Free Magic Below Stairs by Caroline Stevermer Page B

something. I can’t tell you much about curses,” said Billy Bly. “They don’t work on us brownies the way they do on you mortals. I’ve tried talking with it, but I can’t get a word out of the thing. Whether it can’t answer me or whether it won’t, I couldn’t say. What I do know is, that thing is bad. It looks nasty. It feels nasty. It even tastes nasty. It’s huge, but it moves too fast for me to catch. When I do get a grip on it, bits of it come away in my hands. Fair makes my skin crawl, but it doesn’t slow the thing down a jot.”
    Frederick asked, “Is it some kind of animal, then?”
    Billy Bly sounded very grave. “It’s no animal. Not a snake, though it looks like one. It stinks of malice. Sometimes it looks like a bit of rope. Sometimes it’s as thick as your neck, but sometimes it’s long and thin. Depends on where it is hiding in the chimney. Some places are too small even for me to reach.”
    Frederick kicked his legs free of the blanket. “Let me help you catch it. What if we had a net? Do you think a net would work?”
    â€œStay.” Billy Bly sounded stern. “I didn’t come to rouse you. I don’t want the whole house on end. Bad enough I spilled a pint of milk when I was chasing it out of the kitchen.”
    â€œThat was you?” Frederick asked. “Mr. Grant was in a dreadful strop about that spilled milk.”
    â€œSun was up before I had a chance to return to the kitchen. By then the maids were stirring. I dared not stay to clean it up. His nibs won’t be happy to learn I am here, for things do seem to happen when I’m around. Fragile keepsakes fall and smash. It’s the way of things. But learn I’m here he must, lad. You must give him a message.”
    â€œNo!” Frederick tried to rise.
    â€œYes!” Billy Bly twisted the blanket so tight around his legs that Frederick could hardly wriggle. “Do it however you please, but don’t let Thomas Schofield come here without warning him of the danger.”
    â€œHow am I going to tell his lordship about the thing in the chimney without letting him know you’re here?” Frederick asked. “He’s sure to send you away again.”
    â€œLet him.”
    Frederick’s throat grew so tight he could hardly get words out. “I won’t. I can’t.”
    â€œAll the same, you must warn him.”
    Frederick clutched his head in despair. “ Dear Lord Schofield. Don’t come here. There’s a bit of rope in the chimney. Your obedient servant, Frederick Lincoln. Is that what you want me to tell him?”
    â€œSeems to me that would do the trick nicely. But suit yourself,” said Billy Bly when Frederick emitted a fizzing sound of disagreement. “If you can’t think how to put it, ask that young red-haired maid of yours. She knows how to do things properly. Don’t let the grass grow between your toes while you fret over what to do. Send a message and send it soon. Soon! Better to do it badly than leave the task undone.”
    With one last tug at the blanket to tuck Frederick in, Billy Bly departed. Frederick found himself alone in a perfectly silent room. Nothing rustled but Frederick, fighting to escape his bedding.
    Once he was free, Frederick made himself lie quiet and still, but he did not sleep for a long time. Instead he stared up into the dark, ears straining for the sound of anything, anything at all, lurking in the chimney. Young ears are better than old, Hetty had told him. Frederick was glad of it. It would be terrible to be old and deaf and never know if something full of malice, something that could look like a snake or a bit of rope, was coming after him in the dark.
    Houses make noise at night, Frederick discovered. Each time he began to drift to sleep, a distant window would rattle or a nearby floorboard would creak. He started awake again and again,