Chapter 15 Quill Lane

15

Quill Lane

"HI…I'M LOOKING for Mr.Day?"

"Why yes, that would be me."

Belle's mind went blank with shock. The hand that wrapped itself around the edge of the front door was pale and bony, with thin, mottled skin stretched across the tendons like crepe paper.

Artorius, several inches shorter than Belle, was wearing a beige jacket at least two sizes too big for his frail frame. Grey slacks and a striped button-up shirt fitted with about as much success as the coat, as though the man inside of them had significantly shrunk. There was a pair of tartan slippers on his feet, bobbly and well worn. The thick glasses sitting on his nose magnified his brown eyes into a smiley, puppylike stare. Tufts of ashy grey hair stuck out at all angles above ears that were still unusually large. Perhaps the most unexpected part of his appearance was the pastel pink woolly hat perched on top of his head.

Surely not.

"Oh!" she spluttered, then managed to compose herself. "Right. Hi there. Hi. Well, I'm…here to be your student, I think."

"Of course, Belladonna! Yes, hello, hello. I've been expecting you, been most excited about our meeting. It's a great pleasure to host you. I hope you weren't too chilly out there."

The old man opened his front door with what seemed to be great effort. He peered expectantly and warmly at his new student.

"Do come in, Belladonna. There's a cup of tea waiting with your name on it."

Belle stepped into the house, still utterly baffled. "Please, call me Belle."

"Right you are."

It would seem that Bronwyn had missed the small, crucial detail of when Artorius's story had actually taken place. Bronwyn had told it as though it were freshly painful, but judging by the man in front of her, Belle estimated it must have been around six decades and a couple of generations earlier than she'd thought to be the case.

Artorius moved down the long hallway with an unsteady shuffle, his scuffed tartan slippers brushing across the patterned carpet of his hallway as he hummed a little tune.

The walls were lined with floral wallpaper, which seemed to have largely given up on sticking where it was supposed to. A scattering of old portraits and photographs were hung so clumsily that it seemed they'd given up, too. But despite its shabbiness, the house felt undeniably welcoming. Small trinkets and ornaments were across every surface, each room bathed in warm light and the sweet, musty smell of age, mingled with what seemed to be freshly baked bread. It was, despite appearances, evidently a well-loved home.

"Have you eaten this evening, Belle? I'm afraid I've already had my supper. The bread's not quite ready yet, but there's definitely a few fairy cakes in one of these cupboards that you're welcome to tuck into," Artorius called back to her. "Might be a little old now, mind. But what could go so wrong with a little flour and icing, I wonder?"

Inside the kitchen, lined with dark wooden cabinets and tiles that featured tiny coloured fruits, the old man pulled out a folding stool. He climbed it precariously to reach a high shelf above the cooker, straining for a tin, and Belle rushed to his side to help.

"Let me grab that for you."

Artorius chuckled to himself. "Thank you. It will be handy to have some long limbs around the house. You can do the dusting for me while you're here."

Belle smiled kindly. "Of course. I'm grateful that you were willing to take on a student, especially so out of the blue like this."

Another chuckle. "Well, yes, I was rather busy this week, had to move a lot of plans around. Three cancelled parties, a romantic tryst or two, several important business meetings all down the drain," Artorius lamented. "Joking, of course. About the dusting, too. I dare say it'd take a little more than a feather duster to spruce this place up. Not quite as spritely as I once was, you see, and it's a rather big house to look after on my own. But I promise you'll find the place clean enough and warm at least."

Belle offered him a smile again, faltering at the instant connection she felt with this man. "Why don't you have a seat while I make the tea?" she insisted.

"Move the books out of your way. There's a lot of them in this house. The pages provide the most golden company when one feels the pestering tap of loneliness. Two sugars for me, please," Artorius chimed in a sing-songy voice.

This could not be the evil man Bronwyn had described. It couldn't be.

"It is nice to have a visitor," he carried on, chatting happily. "I can't remember the last time I had reason to take more than one mug out of the dresser at a time. I was rather surprised to hear from Selcouth yesterday, I must say. Delighted but surprised, and the news that I would get to undertake a mentorship role? I've been hoping for so long…I never dreamed…It was quite a day, I'll tell you."

Artorius gave a contented sigh as he sat himself down creakily. "What a treat to have a new friend."

Belle crossed the kitchen with two cups of tea, placing one in front of the old man. She clasped her own mug, a chunky freebie from a sports store, and soaked up its welcome heat.

"I thought I'd gone doolally, seeing that letter appear on the armchair as I did the crossword. It's been a very long time since I was called upon by Selcouth for anything at all, let alone trusted to pass on knowledge or magical capability. I never thought I'd see the day…" Artorius trailed off as he sipped at his own cup, with the words Good Morning, Handsome printed in swirly letters.

"I'm not sure how much they told you about what happened," Belle said warily. "But, in a nutshell, I failed my EquiWitch assessment. Pretty spectacularly."

"And I am sorry to hear that. These blasted traditions…" Artorius said with what seemed to be genuine sympathy.

"Thanks. The manifests did not work in my favour," she continued, shuddering at the memory. "And that would have been the end of it, but it turns out that for October and Halloween, a witch can be mentored through the branches of magic to strengthen their craft. That's where you come in." She gestured to the old man in front of her, who beamed.

"There weren't many options for mentoring. Most of them had met a rather unfortunate end, sadly," Belle added. "But there you were. And here we are. Drinking tea."

Artorius simply nodded. The combination of Belle's nerves and his apparent lack of socialising meant that the pair sat in silence for a time. But it was already a strangely comfortable silence. A charitable silence, allowing the other to think and adjust. Light rain was now falling outside, drops tapping at the thin windowpanes like glass marbles.

