Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

Chirping happily, head bobbing, hands fluttering, Filch took in the assortment of pretties adorning the walls around him. Their numbers might be few, given his limited resources, but what they lacked in quantity was fully made up by their beauty and diversity. Even the dimness of the bower could not diminish their glittering, twinkling and rich vibrant colors, but his eyes shone the brightest when they lit upon the silvery, shiny things. They were the treasures he cherished above all the others and he'd placed them just so, so as to reflect and flaunt their gaudy companions to best advantage, thus magnifying and expanding their numbers in illusion rather than fact.

He was basking in the magnificence of his appropriations and preening with satisfaction and pride at the creative decorative touches he'd achieved, when his bubble of contentment was burst abruptly by a sound from outside. Instinctively he flattened against the floor, his nimble brain assessing who the most likely initiator might be. His spine turned to ice Amadeus!

Huddled upon the floor, his eyes frantically sought an avenue of escape. but he'd constructed the bower too well. Its walls of twisted honeysuckle vine were far too thick and resilient for him to rip or kick through. The only exit was the entrance and Amadeus would have him by the neck as soon as his head popped over the threshold. His hands started fluttering again, but this time in terror, not delight.

For weeks he'd searched and, after considerable deliberation, had chosen this secluded spot, confident that it was the one part of the forest Amadeus would be most loathe to investigate. It was extremely boggy and Amadeus abhorred getting his feet wet.

Whimpering, heart kicking against his chest like a frightened toad, Filch wiggled back in panic when another noise came, much closer this time. However, the sharp crack of a stick and the click of a stone sent rolling brought him upright, weak with relief. It most definitely was not Amadeus lurking outside the door.

Relieved, he shook himself from head to toe until the fear-strained muscles relaxed. With quick strokes he smoothed down his ruffled mop of hair and dusted his clothes. He was embarrassed to have gotten so worked up. In all probability it was merely Toddy practicing tracking. If it was, Filch winced, the lad definitely needed to concentrate more on honing his stalking skills, for any rabbit worth its fluffy cottontail would be in another part of the forest by now.

Having regained his composure, Filch ventured to the bower entrance. Just as he was about to make a cautious exit there came a crash and the ground shook, dislodging several of his treasures. Horrified, he dashed from the bower ready to take the exuberant Toddy to task but was taken aback when the area appeared to be empty.

Perplexed, he stood beside the bower; ears and eyes attuned to catch any sound or movement. Everything appeared normal. He shrugged and had turned to reenter his hidey-hole and set it to rights when he heard it a moan. It seemed to emanate from a fallen, moss-covered log that lay alongside the bower. Tiptoeing toward the log, he peeked warily over its side and was astonished to see a man sprawled face down in the ferns.

Filch cocked his head and considered the crumpled body. Other than the mistress, no one had ever ventured into the Bewildering Wilderness on purpose. Although investigation was limited by the position of the body, Filch reasoned, from the militaristic cut of the pants and jacket, that the man might be a soldier. Hopping to the man's side, he huffed and puffed until he had gotten the body partially turned. The sight of blood caused him to lose his grip and the body lapsed back into its previous pose. The man had suffered grievous injuries to a shoulder and thigh.

Making no attempt to move the stranger again, Filch settled upon the log to ponder the mystery. He couldn't fathom what the man was doing in the Wilderness but decided he couldn't have been traipsing about too long because, with the wounds so fresh, Mutch would have gotten wind and come to investigate before now. Knowing it wouldn't be long before the hunter indeed made an appearance, Filch returned to his bower to tidy up. Five minutes later, perched once again atop the log, he greeted Mutch's arrival.

The hunter was equally astonished to see the man and listened intently to Filch's account of his discovery. Going down on one knee, the big man effortlessly rolled the body over. Filch sat transfixed, his eyes enormous with awe and greed at what was revealed. Two rows of the most gorgeous silver buttons marched in formation down the front of the stranger's jacket. Filch hopped from the log and squatted beside the body. He yearned to caress the buttons, to feel their coolness and had to trap his hands beneath his armpits to hold himself in check. Breathlessly he watched as Mutch inspected and bound the wounds with pieces of cloth ripped from his own shirt. Once finished, he departed to fetch some means for transporting the injured man. With the hunter gone Filch finally was able to give into temptation.

