FELICITY BRADY AND THE WIZARD’S BOOKSHOP

 

Book One

GALIBRATH’S WILL

 

Chapter 1

 

The Wizard’s Bookshop

 

Down some steps, below a crumbling bridge, there sits a scruffy old bookshop. The plaster on the stone walls is bubbling and peeling, and the window is so grimy that you have to squash your nose up to the glass to peer in. If you hunt in the shadows, you will find a shabby, brown door but if you push it, it simply will not budge. It will just growl at you, and creak, as if to say, ‘STAY OUT! STAY OUT!’

But most people living in the small town of Twice Brewed know not to try the door for seeping under it there is always the stinking smell of rotting fish. They simply scurry on by, Falafel Pass curving along the river to the steps and the steps running up to the busy High Street.

Crouched under the bridge, her back rubbing on the stone bricks, was Felicity Brady. She stared up at the steps, gently lit by a rusty black lamp hanging over them. Whenever she heard somebody coming she would try to huddle even smaller, her tatty school satchel clutched in her frosty hands.

She had been hiding from the school bully and his gang for most of the afternoon and her legs hurt from running. It was drizzling too and she was drenched to the skin. Even her school blouse under her duffel coat clung to her body, and her skirt and boots were caked in mud. Long brown curls fell in wet rats’ tails over her freckled brow, covering her frightened eyes and wind-scuffed cheeks. She was always being teased in school for being a bit of a tomboy, not helped by the crack in her front teeth, but her Aunty Imelda insisted she was very pretty. “Forget all them silly spots,” she always comforted her. “Just y’ goodness oozing out.”

Slowly, Felicity lifted her head and pushed the damp curls away from her face. It was then that she saw the bookshop for the first time; a door wrapped in shadows and a filthy window, scruffy books pushed up to the glass. As she looked, the glass seemed to clear, as if a soapy sponge was being dragged over it. She jumped, grazing her back on the jagged wall. Had she just seen a man’s face gawping back out at her?

Somebody was coming. She bit her lip and wrapped her arms around her curled-up legs.

A man - well, Felicity guessed he was a man as he was so tall - was creeping down the steps. But there was hardly a sound. It was as if - as if he was floating!

She gasped and the man stopped. OH NO! Would he see her? She was huddled in a dark corner, in the shadow of the bridge, but if he got any closer...Felicity let out a sigh as he spun around and glided over to the bookshop door.

Now he was closer to her, she could just make out a long black cloak covering him. He was muttering something, it sounded like, “Apple crumble and...,” she couldn’t make out the rest. Then the door swung open and he slipped into the shop.

“If she’s not down ‘ere, you’ll be in for a smack as well as ‘er.”

“I saw her go down here just now. Well, I think it w’ Brady.”

“It’s a bit fishy down ‘ere, in it?”

Felicity scrambled to her feet, her heart thumping with terror. She could run down the path by the River Cruor but she had been chased all afternoon; she was already worn out. They would catch up to her in a second.

She had to hide, but where?

Suddenly, Felicity discovered she was standing in front of the bookshop door. She looked at it in surprise. But how…? A stone bounced down the steps, kicked by one of the boys. Any moment, they would spot her.

In a panic, she pushed at the door but it just whined back at her like a stroppy mule.

“Look what we have ‘ere, lads. Our old chum, Brady. We been looking for you.”

Felicity closed her eyes and rested her brow on the door. The wood was wet, a drop of water rolling down the bridge of her nose. A new town, a new bully, she pondered, sadly. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and turned to face them.

A boy stood in front of her, one leg bent, his hands stuck to his hips, a cocky grin on his spotty face. He was chubby, his v-necked jumper way too small for him, so he’d rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. Felicity gazed at his piggy nose and shuddered. He looked as if he’d been smacked in the face by a frying pan.

The other two boys had stayed over by the steps but Felicity could hear them sniggering.

“Trying to get away, huh?” The fat boy stepped up to her. “Snitch to your mummy?”

“Apple crumble and jelly.”  

His pals swaggered over. “What did she say?” one of them muttered.

“Apple crumble and som’ in.” mumbled the other.

“Custard.”

