Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (25 page)

Jazz turned a blistering glare upon Quary. “SHUT IT,
SHORTY
!”

He just
grinned back down at her and ran his fat tongue across the back of
the teaspoon covered in a thick coating of chocolaty-hazelnut
spread. He smacked his lips and let out a belch in appreciation.
Jazz shot him a disgusted look while her fingers slipped beneath
the hat to scratch her scalp.

Nettle gave an
exaggerated sigh, wondering why her cousin had to make everything
so hard. “Jazz, I’m not lying.” As soon as her father told her he
wanted her in charge, she knew she was in for a whole lot of grief.
There was no way Jazz was going to leave it alone.

“
Yeah right,” Jazz grumbled, clearly in disagreement. She
crossed her arms and glanced away moodily.

Nettle
rolled her eyes and went to feed the old brass-knobbed woodstove
more firewood. She tried one last time. “Dad left me in charge
because I’m experienced. I look after Bram all the time. You’ve
always had other people to look after you, and believe me, I wish
that was the case with us, but it’s not.”

Jazz refused to acknowledge that Nettle had spoken, but at
least she was silent. Nettle sat back down at the table to finish
her breakfast, relieved the quarrelling had at least
temporarily
abated. She rubbed
her itchy spine against the high-backed chair. The scratchy feeling
had spread a little further, scouring her shoulder blades as if
she’d lain on a patch of tiny prickles.

The silence proved short-lived. Jazz began to drum her
nails upon the dining table and eyed Nettle keenly. She was
thoughtfully chewing on a piece of honeyed toast. Nettle grew
increasingly uncomfortably under the scrutinising gaze, wondering
just what was going through her cousin’s mind.
Nothing good,
she
surmised.

“You know,” began Jazz in a friendly enough way, watching
the warm honey drip from her toast onto the table. “Mum’s going
to
flip
when she finds out we’ve been left home…
alone.
Children left
unsupervised…” And she
tisk-tisked
turning her gaze back to Nettle. “Not very
responsible of Uncle Fred, is it now.”

Nettle’s mouth
puckered. “Dad, hasn’t left us all alone.” It would be just like
Jazz to nark on them to Aunt Mae.

Jazz pointedly
looked around the kitchen, her gaze returning to settle on Nettle
with a superior smirk. “Could have fooled me, I don’t see an adult
around.”

“
There doesn’t need to be one,” snapped Nettle. “You’re the
legal age of a babysitter.”

Jazz sat up straight, smug at ensnaring Nettle in her trap.
“So, you
are
saying I’m in charge.”

“No, I’m
not,” Nettle flustered.

“
Oh,” Jazz’s mouth curved downward. “I guess my
parents-“

Nettle
broke, heaving a defeated groan. “OK! All right! You’re in charge!
Happy now?!”

Jazz perked
up. She happily squiggled on her seat and when Bram appeared she
even gave him a genuine smile. “Morning,” she cooed, waving her
fingers at him.

Bram gave Nettle a
what’s-that-all-about
look. He slid onto a seat next to his
sister and reached across the table for the box of muesli. “Where’s
Dad?” He was wearing his fluffy blue dressing gown and yellow
striped pyjamas.

Nettle didn’t like lying to Bram, but she wasn’t sure if
telling him the truth was the right thing to do.
I mean, how do I
say Dad’s gone beyond the Thicket? Which, by the way, parted like
the Red Sea - because for some unbeknownst reason it can do that
for me - and then leaves with two sprites to go hunting for Aunt
Thistle - who may, or may not - have been kidnapped by
trolls.
It
was all too much, and it’d just open up more questions she didn’t
know the answer to.

Jazz saved her
the trouble. “Uncle Fred’s gone to look at some old thing,” she
said, waving a hand in a disinterested manner. “He’s away for a
couple of days, and while he’s gone, I’m in charge.” She gave Bram
a menacing stare. “And you, better do, as I say.”

“Really?” Bram’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Nettle rolled
her eyes with her mouth pursed – her
I-don’t-agree-but-what’s-the-point-fighting
look. “Oh, OK.”
Bram shrugged and poured a bowl full of muesli.

