Garden of Serpents

By Rin Greenwood

The barrier has kept the man-eating mites out of the valley for 200 years and continues to protect what is left of humanity. In exchange for maintaining this barrier, the sorcerer from the mountain asks for only one thing—children. With yet another child sacrificed to fates unknown, some question the motives and the authority of the ageless man who hides away in his tower.

Nora Vanderwilde’s curiosity of the sorcerer and the world beyond the walls lies dormant until a mute boy tumbles into the valley, having fled a terrible, fire-spitting monster. Believing until now that no human could survive outside the valley, Nora agrees to hide the boy, and their search for answers begins.

The questions Nora has held in her heart all her life are suddenly dwarfed by greater truths. Mites aren’t the only threat outside the barrier, and with a hole in the shield, even the sorcerer fears what may have crawled in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312612792

Book preview

Rin Greenwood has been writing since childhood and has a strong passion for all forms of storytelling.  She was born in Australia in 1995, and she has a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Creative Writing.  Writing is her third career choice, as she would much rather be a steampunk sky pirate or a dragon.

Garden of Serpents

Rin Greenwood

    © Rin Greenwood. All rights reserved.

    ISBN 978-1-312-61279-2

CHAPTER 1

Each compound was bordered by four-metre walls with quiet pathways running between.  Surrounding all nine compounds was a mountain range, crowned by a concrete wall standing six metres high and two feet thick that coiled around the valley like a sleeping snake.

Otto stared up at the strips of blue sky that ceilinged his walk between the compounds.  Voices and the noises of the labouring people were blocked from his ears by the patchwork metal walls and sent up to the open sky instead.  The only distinguishable sound he had was that of his own footsteps in the pale dirt.

The gate to Compound Seven wasn’t so much guarded as it was observed by a solitary individual in the watchtower with his feet resting on the railing.  Otto didn’t say anything to him.  He just stopped and looked up with his hands tucked into the pockets of his overcoat.  He cleared his throat.  The husky guard was already making clear eye contact.  After a moment, he called down for the gates to be opened.  Shaking and rattling, the sheets of metal opened outwards about halfway, and Otto walked through.

Compound Seven was hardly any different from any of the others, made of small, hand-built homes tightly packed together.  At the centre were the farms, and Compound Seven dealt primarily in livestock.  The dust roads smelled of cows.

Parents saw Otto and ushered their children inside, clearing the streets as he passed.  Workmen slowed to sneer, and young women hid their faces behind straw baskets.  Only one came towards Otto.

At only twenty-five years old, Emmett Vanderwilde had been the doyen of Compound Seven for the past year.  He was an extremely well-liked leader who knew how to stand his ground on issues of importance.  Fortunately for Otto, he also knew to step back when there was nothing he could do.

Emmett tilted his head towards his own home and walked in.  Otto followed.

The doyen humbly lived no better than the others in the compound.  His house was filled with the same mismatched, partially damaged items that had been salvaged and reused over and over again.  His bookshelf was just an old ladder with some of the rungs missing, and one of the legs on the kitchen table had clearly once been on another table altogether.

‘Have a seat,’ Emmett invited.

‘I’d rather stand,’ said Otto.  ‘I don’t want this to take too long.’

‘It wasn’t even a year ago you were here last.’

‘Demands are high.’

Emmett held his tongue.  He didn’t ask what the demands were.  Otto wouldn’t have answered.

‘You have someone in mind,’ Emmett guessed.

‘Of course.  I just haven’t met her yet.’

Emmett leaned against the table and grabbed the edge of it.  Otto saw his knuckles turn white, but Emmett was sensible enough to keep his composure.

‘The wound of losing Amos is still fresh.’

‘Are you suggesting I go elsewhere?’ Otto questioned.  ‘Would you like to tell me which compound I should visit—which child I should choose?’

Emmett didn’t reply.

‘Even by your own standards of government, you cannot stop me.  Why do you insist on this charade of negotiations?’

‘It’s a futile attempt to settle my conscience,’ said Emmett.  ‘Who are you looking for?’

‘She’s about ten or eleven years old.  Brown hair.  Green eyes.  Freckles.  Quite plain with a narrow face.’  Otto slowed his speech as he had to consider more carefully how to describe the girl.  ‘She works.  She’s a hard-worker.  Helpful.  Not because she needs to but because she wants to.  She enjoys… sewing.’  Otto firmly locked eyes with Emmett.  ‘She makes toys for the other children.  She makes dolls.’

