Episode 33: Bizarre Botany and Curious collections

He was called Plant. And appropriately enough he was interested in Botany. And not just the regular kind – he tended to herb lore, even to alchemy, and he had wider interest in astrology and various other occult practises.

Today had been a day of hunting for herbs around Gristlehurt but now he was sheltering from the storm in a regular farmhouse. A regular farmhouse that didn’t need an expensive alcohol license because it was just a regular farmhouse. So it didn’t have one.

And he was being served beer and eating a hearty meal, and he might accidentally leave some money on the way out.

And he was overhearing the conversation of a couple of the other custome.. *cough* guests.

They also had unusual names – Bangle and Chirrup.

Bangle, the younger of the two, was bemoaning his lack of success in wooing a young woman, as young men are wont to do. Chirrup, as the older man, was giving him sage advice, as older men are wont to do. Bangle’s mother, who ran the place, was occasionally embarrassingly chipping in with advice as well.

So much so run of the mill. But the conversation took an unexpected turn that made Plant’s ears prick up. Turned out that Bangle had gone so far as to have consulted local cunning man “Limping Billy”. A cunning man is essentially a worker of low level magic, providing advice for a fee.

And Limping Billy had advised this – that Bangle would only get his unnamed gal if he procured for himself the seed of the St. John’s Fern.

This Fern dropped its seeds just once per year – on the Eve of St. John, at about midnight. There was a spell that could be done with the seeds. The only catch was that  the cunning man had not known the location of the ferns.

But here Plant jumped in. Because he very much did. “Boggart Hole Clough!” he cried out. “And it’s only a couple of days to St. John’s Eve.

“You’ll show me?” asked Chirrup.

“I’ll do better than that. Wouldn’t miss the fern seeding. I’ll come with you.”

And so it came to pass that at sunset on St. John’s Eve the trio made their way down the valley (the “clough”). They made their way down past Boggart’s farm house – the story of that boggart is another one, for another time.

To the St. John’s Fern Plant led them. And as darkness fell they brought out the components for limping Billy’s spell and said the words. Plant had an earthenware dish “Rough and Brown”, Chirrup a platter “Bright and silver”.

And then Bangle produced his. Hung from his neck. A human skull, hollowed out, suspended by the hair of the woman he was trying to woo. And the interior had been lined with clay and moss, mixed with Bangle’s own blood.

“Wow!” said the other two men. “That’s a bit more intense than ours.” It was clear the seriousness of this endeavour had just shifted up several notches.

But they were in it now, there was no turning back. Lanterns were lit, a rod of Hazel was hacked down by Plant. They had all the pieces now.

And on the stroke of midnight it began. They shook the ferns with the Hazel rods and down fell the seeds, into the platter, into the earthenware dish and into the hollow of the skull. The moon was bright and they said the rhyme as Billy had instructed.

In the air all around them was the feel of magic. And then things happeend fast: The seeds fell. The platter and the dish smashed. There was a screech from the skull. :ight poured from its sockets and suddenly, all around them it was bright as if a summer’s day.

And they were surrounded! Beautiful ethereal woman sung enchanting songs, bright eyed children happily trooped through the valley, men dressed in rich finery walked arm in arm.

The three of them staggered to their feet, gazed at the scene all around them in wondrous stupefied astonishment…

“God bless ” exclaimed Bangle instinctively…

And that. That was a mistake.

The beautiful people disappeared, and in their place from the bushes and thickets all around them emerged horrible misshapen figures. All sharp teeth and pointed angles, their attention focused on the group.

“Run!” screamed Plant, and the others needed no encouragement. They sprinted through the night, pursued by the creatures.

The next few breathless panicked moments were a horrifying whirl for Plant. He got split up from his companions, cut himself on bracken branches and was dripping with sweat by the time he leapt over the stream at the top of the Clough. He was exhausted, he couldn’t go any further without a break. He turned ready to meet his fate.

And to his hysterical delight he saw that the things, the tangled mishmashes of men and beast and shadow, they were holding back. They couldn’t cross. But looking upon them properly caused his mind to break. With the last drops of his sanity he turned and fled.

He did recover though. He somehow made it home and after days in bed he finally came back to himself, at least of a sort. Chirrup was found on the moor later talking to the birds. His mind did not come back.

It appeared that Bangle had fared best of all because when Plant located him it turned out that the spell had worked!

His love had come to him and they were to be wed. Bangle told Plant this with a manic grin. It was all going to work out! “It’d been worth it!”” he insisted loudly, over and over.

Plant left the area, never to return. He would later hear on the grapevine that there had never been a wedding. Bangle had died in mysterious circumstances before the date.

Plant eschewed his connections with the occult. Took an interest in politics and changing the world for the better. Even married. But one day, without warning, he disappeared, leaving his bride and his comrades behind. Nothing more was ever heard from him.

And as for Limping Billy, he who had orchestrated all of this. He took his money. And seemed to do just fine.

And Boggart Hole Clough? Well It’s still there today. Even as the city took all the lands around, somehow it survived. Which I’m sure has nothing at all to do with its supernatural inhabitants. Nothing at all.

Even so, take care if ever you visit on St. John’s Eve.

