come home and helped Granny Flossy to repot the grumbling Gertrudes. The sweet purple fruits were used for masking some of the nastier flavours from her potions (it didn’t really work, just like most of Granny’s potions didn’t really work since her accident). On Wednesday she’d gone to the market – helping the housewives of Herm find their misplaced household goods. Thursday, her mother left for the fair, and then it was today …
‘Not really – I can’t seem to remember what I did that day.’
Moreg nodded, then sighed. ‘I was hoping it may be different, but it’s the same with everyone I’ve spoken to – they seem to recall most of what they did this week, but Tuesday is a real blank.’
Willow bit her lip, hesitating. ‘But isn’t that …?’
‘Normal?’ supplied Moreg, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Yes, of course. Most people struggle to remember what they had for dinner the night before. Usually, though, if they put their minds to it, something will come up. But the thing is, when it comes to Tuesday, not a single person I have questioned can remember what happened. Not even me.’
Willow frowned. She had to admit that it was strange. ‘How many people have you asked?’
Moreg gave her an appraising look. ‘All of Hoyp.’
Willow’s eyebrows shot up. That was surprising: an entire village. Okay, a small village that was really more like one long road, but still, that was around fifteen families at least.
Another thought occurred to her. She hesitated, but asked anyway. ‘Why did you say even me?’
A ghost of a smile crossed Moreg’s face. ‘You’re sharp – that’s good. I meant only that it was strange, as it had never happened to me before.’
Willow was taken aback. ‘You’ve never forgotten what you’ve done before?’
‘Never.’
Willow’s eyes popped. She didn’t really know what to do with that information. She felt equal parts awe and dismay at the prospect.
Moreg changed the subject. ‘I believe that you are a finder?’
Willow hesitated; she’d never been called that before. Mentally she cringed. The closest she’d ever come to being called that was when her sister Camille took to calling her ‘Fetch’ for a large portion of her childhood. She’d stopped that now. Mostly.
‘Yes. Well. No. Not exactly. I mean … I find things … things that are lost.’
Moreg said nothing.
Willow filled the silence in a rush. ‘I mean … I could find your keys if you lost them, but I don’t think I could find an entire day … even if it was lost.’
Moreg raised a brow. ‘But you could try, couldn’t you?’
Willow considered. She could. There was nothing stopping her from at least trying. She took a deep, nervous breath, closed her eyes, and raised her arm to the sky, concentrated hard on Tuesday then –
‘STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!’ thundered Moreg, jumping out of her seat so fast she overturned her chair, which hit the flagstone floor with a deafening clatter. Willow gulped, while Moreg watched her lower her arm as if it were a dangerous viper. Clutching her chest, the witch took several sharp, shuddery breaths.
‘SUCH A FRIGHT! MY HEART!’
Willow’s voice shook as she spoke in a tone trying its absolute best not to make an accusation. ‘I don’t understand – you asked me to … try?’
Moreg rubbed her throat, and after a moment her voice went back to almost normal, though there was a faint squeak if you listened closely enough.
‘Q-quite right, quite right,’ she repeated. ‘Yes, I did. I do want you to try, just not quite yet. Dear Wol, no! Not without some kind of a plan first – we can’t just go in and get it. One can only imagine the consequences …’ she said with a violent shudder that she shook off. ‘Bleugh!’
At Willow’s frown Moreg explained. ‘I believe,’ she said, her black marble-like eyes huge, ‘that had you succeeded in finding the missing Tuesday and brought it into our current reality, the result would almost certainly have been catastrophic – it’s possible that the very structure of our universe would have split apart, creating a sort of end-of-days scenario …’
‘Pardon?’ asked Willow.
‘I believe it may have ended the world.’
Willow sat back, heart jack-hammering in her chest. Finding out that she could have ended the world was, to say the least, a sobering thought.
Moreg, however, seemed back to normal.
‘The thing is, until we know what happened we could just make things worse. Worse than it already is now, and right now it’s about as bad as can be imagined.’
Willow frowned in confusion. ‘What do you mean? I know it’s not … um, great that Tuesday has gone missing, but it’s not the end of the world, surely? It’s just one day …’
A day that no one seems to have missed anyway, so what was the harm, really? thought Willow.
Moreg blinked. ‘Actually, it might be the end of the world if we don’t find it. Whatever happened to last Tuesday may affect the very fabric of Starfell, causing it to unravel slowly, thread by thread.’
Willow’s mouth fell open dumbly as she gasped. She hadn’t realised it could be that serious.
Moreg nodded. ‘Which is why we will have to start at the beginning. We can’t very well proceed until we know for sure what happened. Or, more importantly, why.’
She looked out of the window, frowning slightly, then blinked as if she were trying to clear her vision. ‘There’s someone I think we’re going to need, someone who can help us … which might prove a little tricky as we need to find him first.’
‘Oh, why’s that tricky?’ asked Willow.
Moreg turned to look at her, a faint smile about her lips. ‘He’s an oublier, you see, one of the best in Starfell, no doubt, coming from a long line of them. The problem is that finding an oublier is almost impossible unless you know where to look.’
Willow looked blank. ‘An ouble— A what?’
‘An oublier. It’s in the Old Shel, you see.’ Which Willow had always taken to mean when words had more bits in it. Modern-day Shel was the language most people spoke in Starfell, apart from High Dwarf that is, but the latter was mostly because of all the colourful ways one got to swear. ‘It’s pronounced oo-blee-hair, or – as they are more commonly known today – forgotten tellers, people who see the past.’
‘Like the opposite of a seer?’
Moreg drummed her chin with her fingers. ‘Sort of—’
