Page 34 of Shroom for Improvement

“Kitchen gardens?” My attention spiked. “Okay, next time, lead with that.”

The walled kitchen gardens sat a short walk away from the main house, and adjacent to the small dining patio of the bed and breakfast. Ten-foot-high red-brick walls wrapped around the entire acre, acre and a half of space. In the centre were enormous mesh fruit cages containing raspberries, red currants, blueberries, and in neat little rows besides them, were brassicas and legumes and cut flowers. Daffodils and anemones and tulips—probably for the B&B’s dining tables and guest bedrooms—sprouted between cabbages and cauliflowers and beans. Things grew that shouldn’t technically be growing this time of year, but I figured that was due to the house’s, and the sentry fae’s, glamour.

The oxytocin now flooding my bloodstream at the sight of a productive mega-allotment had fully replaced the adrenaline from meeting the surtr earlier. But the kitchen gardens weren’t perfect. I noticed many, many areas of bare soil, waiting for new plants, yet exposed to the elements. And also a great number of weeds. Mostly bindweed. Nothing my trusty hori hori and a good few hours on my knees wouldn’t sort out. Such a shame I hadn’t packed it. Would have been an enjoyable way to while away some time before I decided what the fuck I was going to do.

“Who tends to the kitchen garden?” I asked, looking between the sentry fae. I wanted to make clear from my tone I was impressed, not accusing them of botanical negligence.

“Nobody,” Willow answered.

“We use it every day to pick fruit and veg for the guests’ breakfasts and suppers, but we don’t tend to it,” Oggy said. Upon seeing my super confused face, she added, “Between the house’s magic, and our sentry glamour, it just sort of produces everything we need.”

“So, how do you...” I began, but trailed off, lost in my own thoughts.

When I was a child, I had a book—which, okay, I stole—but it detailed all the different magics of the different species of fae. From what I could remember about sentry fae, their glamour worked in such a way that simply accommodated everyone, and that was that. If a person under their charge wanted an ice-cream sandwich, their magic would make it happen. If they needed an extra blanket, or a massage, or a specialist television channel installed in their room, the sentry fae’s glamour would make it so. It was fascinating. I’d always dreamed of staying in a place governed by sentry fae.

Of course, the same book told me nothing about shroom fae. If I remembered accurately, there were a few illustrations ofshroom fae—one that looked spookily like Claude—and in a box where it detailed the properties of the fae’s glamour, it had said:

Shroom fae are the most mysterious and elusive of all species. You will never get a shroom fae to talk about their glamour, so don’t waste your breath trying.

Who’d have thought those two simple sentences would lead to a centuries-long obsession?

“It’s difficult, sometimes, to know what is the house’s magic and what’s ours,” Oggy said.

“Like,” Willow added. “That stuff over there.” They pointed to an area obscured by the fruit cages. “That wasn’t here this morning. Did our glamour create it to satisfy you? Or is the house trying to convince you to stay?”

I leaned back, and back, far enough to get a decent look at what Willow was pointing at. My heart skipped a beat—several beats—and I found myself running towards it.

“A pee-bale!” I shouted, gesturing towards the bale of hay tucked against the far wall. I did need to pee after all that travelling, but I didn’t want to scar the sentry fae by whipping out parts of my anatomy in front of them.

“A what?” said Oggy, jogging to catch up.

“A pee-bale. You... Um... It collects your pee and then you spread the straw under the plants, and it restores some nutrients into the soil.”

“Pee nutrients?” Oggy said, her eyebrows pulled together in the centre.

“Yes! There are so many amazing things inside our body that we flush down the toilet. I mean, nearly every waste product can be recycled into the earth.”

“What about barf?” Willow asked.

“Well, okay, maybe barf is the exception. Nearly every waste product that’s been filtered by our bodies,” I clarified.

“What about shit? Or jizz?” said a booming voice from behind the sentry fae. Jasper, the surtr had returned, and was grinning maniacally.

I swallowed the rising fear. “Well, manure has always been considered one of the best fertilisers, and jizz... well, I’d need to conduct some further research, but I’d hazard a guess it would be very beneficial to the plants.”

“Why don’t you conduct this further research right now?” Jasper said.

“Mr Dupont!” Oggy yelled. “What have we told you about sexually harassing other guests?”

Willow took a subtle step in front of Oggy, but said nothing.

“I’m not sexually harassing him. I’m merely stating that perhaps it’s something he ought to look into.”

“He’ll deeply consider your words of wisdom,” Willow finally said. “But don’t you have fatal booby traps to set?”

“Nah, piano’s all ready to go. Just waiting for Helena to finish her morning yoga.” Jasper chuckled to himself. The sound echoed through the ground beneath my feet. “Thought I’d pop down to see how Professor Mushroom-Shagger is getting on.”

“Please,” said Oggy. “Please refrain from insulting our guests.”

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