Tira still couldn't quite believe it when the door slammed shut behind her and several heavy bolts grated ominously into place. The cell beneath the Magistrates' House was cold and smelled damp. The only light came from a window at street level, high above and out of reach. Tira felt sick and dizzy at this turn of events. She had been trying to warn the town about the Circle of Doom, and yet she was the one who was being imprisoned. She had even be told she would be executed as a witch!

Gloom was still bound in chains. "A fine mess this is," he growled. "Too bad it is not in my nature to stand up to a witch when she is stupid."

"Sorry," said Tira sniffling. Her green hands were still painfully bound with the shackles. She put her face to the grille in the cell door. Outside there was the bare, stone chamber, where her satchel had been dumped. No guards were there at present. Other grilled doors led off this chamber, with a spiral stone staircase leading to the rooms at street level. Three walls of Tira's cell were stone. The other wall consisted of iron bars, through which she could see the cell adjacent to her own. Asleep on a pile of straw in the corner, was a wild looking old man, dressed in old rags, with long, wild grey hair. Tira winced at the sight of a skeleton in that cell, hanging from rusted manacles. They would let a prisoner starve to death in here?!

Tira called out for the guards. She had to get someone to listen to her, she just had to.

"They're not coming," said Gloom, struggling into a seating position.

He was right. There was no way of escape, and with the painful shackles binding her fingers, Tira couldn't cast any spells.

After a what seemed like hours, there was a commotion. Tira looked up and saw more guards dragging a boy of about her own age into the cells. He was struggling, so one of them grasped him in a headlock.

"Hey, stop! You're hurting him!" Tira cried out, but they ignored her and dumped the boy in the cell.

The wild looking old man woke up at that moment and his eyes lit up at the sight of his new cellmate. "At last! Someone to talk to. Old Gerald ran out of things ter talk about years ago." He pointed at the skeleton manacled to the wall. "I'm Cynric. They call me the Mad Beggar."

"Right. Can't think why that would be," said the boy, rolling his eyes. He had such soft, brown eyes. Despite her predicament, Tira wanted to gaze into them. And if her hands weren't manacled, she would have wanted to run her fingers through his wavy brown hair. He turned to Tira. "And who are you, my lady?"

She smiled at how polite he was. She couldn't blush anymore obviously, and neither could she curtsey.

"My name is Tira, and I'm a witch. Please tell me your name?"

His soft, brown eyes narrowed. "A witch."

"Not much of one," grumbled Gloom.

"Yes," said Tira. "And this is Gloom, my familiar. He's an imp. I was apprenticed to Mistress Crowfoot in Selwyck, but I realised that was wrong. I wanted to warn them here that there is a coven about to release an Infernal Beast. They wouldn't believe me and they locked us up here. I know they're gonna kill me." She sniffed. That really was unfair. "I hope they spare Gloom."

"Hmmm. The Infernal Beast, you say? You know about that?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It sounds dreadful. Um… I really thought they'd believe me."

"I do believe you."

"Thank you." She wanted to be able to reach through the bars and hug him. "So you know about me. Why don't you tell me about you?"

"I'm Jemedar, warrior hero. I'm on a quest to stop the Infernal Beast."

"Ooh! I wanna help. But we can't get out of here."

"You give up to easily," he said. He started yelling challenges to the guards.

"Won't work," said Tira. "They don't answer."

"If yer wantin' ter leave so soon, I might just be able ter help yeh, boy," said Cynric. "But if you want me help, yer have to answer my riddle."

"Don't waste my time," snapped Jemedar.

Cynric huffed and turned his head away. "If yer don't want my help…"

"No, please listen to him," urged Tira. "Cynric, Sir, please tell us your riddle, I know you're good at riddles."

"That's nice. Yer a polite young witch, if green in the cheeks," said Cynric. "But if Jemmy don't want to hear…"

"Alright, what is your riddle?" snapped Jemmy.

He didn't seem to mind the name Jemmy. Tira thought it sounded cuter than Jemedar.

