Chapter 10—Pip’s Glamour

Tall, gnarled trees cast eerie shadows in the woods and Simon shivered. He had no idea
where he was going (or why he hadn’t woken up yet!) but he figured the first thing to do
would be to get out of the woods. He set off walking in the direction where the trees were
less dense, but as soon as he was alone he felt as if the woods were creeping around him.
Even the animals he had seen were odd. Rather than run away in fright, the rabbit and the fox
had stood and stared at him accusingly. It was a calm summer evening, but Simon felt a slight
chill. The trees quivered as he passed and the branches moved stiffly against each other,
whispering like witches around a cauldron. Simon would never admit it to anyone else, but he
was rather afraid. He was also irrationally angry. How had Caitlin O’Sullivan managed to get
him into this mess? In fact, how had both Michael and Caitlin O’Sullivan gotten him into this
mess! In the back of his mind was the thought that, of course, Michael’s diappearance was
linked to his own odd experience, but his rational mind discounted that theory. There had to
be another explanation and that explanation had to be that this was all a dream. He walked
on, aware of the quickening dark.
Behind him, as small and shining as a dragonfly and keeping to a safe distance, flew Pip.
As he flew, Pip chirruped and chattered away to other sprites and woodland creatures he met,
speaking the language of the cricket. Of all the children in the world, how did we manage to
get this one’, he thought.
Presently, Simon came to a clearing that opened out into a small valley. Further up the
valley he could see a plume of smoke rising from a small circular hut with a thatched roof. A
rather stout woman in a brown smock appeared. She was carrying a broom made of birch
twigs and set about sweeping a circular dirt area outside the hut, stopping every now and then
to peer down the valley in Simon’s direction. Simon stepped to one side, where he was partly
hidden by a large oak tree, and watched. Best to make sure it was safe to venture out, he
thought, considering how odd this dream had been so far.
The woman resumed her chore. Some minutes later, she cupped one hand above her brow
and peered down the valley, before giving a loud bawl in a thick accent, ‘Ro-gannnn.’
She waited. So did Simon. Five minutes later she yelled again, ‘Ro-gannnnnn! Aye ter be
shure yer dinner be gettin’ mighty cold, lad.’
She paused a moment, listening, and then muttered, ‘Boy ne’er comes when ‘e ‘ears ‘is
mammy callin’ him,’ before she turned and entered the hut.
‘Why are yer sittin’ dere watchin’ me mammy like dat den?’
Simon jumped. He had been completely unaware of anyone behind him, but on hearing
the voice he spun around to see a small, grubby-looking boy. The boy was about his own age
with brown curly hair and a face patterned with freckles. He was holding two skinned rabbits
by the back legs, along with a brush of wild thyme.
‘Um … I was just. Well, I just wanted to make sure it was safe,’ Simon muttered.
‘Why d’yer be talkin’ all funny like?’ The boy asked again, wrinkling his snub nose at
Simon’s accent.
‘Ye-uh, I’m talking funny,’ scoffed Simon, then asked, ‘Why do you keep asking
questions?’
‘Well, nort to be disrespectin’ yer and all, but tis me ‘ome and I never did see such a
fellow as yerself about here afore. An’ I never did see such a fellow wearing such grand
garb.’
The boy gestured towards the football kit Simon was wearing. Simon looked the boy up
and down in return. He wore a thin shift of brown cotton over long, cream-coloured trousers.
A belt with a bronze buckle was slung around his waist and dangling from it was a tan leather
pouch. On his feet he wore moccasins made of speckled cowhide. Simon had to admit that it
didn’t look like this boy had ever seen anyone wearing football kit before in his life.
‘I could say the same of you, you know,’ Simon retorted.
‘Well, I’ll be!’ The boy shook his head. ‘Whatta they be callin’ yer then?’
‘Simon’, Simon answered, ‘and you must be Rogan?’
The boy looked startled and slightly suspicious, but he responded, ‘Aye that I must be,
shure as the day I were born.’
The door of the hut creaked open again and the woman yelled, ‘Ro-gannn, you’d best be
a’comin’ lad or I’ll be tinkin’ the gentry have taken ye!’
‘What’s the gentry?’ asked Simon.
‘Ah, s’not a what, but a who’s the gentry, me friend. And you’d better be mightily polite
about arskin’ ‘cause ter gentry’s queer folk yer know. Dey’ll ‘ave yer off in a fairy rath in a
flash, dey will, and spoil all yer crops if yer look at ‘em sideways. Deys fairies
of’course—dats what we be callin’ em: the gentry,’ Rogan answered, before yelling, ‘Ah’m
coming direct, Mammy,’ and stepping forward into the clearing.
Before Simon could even reply that he didn’t believe in fairies, Pip, hidden high above on
the bough of the oak tree, suddenly had a brilliant idea. What if the gentry did take him! The
boys were about the same age and Pip knew enough magic to take a changeling, he was sure
of it. He’d seen Bliss take a changeling enough times. Bliss could even make a goblin look
the exact image of a human child. Pip looked at the two boys again; it should be easy to swap
these two. He’d simply cast a spell—the spell that fairies call a glamour—on Rogan and
Simon. The spell would make each resemble the other and forget that they had ever been
anyone else. Then he could just leave Simon here and take Rogan back to Bliss and, since
he’d look and sound exactly like Simon, they’d all be fooled into thinking he was Simon. At
least Rogan believes in fairies and that will be so much safer, thought Pip. Simon was simply
too dangerous to be around the fae. He shivered, remembering what had happened to Thistle.
Quick as a grasshopper, Pip flitted down from the tree and landed on Rogan’s head. Before
the boy had time to brush him off, Pip recited his spell:

