GWARCHEIDIAL book one.
Written By Frederick R Fuller.
CHAPTER 1
The year was seventeen thirty-six. The dark heavy threatening snow clouds were gathering above the south east of England. In this part of the country it was in January or February that the snow came if it came at all, so far this year it had stayed away, and these Wizards old bones were most thankful for that.
He had moved down from his old castle that he called his Manor to what his father being a light-hearted man had named ‘The Cottage’ (it being much closer to London). The Cottage was much smaller than the manor but even so had been built with its defense in mind. Its walls, Gargoyles and battlements were now covered in a thick blanket of ivy. Its only resemblance to the Manor was that they were both situated in the middle of very old oak tree forests and were both guarded by the mystical Gate Men. The big old oaks were now standing stark and bare against the morning light, there great branches reaching out in the cold light of dawn in an effort it seemed to touch and console each other. The squirrels and Tree Elves were curled up snug and warm inside the hollows of the older trees and would not venture out until the very early spring, even then only to gather the acorns that they had secreted away all through the summer.
Like his Father and those before him he was called Gwarcheidial, this translated from an ancient English language means Guardian. This ancient language had been forgotten by most a thousand or more years ago. The Fairies being unchangeable and steadfast in their loving ways still used it, and anyone chosen to become a Wizards apprentice studied it carefully as most of the ancient books they had to learn their skills from were written in it.
The name Gwarcheidial for most people was too hard to pronounce, so to avoid any confusion or misunderstandings he called himself Mr. Burn Bright.
He had begun his search many years ago, he knew that soon he must find the one that he now so desperately sought, it must be this year, and surely it must. He was getting older much older. Wizards due to their knowledge of lotions, potions and the mysteries of the ancient world usually lived for about two hundred and fifty years. He was now over two hundred years old and starting to feel and look it. Because it was his nature to do everything in his power to see that all things were in there proper place and at the proper time, he was becoming very concerned. He must find an apprentice to take over his task; it just had to be this year!
The birth had to occur on the stroke of midnight on the first day of February. The mother of the child was to be in desperate need, this was how it was written in the Great Book and all those who had taken on the task as its Guardian had followed its teachings since long before the time of the great wizard Merlin. All had learnt the Ancient language that it was written in, adding to it their own spells, incantations, potions, lotions, and findings in their search of the heavens and the stars. All these things being of the utmost importance to one who would spend his whole life in the service of those that had the knowing of all things, or the Ancient ones as they were sometimes called.
His life had up to now been an extremely long and satisfying one, mainly because of his skills as a Wizard.
He had successfully and without much effort fought off all those who had sort to obtain or destroy the Great Book, but now his tall body had started to bend a little. His beautiful beard that had grown to the extent that he now found it necessary to tuck and fold it into his waistcoat when he went about the town, because it now hung in abundance down to the floor.
When studying in his great library, or making potions, he would toss the great fuzzy thing over his shoulder so as not to be in the way and becoming something of an infernal nuisance. He had even set fire to it, many, many years ago. In his haste to get from one place to another it had come into contact with a lighted candle, he then found that his most treasured possession was about to go up in flames. He ran as fast as he could to the nearest water bucket to put himself out and in his haste and panic, forgetting his incantations and spells for the putting out of fires. On inspecting it afterwards and seeing that he had only singed it, he breathed a great sigh of relief. Wizards love their beards. They would take time every day to groom it, make a fuss over it and when and if disaster struck would use every lotion, potion and magic trick to restore it, at the same time wonder just how long it would take for it to regain its former beauty and magnificence.
Today being two weeks before the first of February, as had been his usual practice for the last fifty years or more he would hitch up his horse to the Dogcart and go into London. Then he would go from one workhouse to another, asking if a birth would take place around the pre-determined time.
He really had no need to use the Dogcart because it was in his power to simply wrap his wonderful cloak about himself that the Fairies had made for the first Gwarcheidial and on his father’s death it had been passed down to him. He could simply wrap it about himself and appear wherever he wanted to, but he enjoyed the sights and sounds of the country and the hustle and bustle of London, so he would make his pleasant journey in the Dog cart.
In his search so far this year, he had found that there were three possibilities, one of which at first looked to be beyond his help. She was in the Workhouse at Algate, near the stinking rat infested docks of London.
Workhouses were miserable establishments, he felt sorry for the people who found themselves forced to suffer the indignity of working in such places, and he stopped himself because he knew that thinking of such things would make no difference to his or their situation. He had been there the previous day and now found himself again looking into the saddest greenest eyes he had ever seen. He didn’t speak to her, for it was in his mind that neither the poor woman nor her child would survive.