"Right, boy," said Cynric. "If yer get my riddle, I'll 'elp yer get out." He turned to the skeleton. "Mind, I want no cheatin'. Keep quiet Gerald. Now 'ere's the riddle:

"I am the jailer's strong right arm,

I set the prisoner free.

I keep fast the treasure hoard,

But all doors will open to me."

Tira knew the answer. "That's a very good riddle. Um…" She wondered, did Cynric want Jemmy to be the one to get it? Should she give Jemmy a chance to answer? Perhaps she should give him a clue.

"What could it mean, Jemmy? All doors will open…?"

Jemmy's face lit up. "Ah, of course. A key."

"That's right," said Cynric. "A key. And that's how I'll 'elp yer."

The old man walked over to the skeleton and removed a loose stone behind it. He reached into the hole and removed a bundle of sackcloth. Unwrapping it, he revealed a finely made skeleton key. "This fell through the window one day. Someone's loss, but your gain, eh? Gerald's been keeping it safe for me."

"Why haven't you escaped?" asked Tira in surprise.

"I'm not daft, witch," said Cynric. "Why risk it on the streets when I've got a room and three square meals a day in 'ere? Honestly, do yer think I'm mad?" He nudged the skeleton. "What do yer think Gerald? Am I mad?"

"Oh. Good point."

Beaming, his face alight with happiness so he looked really beautiful, Jemmy unlocked his cell door and seized his backpack in the chamber outside his cell.

Tira pressed her face to the grille in her cell door. "Please take me with you. I can help. I wanna stop the Beast. They – They're going to kill me." Her voice trembled.

"Threaten to curse him," mumbled Gloom so that only Tira could hear. "You know… Salamander breath and scorpion sting. You don't need your hands for that one. You can hurt him if he doesn't obey you."

Tira ignored the imp and gazed pleadingly at Jemmy, who hesitated. She could feel tears in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

"Oh, alright," said Jemmy. "Though trusting a witch… it's against my better judgement."

Muttering, he retrieved a bunch of keys from a hook on the chamber wall and unlocked Tira's cell. She ran out happily. She couldn't hug him, because of the awkward shackles on her hands, but she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, making him blush rosy pink.

Gloom shuffled out after her.

"Thank you a thousand times, you kind, sweet boy. Um… can you please help me with these…" She held up her shackled hands. "I've gotta help little Gloom."

After some fumbling around, they managed to find the key that unlocked Tira's shackles and then Gloom's manacles. Tira gathered up her satchel. Her book and the jar of powder were still in it.

"Right, now I cast a spell of invisibility," said Gloom. The imp closed his eyes, but then opened them again. "Hold hands, kids. I can't do you both separately. Honestly…"

"Sorry," Tira took Jemmy's hand in hers. His hand felt soft and pleasantly firm.

Gloom closed his eyes and muttered, gritting his fangs.

"Are you sure about this imp?" Asked Jemmy, staring at Gloom dubiously.

"Yes, he's good as gold," Tira assured him.

Gloom's eyes snapped open. "Quickly. Before it wears off."

The three of them sneaked up the stairs and past the guards, out of the Magistrate's House and then down the streets leading out of Hollowell.

Gloom exhaled. "Done. You don't need to hold hands anymore, kids."

"I can get on with my quest," said Jemmy.

Tira gazed into the young warrior's brown eyes. "You should come with us. Um … I'd feel better if you were with me so I can take care of you … so you don't get locked up again."

"So did you, and you needed me to get you out," said Jemmy coolly, withdrawing his hand from hers.

"Burn," said Gloom, smirking with his wide, fanged mouth.

Tira realised how silly she must have sounded and bit her lip. She really wanted to be Jemmy's friend. She felt bad that she just annoyed him. "Um… Thank you, yes, you saved my life. I wanna repay you. You need my help if you are going to stop the Circle of Doom. Gloom and I are magic, just like they are. You said in the cells that you might not trust a witch, but I wish you'd trust me… that is, I trust you."

"Hm. We'll have to discuss this properly. Somewhere calm, civilised and relaxing. Not like Hollowell…" He ran his fingers through his wavy hair. Tira wished she could do the same.