Emmett waited a few moments, but there was no more.  He sighed and stood up straight.

‘Why can you never give a name?’

‘Her name is inconsequential to her identity.  It isn’t a name I’m looking for.  Can you direct me to her?’

Emmett had grace beyond his years.  Even when being torn apart by his own sense of morality, he didn’t blink.  Other doyens often reacted to Otto with anger, but Emmett always kept himself restrained.

‘You can settle your conscience by knowing that telling me where to find the child will spare many other families the fear that their child may be the one I’m seeking.  I need only disrupt one household.’

‘Her name is Iris Wittle,’ Emmett breathed.  ‘She lives in a back street near here.  Head north, turn into the first street on the right, then left.  Follow that road.  I’m sure you’ll find her there.’

Once he had what he wanted, Otto left without a word.  He followed Emmett’s directions to a street not even a metre wide.  It was dark in the shadow of the wall.

Otto felt in his chest the pull of the one he was searching for.  He stopped in front of a stout home with a small, wooden palette in front of the door.  Children had drawn on the untreated wood in bright colours.  There were pictures of people, animals, and flowers.  On one of the panels, someone had drawn stars.  Otto stepped onto the palette and opened the door without knocking.

It was still only early in the morning.  The family was having breakfast.  The smell of oatmeal and sweet honey made Otto feel a little homesick for a moment, but nostalgia was driven away by a primal shriek as the woman of the house wrapped both arms around her children—a boy and a girl—and dragged them to the far corner of the room.

‘No!’ she cried.  ‘Leave us alone!  Get out of my house, devil!’

The girl was about eleven years old.  Brown hair.  Green eyes.  Freckles.  Quite plain with a narrow face.  She held a hand-sewn doll.

Otto turned to the man of the house.  ‘I need your daughter to come with me.’

‘No!’ Missus Wittle screamed through tears.

Mister Wittle was more understanding, or at least less courageous.  ‘Belinda, come over here.’

‘You’re not taking my baby girl!’

‘Belinda, come to me now.  There’s nothing you can do.’

‘It would be best if we could handle this matter ourselves,’ said Otto.  ‘Things will only become worse for you if my master is forced to come here.’

Belinda held her son and sobbed.  She trembled as she led him over to his father, leaving Iris behind.  Iris was confused and scared, but she didn’t move.  She hugged her doll and searched her parents’ faces for an explanation.

‘Mummy?’ she peeped.

Otto approached the child and crouched down in front of her.  Iris backed herself against the wall, her green eyes shimmering with a light that wasn’t present anywhere else.  Otto just watched her for a few seconds but could find nothing that proved him wrong.  This was the girl he needed.

‘Hello, Iris,’ he said.  ‘I’m Otto.’

Iris didn’t say anything.

‘I’m going to take you somewhere now.  Say goodbye to your parents and your little brother.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Otto saw Missus Wittle take a kitchen knife and strike.  Without any effort from Otto, the blade disintegrated into silver sand when it came an inch from his neck.  Belinda screamed and staggered back, dropping what was left of the handle to the floor.  It clattered quietly, and Otto looked at it instead of at Belinda.

‘Be glad that it was I who came and not my master.  He would have taken your son just for spite.’

Belinda threw herself to the ground.  ‘Take me,’ she pleaded.  ‘Take me and leave Iris.  Please.’

Iris had her mother’s narrow face, but the resemblance stopped there.  Otto grabbed Belinda’s hand and turned it palm up, drawing a mild reaction from her husband.  Belinda was no good.  Otto could see it in her hands.  The potential might have been in her once, but it had gone with her youth.  She wouldn’t do for his master’s purpose, but he didn’t get the chance to say so.

Iris spoke up.  ‘Don’t take my mummy.’

Otto turned back to the girl.  Her eyes were bright and unwavering.  Something stirred in Otto.

‘Sweetie, don’t say anything,’ Belinda hiccupped. She tried to smile.  ‘Mummy will make it alright.’

‘Will you be a good girl and come with me?’ Otto asked.

Iris nodded.  She didn’t seem confident, but she gave her answer nonetheless.  It was more resolve than most children her age would have been able to manage.

Otto gently put his hand over Iris’ and allowed her to hold him.  She did so of her own free will.

‘Iris, sweetie, don’t go with him!’

‘Mister Wittle, I suggest you hold your wife.’