Alice who worked in this wretched place and gave her favors to Mr. Grudgall the overseer, by doing this she was allowed to look after the orphaned children. She had also for some months been in a position to help the ladies who found themselves in this situation; she didn’t hold out much hope for this one and had said as much.
After giving the poor girl the last of his precious life-giving potion, he left and continued his search.
The rest of the day proved to be somewhat of a disappointment, the two other ladies whom he had put his faith in had given birth.
On his return to the Cottage that evening and after getting something to eat he tried as best he could to make himself comfortable in front of a blazing fire. Unsettled and try though he may, he wasn’t able to get this green eyed girl out of his thoughts. He tried to banish her from his mind but to no avail, maybe two or three glasses of his six hundred year old portage would help he thought hopefully, but alas this only seemed to make the matter worse.
Why would not this wretched girl leave him alone?
Even with his skills he would have little chance of helping her, and at this particular time he needed his mind to be clear and sharp and not have green eyes following him everywhere.
His thoughts seemed uncontrollably forced back to her. He knew that even if he managed to help her, she would still lose the child, this he was absolutely sure of but even so he couldn’t stop those green eyes entering his mind and clouding his thoughts, which after some considerable effort he managed to push to one aside. He must soon find an apprentice; he would not let it slip by as that supposed great Wizard Merlin had done.
Merlin in his great wisdom had neglected to train an apprentice. He being so full of his own affairs and that of others, the result of which was that the Great Book had lain hidden for nearly a thousand years in a cave beneath the earth, with no knowledge being added to it and none learnt from it. He the now guardian of the Great Book, would not make the same mistake, so it was of great importance, hi
s task at hand must come before all else. He closed his tired old eyes, yet still he was unable to rest, again, there she was, her face appearing before him, in the end he could stand it no longer so he went reluctantly to his bed.
He tossed and turned. As soon as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, those green eyes so full of sadness would be looking straight at him, pleading with him, what made it even worse, was that she was the proud possessor of a mass of wild, bright red Irish hair.
The sleepless night did nothing to help his temper. In the morning, his mood being one of hopelessness, and realizing that he would have to make up another of his potions to try and help the unfortunate girl, he forced himself out of his nice warm unslept in bed, dressed and went over to the window. On parting the curtains he saw only darkness with not even one bright star in the sky to cheer him up.
The sun wasn’t up yet and it would be sometime before it would shed its warmth over the land and come filtering down through the stark bare branches of the ageless, leafless, magnificent old oak trees. Only then to send its warmth struggling though the ever-spreading mass of ivy that seemed intent on devouring the whole building.
He went down the stairs muttering to himself, trying to remember what he was supposed to put in the potion, it had been over two years since he had made up the last batch and he had given the last of it to that unfortunate girl.
On entering the scullery he looked towards the fire, due to his tiredness and the mood he was in, it burst into flames, sparks flying in every direction.
The potion took him some time to prepare because it needed to be as strong as possible and because the great book wasn’t here, he had to memorize it word for word, there was no room for mistakes. He was now for some unknown reason beginning to think that she might be the one.
He worked both patiently and diligently until the potion was ready and to his complete satisfaction. He carefully poured it into the small stone jar that he had prepared and then with some show of force and agitation he plunged a cork stopper into the neck of it, he felt sure that it was as it should be.
He went out to the rear yard and was pleased to see that the sun had at least starting to rise.
He pampered and fed his horse that he had named High Hopes; he had named him that because when he had purchased him the poor thing had been in a sorry state. So far it had tried to live up to its name and shown that if treated kindly also adding a little memorization for good measure and with only the little Dogcart to pull, had managed to meet his expectations. He hitched him up then made his way through the pleasant country lanes and then into the outskirts of London.
High Hopes as usual enjoyed the exercise and his master now having made up his mind to try and help the unfortunate girl had started to feel more relaxed.
Passing through the center of London the fog wasn’t too bad and the people were starting to go about their business, but as soon as they turned in the direction of Algate his heart sank, he could see it stealthily creeping in, swallowing up the houses as it came towards them and to make it worse the breeze was coming from the direction of the Thames.
As they made their way into its filthy embrace the stench got worse, it was enough to make even the strongest, hardiest person sick to their stomach. It was an extreme offence to the very nose and lungs and even seemed to crawl inside your flesh and into your very bones. In his search over the years he had been here many times before and knew that this filthy brown fog would lay like a thick blinding blanket over Algate.
