Author's Note: Sorry it's not very good, very very very busy nowadays (live in Australia, no holidays here, chocablock-full of exams), will edit it again later. I tried to make it slightly less confusing, not sure if it worked, but it's all I have time for at the moment.

Chapter Eleven: The Witch

I was vaguely conscious of the crystal-textured lights that dotted the mountains of limestone formations. Those lights were candles, bright orange in the flame and giving off the exotic aroma of magnolia petals as they burnt.

From the corner of my eye I could see a mammoth church organ of a bright, polished white – another limestone formation, half fact, half fantasy.

The air was warm and fragrant, with a certain density to it. A languid, profoundly sopoforic atmosphere filled the chamber. It was only heightened by the smoke coming from the jolly fire we had rekindled earlier that night.

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. The large cluster of stalactites that hung from it gave the impression of a large, antique chandelier. It was speckled by myriads of tiny, white lights – glow worms. Their pale illumination gave the chamber an unearthly feeling.

The heavy silence was only punctuated by the sound of Peter snoring, hippopotamus-style, as he lay dangerously close to the licking flames. My second companion lay on a rug further away.

I watched as the blue-clothed, white-laced kitten slowly uncurled. A blinking Nelly turned towards me.

"Elf…" she began, stopping to shade her mouth as she gave a not altogether petite yawn.

I didn't stir from the posture I had held for almost half an hour – that is, the posture of a thinker. My eyes, however, were fixed on Nelly as she gradually crept towards me.

"Can't you sleep," she asked in an intimate whisper as she gathered up her dress to sit down beside me.

I shook my head slightly, staring determinedly at the dancing flames.

There was a pause.

"Is everything all right?" asked Nelly softly.

I continued staring at the fire, something warm and wet fogging up my vision. Redmond kidnapped, Jimmy running for his life, my mother dead, myself lost, bandits haunting the countryside…No, things weren't "all right." The world was a black, moth-eaten tunnel, devoid of the slightest hope.

"You're worried about Peter, aren't you," she said understandingly.

"Peter?" I suddenly took my eyes off the fire, surprised. "Why would I be worried about him?"

"Because he's an orphan…because those robbers are after him…because he's lonely," she added meaningfully.

Loneliness…how well I had known that feeling over the years at Interkingdom College, where there was not a soul to whom I could relate.

"He keeps in good spirits and everything," continued Nelly, "but there's always a hint of sadness, of…I don't know, it's something to do with him having to be responsible for himself so early. He's too old for his years."

"I've noticed something similar," I said, after a short pause. "However much he jokes, there's always…something," I frowned, quite at loss for a word. "There is something in his manner that is almost theatrical…as if all he did and said was an outward charade and inside there was something different." I paused again. Should I tell her? I glanced in Peter's direction – he was snoring more loudly still. Satisfied that he wasn't listening, I began. "Nelly, there's something shifty about Peter," I said in a low voice. "I like him, I really do, but as I said…the way he talks, and acts…he's just…just...just like…"

"An actor?" suggested Nelly, smiling slightly.

"Yes," I said, clearing my throat a little uneasily. "Really, Nelly," I said, seeing her laugh, "I'm serious. I think he's in with them…with those robbers."

"But he said-"

"I'm not interested in what he said. Frankly, I don't believe him. His whole story sounds like something he fabricated for our benefit…so that we trust him, so he can take us in."

"I don't know," said Nelly hesitantly. "Remember how that Hoodley said he – Peter, I mean – had betrayed them? Doesn't that support Peter's story?"

I bit my lips. I had forgotten about that. "Maybe he did, but now they're…forgive me…'as thick as thieves' again. Consider, Nelly, what we heard at the signpost. The man behind the bushes wanted Peter to make sure the musketeers didn't make any trouble. Isn't that proof?"

"I don't know," said Nelly again. "How can you be sure it had something to do with the robbers?"

"What else could it have been," I frowned. "Whoever it was talking to Peter must have been the master that servant was looking for. You know which servant...I forget his name…"

"Mr Bloom?" suggested Nelly.

"Mr Bloom, that's right," I said absent-mindedly, still trying to mentally piece the puzzle together. I frowned as the unseen man's voice rang through my head afresh. Now I thought about it, it was oddly familiar.