The father did as he was told.  His wife wailed verbal protests and fought against him, but he restrained her arms from behind and kept her out of the way.  He looked defeated.  Otto only hoped that Belinda wouldn’t blame her husband for this.  There was nothing either of them could do.

‘Say goodbye, Iris.’

‘Goodbye,’ Iris mumbled, unable to look at her frenzied mother.

Otto stood and led Iris by the hand to the door.  He exited without looking back but walked slowly enough for Iris to catch another glance.  Otto closed the door, muffling the horrid howls.

Faces lingered in the windows along the street.  Otto didn’t look directly at any of them but saw eyes peering between tattered drapes.  People were looking at him with the deepest disdain, but he knew that they were relieved—relieved that their children weren’t taken.

Iris wiped her eyes with her soft doll.

‘Are you scared?’ Otto asked her.

Iris nodded.

‘It might be scary, but no one’s going to hurt you.  I can promise you that.’

‘You’re taking me to the sorcerer,’ said Iris.

‘I am.’

‘The sorcerer eats children.’

‘Is that what you think?’

It was incredibly simple—outlandish but simple.  It was completely the work of a child’s imagination.  Iris’ parents doubtlessly believed that the sorcerer had other uses for a young girl, but Iris was too innocent to be able to think of any of them.  To her, the sorcerer was simply a monster, and monsters ate children.

---

Emmett punched a dent in the wall.  His body eased a little by the act of violence, but he then cursed himself for being so childish.

Nora didn’t ask her older brother what had happened.  She closed the curtains and locked every bolt on the door.  Emmett sat at the table and buried his face in his hands.

‘Are you going to talk to the Elders again?’

With short, red hair and lively spirit to match, Nora was eighteen years old and often a handful.  She wasn’t quickest on the uptake, but she had always held more tenacity than other children.  She also had a strong sense of right and wrong, whether or not that sense coincided with that of authority figures.

‘He’s taking them more frequently,’ Emmett sighed.  ‘The Elders have to do something.  I have to talk some sense into them.’

‘They’re all old and senile.  They don’t know what they’re doing.’

‘They did make me doyen,’ Emmett grumbled.

‘You’re a good doyen,’ Nora smiled.  ‘You’re kind and fair.

‘And ten years younger than any of the others.’

‘This isn’t your fault.’  Nora kissed her brother on the head.  ‘Belinda Wittle will probably come knocking soon.  Don’t answer her.  I’ll head out the back window.’

‘Be careful today.’

‘I always am.’

Nora trotted back up the short flight of stairs to the small landing.  There were only two doors there—one to Emmett’s bedroom and one to her own.  She slipped into her room and grabbed her messenger bag from the foot of her mattress.

It was a small room with only a mattress on the floor and a chest of drawers, but her brother had bought her a full-length mirror for her eighteenth birthday that made Nora feel extravagant.  She preened her hair a little and straightened her brightly coloured clothes before climbing out the window.  She dropped into the back alley with ease and took the long way around to the compound gate, avoiding any risk of running into the family of the sorcerer’s latest catch.

Nora called up to the watchtower, ‘Morning, Bert.’

The guard leaned down from his perch to wave to Nora.  ‘Morning, Nora,’ he said dryly. 

At the base of the watchtower was a sack of letters, held open on a metal hoop.  Nora unfastened the sack, tied it shut, and carried it over her shoulder.

‘Eugene!’ Bert hollered.  ‘Get the gate!’

Eugene shoved the last of his bread into his mouth and pulled himself off the ground to return to his post.  He cranked the lever to open the gate.

‘Stay safe, Nora,’ he said.

‘I always do.’

Nora walked out and around the bend.  As soon as she was out of the watchtower’s sight, she ran.  She ran as fast as she could and grinned with the air rushing through her short hair.  There was no room to run in the compounds, not without ramming into someone.  Nora could only go this fast along the vacant paths zig-zagging between the walls.  She ran between Compounds Eight and One and reached the long straight that would take her all the way to Compound Two.  She ran the whole way, past the first gate, and hooked right after Compound Two.

A troupe of merchants were around the bend, making their own journey with their wares and market tents.  Nora slowed to a brisk walk and greeted them politely before taking off again.

It was a half hour run, and Nora loved being able to collapse of utter exhaustion when she reached the postal point first.

Sweating and short of breath, she pushed the door open into the small, square building that stood between the compounds.  It was cool inside, and she sat down on the floor to drink from the canteen she carried in her bag.

