A Bad Night In Bridgetown

A Trip To Hamsamperburg

"What do you mean the bridge is closed?"

"Bridge is closed till the burning. Can't risk allowing a witch to get to Bridgetown."

"Witch? There's a witch? Can't be a witch, surely not. Not a witch."

Lester was not doing well in this negotiation. James felt that he had to chip in.

"Without wishing to seem backwards," he said, sitting to attention on Lester's shoulder. "Is it not the case that witches go to Bridgetown all the time? From my recollection there are specialist stalls there catering to every need a witch might have."

"Did you know that mouse could talk?" the guard asked Lester.

This was one of the things that annoyed James on a regular basis. Whilst people acclimatised to the fact of a talking mouse they could really be rather rude.

"Oh, yes, sure," Lester replied. "And... well... what the mouse said."

When Lester was rude it was an entirely different matter, James felt himself bristle:

"My name," he grated. "Is James." Both Lester and the guard ignored him. It irritated James even further that he was becoming used to this.

"While it is true that there is nothing wrong with the vast majority of witches," the guard said, speaking slowly. "This particular witch is one of the bad kind. The good people of Hamsamperburg cannot allow that witch to disappear. If this witch escapes into the coloured awnings, smoke and noise of the Patchwork Market we... well... we could get a reputation. The Master of the Market could close the bridge."

James couldn't work out why this man was speaking this way. Maybe it was because he was trying to communicate with people he thought were stupid. Or possibly because he was trying not to say anything that could be diplomatically misconstrued. It could just be that he was trying to dredge this speech up from some murky corner of his mind. A place he'd abandoned it earlier, believing that he would never be given cause to recite it for an audience. Whichever it was it did not convince him.

"Oh, so, most witches are fine," Lester said, the relief in his voice was both palpable and quite pathetic. "So, uh, when can we expect the bridge to be open?"

"Burning's at dusk, will run all night," the guard responded, already glad that the conversation was over. "Refreshments will be available, I understand there may also be a carousel."

"Nothing like a public execution. Especially when you need something different for the family outing," James muttered. Everyone over five and a half feet tall with opposable thumbs and no whiskers continued to ignore him.

Lester turned away from the guard at the gatehouse. He started back along the road towards Hamsamperburg town square.

"I guess we'll just have to stay for the night then," Lester said, half to himself, half to James. "The princess might like the carousel."

"Oh, so you're talking to me now?" James said.

"Sorry?" Lester said. "Was I not talking to you before?"

"Never mind," James sighed. "Forget I said anything."

"Did you say anything? That made sense, I mean," Lester asked.

James thought back to the earth-shaking destruction of Vikor Moorshade's pleasure dome. There was a tiny sliver of the recollection that played out as a fantasy where a very large rock hit Lester in the head. This hadn't happened. James instantly felt horrendous guilt at even imagining his companion felled by a falling chunk of marble.

At the moment, James didn't really understand much of anything, least of all himself. He just wanted to find Rachel so that they could get their stupid adventure finished and return to the Skull Garden. He could get another pumpkin, life could go back to the way it had been before.