“What?”

“I like custard with my apple crumble.”

“Apple crumble and custard,” Felicity yelled frantically.

“Off ‘er rocker.”

“Yep, I reckon. Go on, Colin, smack her!”

The fat boy stepped even closer, forcing Felicity to press her back hard up to the door.

“What y’ playin’ at?” he growled, his nose almost touching hers, his ‘fish and chip’ breath making Felicity want to gag. “Think y’ a funny girl, do y’?” He lifted up a clenched fist. “I’m gonna whip y’ bony…”

“Apple crumble and, er - whipped cream,” Felicity shouted, and suddenly, as if the door had given up the struggle, it creaked sadly and swung in.

 

~

 

Frozen with fear, she lay on the cold, damp floor. The door had slammed shut but Colin and his fellow thugs were kicking and banging furiously on the wood, trying to get to her. Terrified the boys might smash it in she got up gingerly.

The shop was only dimly lit; a brass lamp perched on a chunky desk in the far corner casting shadows on the dusty books. Felicity crept over to a very old sofa. A rug lay in front of it, all patchy and wrinkled, and a brass tankard and a golf ball sat conspiring on a fancy coffee table. Felicity spotted the cold embers of a log fire and elaborate cobwebs hanging in the corners.  She gulped. They were home to spiders the size of fists. But mostly, there were books. Many of them were piled in musty corners, others stacked on the desk, a few even stuffed down the back of the sofa; she could see the corners peeking out of the top. Sadly, they were all covered in dust, so thick Felicity could make tiny footprints on them with her fingers.

Wonky stools rested on the wonky floor, pipe ash spilled from ashtrays and a chandelier in the roof tinkled eerily as if a secret door had been left open.   

It looked to Felicity as if nobody had shopped here for years. Ooh, and the smell; she pinched her nose with two fingers. It was like being in a fish market on a summer’s day. But still, she felt sort of comfy, as if all her problems had been barred entry; as if she had lived here for hundreds of years and had always called it home.

Felicity crept over to the desk - the one with the oil-lamp perched on it - and closing her eyes to the monsters carved into the wood, she picked up a book.

‘Out of Your Body, Out of Your Mind’ by Professor E. Gomorrha, she read. Hmm, what a peculiar title. Then a second, ‘If Sleeves Could Talk’ by Randolph P. Plotinus, and a third, ‘Well Gnome Surgery Tips’. Next, she picked up a book called, ‘The Hush Hush History of Magic’ and she opened it.

“Sorry, too many deep dark secrets in here,” the book informed her calmly. “No kids, impsters or yoblins.” It slammed shut with a bang, showering Felicity with dust. Then it jumped out of her hands and landed back on the pile it had come from.

She froze. Was it some sort of trick? She peered closely at the book, but she couldn’t see any strings. Was she being watched, she wondered suddenly. She gazed wildly around the shop looking for a hidden camera. Was she on TV being laughed at by half of England?

The door shook. One of the boys had kicked it, Felicity guessed, and over on a shelf on the wall a clock with splayed plump legs chimed the hour.

She heard a door creak open and slam shut and a green ‘THING!’ came scurrying out past the desk. It looked like, well, Felicity didn’t know what it looked like. But it had on orange shorts and a stripy yellow t-shirt. On it was scrawled,

 

NEW IMP ON THE BLOCK

 

It dashed by her without a glance, its eyes fixed on a huge cup and saucer clutched in its hands.

Felicity was torn between not moving and pretending this was not really happening and hiding just in case ‘IT!’, whatever ‘IT!’ was, should come back. She chose to hide.

She crept down a row of bookcases, a candle sitting here and there, lighting the way. Picking one up, she held it out in front of her. She wanted to escape from this dark and musty shop, but there was no way she was going to go back. Not if she had to face those boys. No, she would keep going. If she was lucky, she would find a back door or a window she could crawl out of.

She jumped, the candle in her hand wobbling, spilling wax on her shoe. What was that? A whisper?

Felicity.

She swallowed as fingers of terror played up and down her spine. Slowly, she turned her head. But there was nobody there, just dusty books and flickering candles hissing at her.

Here I am, over in the cabinet.