"Well, I think you shouldn't jump to conclusions about Peter," said Nelly, "until you have some solid evidence –"

"I've got it!" Iexclaimed excitedly. "The man in the bushes was the man who stole my bag earlier before…the man who stole your brother's horse…the man who had the first portrait miniature!"

"But Elf–"

I waved her protests away as if they had been mere flies. I continued, too impressed by my sudden flash of brilliance to take any notice of the helpnessness on my friend's face. "They're in this together, Nelly. I'm certain of it."

"But Elf, remember how you saved him from the robbers? How they wanted to attack him, but you stood true?"

I paused, unable to think of any reply to this.

"The very one who was trying to get at him was the one who stole your things!" added Nelly. "Besides," she continued, more to herself than anything else, "his voice was different. His voice was…" She drifted off, a faint, inexplicable smile on her lips.

"Wait a minute. They must have organised it that way. Peter pretended to be a poor peasant whom they were robbing…so we would take pity on him and pay them instead!"

"Elf, really," said Nelly, looking half exasperated, half amused.

"Nelly, admit it, Peter's acting very fishily. He's got a secret."

"Yes, but Elf…it doesn't do to jump to conclusions about people until you have a firm reason to do so! For all you know, his secret could be something totally different…"

"Such as…?"

"I'm not sure," she said slowly, "but in any case, I would not hold any grudge towards him without having a strong grounds for it. I like him," she added, turning her silky brown head in his direction.

"I already said I liked him," I said irritably. "But that doesn't stop me from suspecting him."

Nelly looked at me for a moment, looking as if she didn't know whether to smile or frown. She went for the smile. "Suspect him as you may, you must acknowledge he has been very good company."

"True," I said in an off-hand voice.

"And that he has never shown any signs of malice?"

"I suppose not."

"You know, Elf," mused Nelly, "you probably won't believe me but there are times when you and Peter look very much alike."

"Us?" I exclaimed loudly. Peter stopped snoring abruptly. "I mean…us?" I dropped my voice to a whisper, my eyes still on Peter. He merely rolled over and started snoring again.

"Yes, you two," she said, her teasing smile growing to a grin as she saw my look of bewilderment. "I don't know, I think it's something to do with the way you both let your mouth hang open when you look puzzled…" she continued innocently, "…like now," she added. I realised my mouth was indeed open and hurriedly shut it.

"Anyway," said Nelly softly, "I think it's time to get some sleep. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose it is."

"It really is a stroke of luck that we fell into this cave at all. Otherwise we would be out there, in the rain..."

"Yes," I agreed, "though it was pretty well disguised luck! Don't forget we still have to find our way out of here."

"True. But I'm sure we'll manage, somehow."

"Hopefully. Then we'll continue on our way to Thorny...do you think it's far, now?"

"We are a little...lost," Nelly reminded me. "I can't really tell. I think we might be going in the wrong direction."

"This forest can't be infinite!" I exclaimed, making a gesture with my hands that was meant to indicate infinity but ended up looking more like a simple "I don't know".

"I suppose not. Anyhow...good night!"

"Good night," I replied.

Nelly picked up the folds of her dress again and went back over to her rug.

I stared at the fire for a few more moments before lying down myself. My thoughts flew through my head like scattered leaves in a strong, autumn wind. Even when I did lie down, I still couldn't sleep. I rolled over, and back again, on one side, on the other…I lay flat on my back, then on my belly…nothing worked. It seemed I was destined not to fall asleep that night. But eventually, I did.

I awoke to the sound of ringing voices, which seemed to be speaking a language I couldn't understand behind the wall. Bleary-eyed, I glanced around me – the fire was still burning, though not altogether so brightly as before. The smoke whirled up into the air in clouds that assumed shapes, and shapes that became creatures. Goblins, ghosts, and ghouls flew up to the ceiling in one vapoury essence. Each spectre's eyes turned on me in turn as it grinned devilishly.

It was only when I realised that Nelly and Peter had disappeared that I really woke up. As I tuned into my surroundings, I also began to understand what the voices were saying.

"…she is waitin' for him," said the first, male voice, which had a similar accent to Bloom but was somewhat more high-pitched.

"In the Interkingdom Hotel, I suppose?"

