Further Pee-Bales and Cute Little Knives

Sonny

In a million years, I would never have dreamed of calling the land shrouding Stinkhorn Manor “gardens.” Scrubland would have been an apter term. Wasteland. A dust bowl. An ecological graveyard.

Parched, cracked earth stretched around for what seemed like miles, punctuated only by the hardiest, most nuclear of weeds. Thistle and knotweed and horsetail and occasionally, a little burst of yellow dandelion. It had been a long time since anyone showed a drop of interest in the grounds.

I wouldn’t even know where to start. I mean, I would. I’d start by removing the weeds and trying to save the soil. I grabbed a handful and let it fall through my fingers as though it was sand. It would be a heck of a job.

Willow and Oggy watched me diligently. Claude, having retreated inside the mushroom-shaped mansion, was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s not usually like this,” Oggy said, scrubbing the base of her plimsole against the dirt. “It’s because we’re so close to the summer solstice. It always gets a bit dusty around this time of year.”

“It’s never this bad, though, is it?” said Willow, in a quiet, resigned voice.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Oggy. She turned to me. “The house is... well, magical. It feeds from whatever is around.” She motioned her arms wide. “And it pulls magic from that. Twice a year Claude’s father would return to the house from his travels to perform a ritual—we could show you the ley lines, they seem to be the only place with any grass left. The ritual restores the magic in the land and everything becomes green again. But he died a few weeks ago, and now we’re...”

“We’re shitting paddles,” Willow finished. “Or however the saying goes.”

“So, that’s why Claude’s here?”

“Right. He has to continue with the ritual, but he doesn’t know what to do, what it involves. And none of us know because Angus told no one.”

Of course he didn’t. Bloody shroom fae. All the pieces of the past few days began clicking into place. Claude not showing up for his U-Rail shifts. The emails. Why I’d been called in without Claude realising who I was. Presumably he’d found my business card in his wallet—the one I’d planted the morning I took his cufflink—and he hadn’t put two and two together. Hadn’t realised I was the surprise mycologist come to save the day.

I patted the butt pocket of my jeans to check the cufflink was still there. It was. I had thought this, and this alone, was the reason for my summons. I knew very little about mushroom magic. That was why I so desperately wanted to talk with Claude. And now it turned out he also knew nothing.

But I had a choice, I guessed. A chance to help someone in need. And not only that, but a chance to learn more about a subject I was obsessed with, from a man I was fascinated by. Sure, he was grumpy and seemed reluctant to accept my help, but maybe I could find a way through that tough, cranky exterior of his. Also, if he was as desperate as the sentry fae were making him out to be, what other option did he have?

I couldn’t not help him if I had the capability, and he couldn’t very well say no if I was the only person able to help.

Willow and Oggy patiently waited for my internal debate to conclude itself.

“Would you like to see the rest of the gardens?” Oggy asked. “It’s not all this bad, I promise. It gets greener the closer you get to the house. The kitchen gardens are still reasonably productive.”

“Kitchen gardens?” My attention spiked. “Okay, next time, lead with that.”

The walled kitchen gardens sat a short walk away from the main house, and adjacent to the small dining patio of the bed and breakfast. Ten-foot-high red-brick walls wrapped around the entire acre, acre and a half of space. In the centre were enormous mesh fruit cages containing raspberries, red currants, blueberries, and in neat little rows besides them, were brassicas and legumes and cut flowers. Daffodils and anemones and tulips—probably for the B&B’s dining tables and guest bedrooms—sprouted between cabbages and cauliflowers and beans. Things grew that shouldn’t technically be growing this time of year, but I figured that was due to the house’s, and the sentry fae’s, glamour.

The oxytocin now flooding my bloodstream at the sight of a productive mega-allotment had fully replaced the adrenaline from meeting the surtr earlier. But the kitchen gardens weren’t perfect. I noticed many, many areas of bare soil, waiting for new plants, yet exposed to the elements. And also a great number of weeds. Mostly bindweed. Nothing my trusty hori hori and a good few hours on my knees wouldn’t sort out. Such a shame I hadn’t packed it. Would have been an enjoyable way to while away some time before I decided what the fuck I was going to do.

“Who tends to the kitchen garden?” I asked, looking between the sentry fae. I wanted to make clear from my tone I was impressed, not accusing them of botanical negligence.

“Nobody,” Willow answered.

“We use it every day to pick fruit and veg for the guests’ breakfasts and suppers, but we don’t tend to it,” Oggy said. Upon seeing my super confused face, she added, “Between the house’s magic, and our sentry glamour, it just sort of produces everything we need.”

“So, how do you...” I began, but trailed off, lost in my own thoughts.