He knew that it takes all kinds of people to make up this world, but still he wondered why it was that the Thames through no fault of its own had been for hundreds of years the dumping place for all human waste and any other rubbish that they could find to toss into it. Its condition was such that not even fish of a hardy nature could now be found swimming in it, certainly not in this section anyway.
They made their way as briskly as they could along the cobbled streets passing venders pushing their barrows and others taking up their allocated positions on street corners and in market places.
As the fog thickened High Hopes slowed down for fear of running into something or somebody until they finally found their way through the now dense fog to the workhouse.
He thought he could see someone bending over a still form lying on the workhouse steps. As he got closer the fog seemed to lift a little as if for his benefit, he could now see two people bending over the still form. One was a stout fellow with long hair and a pock-scarred face that it seemed had the business of removing the poor unfortunate person, the other one was Alice
He pulled High Hopes to a stop and could now see that it was indeed a girl lying there.
He could make out the aura shinning around her so realized that she wasn't dead. As he approached and seeing her red hair he knew that it was the girl who he had now decided to take back with him. Alice was trying to comfort her as best she could, at the same time scolding the big fellow for being so heartless. The poor chap was trying to explain to her that it wasn’t his fault, he’d been told to move her on.
“They ain’t paying for no funeral;” he said, but at the time not really liking what he had been told to do
“You’s always gives me an ard time Alice,” his manner being almost apologetic. “I got me job to do, ---- ya knows ow it is”.
On hearing the carriage draw up, Alice turned and looking through the fog a spark of hope came into her.
“Is that you Mr. Burn Bright,” she said, at the same time approaching him fearing that under the circumstances this good gentleman may well be off and running, as most not wanting any part of this would have done.
“They’ve turned her out they ave, the poor dear!” She said gazing up at him with a tears in her eyes, there was a lot of emphasis put on these last words, for she hoped that maybe, just maybe, all was not lost, he surveyed the miserable situation. He only wished that somehow he could have some control over this filth, the very stench of it made the mind dull, and it would be some other place if it could.
As much of a man as he was, or thought he was, his emotions at not only seeing but being a part of this were such, that a tear began to form in his eyes. He was after all a kindly old Wizard, so he made a great effort and fought it off. A wizard indeed, he thought. I have been too long without the company of others, and know not their heartaches, nor their woes, or even their desires; I have busied myself with my own little world for far too long and have forgotten what to be human means. Climbing down and then taking of his precious cloak that he didn’t like parting with under any circumstances, he wrapped it around the thin shivering girl, then gently scooped the frail little thing up in his still strong arms and even more gently placing her in the Dogcart.
“I’ll see to her Alice, she’ll not come to any harm; you have my word on it!”
“My thanks to ya kind Sir, god all repay ya for ya kindness, you mark my words e will.” She came up to the side of the Dogcart and looked up at him. He could see the sadness in her eyes and feel the hopelessness and loneliness coming from her heart because of her situation and that of others.
“I don’t fink she’ll survive mister, there ain’t much left of 'er. They put her out last night they did, the poor dears bin laying on them cold wet steps all night she as. They wouldn’t even let me tend to er, they ain’t got no art they ain’t;” and then turning away from him she reached out her hand to the girl.
“By my little love, he’ll take good care of ya e will, 'e’s a proper gentleman e is, mind you be a good girl, ---- you ear!” Making an extreme effort, the young girl nodded her head.
“Ell treat ya right e will, and ya knows I ain’t got no choice in the matter, not no more.” She was under no illusion as to what happened to some people who found themselves in this situation. So looked up at him, and he could see the fear in her eyes “Best be off and take her somewhere warm mister, you’ll look after er, ya promise?” His kind but penetrating old eyes looked down from th
e Dogcart at her.
“I’ll make that promise to you dear lady.” With that he flicked the reins and High Hopes set off. A little way down the road he turned and called back, “Thank you Alice;” he didn’t see or hear a reply, the blanket of fog had now visibly consumed them.
High Hopes managed to find his way through the brown swirling filth and once out of Algate they made their way back through the streets of London and out towards Oakdale and home.
Even High Hopes seemed to show some relief at getting out of that stinking place, his pace became lighter and quicker, he tossed his head and whinnied, telling Gwarcheidial that where they had just been was not fit even for a horse. He wasn’t taking too much notice of High Hops at this time, he was more concerned with his passenger and was noticeably filled with apprehension, and he took many a concerned glance in her direction to make sure that all was well.