"No, at the Yellow Ram's Inn, Thorny."

"I see. I'll tell him that," replied a second, throaty voice. "I suppose she will pay him…?"

"Amply."

"I was under the the impression that one of them had already met her?"

"Yes, ma'am, one Jimmy Meralds –" At the sound of the name, a buzzing sound filled my head – it was as if a thousand bees were flying around my ears. My heart was in my throat, and while the bees cleared up my blood turned to ice…

"…but you see, her business with him was entirely different. He had nothing to do with the kidnapping –"

My stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

"Quiet, man, there are people listening!" hissed the second voice.

"Oh. Right. Well," continued the first voice, rather more softly, "if you see Magpie, you'll tell him, won't you, ma'am?"

"Yes. And be assured that where there's money involved, he'll be involved too. Now ye may go. I trust yer journey will not be made too unpleasant by the rain…"

"Not at all, ma'am, it stopped raining an hour ago. And Thorny is not far…"

"I believe not. Pleasant journey, then."

"Thank you, ma'am. There's just one thing…"

"Money?"

"That too, but…"

"But?"

"Where is the way out?"

The sound of cackling filled the antechamber.

"Now that's what I call frankness! I knew yeh were no whippersnapper, to come to the Black Cave!"

"I was the only one brave enough to go, ma'am," said the first voice – I wasn't sure which was more prominent in it, the proudness, or the squeakiness.

"Ah! Then we shall have to give yeh double payment! Come, come, I'll show yeh the way…"

Footsteps could be heard, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling away. A kind of dotted-rhythm half-limp followed them, and then there was silence.

I didn't breathe. My hands trembled slightly. Jimmy had been the man behind the bushes. Jimmy had been the one who stole my bag, Jimmy had taken the portrait of my unkown saviour from me. Or had he? A thousand hammers were knocking at my brain. Surely not, surely Jimmy's voice was different…surely…but the more I thought about it the more I became convinced that Jimmy had been the one who had taken my portrait away from me, Jimmy who had indeed stolen my butterfly, Jimmy who was one of those horrible robbers…

I thought I was going to faint when, again, I heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, this time returning down the corridor. I hastily got up and hid behind some columns of sparkling limestone; they formed spectacular arches and supernatural pieces of architecture that no human could duplicate.

I heard the hobbling footsteps enter the chamber, a croaky voice reciting a chant at the same time.

"Today I bake, tomorrow I brew,

The next the wind'll quench the fire…

Ha! When she will come and look,

And find –

"No. It's really no good. The rhyming and the metre just ain't good enough," sighed the voice. "From the beginning, then, what do yeh say? Alright.

"Today I bake, tomorrow I cook,

The next the wind'll quench the fire…

"Now that's much better. Then 'cook' rhymes with 'look.' What do yeh say, Wolfgang? Yes, I quite agree with ye."

I found a small hole in the limestone formations and peeked through it.

An old crone was hunched over the glowing, mandarin flames like a small boulder in a forest. Hoary wisps of hair floated from her head, together creating the effect of shaggy frost on a winter's eve. A black, pointed hat shaded her cavernous face, and a long, ebony cloak shrouded the rest of her body. Nestled by her feet was a little black dog. To add to it all, her strange mutterings were magnified by the marvellous acoustics of the grotto.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron, bubble…"

A groan echoed through the cave. "Was it burn, or bake? I can never remember…" Here she reached for a large, tattered book and began flipping through the pages. "Shakespeare, old chap, I'm sorry ye had to be exposed to the rain like that," she said apologetically, apparently to the book. "But if he had listened to my advice none of this would have ever happened. And now we're in this mess." There was a pause; she appeared to be musing in silence. "If only the poor old girl didn't have to worry so much. Of course, it's partly my fault…I wonder where she is now. Don't you, Wolfgang? Where the poor –" she suddenly glanced up and stopped stock still as her eyes settled on me.

I ducked down behind a cluster of stalagmites.The sound of hurried shuffling came nearer and nearer to my hiding place.

"I would have sworn," whispered a voice. I raised my eyes suddenly, and my heart ricocheted like a wild animal in a cage.