When I was a child, I had a book—which, okay, I stole—but it detailed all the different magics of the different species of fae. From what I could remember about sentry fae, their glamour worked in such a way that simply accommodated everyone, and that was that. If a person under their charge wanted an ice-cream sandwich, their magic would make it happen. If they needed an extra blanket, or a massage, or a specialist television channel installed in their room, the sentry fae’s glamour would make it so. It was fascinating. I’d always dreamed of staying in a place governed by sentry fae.

Of course, the same book told me nothing about shroom fae. If I remembered accurately, there were a few illustrations of shroom fae—one that looked spookily like Claude—and in a box where it detailed the properties of the fae’s glamour, it had said:

Shroom fae are the most mysterious and elusive of all species. You will never get a shroom fae to talk about their glamour, so don’t waste your breath trying.

Who’d have thought those two simple sentences would lead to a centuries-long obsession?

“It’s difficult, sometimes, to know what is the house’s magic and what’s ours,” Oggy said.

“Like,” Willow added. “That stuff over there.” They pointed to an area obscured by the fruit cages. “That wasn’t here this morning. Did our glamour create it to satisfy you? Or is the house trying to convince you to stay?”

I leaned back, and back, far enough to get a decent look at what Willow was pointing at. My heart skipped a beat—several beats—and I found myself running towards it.

“A pee-bale!” I shouted, gesturing towards the bale of hay tucked against the far wall. I did need to pee after all that travelling, but I didn’t want to scar the sentry fae by whipping out parts of my anatomy in front of them.

“A what?” said Oggy, jogging to catch up.

“A pee-bale. You... Um... It collects your pee and then you spread the straw under the plants, and it restores some nutrients into the soil.”

“Pee nutrients?” Oggy said, her eyebrows pulled together in the centre.

“Yes! There are so many amazing things inside our body that we flush down the toilet. I mean, nearly every waste product can be recycled into the earth.”

“What about barf?” Willow asked.

“Well, okay, maybe barf is the exception. Nearly every waste product that’s been filtered by our bodies,” I clarified.

“What about shit? Or jizz?” said a booming voice from behind the sentry fae. Jasper, the surtr had returned, and was grinning maniacally.

I swallowed the rising fear. “Well, manure has always been considered one of the best fertilisers, and jizz... well, I’d need to conduct some further research, but I’d hazard a guess it would be very beneficial to the plants.”

“Why don’t you conduct this further research right now?” Jasper said.

“Mr Dupont!” Oggy yelled. “What have we told you about sexually harassing other guests?”

Willow took a subtle step in front of Oggy, but said nothing.

“I’m not sexually harassing him. I’m merely stating that perhaps it’s something he ought to look into.”

“He’ll deeply consider your words of wisdom,” Willow finally said. “But don’t you have fatal booby traps to set?”

“Nah, piano’s all ready to go. Just waiting for Helena to finish her morning yoga.” Jasper chuckled to himself. The sound echoed through the ground beneath my feet. “Thought I’d pop down to see how Professor Mushroom-Shagger is getting on.”

“Please,” said Oggy. “Please refrain from insulting our guests.”

This time I stepped in front of Oggy. “It’s fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I’d spoken for my benefit, Oggy’s, or the nine-foot fire daemon’s. This scary-as-heck dude could call me whatever he wanted. I doubted there’d be anything I, nor two petite sentry fae, could do to stop him.

In any case, Jasper ignored us both. “Ooh, this is a cute little stabber.” He picked something up from the top of the pee-bale and slipped it out of its tan, leather sheath. A hori hori knife. No, wait a second—

“My hori hori!” I snatched the instrument from Jasper’s hands, who relinquished it without resistance, and I inspected the tool. A sort of cross between a trowel and a serrated dagger. Perfect for digging out weeds.

It was my knife alright. My initials, S.D., had been scratched into the wooden handle, and residue from plant matter gathered in the crack where the blade met the handle. Even some of my blood from a particularly nasty encounter with a rose bush remained caked onto the steel.

“H... How?” I sputtered. “I left this on my tool belt on a hook by my front door.”

Oggy pointed to my waist, where said belt was now fastened securely. My snips were there, and my secateurs. Also, a ball of twine in the apron pocket, and some wooden plant labels I’d painted with chalkboard paint, and a chalk pen.

“How?” I said again.

“That must be the house’s magic. I don’t think our glamour is quite that powerful,” Willow said.

“It—” Oggy began, but then stopped herself. She took a deep inhale. “It understands that both Claude and yourself are the solution to our problem.”

