’s all. Nothing to be worried about — although I must

say, I’m abominably stiff, and my head’s starting to pound. It took longer than I thought. I’ve been out here since this morning.”

“Do let me come in and make you some tea or something, at least. I expect you think I’m being a silly woman, worrying over nothing.”

“No — no, I don’t think that at all.” Jack let her take his arm and steer him toward the house. “I’m just glad you didn’t try and wake me. My mind and body could have been separated forever.”

“That sounds perfectly dreadful.” Miss Pickeridge sniffed again, and when she pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket Jack saw that it was damp with use. She dabbed at her eyes and said, “You wouldn’t have died, would you?”

“Well — yes, technically. My body would have died. My mind would have remained, probably anchored to Rose Cottage.”

“Like a ghost?”“Precisely like a ghost.”They went inside, and Miss Pickeridge turned nursily brisk.

“Lie down, and I’ll bring you a damp cloth for your forehead. There you go. Let me pull your boots off. Now rest, and I’ll bring you tea.”

Jack relaxed and listened to her pottering about in the kitchen, talking to herself. “Tea, tea — he must have tea somewhere. Ah, here’s the tea. Now tea things.” There was a subdued clatter of crockery. “Sugar? Of course, it’s in the tin marked sugar. No milk, poor dear. Perhaps he doesn’t like it. And spoons, and what did I do with the biscuits? I think I left them outside; no, here they are.” Jack heard the teakettle’s tremulous whistle, which faded as it was removed from the fire. “There. Now we shall have tea.”

He heard the tea cart roll into the bedroom, rattling the cups in their saucers, and opened his eyes. “You’re going to far too much trouble for me, Miss Pickeridge,” he said, sitting up.

She had brought the cushions from the settee; now she wedged them behind his back so he could lean against them. “Not at all. I’m happy to be of some help, and you do look rotten.” She pulled a chair up to the bed. “Do you take sugar? I couldn’t find any milk.”

30


31


They drank tea and ate Miss Pickeridge’s biscuits, which weren’t as bad as she seemed to think. The worst of Jack’s stiffness had already worn off, but he found he enjoyed being fussed over just a bit. “There’s a ghost in the old abbey,” Miss Pickeridge said, pouring him more tea. “I’m a member of the Ladies’ Society for Assistance to Ghosts, and we’ve been trying to come up with a way to help this one. I don’t suppose you have any ideas, do you?”

“Well, I’ve never tried to lay a ghost, but I know the theory. I suppose I could give it a miss when I have some time.”

“Gosh, that’d be awfully good of you. I’ll mention it at our next meeting. Do you need anything else? Are you sure? Then I’ll wash up and let you get some rest.”

“There’s no need to wash up, really,” Jack said, but Miss Pickeridge clucked her tongue and wheeled the tea cart away. Jack heard the pump go in the sink, and then splashings and clatterings. A few minutes later she poked her head into the room long enough to say, “I hope you feel better soon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The house felt empty when she was gone, and was too quiet. Jack pushed the settee cushions onto the floor and rolled onto his side. He was starting to feel sorry for himself when Pepper clambered onto the bed and snuggled up next to him.

Jack felt perfectly rested in the morning. He set off in mid-morning with Pepper at his heels, reasoning that Mr. Harrison wouldn’t start work until the night’s dew had dried. But it was already a hot, sunny day, perfect for haying.

When he got to Harrison’s farm, the mower was out in the first field and the workers were following behind, gathering the hay into stooks to dry. “Come to join us, eh?” one of the men said, laughing. “Bit late, aren’t you?”

“I took care of this good weather,” Jack said, taking his place next to the man. He had stooked hay more times than he cared to remember, and fell into the rhythm quickly. He liked the smell of fresh-mown hay, and the sound of the mower clacking as it moved.

They finished the first field after a few hours, and Jack felt as though the day’s work might not be so bad. Then he passed through the gate into the second field and his heart sank. This field was twice

32


the size of the first. He groaned and went back to work.They took a brief break for lunch, eaten at a trestle table set

up outside of the barn. Jack watched the sweating horses being led into the stable, and fresh horses brought out to take their places. He wished someone would take his place. But the men around him weren’t complaining — at least, not much — so he kept silent.

Mr. Harrison stopped for his own lunch and sat next to Jack. “Beautiful weather,” he said. “Will it last?”