After what seemed to her an eternity on the road, she being a little frightened and not knowing what was going to happen she noticed that they had turned off, then passed through an opening in a high stone wall.
To the young woman it seemed the further they went the more alone and frightened she became.
There were no leaves on the trees so she could glimpse the sun trying to shine through the gathering snow filled clouds, she also thought that she saw lots of little animals running around in the branches, her hazy mind dismissed this as being foolish. Gwarcheidial knew better.
The little tree dwelling Elves who were normally tucked up asleep at this time of the year with their friends the squirrels, were by their very nature the most inquisitive and fidgety little Elves to be found anywhere, they had come out to see her. It seemed to him that she must be of some importance for them to do that, with a sense of rising excitement he took note of this, maybe she was the one he thought to himself.
Leaping down from the trees the Elves were coming at them from every direction, they were soon swinging and scrambling all over the Dogcarts hood and trying to gain the best places to get a glimpse of her, they were popping up and peering down from the canopy, they were everywhere.
She could see these tiny people quite clearly now, they were all dressed in Oak leaves with little floppy pointed hats on, this being winter, their clothing had turned to a rustling crispy brown and were sown together with strands of fur that the squirrels had shed from their tails. They had little pointed noses and chins and large pointed ears and grinned from ear to ear. Under different circumstances she would have laughed at their funny little faces and their antics as they scrambled about and popped up from everywhere, but not being used to them she squealed with fright. Gwarcheidial thought nothing of their presents, he knew them all too well, so he turned and in a friendly but serious manner he scolded them.
“My friends, can’t you see that the lady is unwell and wishes to be left alone at this time!” By their very nature they were the most nervous little people he had ever known, they were now looking at her, then back at him, then at her, their eyes switching quickly from one to the other. He could see that she was getting even more frightened with every quick movement of these skittish little people, so taking the whip up he cracked it loudly and at the same time shouted but not too loud.
“Be off with you now my friends, you may see her later when she is well!” He cracked the whip again.
“Do as I bid now!” this seemed to work because in one moment they were all leaping off the Dogcart and back up into the trees. They did this without making a sound, that was except for one, who had stayed behind and now sat on his shoulder, she was the queen of these people and now spoke softly and sadly to him.
“She is not well Gwarcheidial and we cannot help her, I only wish that we could;” he responded by saying.
“Sometimes wishes do come true Chins-ell, let's hope in this case they do.” She smiled at him and then effortlessly sprung up onto the canopy and from there leapt into the nearest tree. He thought about the tree Elves and had to admit that they were funny little people. Elves normally stay on the ground but as far as he knew at some time in the distant past these Elves had because of wild cats, wolves and dogs invading their woods and their homes had taken to living in the trees with the squirrels. The Elves would make sure that the Squirrels were free of fleas and other itchy things that caused them to scratch and wake them up in the winter, and the Squirrels would share their nuts and homes with the Elves and protect them, this arrangement suited them both.
They travelled through the forest for some distance and on reaching the front gate she was confronted by what she perceived as a strange looking building covered with ivy. She only found out later that it was what he referred to as his Cottage. He got down from the Dogcart and stretched to get the stiffness out of his old bones, turning he smiled at her then lifted her gently out.
She noticed that the gate seemed to open on its own as they went towards it, she heard him thank the gate and heard it close on squeaky hinges behind them, she was by now a very frightened young lady.
The garden such as it was looked as if it hadn’t been attended to for many years; it was choked with weeds of every description, including the weed infested flagstone path she was now being gently carried up. He rarely used this path, he was only using it this time because he would have had to have flown up the back steps and through the small back scullery door and he felt that this would have frightened her even more.
As she was being carried towards the building she could see the spires and the ramparts, also the strange faces that appeared to be looking out through the ivy that covered just about every part of it. The thickest of it was at the top so that it looked to her as if it was wearing a big green wig. She tried to look more closely at the stone-carved faces that seemed to be watching them as they made their way up the path towards a large iron bound door almost hidden in the ivy. She wondered what kind of a man this was who would live in such a place.
As they approached the door she noticed an ornamental bronze face in the center, its eyes seemed to be alive. She had noticed that when being carried through the gate it also had a large bronze face in the center of it and she had gained the impression that it had seemed to be watching them, the surprising thing was that the door swung open before they reached it.
On entering she was sure she had heard him thank the doorman, she then found herself being carried into a large living room.
