Grandpa’s Story


Grandpa told the best stories.  Last night he told of how the evil King Trumperdink sent his henchmen to capture the Myopic Dazzle Basin, and the fey witch Tinkertangle, the only one able to clearly see its blurry images of the future. The king’s men were successful, and Tinkertangle was locked away in the deepest, darkest of the kingdoms dungeons along with her most magical of bowls.

“Grandpa!  It’s time for the rest of the story?”

“Oh that’s right, I owe you an ending…where were we?”

“Sir William was taking his army to save Tinkertangle.”

“Most certainly not, there was no army.  Just Sir William, his most trusted friend and fellow knight Sir Buckley the Brave, and the only barely trustable pirate, Captain Flashatty.”

“But Grandpa, you can’t storm a castle with only three people.”

“No, and it’d be a foolish mistake to try, but sometimes when you just need to get something out, sneaking in is the better way.  And that’s just what they did, slipping past tired eyed guards in the waning hours, hiding in the long shadows cast by the nearly moonless night, and sneaking down seldom used corridors that had  been nearly forgotten, down a long spiraling stone staircase they went deep underground, and found themselves in the very belly of the keep.  Down the long narrow hallway they quietly tred until they reached the far end, and the cell reserved for the king’s most prized prisoners.

“Who goes there?” questioned the guard by the door.

With one mighty thud from Sir Buckley to the top of his head the guard slumped in the floor, and would likely not wake until late the next day.

“Buckley?!?” Sir William protested.

“We don’t have time ask politely my liege.” responded Buckley as he retrieved the ring of keys from the guard’s belt. “Are you sure freeing this witch is the best of ideas.”

“No.” William admitted as he took the keys from Buckley, opened the very old iron door, and entered the cell to find a not at all scary looking witch, but instead a beautiful young woman who seemed just a little bit transparent.  “We’ve come to free you.” William announced.

A somewhat mischievous smile crossed Tinkertangle’s face, “Thank you brave knights, let me just collect my….”

“We’ll carry this for you.” Buckley told her as he picked up the Myopic Dazzle Basin, “We’d be best to keep these two separate.” Buckley said to William as he headed out of the cell. All traces of Tinkertangle’s smile vanished as he went.

Captain Flashatty led the way back, not to the stairs that went up to the keep, instead he took them to a barely noticeable hitch in the hallway where he pressed the fifth brick up, and the third from the right, and the wall slid open a very little bit.  The four slipped into the passage that almost none knew of; Flashatty only knew it because he was once a guest of this very same dungeon, and had used it to escape.

The passage led all the way outside of the keep, where the sun was just starting to rise.  “This is no good,” William proclaimed, “they’ll track us too easily in the day, we will never get away without a fight.”

“I may be able to help,” Tinkertangle humbly offered, “but I’d need the magic of my bowl.”

“This is a bad idea.” Buckley advised.

“We have no choice, give her the bowl.”

Tinkertangle smiled wickedly once again, and as soon as she grasped the sacred vessel she began to dance around and chant, as she danced she threw handfuls of the bowl’s water into the air.  “Summer morning, not what I need. Listen four winds as I plead. Blow and freeze as I demand. Turn this place into a winter wonderland.”

Clouds filled the sky, it turned nearly as dark as night, and large heavy snowflakes of a blizzard started to fall, quickly covering any tracks that were left. Tinkertangle seemed to vanish into thin air.

“Where did she go?” William asked as he looked all about.

“She’s gone.” Buckley said, “I tried to tell you, never trust a witch.”

“The end.”

“Grandpa, that can’t be the end. The witch got away.”

“That’s the way that these things go sometimes, for witches are full of tricks.”

“But witches aren’t real.”

“Or are they?” Grandpa asked as he turned out the light, and shut the door behind him.
written for: The Speakeasy #139
photo by: Deliverme


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