Like a lasso, the words dragged at her feet, telling her, begging her to turn around and to go back.

The boys! Was it the boys? Had they found a way into the shop? Were they hunting for her and trying to scare her by calling out her name? She gulped. If they were, it was working.

No, she had to keep going. There had to be a different way out of here.

The floor creaked, making Felicity clench her clammy hands in terror, but no monsters jumped out of the shadows. She had come to the end of the row and to a very shabby door. It was oval at the top and the handle was shaped like a dragon’s claw. Gritting her teeth, she grasped hold of it and pushed it down. She eased the door open.

The next room was even darker and she could only just see the rows and rows of dusty books. On the far wall she spotted a painting of a ghostly-looking man, a book open on his lap. Felicity gulped. His left eye socket was empty and it looked as if claws had ripped his cheek to the bone. She screwed up her face as wax dripped from the candle and burnt the tips of her fingers. But there was no way she was going to drop it.

NO WAY!

Felicity crept on, her fear of lurking monsters making her hands shake and her mouth feel dry. The rustle of her skirt and her footsteps on the wooden floor seemed to bounce off the walls, giving her away. To try and stay calm, she browsed the books on a shelf as she passed them but then the books began to jiggle and hop and that did not help at all.

She heard shouting as she made her way down a row of books on love tonics. Felicity stopped, her ears pricking up. It sounded as if it was coming from the next isle just along to her left. Very gently, she rested the candle on a shelf, reached up and pulled down a copy of ‘Charm Your Man’. On tiptoe, she peered through the gap in the books.  

It was the chap in the black cloak. His back was to her, but he was so tall, Felicity just knew it was him. He was leaning over a table speaking sharply to a much smaller, fatter man, but his face was hidden too.

“Why do you keep refusing my offer?” the cloaked figure barked. “I mean, look at this place.” He ran his finger over the top of the table. “Dust everywhere, books everywhere, but customers, nowhere.” He bent closer to the other man and Felicity wondered if their noses might touch. “I am doing you a favour,” he hissed.

“Really, Tantalus, you know this shop is not for sale, and it never will be as long as my old ticker keeps ticking.”

Tantalus pulled away and sniggered, and at last Felicity saw him properly. He had short black hair and his face was gaunt, drawn back as if pulled by an invisible string. His nose was long, his lips thin and cruel-looking, and his eyes - they seemed to flash in rage like a tormented bull.

“So Galibrath, how is the old ticker? Very dusty in here.” He sniffed the air. “A touch of damp too, I fear.”

“I feel just dandy. Really, Tantalus, I’m touched but you must not worry. Now, I must be getting on. Ducks to feed, dogs to walk.”

“One second. Mr Banks!”

There was a flash of green light followed by a shuffling sound, but it was too low down for Felicity to see who or what was making it. Then a swollen canvas sack, knotted at the top, landed on the table with a clunk. It lay there.

“Gold,” Tantalus explained. “Go loll in a hammock, sip Grogbog beer, chat up a pretty witch in a grass skirt.” He had been pacing back and forth up till then, but now he stopped and glared down at Galibrath. “Just give me this shop,” he seethed, his words sharp as a dagger.

Galibrath smiled. “Can I lend you a brolly for your walk home? A spindlysloth told me the rain’s not going to stop for hours.”

Tantalus’ nostrils flared and his jaw snapped up. Wondering what a spindlysloth was, Felicity watched tensely as they stared at each other.

They did not move.

They did not blink.

“Let’s go, Mr Banks,” Tantalus finally hissed, snatching up the sack of gold. There was a second flash of light, then Felicity watched him turn sharply on his heels and march to the door.

As he strode past her hiding place, she stepped back, her elbow knocking over the candle. It tumbled to the floor with a clunk, flickering out.

The footsteps stopped.

“Bats,” she heard Galibrath say.

“What?”

“Bats in the roof. Hundreds of them. They like to hang in the rafters. They love the damp, you see.”

“Huh!” uttered Tantalus in disgust, and he marched on.

Felicity heard a door open and slam shut and after that the man called Galibrath shouted, “Miss Brady, do you fancy a cuppa?”