“I made certain it’ll last all week,” Jack said, “but to be on the safe side, try and get the hay all in within six days.”

“If it continues this hot, that’ll be no problem at all.” Mr. Harrison clapped him on the shoulder.

Jack scratched at his beard, which was damp with sweat and itchy with bits of hay. He looked with envy at Pepper, romping with the farm dogs; Mr. Harrison followed his glance and said, “It’s a dog’s life, isn’t it? I’d like to spend my days playing.”

“So would I. But in my case, it’s a dragon’s life.”By the end of the long afternoon, Jack felt as though he

would die. At last the second field was finished, but that meant the third — and thankfully last — field was yet to be done. And it was larger still. He wasn’t the only man who groaned at the sight of it.

They paused to drink from a bucket passed from hand to hand. The water had got warm in the sun, though, and Jack wrinkled his nose as he forced down a few swallows.

“There’s Miss Pickeridge,” someone said. “What’s she got there?”

“She said she’d bring us lemonade,” Jack said. While he would have happily killed for a beer or a pint of ale, lemonade sounded very, very good.

The other men apparently felt the same way. “Oh, Lord,” said the man next to Jack. “I could do with her lemonade right about now! Someone take this nasty hot water away from me.”

Miss Pickeridge had a huge tea urn clasped in her arms, and Jack thought with some satisfaction that few women could have carried it. He hurried over to help her with it, and set it up next to the fence.

“I wanted to bring cups too, but you’ll have to share,” Miss

33


Pickeridge said. “No, wait, I see Mrs. Harrison coming along with cups. She thinks of everything. Here we go; it should be nice and cold.”

They sat down on the ground for a rest, and Jack accepted a mug of lemonade gratefully. He raised it to his mouth and his eyes opened wide at the smell of alcohol. He took a deep draft, and it burned all the way down.

He gasped a bit, stunned, and the man next to him laughed. “Never had Miss Pickeridge’s famous lemonade, have you? It’s a lifesaver and no mistake.”

Jack turned his watering eyes to Miss Pickeridge. Her flushed, freckled face seemed that of an angel. “I’ve never had better,” he said hoarsely. “It’s a wonder, Miss Pickeridge, that a man hasn’t married you just for this lemonade.”

Miss Pickeridge laughed but made no comment, and Jack, embarrassed, took another long drink. He thought it might be his imagination, but the other men seemed to have paid rather more attention to his remark than he would have expected, and no one made any off-color comments — much to his relief.

When at last the urn was emptied, and the women gone, Mr. Harrison said, “Is it true, then, Mr. Bywater, that you’re paying a bit of attention to our Miss Pickeridge?”

Jack grinned sheepishly and the men laughed. Someone said, “She’s a bit long in the tooth — closer to forty than thirty, I’d say.”

“So am I,” Jack said. “And Pepper likes her.”That made the men laugh again, and Mr. Harrison cut the

conversation off then by saying, “Come on, lads — back to work. I want this last field finished by nightfall.”

34

Chapter Four: The Ghost in the AbbeyThe following week Jack spent another exhausting day

helping fork the dried hay onto wagons. The weather had remained blazingly hot and dry, but by afternoon the wind brought the scent of rain.

“I thought you said we’d have a week,” Mr. Harrison said once the last wagon had been seen off, almost hidden under its aromatic load.

“We have had — nearly,” Jack said. “I wasn’t sure about the seventh day, it was so hard to send that last wave of magic.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. All the hay’s in.” Mr. Harrison counted out Jack’s pay for the haying and the weather. “Thanks for your help. Come with us to the Hare and Hounds — I’m standing the first round for all the lads.”

Jack was happy to join them. He felt he’d earned his pints. He stayed longer than he’d intended, and drank more than he was used to. When he left, it was growing dark and clouds were closing in, low and angry.

He felt a little unsteady, but it wasn’t a long walk to Rose Cottage — no more than a mile. The breeze felt good on his face and Pepper trotted along beside him happily. He would have a bath when he got home, then go straight to bed.

But when he reached Rose Cottage, the front garden was full of ladies. At first glance he thought there must be a dozen, all milling about discussing roses, but after his initial shock he realized there were only four. One of them was Miss Pickeridge.

