The Climb

It took three attempts.

The first attempt Zeb misjudged the run-up and grabbed the hair too low and slid straight back down again, which Rosa said felt like someone pulling her head off slowly and she would like him to try again but better this time please.

The second attempt he grabbed the right section but his hands were sweaty from nerves and he slipped about four feet up, which Rosa said felt only slightly better and could he perhaps use some kind of grip aid.

Phineas produced from one of his pockets a small bag of the powdery chalk that gymnasts use, which raised the question of why he had it but Phineas always had inexplicable things in his pockets and it was generally best not to ask.

The third attempt worked.

Climbing twenty-three feet of hair was not an experience Zeb had expected to have on a Thursday morning and he was not sure he would recommend it. It was thick enough to grip well, which was good, but it swayed alarmingly when he moved, which was bad, and at one point a bird landed on it about a foot above his head, looked at him with great curiosity, and then flew off again.

"There is a bird in my hair," Rosa called down from above.

"It left," Zeb called back, which cost him some breath he could not really afford.

He pulled himself over the window ledge and sat on it catching his breath while Rosa looked at him with an expression that mixed relief with residual irritation.

The room at the top of the tower was small and round and not as unpleasant as he had expected. There was a bed, a chair, a small table, and on the table a bunch of herbs tied together with string, still faintly fragrant. The herbs were the dark green of things that have been kept in a tower for two days.

"The herbs," Rosa said, pointing.

Zeb picked them up. They felt completely ordinary. Just herbs.

"You really just wanted these for a wreath," he said.

"They smelled wonderful before they started wilting," Rosa said with dignity.

"Right," Zeb said. He looked out the window. From up here the village spread out below like a map, the houses small and neat, the pitch clear except for the tower they were currently sitting on top of. He could see Cora and Phineas far below, both of them very small, both looking up.

Cora had produced a notebook from somewhere and appeared to be making notes.

"How do we get down?" Rosa asked.

"Carefully," Zeb said.

It turned out that going down was considerably more frightening than going up. Zeb went first, which he felt was the fair thing given that it was Rosa's hair and she should not have to watch someone climbing down it while also feeling every movement. He went slowly and tried not to look at the ground.

When his feet touched the grass Cora and Phineas both let out a breath they had clearly been holding for some time.

Then Rosa appeared at the window, turned around, and began to descend her own hair with what appeared to be complete calm and considerable practice.

"You have done this before," Phineas said when she reached the bottom.

"The tower has appeared twice before," Rosa admitted, smoothing her hair back with the air of someone who refused to be embarrassed about anything. "Morrigan has a bit of a short temper. I have a bit of a wandering problem. We have an ongoing situation."

Zeb stared at her. "This has happened twice before?"

"The first time was because of her apple tree," Rosa said. "The second time was her pond. In my defence the apples looked very good and the pond had the most interesting frogs I had ever seen."

"You have to stop going into her garden," Cora said.

"Yes," Rosa said. "I am beginning to see that."