“But—”

Oggy continued. “The house needs you both to stay, and to figure this out together. I don’t know why you’re important. It might be that you’re a mycologist, or it might be something else. We have no way of knowing because of the ties that prevent anyone from discussing mushroom magic, but what I do know—because I feel it in my ancient bones—is that it has to be you, Sonny. You and Claude together have to figure this out. To save us all.”

Jasper opened his mouth to say something, but Oggy cut him off too.

“Zip it,” she said, and he snapped his jaw shut again.

There was a moment of silence. Jasper stood, towering over everyone, creating an ominous, slightly eggy shadow. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow towards me, in what felt like a challenge. Willow took Oggy’s hand in theirs and was subtly nodding to her. Oggy herself looked close to tears.

“So,” Willow said, breaking the silence and turning to me. “Now that we’ve established you’re the chosen one, shall we show you to your room?”

Turned out neither of the sentry fae knew where my room was, and were simply following “vibes” through the mansion to find it. Thankfully, Jasper had decided he’d had enough entertainment from me, and left us three at the entry to the house from the bed and breakfast. It felt like we’d been walking for hours, trying door after door that either wouldn’t unlock for Willow or Oggy, or else was clearly a bathroom, or linen closet, or storage space, and decidedly not a bedroom.

We travelled higher and higher inside the turrets of the property until finally we arrived at a narrow spiral staircase.

“Surely not,” Willow said, looking at Oggy. “There’s only one room at the top of those stairs.”

Oggy shrugged. “Perhaps there are two now.” She began climbing, and Willow and I followed.

And sure enough, when we reached the topmost step, we were greeted by a dark, windowless hallway lit by a glowing, mushroom-shaped lamp. It revealed two doors sitting exactly opposite each other.

Willow frowned, then pulled their eyebrows into their hairline, and bypassed the door on the left to open the one on the right.

Immediately, I—we all—knew this was my room. I couldn’t stop myself from rushing forward in excitement.

“This is the house’s magic?” I asked no one in particular. The question was rhetorical. I knew this was the house’s magic. “It’s absolutely incredible.”

The room—my room—was enormous, and was split into a few sections. The first seemed like a mini library, with shelves containing books from seasonal veg planting to growing hallucinogenic mushrooms, perhaps even some on ancient mushroom magic. I would pore over those tomes later for sure, but there was too much to take in right away.

Beyond the library was a very modern triple-monitored desktop computer with a comfortable looking vegan-leather, high-backed office chair, and beyond that, an area sectioned off by glass panels. A lab. An actual fucking lab. Better than my own lab back at UR. I spied microscopes and burners and a centrifuge machine and scales and all manner of beakers and petri dishes and test tubes.

“Bathroom’s through here,” Willow said, snapping me out of my awestruck wonder. They whistled and disappeared behind the door. “The shower’s outside!” they said, running back into the main part of the room like an excited child.

I followed them back into the bathroom, like an even more excited child. “Oh, my gods.” The shower was indeed external to the main turret. Like on a balcony, but with higher, more opaque railings. I leaned my head over them. “The walled garden! Oh my gods, the shower water drains straight into a butt!”

I was laughing. Giddy. “I love it! It’s perfect,” I said to the sentry fae, returning to the library area.

“There’s a kitchenette, too.” Oggy pointed to an area with a few vinyl-covered cupboards, a sink, and a kettle. “We’ll keep it stocked for you.” She looked about the room, at nothing or no one in particular. “Or at least, we’ll try to.”

“It’s amazing.” I was breathless. “Uh...” I glanced around the space for another area, or a door leading somewhere else. I really, really didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but... “Where’s... uh, where’s... the bedroom? Is there somewhere for me to sleep?”

Willow and Oggy whipped their heads left and right, evidently coming to the same conclusion as me.

“It does not appear to have a bed. Perhaps it intends for you to sleep elsewhere?” Oggy asked, her voice quiet, unsure.

“But we’ve tried every door in the house,” Willow said. “There’s nowhere else.”

“There’s one you haven’t tried.” I was already marching out of my room into the dark, mushroom-lamp-illuminated hallway. “What about—”

My words died in my throat, and my initial excitement was replaced by a barrage of new emotions: regret, shame, adrenaline... arousal.

Because in the doorway we’d originally bypassed to get to mine, stood Claude.

Wearing a handsome tweed three-piece suit, smart brown leather brogues, and the biggest scowl I’d ever seen.

I swallowed against the rising panic, and the growing urgency to physically wipe the angry grimace from his mouth by smashing my own into it.

Why did I want to kiss him?

He stared at me for the longest time.

I should say something . . . but, what?

“Can I just—” I started, but Claude cut me off.

“You stole from me!”