Jack hesitated before he turned off the lane. He was just drunk enough, he knew, to say something he shouldn’t, but not drunk enough to forget what he said. But Miss Pickeridge had noticed him and hurried over.

“I hope you don’t mind us descending on you like this,” she said. “These are members of the Ladies’ Society for Assistance to Ghosts.”

“Oh — that’s right, you said there was a ghost in the church, was it?”

“The old abbey. It’s just a ruin now really.”The other ladies crowded round them. They all seemed

35


aggressively sensible, the sort of women, Jack thought, who spoke up in town meetings and held onto an argument like a bulldog to a bone.

“Helen told us all about what an accomplished wizard you are,” one of them said, “and we simply couldn’t wait to speak with you.”

“Do come in,” Jack said, feeling a little helpless. They all crowded into the cottage’s small drawing room, and Jack said, “Make yourselves at home — I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, really,” another lady said. “We won’t stay; it’s getting late and Helen said you’d been helping Mr. Harrison with the haying today.”

The third lady said, “We had hoped we could persuade you to help the poor ghost. Of course we would pay you — we’ve taken up a collection.”

“It’s such a sad tale,” Miss Pickeridge said, and the other ladies chimed in, agreeing with her.

“You see, Mr. Bywater,” one lady went on, “about five hundred years ago the Wicked Battle took place near the old abbey, when the lich Tavrax led his legions against the king. When the lich tried to enter the abbey, the abbot stopped him long enough for the rest of the order to escape. But Tavrax cursed him to wander the abbey forever — or at least until no two stones of the building remained together. And then Tavrax pierced the poor abbot through the heart with his sword!”

Jack sat with his hands on his knees, trying to hide his dismay. Curses with conditions were hard to destroy; it was easier to meet the conditions. “I suppose I could go out to the abbey with a sledgehammer and knock the stones apart,” he said, and the ladies laughed. They thought he was joking.

Jack glanced round the circle of ladies, all of them leaning forward eagerly. He didn’t feel up to explaining the difficulty of laying a ghost with such specific conditions to its curse, and he didn’t want to disappoint them — especially Miss Pickeridge. “I suppose I could go out tomorrow and have a go,” he said.

Miss Pickeridge beamed. “I knew we could count on you.The ladies all stood up, amid thanks and promises of

36

Chapter Four: The Ghost in the Abbey

remuneration — all of which made Jack feel even more awkward. He ushered them to the door with great relief.

Miss Pickeridge went outside last, and paused on the front step. “I know it won’t be as easy as the others think,” she said quietly, “but it’s really frightfully good of you to try. Thanks awfully.”

“I don’t mind,” Jack said. He started to prop himself against the doorjamb, but stopped himself in time — he didn’t want to seem more tipsy than he was. “I’m happy to help, but I don’t know how much use I’ll be.” He paused, struck suddenly by the way the lamplight streaming out the door made Miss Pickeridge’s eyes seem dark and wise. She was wearing a silver necklace, he noticed, that glinted at her throat. He realized he was staring at her and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry — I’m abominably tired. Goodnight, Helen.”

He noticed his mistake immediately, and opened his mouth to apologize again, this time for his liberty at using Miss Pickeridge’s first name. But she smiled and said, “Goodnight, Jack.” She darted forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Jack watched her leave with the other ladies, astonished at how fast his heart was racing and at how exalted he felt.

When the ladies had disappeared into the darkness, their chattering still audible in the lane, Jack went inside and turned the bath taps to full. It was only when he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror that he saw his hair and beard were filthy with dust and chaff, and his clothes were just as disreputable — sweat-stained and sprinkled with bits of hay. He looked like a scarecrow.

And Miss Pickeridge had kissed him anyway.

#

He slept late the next morning, and only woke when Pepper came and pestered him for her breakfast. He ached all over.

The storm he had expected the night before hadn’t yet struck. He padded about the kitchen in his sock feet, fixing himself an omelet, toast, and tea. He gave Pepper the stale end of the loaf, the eggshells, two pieces of bacon, and a sausage left over from his breakfast the day before, and left her guzzling happily while he took his own breakfast back to bed.

He took his two magic books to bed with him too, and read up on ghosts while he ate. Magic for New Practitioners had very little

37


to say about laying ghosts, but Practical Spells for Home and Farm went into more detail. There was half a page of warnings, but the warnings were nearly all about evil spirits masquerading as ghosts. Jack skimmed until he came to the section on laying ghosts and read it carefully; after that he went back and found the entry on curses. Interesting as it all was, it was discouraging too. He wished he hadn’t promised to try.