The postal point only served one purpose and had been kept simple.  There were nine sacks hanging on the wall, the same as how the sack had been hanging on the watchtower.  Above each sack was the number of a compound.

The only part of the postal point that was more complicated than hooks on a wall was the recently added outhouse that was attached to the exterior.  The couriers had gone on strike for a few days, demanding to have some form of plumbing instead of a hole in the ground.  They had won that battle.  There was now an above-ground pipe that joined up with the rest of the compounds’ sewage and washed away through one of the shallower mountains and outside the valley.

Nora sat cross-legged on the floor and tipped out all the mail from the seventh compound.  She started sorting it into little stacks—one for each compound.

Only the last few steps before the door were audible as the courier from Compound Nine walked to the postal point at a leisurely pace.  He opened the door and traipsed across the room to the mail bags.

‘You have the furthest distance to travel,’ he said.  ‘How are you always here first?’

‘I leave early,’ said Nora.

‘How early?’

‘Early enough to be here first.’

Heath’s gate was the closest to the postal point, so he usually arrived shortly after Nora.  Nora liked Heath.  He was a hard worker, but nothing ever seemed to rattle him.  He always handled things calmly and efficiently, but he wasn’t uptight.  He was extremely patient with others.  Nora was fairly sure that he was about her age; she had never asked.  Despite that, she considered him her closest friend.  She would trust him with the heart in her chest.

Nora finished sorting and dropped the letters into their respective bags for the other couriers to collect.  She scrunched up her own sack into a ball and tossed it into the corner.

‘That’s me done,’ she announced.  ‘I’ll be back later for pick-up.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, it’s still way too early to be sitting around here and waiting for the others.  I’ll come back in a couple of hours.  I’ll see you if you’re still here.’

Heath shrugged as if to say he didn’t have any plans in relation to where he’d be.  Nora sometimes wondered if Heath did anything other than deliver the mail.

‘Hey, Heath, do you ever think about the sorcerer?’

‘Not really,’ said Heath.  ‘I mean, I don’t think about him any more deeply than I think about the Council of Elders.  They’re both things that exist but I don’t personally deal with.’

‘If the sorcerer built the wall to protect us from the mites, then wouldn’t he be ridiculously old?’

‘Over two hundred years.’

‘He didn’t look that old when I saw him.  He was young. Ish.’

Heath had nothing to say to that.  That was another thing Nora liked about him.  He didn’t force himself to fill silences.

‘He took another one today.  A girl.  I think he’s favoured Compound Seven since the last outbreak.’

‘I don’t know if favoured is the right word,’ said Heath.

Nora took a last sip of her water and stuck her bottle back in her bag before leaving.  She only jogged this time, heading further south past Compound Nine and then Four.  The narrow pathway opened up to the base of the mountains.  Nora hiked up the gradual slope and then climbed the rocks when it became steeper.  She clambered up to the lowest peak in the mountain range surrounding the compounds—a few hundred metres above the valley.

The compounds were in a bowl, and Nora overlooked every one of them from her perch.  She sat down with her back against the cold concrete wall that kept her in the bowl.  She looked to the far side of the valley and observed the tower that stood at the highest peak—the home of the sorcerer.  A part of Nora wanted to see for herself, but another part was too afraid to ever climb that mountain.

Now eighteen years old, Nora was no longer in any danger of being snatched up by the sorcerer, but she did think about the children who had been taken.  No one understood what happened to them—only the consequences for refusing to surrender them.

A chill blew past, and Nora pulled up the hood of her orange cowl.

Suddenly, something fell.  Nora jolted and squealed as it hit the ground in a cloud of dust and went tumbling down the mountain.  After the initial shock, Nora realised that it was a person and ran down after it with her heart in her throat.  She called out but received no reply, so she jumped down the drops to get ahead of the body and caught it.  She brought it to a stop against a slope of loose stones and dropped to her knees beside it.

It was a young man.  He wasn’t moving.  Cuts and bruises covered him, and he was completely naked.  Once he had stopped rolling, Nora pulled back and nervously wiped her hands on her pants.  She had never seen a naked man before, and now she had touched one.  She took off her hood and covered the stranger with it.

‘Mister?’ she whispered.  ‘Are you alive?  Please be alive.  Please don’t be a dead body.’