"Tell you what," he said, his face lighting up. "Let's go to the Pilgrim's Rest. It's a welcoming place. Everyone knows. You'd better tell me your story and I'll tell you mine."

Tira clapped her hands together and grinned. "Ooh, yes! I love stories."

The three of them trudged down the road as the sun sank in the sky. Jemmy tried to teach them a marching song, but Gloom started being very silly and sang a garbled version in a really screechy, wailing voice.

"Can't you make your pet behave?" said Jemmy, raising an eyebrow.

"Um, he's not my pet, he's my familiar," said Tira. She scratched Gloom behind the ear, the way he liked. "Poor Gloom. You can't sing well at all."

"I've improved the lyrics," screeched Gloom. "Kids have no appreciation for good music."

Dusk fell and trudging down the dusty road, the trio came to a three-story stone building with a painted sign hanging outside, proclaiming it to be the Pilgrim's Rest. The sign itself was an excellent work of art. It depicted a pilgrim carrying a scrip and leaning on a staff, passing a milestone pointing back to Hollowell. Tira wasn't of course keen to ever go back there, and she doubted Jemmy would be either.

The witch, the warrior and the imp all passed under the sign and into the courtyard of the hostelry. The interior of the inn was one of traditional oak beams and whitewashed walls. Tables were set out round the bar-room, with a large fireplace in the far wall. A few customers were dotted about, sitting by themselves. Jemmy went up to the bar, Tira and Gloom trotting after him.

The landlady, a woman with a ruddy face and hands calloused by work, was rubbing a tankard with a cloth. Jemmy inclined his head to her and Tira beamed and waved. "Hallo there, young sir, young witch and… whatever he is." She pointed at Gloom. "How've you found travellin' in these 'ere parts? No trouble with bandits, I 'ope?"

Bandits? Tira didn't like the sound of that again, particularly with the recent disturbing memories surrounding the bandit who had trespassed in Crowfoot Cottage.

"No trouble at all," said Jemmy.

He ascertained that he could only afford the one, room, so the three of them traipsed up the stairs into a bare room with a single, small bed. A fire was already crackling in the grate. Tira resigned herself to sleeping on the floor, and wondered if her satchel could serve as a pillow.

"Cold in here," said Jemmy shivering. "Fire's not warm enough."

"Aw, you poor thing. Warm chicken soup might help," said Tira. She ran out of the room just as Jemmy started to protest about the cost. She returned with a steaming bowl and a chunk of raw meat for her familiar. She thrust the steaming bowl at Jemmy and chucked the meat to Gloom in the corner, where he tore into it ravenously.

The witch sat herself beside the warrior on the bed and smiled at him. "I wanna hear your story. You promised."

"I'm sure," said Jemmy. "You really know nothing about me. Not even why they chucked me in that cell."

Tira blinked. She hadn't even thought about questioning that part. "I – I know you were innocent. I'm sure of it."

From the corner, Gloom guffawed. Tira tried to tune the imp out. She gazed at the warrior beside her, at his soft, brown eyes, his sculpted jaw, his freckled nose and cheeks… She already missed having freckles herself. Who would have thought that was possible? His body looked so strong and athletic. It had been a while since she had been near anyone so attractive. She touched his arm. "Whatever you want to tell me is fine."

"Very well," he began, and then adopted a stilted tone. "I am Jemedar of Coltbridge. I have passed the three tests to become a Warrior Hero. The test of strength, the test of sensitivity and the test of morality. I have gone out in the world seeking adventure and mortal danger."

"And your mother is alright with that?" asked Tira, wide-eyed. She herself certainly would not be alright with Jemmy rushing into mortal danger.

"Can you not interrupt?"

Tira looked at the floor, feeling her face growing hot. "Sorry."

Jemmy continued. "I have been duped and betrayed by a villain, an evil mage who is servant to the Beast. The one called Nazek."

Tira gave a little start. "I know that villain. He's the one planning to hurt people…"

Jemmy glared at her. "Can you stop interrupting?"

"Yes, Mistress," came Gloom's reedy voice from the corner. "The story's going to go very slowly if you interrupt this much."

"Sorry," said Tira, abashed. "Please continue."

And so Jemmy began his story.