The Chameleon Shop

Wilfrey was oblivious to what this troublesome girl the Crone had warned him of, was up to. He was only vaguely aware that she was out there ... somewhere.

Instead, he immersed himself and everyone else in the castle, in preparations for his upcoming Masquerade Ball. Any opportunity to dress up and parade around like a peacock in full plumage always got his blood pumping.

He was a bit annoyed to hear from the Crone, that one of the stoneys had been blown up by one of Opal’s archers. It wasn’t that he cared for the gargoyles; he thought of them as stupid thugs and no great loss to him personally.

No, it wasn’t that.

It was because it dented his own reputation as the Big Cheese of the Five Realms. He strongly objected to being humiliated.

Sitting bored on his grandiose throne, he waited impatiently for the tailor to arrive from the Fire Realm’s village.

The tailor appeared and bowed respectfully to Wilfrey then began his preparations. The slight and snappily dressed fellow whipped out his tape measure with a flourish. He politely instructed Wilfrey to hold out his arms so he could measure them, then Wilfrey’s waist and round his neck, all the while with Wilfrey giving him the evil eye; very unnerving for the poor tailor.

However, when the tailor got to the bit where he had to measure Wilfrey’s inner-leg, Wilfrey took umbrage and picked the man up by the scruff of his shirt.

‘NEVER ... TOUCH ME … THERE!’ Wilfrey punched him on the nose and tossed the unfortunate fellow to one side like a dirty dishcloth. ‘Nobody touches me there!’ He snarled, ‘Peasant!’

He looked around for his servants who had frozen and gone dead quiet at his outburst. ‘Someone bring me a new tailor. This one is ... useless!’

Now, that he’d dispensed with his tailor, he strutted round throwing about orders for music he wanted played, food that had to be prepared, barrels of grog and wine to be brought in from the Fire Realm, artistic displays ─ such as one of himself, well of course, who else? ─ carved from ice and standing six feet tall, (and woe betide the fool who mentioned that Wilfrey barely reached five foot nine in truth).

His shouting sent his servants scampering like mice to please him before he lost his cool again. Eventually he grew tired of dishing out orders willy-nilly and rubbed his aching forehead where a headache was forming. He plonked down in his throne and demanded, ‘Where is my scribe? Someone bring me a cold drink and something sweet and dripping with fat!’

He needed his scribe, Meister Nobblesocks, to write down some agreements for trade which he was to discuss later on with those realm leaders invited tonight.

The scribe was a small hunched old man with a creased, grey wizardly hat, dark robes and a scraggly white beard. He carried beneath his arms scrolls of paper, ink and quills. Shuffling along as quickly as he was able he reached Wilfrey’s side, panting out of breath, ‘Yes, Excellency, you summoned me?’

‘Took your time about it. Move a little faster next time!’ Wilfrey barked at him.

Nobblesocks nodded like a trained poodle, eager to please. Even though he had only a donkey for transport and it was a long four-hour hike up the cold mountain.

‘Now, write this down. Fire Realm: we will need double the trees and firesticks this year for my huge exploding-lights display and ─’

Nobblesocks unwisely interrupted, ‘but, don’t we already have more wood and firesticks than we can use in the next ten years, Sire?’

Wilfrey smiled an evil smile. Nobblesocks shook in terror and gulped as Wilfrey’s hand circled his voice box and squeezed hard. ‘Interrupt me again, worm, and I’ll cut out your tongue!’

‘Yes, of course,’ he wheezed back through his strangled vocal chords.

’I know we have more than enough already. The point is to make them go without until they are struggling and weak, isn’t it? Ensuring they are unable to rise up against me, IDIOT!

‘Now, where were we? Oh that’s right, Water Realm: double the barrels of water ...yes, I know that doesn’t leave enough for everyone else in the Five Realms’ he stated derisively, ‘but that’s just the point of it all, isn’t it?’ The silent scribe nodded and scribbled for all he was worth.

‘Wind Realm has the advantage of being out of my reach, but if we squeeze the other realms hard enough, they’ll feel the pinch too!’ Wilfrey smiled, satisfied with the evil orders he had dished out today.

He picked up a chocolate éclair, brought in earlier by one of the servant girls and sank his teeth into it, carelessly letting whipped cream ooze out the sides to drip onto the floor. A servant girl rushed in with a cloth and wiped it up before he had time to call for her.

‘Earth Realm: I will have ALL their jewels, or I shall set the wasps on them and the usual vegetables – even though I don’t eat that rubbish. More tools and so on too, you make up the numbers, just so long as you’re leaving them barely enough to do their work and make me some more food.’

Nobblesocks stopped to look at Wilfrey. He felt sickened by the selfishness and greed of the man, but he alone was in no position to make a difference and he was rather attached to his tongue.

Wilfrey noticed his scribe had stopped writing frantically, ’You have something to say? Is there a problem, worm?’ He asked in a snide tone.

‘No sir, just cramp in my fingers. I’ll stretch them a bit and be back to it right away, Sir.’ He grovelled shamefully.

‘Deal with it, wimp! I don’t have time for cramps. Now ... where was I? Ah, Spirit Realms, hmm? That could be a bit difficult. That Shaman gives me the creeps. She knows things, her and that old willow tree, whatever it’s called ─’

Nobblesocks interrupted cautiously, ‘The Tree of Life?’

Wilfrey frowned but said, ‘yes yes, whatever. No one has heard from it for thousands of years though; I doubt it’s even real. Still, I don’t like the smart look that Shaman get’s on her face when she sees me. It’s as if she knows something and I don’t think it’s something I’m going to be too happy about.’

He took another chocolate éclair from his plate and took a greedy bite, shooting whipped cream directly into the scribe’s beard, which then slid off to plop onto his scroll of paper. Nobblesocks could not risk stopping his writing, so just sighed and ignored it. He would just have to deal with the mess later, so he patiently carried on writing industriously around the blob of cream on his scroll.

Wilfrey continued, ‘Tell those stone idiots to lay some more traps for the wolves; the skins do make lovely bedcovers. But tell them to keep clear of the Spirit Village, or they might not come back in one piece.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ Nobblesocks nodded, scratching away with his quill. His fingers ached but he caught up, then dipped the quill in the ink again and paused ready for the next orders.

‘That’s all I think.’ Wilfrey rubbed his hands together and the scribe began to pack his things into his satchel. ‘Wait, one more thing before you slither off.’

The scribe patiently unpacked his ink and paper again, ‘Yes of course Sir, what else would you have me write?’

‘Tell Rollo, that fellow who runs the Pigs Head Inn down there ─’

‘Boars Head Inn Sire ─’ Nobblesocks said then cringed defensively like a head-shy dog as Wilfrey shot him a warning glare.

‘Whatever the hell it is. Something to do with bacon. Tell him he is to bring that Gypsy woman, Betina, as his partner. I desire to see her again and the rude woman won’t reply to my invitations for some strange reason.’