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.
In the corner of the room there was a small cheery kitchen with yellow wooden shelves. These held a rather impressive collection of teapots – at least a hundred that Willow could see – along with countless stacks of cups and saucers in shades of sky, plum and canary. She couldn’t help wondering why one person would need so many. Next to a wide window was a wooden bed covered with a very lumpy and patchy blue-and-yellow quilt, where Nolin Sometimes put Harold down.
‘Welcome,’ he said, opening the window so that Feathering could peer inside from the branch where he’d perched.
‘Pepper tea?’ he asked the dragon.
‘Ah yes, it’s been centuries – I’d love a cup, if you don’t mind?’
‘It’s no bother,’ said Sometimes, fetching a bucket for Feathering, taking down a sky-coloured teapot and turning to go into the kitchen. There was a loud crash as the teapot shattered on the floor, followed by a thump as Nolin Sometimes keeled over backwards, his blue eyes suddenly white and cloudy.
‘Not again!’ cried Willow, rushing over to kneel beside him and trying to wake him up.
‘What’s happened?’ cried Feathering, trying to peer through the window, his large golden eye filling up most of the frame.
‘He’s fainted again!’
Harold roused himself off the bed, unsticking his tongue from the coverlet with some effort. He landed with a thud and proceeded to howl at the sight of Nolin Sometimes’s prone figure surrounded by shards of broken crockery – which at least