He scowled in the direction of the unlit fire. Obeying his command it burst into life as if it knew of the pending emergency, she felt the warmth of it reaching out for her. She was then startled by candles in different parts of the room bursting into life as if charged by a will of their own.
He put her gently into one of the large leather bound armchairs. Stepping back, he looked at her still wrapped in his cloak. She was so frail, her skin being so close to the bones appeared almost translucent, he let out a deep sigh that came from the very depths of him.
He consoled himself by thinking of the kindly Alice. She as far as he could make out had some influence about that retched place, he knew not why and decided that it was not his concern, even so, thinking that it was indeed strange, she being permitted to look after those in need of care and attention. Unable to work and earn their keep they would normally have been thrown out.
He supposed had it not been for her, in fact he felt sure that if it had not been for her, most would have been found dead in the mist and muck of London. Down some back ally and then suffered the indignity of being buried in a pauper’s grave, and to all accounts forgotten. Sometimes not even a prayer for their salvation being said over them, prayers cost money, and as such, were sometimes not for the poor. It was indeed a cruel world for some, and a near paradise for others.
Taking up the stone jar that contained the potion he had made, he removed the cork, and then poring some into a large spoon he offered it to her.
“Drink it up girl, it will do you good!” she sat motionless, staring at him with those green eyes th
at were now filled with fear.
“Don’t be silly girl, here take it!” His voice was stern; he felt that he had to impress upon her the importance of what he was trying to do.
“I slept not a wink last night, my mind being so full of concern for you. I was up and out of my bed before the sun came up preparing this potion so that you and the little one would at least have some chance of survival, do you not appreciate what is being done on your behalf girl, come; take it!”
It was then that he noticed the tears running down her pale face; he began to see her through the eyes of a more caring and understanding person.
She was a woman in the midst of despair, cast out and left to die. He knew now by listening to her thoughts that the child was even more important than she herself was, and she feared losing it. She was at this moment trying to deny this in her mind for she wanted so desperately to live, but now she was almost past being frightened.
Having seen and witnessed the unimaginable kind of world she was now in her mind had arrived at the final stages of hopelessness.
She now feared the worst. The worst being that she was going to die so without her knowing it tears had started to run down her pale cheeks.
These weren’t tears of pain, sorrow, hunger, or even fear, these were tears of a strong person who had fought far beyond the strength that most had. She now felt that she would never feel the warmth of her child in her arms, and the child would not feel the warmth of the sun caressing its face, nor would it feel the grass in the field under its feet or between its toes, and it would never know the closeness or the love of its mother. All these things were going through her subconscious mind, she not knowing or realizing that she was even thinking them.
“You’re weeping;” it was almost a cry of desperation on his part.
“Have I been too harsh? O dear! Please don’t cry! For the life of me, I didn’t intend for you to cry; indeed I did not!” He now realizing that he had brought this frail young thing into what must, to her, be a very strange world indeed, his world, a wizard’s world.
“How foolish of me.” He exclaimed. “An idiot, an unthinking fool, I can’t imagine the depth of your thoughts my dear, and what you must think of me, I can’t apologize enough. I was so busy with my own doings and making such an effort to see you well I forgot about your thoughts and your feelings? I cannot even imagine what you must be thinking?” He made a concentrated effort and listened to her thoughts and knew well what she was thinking so he pulled up the other armchair and then sitting down he leaned forward to be closer to her.
“I’m an old fool, indeed I am, not only that, I’m a foolish old wizard;” he paused, looking to see if these words had any effect, “I must say it clearly so that you will understand.”
“It is in my thoughts that with my wizards knowledge of potions, lotions and such things that I might, if those that have the knowing of all things permit it. It may well be that I alone can help you in your hour of need. For myself I want nothing, except maybe some courtesy on your part, believing that being your nature, you should find it not too difficult.” Then with a great sigh he sank back into his chair, a hopeless look came on his face. “O dear I’ve done it again, how stupid can I get! There was I under the impression and foolishly thinking that I was a gentleman of sorts, a gentleman would not have forgotten the first rule of etiquette.” He leaned forward. “Again I must most humbly apologize; I have just realized that we have not been properly or formally introduced. For me I’m afraid, there in lays a small problem.