Belle wondered whether it was best to get the rest of the difficult conversation out of the way first. But it didn't feel quite right to launch into questions about murder and vengeance and banishment. She was here for herself, after all. Maybe it was in her own interest to keep the peace and complete the list, tick off all the boxes as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Maybe she didn't necessarily need the answers yet. She was safe, Rune had made that clear. She was grateful when Artorius took the lead again.

"First of all, I imagine you may be feeling great disappointment in how your trial concluded. But I for one am glad that Selcouth has reached out the hand of second chances to you. Sometimes a second chance is all one needs." He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Even a witch as useless as me?" She gave a breathy, awkward laugh.

"There is much, much more to a witch than simply her technical abilities. Magic is in your spirit, Belle. It makes up your body and soul, like blood and sinew and muscle. It is not a matter of separation, if you ask me, not something that can be weighed or measured for judgement."

Belle was taken aback by his spirit.

"Before we begin our studies, and earn you the result that you rightfully deserve, I must insist that you allow no doubt to hinder our efforts." He rattled a determined finger at her. "Or, if you do feel it, as is inevitable in this life, you must not let it win," Artorius said firmly.

She nodded, touched by his considerate words.

"Good. And so, to the kettle of weasels at hand," the old man continued, drumming on the table. "I think this calls for treats. After all, we are celebrating the start of a wonderful adventure. For both of us, I'm sure."

He raised a frail arm and cast his palm out. In a moment, the tin wriggled itself away from the counter and flew to the table with a couple of uneasy rattles to match his unsteady hand.

"Must feel pretty good to have that back in your system," Belle said.

"Hmm?"

"The magic. Having your powers reinstated after all this time."

"Back in my…Oh! Yes, very good. Rather a novelty, of course."

Artorius prised open the tin to reveal four fairy cakes encased in pastel-coloured papers, looking altogether squashed and sorry for themselves.

"I beg your pardon, Belle. The fairies at the bottom of the garden would be most ashamed of me, embarrassing their delicacy like this." Belle suppressed further questions, only adding more to the pile every moment that passed. "Perhaps past their best, but nothing that a little magic can't fix." Artorius lifted a cake into his palm, hovered his fingers just above it for a moment and unfurled them to reveal a fluffier, perfect version with a rainbow of hundreds and thousands set in sticky icing. "Freshly baked today." He winked at Belle and handed her the snack.

"Now, that is worthwhile magic."

"I respect the art of powerful witchcraft to the utmost, especially when it comes to reviving stale snacks." He busied himself, carefully peeled away the paper like he was uncovering a treasure and raised his fairy cake. "To your birthday. To new friends. And the adventure of self-discovery."

Belle bit into the golden lightness and felt the sweetness squash between her teeth. The familiar taste took her back to evenings at her grandmother's house after school. Sugar and blankets and TV and armchairs.

"Frogs and martens! The grand tour!" Artorius leapt from his seat with surprising amounts of energy. "I'm a little out of practice when it comes to being the host with the most. Please, Belle, do come with me and I'll show you around."

She followed behind Artorius as he showed her the rest of his home. A ramshackle but cosy living room sat at the front of the house. Shag carpets. Two armchairs. Worn upholstery, brash floral patterns clashing dramatically with everything else in the room. A small boxy television that didn't seem to ever be switched off and showed a picture that flickered with the wind speed. Every surface possible bore a cream-coloured doily, which Artorius proudly informed Belle that he'd crocheted himself. It was comfortable and inviting but frozen in the past, pulled together by someone who'd tried their best to hold on to a sense of home. The fireplace, constantly roaring and (Belle suspected, magically) stoked, helped a great deal.

A study of sorts lay behind it, less a place of work and more a jumble sale, mere hints of a desk buried under piles of documents and discarded reference texts. It felt like what would be an accurate physical representation of all of the knowledge within an old warlock's mind, spilling out in a clutter of loose pages and scribbled paper under an array of glass paperweights. Belle cupped her hand against the back window and peered out into the thick black London night. She could make out the silhouette of a wildly overgrown garden lying in wait. Thickets, brambles and weeds knitted themselves together, droplets of rainwater caught in the moonlight like gemstones.

Up the creaking stairs, Artorius's bedroom sat at the back of the house, overlooking the garden and next to a bathroom with a slightly alarming avocado-green colour scheme. A second winding spiral staircase towered in one corner of the landing, which Artorius explained led up to the attic.

"For us to visit another night. And best to not head up there without me. It's a room that can be unpredictable, to say the least."

"That's a bit ominous."

Artorius didn't respond, either unhearing or pretending to be.

"We merely make our acquaintances tonight, Belle. Of course, our limited moons are precious, but I also think that it's important to begin with fresh eyes tomorrow."

Artorius had insisted on escorting Belle to the end of the path as she headed out with the moon hanging high and heavy. They had to stop several times as he made various exclamations at plants poking their heads through the ground of his front garden and to give a quick scratch behind the ears to a fox who seemed to be a faithful friend. Maybe even a familiar.

"This one stops by most nights for dinner," Artorius explained. "Although I can't tell you how marvellous it is to have a little human company again."

Their meeting could not have been further from what Belle had anticipated. It seemed impossible that this man, so kind and gentle, could be the same figure that Bronwyn had spoken of with such loathing in her voice.

"I'm looking forward to working with you," she said. Something compelled her honesty, and she felt the need to share it. "I actually have a weirdly good feeling about this, something I haven't felt for a while." She sounded as surprised as she felt.

Artorius politely lifted his pink hat to Belle. With a grateful nod, she headed down the broken driveway. She turned back to lock the gate, expecting the old man to have vanished back inside. Instead, she found that he remained, a few rogue sparks of magic lingering around him like biscuit crumbs, to wave his hat the whole way behind her until she turned the corner.