The storm still hadn’t broken an hour later. Jack dressed as slowly as possible, glancing out the window frequently, but although the sky was low and gray, and the rose leaves fluttered silver in the wind, it hadn’t yet begun to rain.

Jack tidied the kitchen and did the washing up, and finally admitted that he couldn’t put off a trip to the old abbey any longer. He didn’t even have the excuse of not knowing where it was; Miss Pickeridge had pointed it out on their trip to Little Pinning.

He might as well get it over with. He put his silver-bladed knife in his pocket — it was useless for anything except magic, and had cost him over seven pounds, but its weight was reassuring — and set a bowl of water on the back porch for Pepper. “Pepper, stay. I’m going to lay a ghost, and you know ghosts make you ill. I shan’t be very long.”

Pepper looked sulky and threw herself down on the porch with a grunt, which made Jack feel even more grim than before. He set off down the lane at as brisk a walk as he could muster.

The abbey was outside of town, a few miles distant, and before he arrived Jack regretted not waiting until the storm had passed. The wind gusted hard, and soon it had begun to drizzle. By the time he reached the abbey ruins, which stood at the top of a modest hill near the road, his hair and clothes were just damp enough to be irritating.

He looked round the ruins. They were larger than they seemed from a distance, the mouldering remains of several buildings. Some of the walls were still standing. It would be a long time yet before the curse ended naturally.

He kicked through the rubble and brush. The abbey overlooked the moor, a long olive-green stretch of grass and boggy land, rising in the distance to tree-crowned hills. It looked desolate

38


beneath the storm clouds. Thunder rumbled.“Well, there’s no sense wasting time, now that I’m here,” Jack

muttered, mostly to hear his own voice. He wished he had not left Pepper behind after all, although the last time she had encountered a ghost she’d spent the rest of the week moaning quietly to herself and refusing to eat. But the ruins seemed heavy with sorrow and despair, and Jack was not foolish enough to put such feelings down as his own imagination.

He found what seemed to be the abbey’s former entrance, judging from the remains of a rock wall, and stood just inside. Thunder cracked again, accompanied this time by a flash of lightning that made him jump.

He forced himself to relax. He had memorized the phrases that Practical Spells for Home and Farm recommended to bring the ghost’s attention to the spell-caster. He said, “I call forth the unhappy spirit who resides in this abbey,” and thunder crashed like an overzealous cymbal player. “Come forth and center on me as your road to the beyond.”

He waited for more thunder but it only began to rain, and he started to feel foolish and uncomfortably wet. Then the temperature plunged abruptly; he began to shiver, partly from the sudden cold, partly from the rain, but mostly, he suspected, from fear.

Under the circumstances, he was proud that he managed a trance at all, even a light one. It was deep enough that he could see the ghost now, although he wished he couldn’t. It hung in the air before him, close enough to touch — a shapeless gray mass untroubled by the rain. The air around it seemed darker, churning with the energy the ghost drank in from the world’s background magic. Although the ghost was vaguely man-shaped, it had no features — but still it was watching him.

Jack tried to decide how to progress, now that he had the ghost’s attention. He knew he had to open a portal to the next world, which the book said was usually not that difficult — one the size of a pinprick was enough; but the curse had to lifted first or the ghost wouldn’t be able to pass through. On paper, it had seemed interesting and not very realistic; now, standing in the rain with thunder roaring overhead and the daylight practically extinguished

39


with clouds, and a bodiless spirit reaching out for him — reaching out for him — he only wanted to run away and hide.

He clenched his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t chatter, leaned back from the ghost’s formless hands, and felt about mentally for the curse. At least he knew what a curse felt like, only too well. The book had spent two paragraphs trying to describe the sensation. He found this one without too much trouble; it was attached firmly to the ghost, tethering it to the abbey ruins. He fumbled the knife out of his pocket.

He crouched down, reaching for the curse and trying very hard not to touch the ghost. His hands were so cold, and so slippery with rain, that he had trouble holding the knife steady. But silver was anti-magical, and he thought it might be enough, if the curse wasn’t too powerful.