"Is anybody there?" croaked the old woman loudly. "Come on, show yerself! Or I'll turn ye in to a cockroach before ye can say Jack Robinson!"

I rose slowly from my hiding place. Through the window I could see her black eyes burning by the firelight. We stood face to face for a few moments.

"Don't stare at me like that," she snapped, breaking the silence. "Have ye never seen a witch before?"

I shook my head slightly.

"Hmph! Anyhow, 'tis an insult to etiquette to listen behind doors. Well, come out, come out," she continued, somewhat irritably, "don't stand there, trembling like a cornered chicken!"

"I wasn't listening behind a door," I said, cautiously coming out from behind the column of limestone, "I was listening from behind a window."

"Tush, tush, girl, 'tis the same thing! Come – let me look at ye." She put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. "Yer doan' look much like a princess!" I took a step back.

"But never mind…" she continued, not noticing my obvious bewilderment. "Ye doan' have to! Come, sit by the fire, there's a good girl. Sit down, sit down," she repeated, gesturing me a rug close to the fire. She returned to her former position, and I saw that she was stirring something that was hoisted in a pot above the fire – a pot that decidedly had not been there earlier on. "Now, tell me…who are ye, and what do yeh want?"

"My name is…Emma," I said cautiously.

"Emma! How ingenious!"

"And I want to know what really happened to Prince Redmond."

"Prince Redmond!" she cackled. "What do ye wan' with him? He's nothing to ye! Yer should be a-worried about Prince James, that's what!"

"Prince James? Has he been kidnapped too?"

"Kiddnapped fiddlesticks! He is now in very great danger of his life! It's ebbing away from him!"

I paused. I thought for a moment that I heard a voice of midnight velvet, slowly dying away, fading into nothingness. Prince James…dying?

"Prince Redmond!" she repeated, clucking most disapprovingly. "Prince Redmond is safe enough. Kidnapped, but…all in all…quite safe." I could hardly supress a sigh of relief. "Prince James, on the other hand…" she continued mercilessly.

"What's happened to him?" I asked, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

"What's happened to him?" she repeated incredulously. "Why, the whole kingdom knows whats happened to him! Yeh doan' mean to say you doan' know what's happened to him?" she exclaimed, "Yeh doan' know!"

"No," I said, at an attempt at calmness, "I do not."

"Ha!" She stirred the liquid with extra vigour.

"Are you going to tell me, then?" I asked, somewhat annoyed.

She took the ladle out and brandished it at me. "If you doan' know, you doan' know," she said gravely, and went back to her stirring as if nothing had happened.

I raised my eyes to the stalactite-covered ceiling.

She continued stirring in silence, holding her head low. Though her face was in shadow and her eyes were cast down, somehow I felt her looking at me. Eventually I made another attempt at conversation. "What's that you're cooking, Grandma?"

"Eel soup," came the prompt reply. "Want some?"

"No, thank you," I said quickly, "…I'm not hungry." Just then my stomach gave a loud growl of protest. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice. We sat, again, in silence.

I stared at the dancing flames. If only I could find Redmond, and rescue him somehow…if only there was some way I could reform Jimmy…if only, oh if only things had been different.

"Nice dog," I commented.

"He's not mine. I am only looking after him. Yeh miss yer master, don't yeh, Wolfgang?" she asked the dog, giving him something that was more like a scrub than a pat.

Wolfgang lifted his head slightly in recognition, just enough for me to see two liquid brown eyes, and again sank down to doze.

"There are some things you can't understand, Esmerelda," said the witch quietly. Though I opened my mouth to say something, she intercepted me. "I know what you're going to say: you're not Esmerelda, you have no idea about her. But," she drew out the ladle again, pointing it at me, "you are."

In the distance I could detect the silent flapping of bats' wings against the colourless hollow. I dropped my eyes.

"To tell the truth," she continued, unabashed, "there are many things you can't understand. There have been strange goings-on in the past few weeks, some so strange that if I told you about them, you probably wouldn't believe me." Her tone was grave and somewhat changed; suddenly I noticed that she had switched from "yeh" to "you". I stared at her blankly.

"You still have much before you," she said slowly, not raising her eyes. "Look on it as a test…as a challenge, if you like. What was it you wanted to know about Prince Redmond?"