The End

Sir Tarquin had a problem. It hadn’t started as a problem. And he didn’t recognise it as one now. But his servants did. He was a collector. And all fine in moderation is that.

Some people like stamps and go a bit odd over them, and others Gwent cards but Sir Tarquin’s was a unique collection and on a par with Joe Exotic’s for maintenance upkeep and danger.

For Sir Tarquin collected Knight’s of the Round table.

You like me might be surprised to learn that there were enough to make a collection. But given that Sir Tarquin had tens of the things and no one seemed to have particularly noticed yet, well, it seems the land was fair crawling with them.

He promised himself and his servants that he’d hold back now though. He had enough.

But of course if some were just to come sauntering right past his castle. Well then.. You could hardly blame a man could you?

 And wouldn’t you know it but not too far away were Sir Launcelot, bold famous knight of the round table, and his cousin Sir Lionel, who had some big side-kick energy.

They were out seeking adventure. And Launcelot was having a lovely nap under a tree in a forest.

Lionel was standing attentively, as was his job. He got the best jobs.

And there came a sound of thundering hooves, and three knights of the round table rode past Lionel and Launcelot, horses at full gallop.

Lionel turned his head to watch them go by, but then turned his head back as immediately after came another. This was a huge fearsome looking knight who didn’t bear the insignia of the Knights of the round table.

A knight clearly in pursuit of the other three.

Lionel watched horrified as Tarquin caught up with the three knights, and with a practised ease dismounted them, and captured them, horses and all.

Launcelot slept on. He didn’t need Launcelot to deal with this villain, thought Lionel, overconfidently, and off he rode to confront Tarquin.

Launcelot woke up cold and unexpectedly alone several hours later. Lionel was gone and his horse with him.

There were horse tracks near by. Lots of them. Signs of a struggle. Launcelot sighed. This felt awfully like the start of an adventure.

And off he rode.

Several more hours had elapsed and Launcelot had fair lost the trail by this point. He was vaguely riding around in lands that would one day be central Manchester, but now were eerily deserted. What scraps of vegetation there were was dried out and seemed oddly lifeless.

This was a good sign. He must be getting a close.

And a beautiful woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere on the path.

This was an even better sign. 

The woman addressed Launcelot, who was used to this kind of thing. “Brave and wondrous Sir Knight: You have entered a place of great peril! For the castle of the giant knight Sir Tarquin is hereabouts. And he has taken captive a great many of your comrades in his foul dungeon.”

“Ahh, that’s what fine mess Lionel has gotten himself into this time!”

And the mysterious woman took up behind Launcelot on his horse and directed him to the castle, which now stands in the heart of Manchester.

Well she kind of did. Actually Launcelot found himself a little way from the castle still, near a tree filled with tens of shields. Shields bearing the coats of arms of many captured knights of the round table.

And hanging beneath them was a great metal basin inscribed with the words:

““He who valueth his life not a whit, let him then this basin hit!”

A challenge. Launcelot valued his life but was not to be intimidated. He struck the basin repeatedly with his spear and loud clangs rang out.

Launcelot noticed his mystical female guide had disappeared, her task complete. But they did that. He was used to it.

Tarquin responded to the challenge. “Another one” he exclaimed. Well he’d just have to have today as a cheat day then. He rode towards his tree of shields basin.

Si Tarquin was a huge Knight, towering over Launcelot. But Launcelot was top tier round table. And that was a very different proposition to the many others Tarquin had taken magpie-like. 

“Your reign of terror ends here!” declared Launcelot. 

“Yes, yes” said Tarquin who’d heard it all before.

They charged at each other, lances hit shields with terrific force and both men were dehorsed with the first blow. 

But it didn’t slow either of them down Up they jumped, they drew swords and took at one another furiously. And the fight went on… and on… and on even more. As epic clashes of this nature are wont to do.

They seemed in every way equally matched. Eventually after many hours and neither gaining the advantage sir Tarquin held up his hands.

“Sir Knight, you have fought most honourably indeed. I tell you what, I’ll offer you a deal – If you wish you may leave and take all my captives with you. You’ve fought a hundred times better than any of them and you have earned it.

“Right…” began Launcelot.

“Just one thing though…. Tiny thing, very unlikely to be an issue. But could you just tell me your name first?”

“Why?”

“Well there’s one Knight this deal wouldn’t apply to. The Knight who slayed my brother… Sir Cadros. He would not be eligible for the deal.”

“Oh” said Launcelot. “I’m Launcelot. And I don’t remember killing any Sir Cardros. So it’s fine.”

*a deathly silence*

It turned out this was not the right thing to have said. For he had slain Tarquin’s brother… but for him I suppose it was just a Tuesday.

Sir Tarquin bellowed and he swung his mightiest blow yet, bringing it down full force onto Launcelot. Who smartly sidestepped.

Launcelot tore off Tarquin’s helmet as he fell. And he brought his own sword down cleanly through Tarquin’s neck.

And that’s about the all of it. There was the rescuing to do of course. The grateful knights. Their effusive thanks. All in a day’s work for Launcelot, who was soon riding off into the sunset with Lionel, another successful adventure complete.

What locals remained knew only that the place was Tarquin’s castle and so it remained as it fell into ruin.

And many centuries would pass until the castle wound up in the centre of the greatest city in the North.

The End