Cooing softly he stroked one button after another. There had to be at least two-dozen. They were plain, thick, flat disks. Whether of silver or plate, it made no matter, for it was their flawless, polished surfaces that gave them value to Filch. One divine piece dangled precariously from a loose thread. Reasoning that it could fall free at any moment and be lost Filch decided to come to its rescue. Keeping a furtive watch on the unconscious man's face he plucked the button loose and scurried with it into his bower. Once inside, he dug a shallow hole in the spongy ground. Placing the button tenderly within, he covered it carefully, making sure the soil gave no appearance of having been disturbed. He'd return later to find the perfect spot to display it. Perhaps, between now and then, he'd be able to acquire another one. Filled with giddy expectation, he hurried outside to find that Mutch had returned.

The huntsman had fashioned a litter from two tree branches. They were lashed together, one on either side with crosspieces between to serve as a carrier. A thick blanket of fairy ferns had been woven into the crosspieces to provide cushioning for the man's injuries. As Filch was too small to aid in lifting and carrying, the ends of the two branches would drag along the ground. It wouldn't be the most comfortable ride for the invalid but would have to serve. Once the man was settled they headed for home.

Filch skipped beside the litter, twittering softly to himself and keeping an eye on the stranger to make sure he didn’t slide off. He also kept a covetous eye on the buttons. It must have been his destiny to find the stranger, for the magnificent buttons were truly meant for his collection. He was blissfully caught up in a daydream in which every last button on the stranger’s coat magically popped loose and scattered along the ground like so many pearls for him to scoop up, when he caught sight of something that instantly cast a pall over his pleasure.

Up ahead, atop an old orchard wall, a figure lounged in a rare pool of sunlight. Although the litter made quite a bit of noise as Mutch pulled it along, the figure neither moved nor showed that it was aware of their presence - Filch, from experience, knew better. It wasn't until they’d passed along the wall beneath him that Amadeus deigned to throw an incurious glance their way. Casting a glance back, Filch’s heart sank when the recumbent figure straightened with interest upon catching sight of their burden. The little man sidled closer to Mutch, his harmonious tweets changing into low uneasy chirps.

Amadeus landed lightly on the balls of his feet. Keeping a short distance, he trailed leisurely behind the litter. While his attitude was the epitome of disinterest, his eyes intently scrutinized every inch of the figure lying limply upon the litter. His nose twitched in annoyance. He was consumed with curiosity but would rather give up the fabled nine lives before asking Filch or Mutch for an explanation. However, he was an expert at patience and the story would be revealed soon enough when they delivered him to the mistress. Until then, he’d amuse himself.

Well aware Filch was fretfully watching his every move, he dropped into a dramatic crouch, fingers wickedly crooked, and pantomimed a pounce, causing the little man to let out a squawk and collide with Mutch's leg. The hunter stumbled but caught himself and steadied the litter. Spying the source of Filch's distress he growled a low warning, which Amadeus answered with an exaggerated yawn. With a snort of disgust Mutch turned his back and continued on, ignoring the agitator for the remainder of the trek. Filch, however, stayed glued to the safety of the hunter's side.

Six ancient oaks encircled the cottage. Above its thatched roof their massive boughs overlapped and intertwined forming a low cover – much like a mother hen settling upon her chicks. As a concession to nature, the original builder had terraced the top two floors, the one above smaller than the one below. Over time the wooden walls had slightly bowed and the thatch had slipped, giving it the appearance of having been used as a giant's headrest. The only remaining outbuildings were a separate stone kitchen-house, a covered well and, a few yards into the woods, its roof barely visible, a one-room wooden hut.