The blade touched the tether, passed through it, and Jack felt a visceral wrench as the curse dissolved, cut away from the ghost. It was enough to break his concentration and he came out of the trance.

He was on his hands and knees in the pouring rain, one muddy hand clutching the knife. No, not mud: it was blood on his hand; he must have nicked himself with the blade. It wasn’t as dark as it had seemed before, but it was fully as cold.

He tried to regain his trance so he could open a portal. But something was wrong. He felt violently nauseated suddenly, and that, he realized now that it was far too late to do anything about it, was one of the book’s symptoms of an evil spirit in close proximity.

His hand with the knife was freezing, a deep ache of cold. He could no longer feel the knife’s ivory handle, and tried to tighten his grip on it. Instead, it fell from his numb fingers. He scrambled after it, but moving his arm was nearly impossible — as though he was trying to push his hand through a wall of peat. He stared at the small cut on his forefinger; blood welled out of the wound and disappeared, and the cold seemed to be creeping up his arm, freezing the blood in his veins.

He screamed. And continued to scream, although he knew there wasn’t a living soul within earshot, even if he could make himself heard over the thunder and rain.

40


41


And then, incredibly, someone was there — a man, shouting words Jack didn’t understand, his voice steady and commanding. Jack found he was able to move his arm again, and he sat up, blinking against the rain.

A wizard in dark red robes stood above him, looking impossibly tall. His arms were raised, his fingers making careful movements as part of the spoken spell; Jack felt a momentary feeling of suction and the sky seemed to rock around him for a moment. Then everything stilled. The unnatural cold was gone, and the ruins no longer felt haunted.

“Get up, you. You’re not hurt,” the wizard said. He took Jack’s arm and hauled him to his feet, none too gently.

“My knife —”The wizard stooped and picked the silver-bladed knife up,

and made a disgusted noise. “This cheap thing? It’s a wonder it worked at all. And your hat.”

Jack replaced his slouch cap on his head with shaking hands. “Thank you,” he started to say, but the wizard interrupted him.

“No time for explanations. I’m guessing you know where the center of this storm is.”

“My back garden,” Jack said, ashamed.The wizard half-dragged, half-carried him down the hill to a

waiting buggy, drawn by a sodden and miserable-looking horse. The wizard pushed Jack into the seat and climbed up beside him, taking up the reins. “You’re damned lucky I was in a trance, trying to find the storm’s focus. Do you know you nearly died?”

“Yes,” Jack said. He stared down at his boots.He directed the wizard to Rose Cottage. The storm was

worse here, roaring and thrashing at the trees. Rain slashed down nearly sideways in the wind. The wizard threw the reins down — he seemed to know his horse wouldn’t stray — and strode to Jack’s back yard, with Jack scurrying after him.

The wizard stood in almost the precise spot where Jack had sat the week before, and raised his arms again. Jack felt an immense, calming pulse of power spread from the wizard and up into the sky. He had never felt magic so strongly worked, or so surely. The feel of it frightened him almost as much as the memory of the ghost.

42


Gradually the roiling clouds stilled. The rain stopped, and the wind died down. The thunder quieted. At last the wizard lowered his arms, and as he did he let his magic fade away. He and Jack stood among dripping rose bushes, the blooms tumbled and ruined; the house’s eaves poured rainwater.

“You’d better come in,” Jack said.He put the kettle on, and retrieved a towel so the wizard

could dry his hair. Like most wizards, he was bareheaded. “I suppose it’s no use saying I’m sorry,” Jack said, spooning tea into the pot with shaking hands.

“At least you seem to realize what damage you did.”“I’d never had trouble with a weather spell before. It always

seems to storm afterwards, but not like this. A local farmer asked me to keep it sunny for the haying.”

The wizard snorted. “And you didn’t know to scry the weather patterns before you started such a major working, did you?”

Jack hung his head. He didn’t even know how to scry weather patterns.

“And after that mess, you go and release a really vile spirit that some other idiot had captured. What were you thinking? I should have left you to be eaten.”

“I didn’t realize — I thought it was a ghost. The Ladies’ Society for Assistance to Ghosts asked me to help it; it never occurred to me they might be wrong.” He winced as the wizard snorted again.

“Hedge wizards like you do more damage than a dark lord. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Jack nodded, then cleared his throat. “Do you take milk or sugar?”

