Bagsy Beetlehorn and the Vampire Affairs (The Bagsy Chronicles 4)

The WhiskWay Station

Mezrielda held a book towards Bagsy. 'If we follow this we should reach Boorping, the Brighton underlake link, by twelve. That will give us an hour to reach Brighton pier and meet up with Professor Wattleseed and Professor Kim.'

'Right,' Bagsy said, looking at the forking paths of the deep passage ahead of them, the blue waters lapping at the cave walls. She leant over the edge of the boat and stared into the blackness of the liquid in the dim space. It may only be as deep as her shoes, but if her memory served it was cold and empty of all life. 'Um, Mezrielda?' Bagsy asked, turning her attention back to the book in her hands and squinting in the darkness. 'How are we going to read the directions?'

'Oh, yes.' One of Mezrielda's hands flicking a wand from her gown's black sleeve and pointed it towards the book. In the moment of awkward nothingness that followed, the dripping of water, and lapping of waves, filled the space around them as the boat tootled along. 'Right,' Mezrielda bit out. 'I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten my magic. How Ironic.'

'It's my fault for asking,' Bagsy offered apologetically as Mezrielda returned her wand to her sleeve. 'Don't worry, I have my muggle torch.' Reaching into her robe, which was not giving her the warmth she needed in the frigid underlake (Bagsy didn't voice her want for a temporiem charm in that moment), she pulled her muggle torch out and clicked it on, pointing the flickering beam onto the pages. 'Take a left here.'

Mezrielda, who had begun to steer right, tutted and sharply redirected the boat. With the muggle torch, and patient deliberation of the directions, they were soon rising the boat up from the underlake and through the ceiling above, entering a wide ocean-bound river that followed along the sea-side village of Boorping. Quaint, pastel coloured town houses lined neatly along the waterway, slanted to the side against the steep incline of the land. Bagsy wondered if the interiors were as tilted as the exteriors and shuddered at the thought of having to live in such a wonky way. She'd trip over even more than usual, she reckoned.

Mezrielda quickly moored the boat, checking the sign to ensure they'd have a boat to return to, and that it wouldn't be seized for unpermitted mooring, before disembarking. She held out a hand and helped Bagsy step onto the street. Bagsy stretched her legs out, squatting a few times and taking a few lunges – her legs had seized up during the lengthy trip.

'How are you doing?' Mezrielda asked.

Bagsy shrugged. She'd been pushing what had happened from her mind, and intended to keep doing so until the week was up. 'I'm fine. I just don't want to talk about it,' she said simply, slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder and setting off up the hill.

'Bagsy?' Mezrielda called after her.

'I said I'm fine!' Bagsy snapped more harshly than she'd intended.

Mezrielda arched an eyebrow at her and gestured with her thumb downhill. 'You're going the wrong direction.'

'Oh.' Bagsy coughed in embarrassment, retracing her steps. 'I knew that. Just thought I'd get a good vantage point from further up.'

'Of course,' Mezrielda intoned mockingly. 'How was the vision you procured from the superior altitude? Do tell.' Bagsy elbowed Mezrielda. 'Ow!' Mezrielda protested in a half-giggle as she cringed away from the threat of a second elbowing. 'Alright, I shall desist.'

They puzzled over the direction book between them. It contained a map of Boorping, which was close to Brighton pier. In their attempts to find their destination, they asked a few witches, wizards and spellcasters, all of whom favoured more colour in their wardrobe than Bagsy had seen in a thousand rainbows, for directions. Eventually, salt on the wind and screams of elation sounding in the distance, the outline of Brighton pier made itself known on the horizon.