"I –"

"Oh yes, that's right. His kidnapping. Well," she said, her forehead creasing slightly, "put it this way. Redmond is being punished – " I raised my eyes in alarm. "Redmond is being punished," she said unwaveringly as she fixed her eyes on me, "for neglect and thoughtlessness. He has been thoroughly, thoroughly neglectful in many ways. He has not handled the situation properly many times. And now he is forced into a worse situation than he ever has been in the past (due to his eccentric tomfoolery)…and he must handle it. Do not pity him, Esmerelda," she said, the corners of her lips twitching slightly, "he's not worth it."

"What do you know about Redmond?" I fired up. "You know nothing, nothing! Stop making ignorant assumptions – "

"Ah, but they are not assumptions," she said, waving a threatening finger at me. "What I have told you is the simple…or, should I say, the complex…truth."

"I asked about Redmond's kidnapping. All you have told me is that Redmond is as good as a good-for-nothing –"

"He is a good-for-nothing."

"He's not a good-for-nothing any more than I am a peasant!"

"Well-phrased," was her calm observation.

"Just because Redmond is a noble and worthy young man, unlike you, who are a fraud and a liar…"

"Hot words, dear, hot words. I should not want to use them in front of your stepmama, if I were you. They might get you into trouble."

"You –"

"Don't say it, please. There really are plenty of beautiful words in the English language; there is no need to use the foul ones. Indeed, we all get angry sometimes, but it is much better to try and understand that things do not always go our way than to storm about, stinging people with swearwords. It does nothing to rectify the situation."

"I'm not a little girl!" I exploded.

"I didn't say you were," was the calm, almost amused reply. "I have rarely seen a little girl using less estimable words."

"You…you witch!"

"Yes," she replied, unable to conceal a half-laugh, "I am."

"You venemous –"

"If only Meralds heard you," she mused. "He would be most delighted."

A sharp pang in my head. "Meralds?"

"Yes, Meralds. You know Meralds, I believe. Admirable singer."

There was a pause.

"Redmond would be proud of you," she said softly.

"You know…?" I drifted off.

"Yes," she nodded. "Now, listen carefully. There is something of a conspiracy among the upper circles. Redmond has been kidnapped, not so much for money, but because he is an obstacle to the power of a certain person…but I cannot go into that now, it is late. To put it briefly, Redmond needs to know the name of the organisation of bandits who kidnapped him. No," she said, eyeing me, "…they were merely hired to do it. Though I am sure they will receive a large reward also. If Redmond can discover the name of his kidnappers…for there are several…they swear they will set him free."

"The name of his kidnappers? But why?"

"'Why' is insubstantial. It is the 'how' that is most important."

"How, then?"

"Exactly. Redmond has no means whatsoever of discovering their name, cooped up as he is…when he sees them, I'm sure they must be extremely careful not to let slip. But if someone could find it out for him and somehow contrive to tell him…"

"Wait. This is some sort of trap. You're on their side," I scowled.

"There are no 'sides', Esmerelda," she said, her silver eyebrows raised. "Are you familiar with Hamlet?" she continued. "There is a line in that play…'There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so.'"

I held back a sob. That was Jimmy's favourite quote.

"Be strong," she murmured, "but remember that it is important to balance strength with compassion. Remember…"

"Where is he," I exclaimed, salty water trickling down my face.

She looked surprised. "Where is he?"

"Yes! Where is he! Stop torturing me!" With that, I burst out crying. The fumes from the fire, the philosophical musings of the witch, and the sombre heartache I carried within me had finally culminated in a rain of sorrow. I hid my face on the rug, sobbing convulsively.

"Esmerelda," said a distant voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you…Esmerelda…Esmerelda!" Someone was shaking me gently.

"I might never see him again," I wimpered into the rug.

"Of course you will! Though I'm afraid I cannot tell you where Prince Redmond -"

"Not Redmond, Jimmy!" I forgot who I was talking to…where I was, and why I was there…I was sucked into the eternal gloom of the night.

"You will see him again," said the voice. "Perhaps sooner than you expect. Sleep, now. Tomorrowwill bea long day."

The white light of the glow worms began to fade, the crystallised candles let out a final puff of magnolia-scented smoke, and the smouldering fire disappeared into the darkness.