The Song of the Quarkbeast

‘Should be enough. But since the ring is resisting a lift we will have to send someone down to get it. I will levitate them head downwards to the bottom of the well, where they will retrieve the ring. You, Mr Perkins, will channel crackle to Mr Price and myself. Can you do that?’

‘To the best of my ability, ma’am,’ replied Perkins happily. Lady Mawgon had never asked him to assist her before.

‘He doesn’t have a licence,’ I said, ‘you know what the penalty could be.’

‘Who’s going to snitch on him?’ she retorted. ‘You?’

‘I can’t allow it,’ I said.

‘It’s Perkins’ call,’ said Mawgon, looking at me angrily. ‘Mr Perkins?’

Perkins looked at me and then Lady Mawgon.

‘I’ll do it.’

I didn’t say anything more as we all knew the consequences of operating without a licence were extremely unpleasant. The relationship between the populace and Mystical Art Practitioners had always been one of suspicion, a relationship not helped by a regrettable episode in the nineteenth century when a wayward sorcerer who called himself ‘Blix the Thoroughly Barbarous’ thought he could use his powers to achieve world domination. He was eventually defeated, but the damage to magic’s reputation had been deep and far reaching. Bureaucracy now dominated the industry with a sea of paperwork and licensing requirements. Reinventing sorcery as a useful and safe commodity akin to electricity had taken two centuries and wasn’t done yet. Once lost, trust is a difficult thing to regain. But I said nothing more. I was there to remind them of the rules, not to police them.

‘Good,’ said Lady Mawgon, ‘then let’s begin.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Tiger, who had just figured out that the ‘going down a well head first’ plan doubtless included him as he was lightest, ‘it’s going to be as dark as the belly of a whale down there.’

I passed him a glass globe from my bag, just one of the many useful objects that I liked to have with me on assignment.

‘It runs off sarcasm,’ I said, handing it to him.

‘Great,’ he replied, and the globe lit up brightly.[10]

‘You’ll also need this,’ I told him as I tied a toddler’s shoe around his neck. When done, I spoke into the matching shoe I held in my hand.

‘Can you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I can hear you. Do I have to go down a well upside down while being sarcastic with a shoe tied around my neck?’

‘You could use a conch[11] to talk,’ said Perkins helpfully, before he added less than helpfully: ‘only we haven’t got any.’

‘And you’d look pretty daft with a conch tied to your head,’ added Full Price.

‘Like I am so not worried about looking a twit,’ said Tiger, and the globe went up to full brightness again.

‘You’re going to have to find the ring within thirty seconds,’ announced Lady Mawgon, ‘and since it might be tricky to find in the rank, fetid, disease-ridden muddy water, you’ll need my help.’

‘You’re coming down too?’

‘Good Lord, no. What do you think I am? An idiot?’

‘I’m not sure it would be healthy to answer that question,’ replied Tiger carefully.

‘Answer it how you want – I’d ignore you anyway. Here.’

She handed him a neat leather glove and told him to put it on while she placed its pair on herself. Like toddlers’ shoes and conches, gloves have left-and-right symmetry and can thus be amicably linked to one another to work together while separated by physical distance. Lady Mawgon clenched and unclenched her fist as Tiger’s hand did the same. She revolved her arm around in the air and the paired glove copied her actions perfectly while Tiger stared at his arm and hand. He was, to all intents and purposes, now partly Lady Mawgon. Better still, the gloves were feedback enabled. Lady Mawgon would be able to feel what Tiger was feeling.

‘How’s that?’ asked Lady Mawgon.

‘Peculiar,’ he replied. ‘What if I can’t find the blasted ring in thirty seconds?’

‘Then the well will close with you inside and it’s entirely possible you’ll spend the rest of your life at the bottom of a deep well with only bacteria and leeches for company, then utter darkness when your sarcasm runs out.’

‘I’m not so sure I want to do this any more.’

‘Don’t be such a crybaby,’ chided Lady Mawgon. ‘If our roles were reversed and you were the skilled practitioner and I was the worthless foundling with the silly name, I’d be down that hole like an actor after a free lunch.’

Tiger looked across at me and raised an eyebrow.

‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,’ I told him.

‘Lady Mawgon is relating a worst-case scenario,’ said Full Price in a soothing voice. ‘We’ll call the fire brigade if we can’t reopen the well. The longest you’ll be trapped is an hour.’

‘Then how could I possibly refuse?’ replied Tiger grumpily. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Lady Mawgon and Full Price took up their stances, index fingers at the ready. At the count of three Full Price pointed at the wellhead and the bricks opened again, revealing the deep hole in the ground. At the same time, Lady Mawgon pointed at Tiger and my young assistant was lifted from the ground, turned upside down and plunged head first down the well. We peered over to look in. It was all dark until Tiger said ‘Gosh, what super fun this is’ and the globe lit up to reveal a brick-lined well all the way down. After a few moments Tiger’s voice came through the shoe saying that he was at the bottom and that it was wet and muddy and very smelly and all he could see was an old bicycle and a shopping trolley.

‘They get everywhere,’ I said. ‘Let Lady Mawgon have a feel around.’

Mawgon already was. With one hand keeping Tiger floating a few inches above the water level, the other was grasping, feeling and churning above her head, while her other glove on Tiger’s hand sixty feet below did the same thing. Tiger kept us informed of what was going on while interspersing his speech with some top-quality sarcasm.

‘Fifteen seconds gone,’ I said, staring at my watch.

‘I can feel something odd,’ said Perkins, who was standing to one side, doing little except directing the ambient crackle more efficiently into Mawgon and Price, in the same way as a guttering directs rain into a storm drain.

‘Me too,’ said Full Price, eyes fixed intently on the wellhead and his index fingers beginning to vibrate with the effort. ‘Look at that.’

I looked down the well. Before, only the top course of bricks had closed over to prevent us getting in, but now other bricks were starting to pop out from the well sides all the way down. The well was starting to constrict.

‘We need Tiger out,’ I said to Lady Mawgon, who was still feeling about above her head, eyes closed as she searched the muddy bottom of the well.

‘Nearly,’ she muttered.

‘Twenty-five seconds.’

‘What’s going on?’ came Tiger’s voice over the toddler’s shoe.

‘You’ll be out soon, Tiger, I promise.’

The bricks were starting to move inwards with increasing speed, and brick dust, soil and earwigs were tumbling down the well. Full Price was sweating with the effort and shaking badly.

‘I . . . can’t . . . hold . . . it!’ he managed to mutter between clenched teeth.

‘The walls,’ came Tiger’s tremulous voice, ‘they’re moving in!’

‘Lady Mawgon,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘It’s only a ring. We can leave it be.’

‘Almost there,’ she said, feeling around with her gloved hand in increased desperation.

‘Thirty seconds,’ I said as I stared at my watch. ‘That’s it. Abort.’

She continued, undeterred.

‘Mawgon!’ yelled Full Price, who was now shaking so hard his index fingers were a blur. ‘Get the lad out