Grandma's Attic

Chapter Five

What Thredwyl needed was a spell to make things small, to wit, the Mothers Manual. And where might that be found? In Grandma Eanch's Spell Book. Despite it was a mighty dense Spell Book he would not be discouraged but would turn the pages and check each entry.

He found a transportation spell that would take him to some place other. That could be useful. He unwrapped his neckcloth and used it to mark the page and continued with his search. Twenty pages, fifty pages, one hundred pages. Maybe there was no spell to shrink a thing down. What there was – and he yelped as he realised – was a need of more haste, for someone now was climbing the stairs to the attic.

There was nothing else for it, he had to improvise. He would stand on the Manual while using the transportation spell and hope – hope – that the spell transported the Manual along with him.

He grinned at his own devious cleverness, to have marked the page.

The tump-tump-tump of ascending feet grew louder. Speed was of the essence, no time for a practice run. But by the cringe and what the heck, what could go wrong with a simple spell? And then to collect his winnings. A bag full of diamonds – a small bag to be sure but better diamonds than a date with a Nixie.

Never had Thredwyl stepped back from a dare and only one dare had claimed something from him. Alas, that something still marred him, though only seen upon close inspection.

Now, Thredwyl told himself, and climbed upon the Manual.

He drew in a breath, enough to swell his chest and took a moment to steadify.

Then, three times round on the ball of his foot (his right) the left foot striking hard at the Manual's thick leather cover on each revolution, while chanting the spell (no mean feat of coordination). I bid you take me to [some other place]. Thredwyl didn't understand that last, why it was written in red and enclosed in square parenthesis. But it was part of the spell, so he said it anyway. In his head, he pictured Gruff's Cavern, where his cousins were waiting.

The attic swung round him. Hey, the spell was working!

Faster and faster, it unsettled his balance, skidded his feet, slipped him down on his rump in a whump. He sought something stable, anything to hold to. But all there was was...was where had it gone, the Manual was no longer beneath his feet. Instead, he found a crevice, a crack in the floor, and tried to dig his fingers in there. Alas, only his nails would fit.

He winced as the attic spun to a blur. Lips sealed not to regorge his breakfast which, by centrifugal force, had climbed that alley from belly to gullet, fingertips fiercely hurting as the spin sought to tear out his nails.

By the cringe, what have I done now? Done and dead I'll be before this spell stops.

With a spine-crunching jar the spell and the spinning stopped.

"Lo!" he shouted out to his cousins.

But there were no cousins. Around him all was shadowy gloom.

Where were they? Nix, wrong question. Where was he? Not in Gruff's Cavern along with his cousins, hands out and awaiting that bag of diamonds. He groaned. All that pain, and the dizzies, and where had the spell deposited him?

He sat himself up. He stood. He dusted himself down. And noticed a bare murmur of light coming up from below. He was still in Grandma Eanch's attic! The spell had dumped him down where he'd begun.

"First things first. Let there be light!" That was his talent. Yet all around remained in shadowed gloom.

"Hah-rumff, now that's not happened before." Had he lost his magic in the whirling? "And for this I have bleeding sore fingers." He brought them closer to inspect them. Those fingers would be tender for a good count to come.