As the odd little band entered the yard, a pint-sized whirlwind launched itself upon Mutch. The hunter laughed heartily and, hugging his attacker tightly to his chest with one arm, carefully lowered the litter to the ground. Straightening, he tossed his son into the air, evoking shrieks of laughter from the six-year-old. Over his father's broad shoulder, Toddy caught sight of the litter and its cargo. Squirming from Mutch's arms he scooted eagerly around to investigate, almost bowling Filch over in his haste. He let out a startled yelp when his father’s hand closed gently but firmly around the scruff of his neck. Concerned that the overly rambunctious child might unwittingly cause the stranger further injury, Mutch tucked him under an arm. Toddy’s chubby legs and arms pumped furiously as he attempted to extricate himself. Finally, accepting that escape was futile, he gave up and hung limply against his father’s hip, croaky whines giving voice to his indignation. Mutch laughed and affectionately ruffled his hair.

Filch joined in Mutch's amusement over the child's antics. The little man had relaxed considerably since entering the yard, for Toddy's appearance always meant Amadeus’ retreat. The boy was probably sulkily observing the reunion from high above in one of the massive oaks.

Though he might be held in fear by Filch and contempt by Mutch, Toddy, with the impartiality of the young, found Amadeus irresistible and fascinating, and was always attempting to engage the older boy as a playmate. Thus Amadeus did everything he could to avoid him. The child’s unabashed adoration was the only thing that Filch had ever seen cause Amadeus a moment of consternation.

Knowing it wouldn’t be much longer before his son outgrew his misguided hero worship, Mutch did nothing to discourage it. Already the child’s hunting instincts were emerging, making it increasingly difficult for Amadeus to find an undetectable hiding place.

A loud groan sobered their high spirits. Transferring a still protesting Toddy to his shoulder, Mutch hurried into the kitchen-house while Filch fetched water from the well. Gently supporting the man's head against his shoulder, Filch touched the cool rim of the water dipper to the parched lips. Instinctively the man began to drink. When it appeared he'd had his fill, Filch settled him back down upon the litter.

Sitting back on his heels, Filch struggled to ignore the jacket’s shiny buttons by keeping his eyes and mind focused on the stranger's face and his fingers occupied with the dipper. But it was to no avail; they whispered seductively to him. Using his body as a screen, Filch’s left hand eagerly grasped the closest button. Suddenly wooden clogs clomped heavily against the flagstones behind him. Gasping guiltily, he drew back an empty hand and hastily rose.

It was Hyacinth, with Mutch and Toddy in tow. The woman, arms akimbo on thickset hips, calmly assessed the situation, then nodded to Mutch. Setting Toddy down, the hunter gently lifted the wounded man in his arms and followed Hyacinth to the cottage. Filch brought up the rear. Free, Toddy scrambled after them, but was brought up sharply at the cottage door by a stern command from his father to stay in the yard. The child whined pathetically for a minute or two then sprang from the step, exuberance restored, when he spied the abandoned litter.

With Toddy’s attention directed elsewhere, Amadeus took the opening and dropped silently to the cottage roof. Keeping low, he crept across the thatch, his keen ears guiding him to the overhang above the back corner bedroom on the second floor. With the suppleness of a snake he hung from his waist over the edge. Mutch and Hyacinth were on their way out of the room. Filch was nowhere in sight. The stranger lay upon the narrow bed. His boots had been removed and placed beside the only chair, his jacket and vest folded neatly upon its seat.

Noiselessly, Amadeus slipped over the roof’s edge, across the casement and into the room. He glided to the chair, nose twitching. The odor of blood was enticing but intriguingly enough, as he’d made note earlier while following the litter, it did not all belong to the man on the bed. Raising the jacket he sniffed delicately, then drew back in revulsion.

As though it were the foulest goblin, he flung the garment back upon the chair, sneezing and shaking his head, desperately attempting to rid his nostrils of the nauseating scent. It had been a long time since he’d had a whiff, but once smelled, the reek of troll was unmistakable and unforgettable. Too revolted to continue snooping, he quickly exited the way he'd come.