She poked him.  He still didn’t move.  She took a deep, shaky breath to steady herself and hovered her palm over the man’s mouth.  She felt his warm breath and heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Oh, thank the gods.’

Nora looked back up at the wall and wondered where this man had come from.  He seemed to have dropped from the sky, but he must have been from the other side of the wall.  Nora inspected him a little more closely now but couldn’t see any sign of mites.  There was no skin discolouration and no swelling.  Some of his injuries didn’t seem to be from the fall, though.  There were large claw marks on his left arm and across his belly.

Nora glanced down at her orange hood.  She looked at the stranger’s closed eyes and then back down at the hood.  Curiosity got the best of her, and she lifted the garment.  A man’s body certainly was odd-looking, but Nora still couldn’t see anything that may have been caused by mites.  The man looked healthy—fit and toned.

The man stirred, and Nora dropped the hood with a gasp.  His eyes shot open.  He immediately tumbled away from Nora and planted his feet, settling his hand on a sharp rock in preparation for an attack.  Nora looked straight up at the sky as her hood fell to the ground.

‘Oh, gods,’ she squeaked.  ‘Hello.  Hi.  I’m Nora.’  She waved as if she were batting away an insect.  ‘And you are naked.  Very, very naked.’

The man reeled back and covered himself with his hands.  When he noticed the hood, he used that instead.  Nora glanced down to confirm that the danger was gone and then lowered her head.

He was prettier when he was awake.  His golden-brown hair was long and matted, and his striking eyes were honey-coloured.  Past his short, scruffy beard, he took shallow breaths, and his broad shoulders rose and fell with each huff.

‘Again,’ Nora chuckled, ‘I’m Nora.  Oh, shit.  What am I saying?  You’re hurt!  We need to get you some help!’

She stood and gave a wide, sweeping gesture towards the concrete wall.  ‘But you came from the Wastes!’ she exclaimed, arguing against herself.  ‘No one comes from the Wastes!  How could you

have—’

Nora stopped herself and looked at the wounded man.  He looked confused.

‘I’m sorry.  Are you OK?’

He didn’t respond.

‘I’m Nora,’ Nora reintroduced.  ‘What’s your name?’

He didn’t blink, and he didn’t speak.

‘Can you talk?’

He shook his head.

‘Oh.  Is there someone I can find for you?’

He shook his head.

Nora refused to be someone who would leave a man naked, hurt, and alone on the side of a mountain.  Regardless of the consequences, she wasn’t going to be that person.

‘We should probably find you some pants.’

---

The climb to the sorcerer’s tower was long and arduous, but Iris didn’t complain.  She cried now and then, but she didn’t utter a word.  Otto eventually hoisted her onto his back and carried her the rest of the way.  As they got closer to the peak of the mountain, it became steeper, and there were stone steps the rest of the way, winding back and forth up the incline.

Iris gasped quietly.  Otto stopped and peered back at her.  She was looking out over the valley.  On the other side of the far wall were the Wastes.  Iris was high enough to look out over the southern wall and see the empty landscape for herself.  Otto was used to it by now.  It was just dirt, after all.

‘It’s really big,’ said Iris.

‘What is?’

‘Everything.  The world.’

Otto started hiking again.  ‘I guess so.  There’s nothing out there, though.’

‘Will the mites get us this close to the wall?’

‘No.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I know.’

‘But how do you know that you know?’

Otto freed one hand to push back his tangled mess of hair before reclaiming his grip on the girl.

‘I know because I asked them very nicely to stay away, and they kindly obliged.’

Iris fell quiet for a few seconds.  ‘You’re being silly now,’ she accused.

‘The barrier reaches higher than the tower does.  It makes an invisible dome.’

‘They came into the compound before.  I saw it.’

Iris would have only been five years old when Compound Seven was breached six years ago, but the mites weren’t something one could forget so easily.  Otto remembered them—a dark cloud of microscopic insects, all buzzing together in a low tone that sounded like a throaty growl.  Individually, they would go unnoticed until they had burrowed under the skin and begun to chew away at a person’s organs.  When they swarmed, they could tear victims asunder.

‘You don’t have to worry about the mites up here,’ Otto assured.

‘Will I get to go home?’ Iris asked.  ‘Not today… but one day?’

Otto looked over at Compound Five.  He had come close to it and even walked around its wall, but he hadn’t been inside in sixteen years.

‘No,’ he said.  ‘No, the tower is your home now.’

