Apparently there could be nothing worse than being a shy monster.
‘My apologies,’ said Feathering, who looked like he was struggling not to laugh.
A noise came from the floor. The forgotten teller’s eyes were open wide, yet they’d gone a strange, almost filmy white. Willow waved a hand in front of his face but there was no response. A second later, she startled when a loud bark of laughter erupted from his motionless form, which was rather disconcerting as his eyes were still white. A second later his eyes turned blue again and he said, ‘The Buzzle Wuzzle? On her head?’
He sat up, dislodging the dog, who was still tucked under his arm, but who had managed to go to sleep.
Willow stared. Had he just seen her memories?
He suddenly stopped laughing, his gaze falling on Feathering, his large blue eyes growing very sad. ‘It just never hatched?’
Feathering nodded, his golden eye downcast.
The figure’s eyes filled. ‘Well, that’s – I’m so sorry.’ He blinked, his eyes went pale once more and he was out for the count again.
‘This can’t be good for him,’ Willow observed.
‘How ’as ’e not fallen off this tree?’ asked Oswin.
Willow could just make out one now green eye, observing the proceedings from the hole in the hairy carpetbag.
‘Good question,’ said Feathering.
‘Tuesday? Gadzooks!’ said the prone figure, his eyes still opaque.
‘Do you think he’s unwell?’ asked Willow.
‘Barking,’ muttered Oswin.
A loud snore erupted from the prone figure, followed by a snort from the dog, who opened a bleary eye, then rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Then, suddenly, the man sat up again, carrying on the conversation as if he hadn’t just fainted several times in under five minutes.
‘Tuesday has gone missing!?’ he cried.
‘How did you know?’
‘I saw your memory. That’s what I do – I see the past.’
Willow nodded. Moreg had explained that. But she never said anything about how hazardous it seemed for him. ‘Is that how come you fainted? We weren’t sure if you were unwell or not.’
He stood up, thoroughly affronted, and made an attempt to brush himself off, which left lots of vegetation everywhere, making him look even more dishevelled. ‘I have never fainted a day in my life!’
Willow blinked. ‘Er – but—’
‘You just did,’ pointed out Feathering.
‘Least free times,’ confirmed Oswin. ‘Choo’d fink ’e’d live someplace else besides the top of a tree, if ’e was in the ’abit o’ fainting,’ he observed.
‘I do not faint.’
‘O-kay,’ said Willow, sharing an incredulous look with Feathering and Oswin’s shocked, now tangerine eye.
‘I have visions …’ said the forgotten teller, while he waved a hand in the air, only he’d picked up the teapot again, so cold tea went flying everywhere. ‘Oh,’ he said, putting the teapot down. ‘The visions cause me to temporarily disconnect from the present … I suppose it seems like fainting but it’s entirely different …’
‘Oh “vijuns”, so different, yes,’ huffed Oswin.
‘Oswin,’ said the figure, ‘a kobold – that’s what you’re telling people?’
Oswin cleared his throat. ‘On me mother’s side …’
‘But your father— I mean, well—’
‘I is NOT a cat!’ harrumphed Oswin. Smoke started to curl out of the top of the bag. This was followed by some wild rambling. ‘Peoples ’aving no respect for monsters nowadays. I is the monster from under the bed.’ He sniffed.
The forgotten teller smiled. ‘I am Nolin Sometimes,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you, Willow, Feathering and Oswin.’
Willow’s mouth fell open. ‘You know our names – wow!’
He shrugged. ‘Part of telling the past. This is Harold,’ he said, indicating the sleeping dog.
‘He’s sweet,’ said Willow, eyeing the fluffy creature.
From within the bag there was a harrumph sound. They all stared at the bag.
‘Peoples always like dogs … never kobolds …’
‘Would you care to come inside?’ asked Nolin Sometimes, indicating the large treehouse that he’d started to run away from a few minutes before. ‘There’s not really space for a dragon, alas –’ he grinned at Feathering – ‘but there’s a branch outside that should accommodate you close to the window. I could put on a fresh pot of tea while we discuss what has happened to the missing day?’
They agreed, and while they walked to the house Nolin Sometimes looked at Willow. His eyes went white, then blue, really fast. ‘She came to live with you when you were five?’
Willow blinked. ‘My grandmother?’
He nodded while Willow’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, when I was about five,’ she said.
‘She’s quite difficult to manage since the accident in the mountains, causing lots of arguments with your parents, is that right?’
‘I’d prefer not to speak about that – thank you,’ said Willow somewhat stiffly.
‘Oh, yes, quite, sorry.’
A second later he started to laugh. ‘Oho – she’s going to be so mad when she finds out you took her favourite scarf!’
Clearly there were to be no secrets when you were around Nolin Sometimes.
‘Did you run because you saw us?’ asked Willow.
‘Yes – I just run whenever I detect any humans approaching – saves time,’ he admitted with a slightly embarrassed smile.
Willow wasn’t sure if this was the best strategy to be honest, but then, considering what Moreg had said about forgotten tellers – mostly the bit about them winding up dead as a result of telling other people’s secrets – maybe not.
The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky pink and purple and gold, and lanterns hanging magically in mid-air lit up as they neared the stilt house. On almost all the tree’s branches were strange plants in pots, wind chimes and dangling objects that glinted in the lamp light. The clouds swirled to reveal that what Willow had thought were steps leading to the house were, in fact, rocks of various sizes suspended in the air at different heights.
She stepped up the rocks, trying her best not to look down. It was the strangest house she’d ever seen. Above the thin wooden stilts was a wide porch where odd-looking plants were hanging in pots, some of which seemed to have hair and others seemed to be looking straight back at her.
She followed Nolin Sometimes through the front door into a room where the walls were covered in botanical drawings and sketches, not unlike his childhood room. A long wooden desk dominated the room, which was cluttered with used teacups, feathers and strange devices that seemed to be humming. He touched a pink fluffy one now and it stopped, blinked and looked at Sometimes reproachfully with small raisin-like eyes. ‘Furlarms,’ he explained. ‘They detect the approach of humans and other intruders.’
Willow noticed that there were apple-pie blossoms in a jar and she exclaimed in delight.
Nolin Sometimes looked pleased. ‘You know these? They’re quite rare; they sometimes grow on the tree – quite harmless, well, for Wisperia. Try one.’ So she did and they tasted just like warm apple pie.