Nettle
shook her head. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly Bram
acclimatised to new situations, he just rolled with the
changes.

“Bessie’s still here. Did Dad take his bike?” Bram asked.
His bedroom overlooked the front yard.

Nettle
nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was a terrible liar. She
made a mental note to hide Dad’s bicycle before Bram found it. She
fiddled with her bracelet – tarnished silver flaked off, staining
her finger a silvery charcoal. It looked like it was on the cusp of
snapping in two.

Bram drew over the jug of milk. “What are we supposed to do
with Quary?” He and Quary had quickly arrived at a truce last night
when he’d furnished the cage with a bed from Nettle’s doll-house,
which suited Bram as he was tired of Quary referring to him
as
turdy,
stink-butt
or
stub-nose,
amongst other un-niceties.

“
Flush him down the toilet,” Jazz answered sweetly.

“Oi,
watch yer tongue
tufty-head
!” squeaked Quary, his one good eye flaring wide
in fear.

Bram gave Quary a contemplative look, his glasses bobbing
as he crinkled his nose. “
Hey...
wasn’t that eye-patch on the other eye yesterday?”
The spriggan’s fat lips twisted into a scowl as he glared down at
the young lad with his pitch-black eyes, but he didn’t
retort.

“
Come on, we can’t do that,” Nettle jollied Jazz. She rather
enjoyed the thorny comments the faerie sprung upon her cousin. He
was quite imaginative and she’d memorized some of the more choicer
phrases for later use.

“Sure we can, it’s what that
stupid talking rock
deserves,” responded Jazz,
giving the faerie a filthy look.

Both Bram and Nettle turned a stern gaze upon their cousin.
Jazz huffed, finally relinquishing her stance. “Oh, all right,” she
griped. “I won’t flush him…
yet
. Besides I doubt the
fat lard
could fit down the bowl.”

“Oi
!” shouted Quary, shaking the Nutella laden teaspoon at
her. “No one calls me a
fat lard
and gets away with it!”

“
What you going to do?” Jazz taunted. “Break out of
prison?”

Quary
blustered, sucking in a little bit of air so he puffed out a bit.
He was patched all over in a burn-lotion Bram had applied the night
before onto all the singe-marks he’d received after Jazz had shaken
the bird-cage. As he inflated he came precariously close to the
rosebush branches trapping him. The fire in him dampened down a
little, and he deflated back to his normal size. He sat back down
on the bed and turned away, cradling the chocolate coated teaspoon
to himself, mumbling all the things he was going to do to Jazz if
he ever got his hands on her again.

“Didn’t
Dad say anything about him?” Bram asked his sister. He poured milk
all over the muesli; it was the long-life kind. Jazz hadn’t as yet
acquired a taste for it and had swapped her usual cereal for toast
since she’d been sent to join the Blackthorns.

“No. He
kind of left, a little suddenly.” Nettle became intensely
interested in her own muesli, though there was just the dregs left
in the bottom of the bowl. She hated lying to her brother, but
couldn’t think of a way around it. She’d earlier told Jazz her
father had gone back the way they’d come, to investigate the region
away from the Forgotten Wilds to see if there was anyone he could
sell his furniture to. She cleared her throat and said weakly, “I
think he forgot about him.”

“Oh,”
said Bram looking at her a little dubiously. He said nothing
further and went back to noisily munching on his breakfast. He’d
brought a dictionary with him and while one hand flicked through
the pages reaching the ‘P’ section, where he’d left off yesterday,
the other was attempting to roll a coin from finger to finger. An
attempt at improving dexterity and his first lesson in thievery,
according to his new friend.

Jazz got up
from the table. She was dressed in her usual hockey uniform, except
she’d exchanged the skirt for tracksuit pants. “See you all later,
I’m off to Olde Town.”

“
Hey,” Bram immediately yelped. “I’m coming too, wait for me.”
He stood up, his chair noisily scrapping against the wooden
floor.

Panic jolted
Nettle to her feet. “Dad said we weren’t to go,” she protested,
frantically wondering how to avert Jazz’s decision.