Iris wiped her eyes again, but she still didn’t wail or whine.  ‘Is Amos there?’ she sniffed.

Otto’s voice caught in his throat.

‘You took him last year.  Will I get to see him?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘No more talking, Iris.’

They reached the peak.  There were still a few thin patches of soft snow, and the crooked steps were slippery.  Otto set Iris down and ushered her on ahead, staying close in case she lost her footing.

Built into the high, concrete wall was the sorcerer’s tower.  It was actually three conjoined towers that twisted and forked into several haphazard sections, the tallest of which stood over twenty-five metres high.  The building was a crude collection of stone, wood, and metal with a large, studded door.

Otto stomped the snow off his boots and opened the door.  The odours of the tower hit him hard, as they always did when he returned, but he was no longer particularly bothered by the scents of vinegar and sulphur.  Iris, on the other hand, pushed her doll against her face to protect her delicate senses.

The foyer had only a few pieces of furniture—a worn, wooden chest and a low set of draws upon which sat a lit candelabra.  There was an open doorway to the left, one to the right, and a spiral staircase with a blackened railing leading up to the next floor.

‘Gladys,’ Otto called as he took off his coat.  ‘Gladys, are you nearby?’

Footsteps travelled down distant stairs, and a thin, weary-looking woman with frazzled hair came in from the room on the right.  She wiped her hands on her stained apron and gave Otto a warm smile.

‘You’re back,’ she said softly.  ‘Good.  I’m glad it didn’t take you too long.’

‘Gladys, this is Iris.’

Iris kept her doll over her nose and only showed her green eyes.  Gladys approached and crouched down to Iris’ level.

‘Oh, what a darling creature you are!’ she breathed.  ‘And who’s your friend?’

‘Moopsy,’ said Iris, her voice muffled by Moopsy’s yarn hair.  ‘She’s my favourite.’

‘She does look very special, just like you.  Would you like to meet some other special girls?  I’m sure they’d love to be friends with you and Moopsy.’

‘He told me to bring her to him,’ Otto informed.  ‘Is he occupied?’

‘He’s terribly upset about something.  It’d be best if we didn’t disturb him for a little while.’

‘The sorcerer,’ Iris guessed.

‘You don’t need to be afraid of him,’ said Gladys.  It was a rehearsed speech, polished and almost lifeless after all these years.  ‘He wanted you to come here to do a job that only very special children can do.  You’re going to work for him now like we do, and he’ll take care of all of us.  If you see him, you should make sure to be polite and call him master.  OK, sweetie?’

Iris shuffled her feet shyly and grappled at the hem of Otto’s shirt for security.

‘What job?’ she murmured.

Gladys poked Moopsy’s stitched, triangle nose.  ‘Magic,’ she said.

CHAPTER 2

On the second floor of the east tower was the dining hall—plain but clean.  Gladys explained that the door leading off from the curved room went through to the kitchen and then up to a cold room.  Gladys took Iris and Otto up another set of stairs from the dining room to a lounge room of equal size.  A fireplace crackled welcomingly, sending light dancing over dusty book spines and an old, wooden rocking horse.  A spinet harpsichord and an easel were positioned on the other side of the room, near the next flight of stairs.  Sketches and paintings covered the walls to block out the sight of the harsh stone.  Six girls were already occupying the room.

‘Girls, come and meet Iris.’

‘And Moopsy,’ Otto added.

‘Oh, yes.  Moopsy, too.’

The girls all stopped what they were doing and toddled over to introduce themselves.  The oldest with long, braided hair took it upon herself to speak first.

‘I’m Geraldine, fifteen years old,’ she said boisterously.  ‘Call me Gerry.’

‘I’m Blanche,’ said the one in the painter’s smock.  She had white-gold hair and a soft voice.  ‘Thirteen.’

‘Agnes, thirteen years old,’ said the next one, over-enunciating with a hand on her puffed-out chest.

‘I’m Elsie!’ chirruped the smallest girl.  ‘Nice to meet you!’

Agnes elbowed her.  ‘Your age,’ she hissed.

‘I’m eight!’ Elsie announced.

‘I’m Vera,’ the next girl introduced.  ‘I’m eleven.  This is my sister, Myrtle.  She’s twelve.’

Both girls were extremely pale with pitch black hair.  Vera, however, was well-groomed and upright.  Myrtle, on the other hand, was mostly hidden under messy hair and didn’t make eye contact.  Even while slouching, she was a hand’s length taller than her sister.