My name comes from an ancient language long ago forgotten by most,” Deep in thought he sighed and stroked his beard. “It is also unpronounceable by most.” He decided to tell her his name. “I’m called Gwarcheidial, and translated from the old language it means Guardian, for most it is difficult to pronounce, so I call myself Mr. Burn Bright. ---- It has suited me well for many years, but you calling me by my first name ‘Burn’ I think not, to many good healers or so called witches have gone that way.” It was then that he had a flash of inspiration. “You may have the honor of choosing a name for me, ---- that’s if one should come to mind of course.”
Under the circumstances he said this with the biggest smile on his face that he could muster, waiting and hoping for some reply and foolishly thinking that she would see this act of kindness as a great honor, which it was as far as he was concerned. He repeated his offer, “does any come to mind young lady,” he could see that at least some of the fear had gone from her eyes, still holding the spoon up for her he waited patiently for her answer. After some time, and seemingly after some great effort, a very small fleeting smile passed over her drawn, pale, tired face.
“Wizzo” it was spoken so softly he could hardly hear what she said, his face light up, had he heard her correctly?
“Did you say Wizzo?” She nodded her head weakly; he put down the spoon that in his surprise at being given such a name he had almost spilt.
“Wonderful, it’s perfect, WIZZO! WIZZO! WIZZO! He was quite overcome and probably in to loud a voice must have said the name a dozen or more times. His contact with others, be they male or female, had at the most been sparse to say the least, so he hadn’t had much experience of dealing with something of such magnitude and yet of such a delicate nature as naming someone, names were extremely important to him. When casting a spell, the use of the person’s name or even his own made it much more binding, this was why he was taught when he was very young never to forget a person’s name, this was why his face was now flushed and so full of excitement.
“I have a new name;” he looked at her with complete surprise.
“You have given me a new name my dear;” still he could hardly contain himself. “I have a new name,” he paused, “I really have a new name, one that everybody will know me by.” It took some time before he managed to control himself. “Now you must please tell me yours. I ask you because I haven’t been able to sense it in your understandably worried mind.” She could see how much she had pleased him so that fleeting smile came again on her tired frail face and she looking just a little shy whispered.
“Me names SOPHIE” he leaned closer.
“S-O-P-H-I-E;” he said it softly, slowly, “your mother gave you such a name,” he received a small nod of her head, her large green eyes were looking straight at him.
“It is indeed a beautiful name,” he repeated it softly, “S-O-P-H-I-E;” he said it almost with reverence; he then looked down at the spoon with the tonic in it and picked it up.
“Now then Sophie my dear, we have to make you well, so how about trying some of this wonderful tonic;” he paused and then added “that is if you like?” He said this almost apologetically, “Would it suit you if I go first?” Sophie shook her head and opened her mouth, he popped in the spoon, tipped it up and it was drained, her face screwed up, the potion he had made was stronger than normal and it was a little bitter to the taste.
“Well done Sophie! I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the bitterness of it, it’s a little stronger than usual, now then my dear we must do that every hour, on the hour, it's most important! He sat back in his chair and sighed again, but this time with a pleased look about him, “now then maybe a little something to eat perhaps, some cheese, meat, bread with thick butter on it, or some fruit maybe, some grapes or an apple?” he looked at her inquiringly.
Sophie’s eyes grew large with the thought of Grapes, she’d heard of such things, but costing so much she’d never tasted them, Wizzo saw the look of surprise on her face.
“Well now then Sophie don’t you worry, just you leave that to me, and I’ll go and see what we’ve got.”
“A bit o bread and cheese will do Wizzo,” she whispered.
She didn’t want to become a burden to this funny old man who thought he was a Wizard, although from what she had seen so far could it possibly be that he was, or maybe it was just her fuzzy mind playing tricks, anyway she had no choice in the matter. She also knew that out t
here she and her child would have stood not one chance at all of survival. Wizzo had been watching her and listening to her thoughts, so on his way out to the scullery he said.
“You’d be surprised what a Wizard can do Sophie, maybe some grapes or an apple I’ll go and get some.”
There ain’t no apples or grapes this time of year ya silly Billy”. Sophie thought to herself not knowing that her thoughts were being listened to.
“My dear Sophie, if you want an apple, then there’s apples or grapes for that matter and as far as me being silly is concerned you could be right,” Sophie whose mind wasn’t working to well at this time knew that something had just happened but didn’t know quite what.
“I’ll ave an apple then, if’ ya got one, but don’t you go to no trouble on my account” she said weakly not really understanding what was going on.
“An apple it is then Sophie.” He disappeared into the scullery, she could hear him fussing about and humming a tune she’d never heard before and then it all went quite, it was as if he wasn’t there.