“No — just black for me. Thank you.” The wizard sounded much less angry suddenly, and Jack risked a glance at him. He wasn’t as tall as he had seemed before, and Jack saw now that he had a weak chin and short, sandy lashes that made his eyes seem oddly unprotected. But his voice still held authority when he said, “Do you know you’ve got a curse after you?”

“Yes. I’ve outrun it now for five years. Pepper!”“What? Pepper in tea? Are you addled?”

43


But Jack was already out the back door, staring around frantically. “Pepper! Pepper!”

Pepper wriggled out from under the largest rose bush, and Jack dropped to his knees on the soggy ground to hug her. “I’m sorry, my girl. I wish I’d stayed home with you after all.”

He held the door open for Pepper and went back into the kitchen, where the wizard still stood drinking tea and dripping rainwater onto the floor. “This is Pepper,” Jack said. “She’s the cause of my curse, indirectly. I bought her from a man who’d stolen her from a Turkish sultan, and when he found out — the sultan, that is — he sent a curse after me.”

The wizard sipped his tea and regarded Jack seriously. “You ought to have given her back, you know.”

“He didn’t give me the chance,” Jack said, untruthfully. He remembered his first sight of Pepper, a chubby dragon pup wrapped in a dirty bit of rug, and how his heart had melted. “But we’re all right. We move on when the curse gets too close.”

“You ought to go to sea. Curses have difficulty crossing water — or at least, water slows them down.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. But Pepper gets seasick, and I’ve spent too much time at sea myself.” He smiled ruefully. “I joined the Navy at fifteen. No, we’ll keep on as we have been, but...is there any way to stop the curse before it catches up?”

“Not that I know of, but it’s not my speciality. I’m one of the king’s weathermen,” the wizard said. He nodded at Jack’s expression. “I’ll have to make a report, but you won’t face a fine — this time. What’s your name?”

“Jack Bywater,” Jack said. He felt a little sick. “I truly didn’t realize I was doing anything wrong. I’ll stay away from magic from now on.”

“You might think about applying to Bouwal. We accept a number of older students who show promise, and you’ve certainly got talent, to cause such a disruption of the region’s weather.”

“If I didn’t have this curse, I’d think about it.”They sipped their tea for a few minutes, and the wizard said,

“You haven’t encountered any odd magic in the area, have you?”“What, round Tolchester, you mean? No, but I’ve only been

44


here a month or two. Why?”“There’s supposed to be a magical artifact in this area. I saw

a memorandum about it a few weeks ago.”“What sort of artifact?”“I’m not sure,” the wizard said, sounding evasive. “If you

come across anything odd, write the Royal Academy of Magic and they’ll come look into it.”

Someone knocked on the front door, and the wizard set his cup in the sink. “Don’t mind me — I need to leave anyhow.”

“Thanks for saving my life,” Jack said, but the wizard was already striding out to his waiting horse and buggy.

Jack hurried to the front door and opened it, and nearly stumbled backwards when he saw Miss Pickeridge and the other three Society for Assistance to Ghosts ladies on the step. He wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about his dreadful experience at the abbey, particularly not them.

“Oh, Mr. Bywater,” one of the ladies said, “I was in the bakery during the storm, and Mr. Harrison said he saw you pass his farm just before the storm started. We did hope you had gone out to the abbey. Did you have any luck with the ghost?”

“Well — not precisely. Why don’t you come in and have some tea, and I’ll explain.”

The ladies trooped in, looking discouraged. Jack went back to the kitchen and clattered tea things onto a tray; fortunately there was plenty of hot water left in the kettle. Pepper shadowed him so closely he nearly tripped over her several times, but he hadn’t the heart to scold her.

He was still soaked, muddy and dripping, so instead of spoiling one of the nice parlor chairs he dragged a wooden chair in from the kitchen to perch on. “I did go out to the abbey,” he said, handing cups round, “and I did find the ghost. Unfortunately, it turned out to be — well, not a ghost at all.” He remembered the wizard had said it was a really vile spirit, but he didn’t want to alarm the ladies. “I’m not sure precisely what it was,” he said, which was true enough, “but it was tethered to the abbey. I cut the connection and, well, I had to have help sending it through to the spirit plain. At any rate, it’s gone, whatever it was.”

Documents

Jack Of All Trades by K.C. Shaw