‘Iris, eleven,’ Iris said rigidly.

Otto chuckled at how quickly she had mimicked the other girls’ pattern.

‘Where are the other two?’ Gladys asked.

‘Around,’ Gerry shrugged.  ‘Mildred is in her garden, and Priscilla is probably in the workshop.’

There was a loud crash, and the tower quaked and rumbled.  The girls all steadied their stances, except for Myrtle; she fell over with a timid squeak.

‘Speak of the Devil,’ Agnes muttered.

Otto ran downstairs first and heard the frantic footsteps of the females all racing behind him.  He went down through the dining hall to the ground floor where a wall of hooks was overcrowded with small coats, he and turned sharply to start down the stairs to the underground workshop.

The workshop was a large room that housed the boiler, many exposed pipes, and several benches and shelves laden with tools and mechanical parts.  Close to the base of the stairs was the alchemy table.  The instruments were all shattered now with colourful liquids and shards of glass scattered all over.  Priscilla, protected by a set of large goggles and a pair of thick gloves, lay flat on her back several metres away.

Otto rushed over and helped her sit up.  She coughed a few times and pulled her goggles up onto the top of her head.

‘What happened?’ Gladys questioned.  ‘We felt the floor shake three levels up!’

Priscilla pointed to the ripped metal and twisted bolts that were lying on her workbench.

‘I must have sealed the valve too tightly,’ she said.  ‘It exploded under pressure.’

‘What happened to the alchemy table?’ Otto asked.

Priscilla looked back over her shoulder and jolted with surprise.  The damage to the alchemy table was apparently news to her.

‘The cap must have blown off and hit it,’ she said.

‘The master won’t be happy,’ Gerry commented.

‘I’ll tell him,’ said Otto.  ‘Don’t worry yourself over it.  It can be replaced.’

‘He most likely heard the noise even in the west tower,’ Gladys worried.  ‘Girls, let us head back upstairs.  Come along, Priscilla.  Quickly now.’

Otto aided Priscilla to her feet and followed everyone back upstairs.  The girls all continued to the upper levels while Otto stayed on the ground floor.  Iris lingered on the steps and looked back at him, but Gladys ushered her along.

‘What manner of chaos is befalling this building?’ the sorcerer bellowed.

Otto stood in the centre of the room and waited for his master to approach.  ‘There was an accident in the cellar,’ he explained calmly.  ‘Nothing irreplaceable was damaged.’

Desmond was a man of below-average stature and a temperament to match.  Had others who knew of his power come face-to-face with the expression of rage that he currently displayed, they would have cowered in terror and begged for mercy.  Otto, however, was motionless.

‘It was Priscilla again,’ Desmond hissed.  ‘That girl needs to learn her limits.  If she keeps tinkering with things she doesn’t understand, then I’ve obviously allowed her too much free time.’

‘I’ve brought the new girl for you,’ said Otto.

Desmond took the distraction.  He looked at Otto curiously as if struggling to understand this.  ‘What are you talking about?’ he spoke coarsely.  ‘How could you have gone and returned already?’

‘I was gone several hours.’

‘Were you?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Well, why have you not brought this girl to me yet?’ Desmond interrogated.  ‘Bring her at once!’

‘Certainly.’

Desmond turned and stormed off again, his coat billowing out behind him.  ‘And have Gladys come to tend to the fire in my study.  I’m freezing my bollocks off.’

‘I’ll inform her of your freezing bollocks, Master.’

‘I’m not in the bloody mood for your antics, Otto!  Just bring me the damn girl!’

Otto waited for Desmond to ascend into the western tower, in case he barked any more orders on his way out.  When it seemed that he was done, Otto continued back upstairs to the girls.

Gladys sat in the rocking chair with Iris on her lap, asking her about Moopsy to distract her from any creeping fears.  It seemed to be working.  Iris was talking freely.  Otto wished he didn’t have to interrupt.

‘What did he say?’ Priscilla queried.

Gladys looked up at Otto, waiting for him to confirm what she already knew.

‘He wants to see Iris.’

‘I suppose that’s to be expected,’ Gladys sighed.  ‘Off you go, dear.  Otto will take care of you, and then you can come right back.’

‘Do I have to meet the sorcerer now?’ Iris asked, sliding off Gladys’ lap.

‘You’ll be fine.  You can hold Otto’s hand if you feel nervous.’

Otto