Jazz fixed a
fiery look upon her. “Well Uncle Fred’s not here and what I say
goes. I’m getting my hair fixed at that place Claudine suggested
and no one is going to stop me.” She pursed her rosy lips together,
daring Nettle to defy her.

“
Good by me,” Bram grinned. Thrilled at the prospect of
investigating Olde Town, his golden cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Give me a minute or two and I’ll be ready, promise.” He hurriedly
slurped down the rest of his muesli.

“Well
hurry it up, I’ll be leaving with or without you,” Jazz griped. She
went to leave the kitchen and was halted by Nettle’s hysterical
shout.

“
STOP!”

Both she
and Bram spun to face Nettle in surprise. Even Quary stopped
grumbling to himself and looked below, his tongue poking
half-way-out.

Nettle stood
in the middle of the kitchen, glancing from her cousin to her
brother and back again, not quite sure what to do next. She
fidgeted with the long sleeves of her chequered shirt. “We’re not
allowed to go,” she informed them a little lamely, cringing at how
whinny she sounded.

Jazz popped a
hand on her hip, crackling with attitude. “Pardon?”

“Dad, he,
uh
,
doesn’t want anyone to know we’re here. So he said he doesn’t want
us to go to Olde Town.” Nettle inwardly groaned,
how pathetic do I
sound?

Bram
quirked an eyebrow. “But what about Claudine? She already knows
we’re here, along with everyone else you met in Olde Town.” He
turned to Jazz, and shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets
of his dressing gown. “Seems like a moot point to me.”

“
Moot?” queried Jazz with an acerbic tongue, suspecting he was
mocking her. Her younger cousin was always showing off with words
she didn’t know the meaning to. She frowned suspiciously. “You’re
like eight. You should barely be able to string a sentence
together.”

“Irrelevant argument.” Bram explained, squinting
sceptically at her behind his glasses, wondering if Jazz slept
through her school lessons.

“Oh,” replied Jazz suitably impressed on having her younger
cousin onboard. She gave Nettle a
told-you-so
look, and hooked a thumb Bram’s way with a
smug smile. “Whatever Bram said, he’s right.”

“
But Dad-”

Jazz cut her off with a wave of a hand. “I’m sure it’ll be
fine, Uncle Fred’s just overreacting as usual. You know how he is.
All drama, and it’s-the-end-of-the-world,
boo-hoo-hoo
.” And she left to get what she
needed for the journey.

Nettle grabbed
at Bram’s dressing gown, her father’s warning at the forefront of
her mind. She was really worried now. Jazz was always going to do
what she wanted, but Bram was her little brother. “You can’t go
Bram. Dad said we’re to stay here.”

Bram tugged
his gown free and frowned up at his older sister, acting - on one
of those rare occasions - his age. “I’m not missing out. You got to
go there, why can’t I?”

“Dad specifically said we’re to stay at the cottage while
he’s away.”
He also said things were a little precarious, and that did
not sound good at all.
“So please, please,” she begged, “just do as I
say.”

Bram wasn’t
about to miss out on Olde Town for a second time. He gave her a
look that reminded her of their father. “You heard what Jazz said,
Dad’s overreacting. Besides, you said she’s in charge. And if she
gets to go, then so do I.” He tucked his dictionary beneath an arm,
pushed past his sister, and followed Jazz upstairs.

“
What yer gonna do girly?” asked Quary, sucking the last of
the chocolate spread from his fingers in loud satisfied
smacks.

Nettle just gave the spriggan a defeated shrug and followed
her brother up the stairs. She could hear the spriggan’s shrieks of
injustice all the way to her bedroom. “
Oi!
What about me? You can’t just leave me
here, alone, I’ll starve! Come on, leave me with a teaspoon or two
of that goodness!”

She had no idea now how to reign in the pair of them. Jazz
was doing what she always did, whatever she pleased, and now Bram
was following suit.
Dad shouldn’t have left. If Jazz gets us into trouble, it’s
all his fault,
Nettle thought unkindly. There was nothing else for it, she
was going to have to accompany them to Olde Town and she needed to
be quick about it. She needed to hide her father’s bike before Bram
spotted it.