to break out. By the end of her first day, she’d used the poker to try prising open the lock on the door and had broken the chair against it too. She’d even attempted scaling the walls of the tower – several times – but to no avail.
‘Like I said,’ continued Holloway, as if no time had passed, when she collapsed in a heap with her head in her hands, ‘she’s taken every precaution necessary so we can’t get out. See, there’s four levels to this tower. This is the last, for the highly dangerous and incurable. Each level goes in ascending order. First is yer everyday sort of maladies, like spell-rash or love-potion recovery. Second is stubborn curses. Third is environmental—’
‘Environmental? That doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Willow.
‘Pfft,’ scoffed the wizard. ‘That’s one of the worst! Ya know – those poor souls who spent too much time in the forest of Wisperia, where magic went to hide after the Long War? They come back with leaves for fingers, stalks for eyes, or worse …’
Willow felt her heart thud. Did they also come back with their magic turned inside out?
‘Then again,’ Holloway continued in a dark whisper, not noticing her distress, ‘they’re not half as bad as the ones who wandered through the Mists of Mitlaire. They haven’t really come back, have they? Just their bodies.’
Willow shuddered. She’d heard the stories, of course, about the poor souls who were lost to the Mists, the ghostly veil between worlds where time seemed to stand still. Families who were never able to find their loved ones again. It was said that beyond the Mists was the Lake of the Undead, which flowed into the shadowy realm of lost souls, Netherfell.
It was the stuff of nightmares.
Willow cleared her throat nervously, and tried to push the thought out of her brain. ‘How come you’re in here, Holloway, and, erm, in the most dangerous section?’ she asked, darting a wary glance at Oswin, whose green head had peeked out of the bag. He made a motion with his paw for her to get away from the wall, fast, which she managed to ignore. Just.
‘I was trawling for fleurie-coral with me boat when I had a run-in with a sea serpent, and I lost me leg, again.’
Willow blinked. ‘Did you say you lost your leg, um … again?’
‘Yeah, well, me wooden leg – was a good one too. Fitted perfectly, not like this blasted one, which pinches something terrible. Lost me real leg years ago when the Great Melee Sea froze and I got exposed to the bitter cold. Life of a sailor,’ he said with a woeful shrug. ‘But this latest escapade was far worse, as not only did I lose me good wooden leg, I developed this weird thing where everything I touched turned to copper.’
‘Copper?’
‘Yeh. I know, right? Gold would have been worth the fight. Anyway, I came here when I heard about Pimpernell. Heard that she might be able to help put things right, and, for a while, that seemed true. She found these dragon-scale gloves that helped – stopped me changing things – which was great. It got me thinking that maybe I didn’t actually need a cure for me new ability – I could make use of it. Trade with it, that sort of thing. So I told her thanks and said I wanted to be on me way. But she got sticky about it. Told me that she couldn’t let me leave if I was going to be a danger to others. I told her that with the gloves I wouldn’t be harming anyone … Well, she didn’t see it that way. She got suspicious, thought I was up to no good. Like maybe I would use me new ability against people. There was a confrontation, and she tried to get the gloves back from me so that I would stay. I resisted, of course – but she got them off. I tried not to touch anything, but, I mean, that’s hard, ya know? I stumbled into a few beds, which turned everything – the sheets, the floor and even her foot – to copper.’
Willow gasped. So that was what had happened to the witch’s foot!
Holloway sighed. ‘She used a potion throw on me – ya know the kind ya don’t even need to drink for them to take effect? Something for sleep, I think, as I passed out. Next thing I knew I woke up here.’ He gave