Like as like and same as same,

Copy look and change a name,
Know you not your former face,
Each as like the other’s frame,
I take you for one in your place.
Like as like can be, and yet,
All other memory both forget.

Having said that, he sprang quickly from Rogan’s head onto Simon’s.
‘What was that?’ asked Rogan, who now looked exactly like Simon had minutes before.
‘What yer arskin?’ asked Simon, who now looked and spoke exactly like Rogan had.
‘There was a talking cricket or something,’ Rogan insisted, ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, I don’ remember seein’ anythin’. Why’r yer wearin’ such funny clothes anyways?’
Rogan looked down and laughed, ‘Just am I guess. Where’d you get the rabbits?’
‘I must ‘ave caught dem for me tae, musn’ I?’ Simon answered, somewhat confused.
Pip, who had been watching with amusement, suddenly grew to the size of a small wren
and perched himself on a nearby bush.
‘Hhhhhh-huummm!’ he cleared his throat loudly. ‘Well Simon’, he stared directly at
Rogan (who now resembled Simon), ‘We’d best be getting back to the others now, hadn’t
we?’
Rogan looked bewildered. He glanced upward and rolled his eyes, trying desperately to
conjure some memory of who the others might be, but found that he remembered nothing
except the odd little man perched before him.
‘Yes, I guess we must,’ he answered in astonishment. ‘Goodbye. I think that’s your
mother coming to take you in.’ Rogan pointed down the valley where the portly, little woman
could be seen making her way towards them.
‘Come along now, Simon. We mustn’t be late,’ added Pip, addressing Rogan.
‘Goodbye,’ Simon said to Rogan.
Rogan turned and followed Pip as he flitted away. Soon, recognising who she thought to
be her son, the plump mother grabbed Simon roughly by the back of the shirt and bellowed,
‘Ah’ll ‘ave you listen ta yer Mam when she says to come in for tae or dere’ll be no tae for yer
‘t’all, mind.’
‘I bin catchin’ rabbits, Mam,’ Simon held up the rabbits hopefully.
‘Aye, yer a good boy when yer not a rascal me lad. Come along now.’ She set off back to
the hut. Simon looked around once more, shook his head, and followed her.