A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

  ‘She won’t,’ said Betty. ‘Why do you think I chose tonight? Everyone’s going to be dressed up, or wearing masks. It’s perfect! If no one knows it’s us, no one can rat on us to Granny.’

  ‘What’s in Marshfoot?’ Charlie asked. ‘Bigger houses? More sweets?’

  ‘Better than that.’ Betty shooed Charlie further down the darkened lane. ‘There’s a fairground. Bobbing apples, and soul cakes, and a prize for the best costume . . . and candyfloss!’ And adventure, she added in silent defiance. She didn’t care where they escaped to – as long as it was out of Crowstone. Marshfoot was both far enough to feel satisfyingly daring and new, and close enough to get away with it. Sneaking off to the unknown like this felt like scratching an itch that had been there all her life.

  ‘Candyfloss!’ Charlie breathed. Since she’d lost her front teeth her sweet little voice had a slight lisp to it. She slipped a hot, sticky hand into Betty’s. ‘But it’s so far away. What if we don’t make it back in time for cake?’

  ‘We’ll easily make it back,’ said Betty. ‘I’ve got it all planned. And they’re not going to eat my birthday cake without me! But hurry – we’ve only got a few minutes before the ferry leaves.’

  They slipped further down the lane, rounding the corner. Beneath the mask, Betty grinned triumphantly, her heart racing. They were really going to do it! They would finally get to see what life beyond Crowstone was like, and all because of her.

  Betty loosened the cloak round her neck and they started to run. Beside her, Charlie counted glowing jack-o’-lanterns and carved turnips in windows, pointing out one she had made yesterday which was on the school steps. They followed them along the cobbled streets like wraiths leading them to the Misty Marshes.

  Soon the houses became fewer, and then the crossroads were in sight and there were no houses at all. Instead, some distance away across the marshes, rows of tiny prison-cell windows glowed yellow, like watchful eyes in the blackness. Rising even higher, another light flickered from a solitary tower that loomed over the rest of the building.

  Charlie slowed to a walk, and they sidestepped to allow a couple of people, hurrying for the ferry, to pass. ‘How long has Father been in there now?’ she asked.

  ‘Charlie!’ Betty scolded, hoping those in front hadn’t heard. She lowered her voice. ‘Two years, eight months.’ She paused, rummaging through dates in her head. ‘And four days.’

  ‘How long till he gets out?’

  Betty sighed, feeling a familiar mixture of emotions at the thought of their father: sadness, frustration, disappointment. Like their mother’s death, his absence had hit Betty and Fliss harder than it had Charlie. Even if Barney Widdershins was, in Granny’s own words, a useless toe rag, Betty couldn’t help but feel some sort of loyalty towards him. He wasn’t much of a father, but he was the only one they had. ‘Two years, three months and twenty-six days,’ she answered finally.

  ‘Why you whispering?’ Charlie asked. She had been only three when their father was taken away, and the lack of contact since meant she had never been close to him, merely curious. ‘You’re always telling Fliss there ain’t no point getting ’barrassed about him being in there.’

  ‘Embarrassed,’ Betty corrected. If they lived anywhere else she would squirm about it, but almost everyone who lived near the prison did so because they were related to someone on the inside. ‘No, there isn’t. But don’t blab about personal stuff when we’re meant to be undercover. You never know who’s listening. Now get a move on, I can see the ferry waiting.’

  ‘Oh!’ Charlie grinned and pulled her witch’s hat lower on her head, clearly enjoying being up to no good.

  Betty ran ahead, with Charlie scampering behind. Her gaze fixed on the prison. Which cell was Father’s? From here it was impossible to tell. Prisoners often moved. He might not even be in the same cell now, not that Betty would know. It was six months since Granny had last taken Fliss and Betty with her to visit. Apparently their father had claimed he was too miserable and ashamed to see his daughters, or even respond to their letters.

  Betty glared at the prison. He should have thought of that before he got himself pinched. She gave the prison a last scowl before looking away, determined not to let her father ruin tonight like he ruined everything else. They reached the ferry, running the last few steps. Evidently the fog warning hadn’t changed for the worse, as the ferryman appeared unconcerned about the wispy mist that was wreathing around the boat. There were a handful of costumed people on it already, who also appeared to be heading for the Halloween Fayre. Betty paid their fares then squeezed on to the narrow seat next to Charlie.

  She glanced gleefully back the way they had come. Had they really got away with it? It had been so easy! Still, she tapped her toe impatiently until the ferryman pushed off, and then they were gliding over the water.

  ‘Adventure awaits the audacious!’ Betty whispered in excitement. (It was the first time she had spoken her new motto aloud, and she had been dying to say it all day.)

  Charlie was unimpressed. ‘What colour candyfloss do you think they’ll have?’

  ‘Green, perhaps, or orange . . .’ Betty trailed off, staring back to shore. A little way along from the ferry was the harbour. Somewhere among the other boats was their own, a ramshackle ensemble of rotting wood that their father had won in a bet and had been trying to fix up ever since, without success. Perhaps he never would. For once, Betty didn’t care. She didn’t need Father, or his boat, for adventures. Here, on the marshes by night, she wasn’t just the middle Widdershins sister: plain and blunt against Fliss’s prettiness and charm, and sensible next to Charlie’s cuteness and mischief. Here, she was Betty the Brave; Betty the Explorer! She could go anywhere, do anything!

  Everything looked different, more eerie and mysterious, and in the distance she could see strange flickering lights, like magical orbs hovering above the water’s surface. People called them will-o’-the-wisps. Some said they were the souls of those who’d died on the marshes, others believed they were mischievous sprites, trying to lead travellers astray.

  She stared towards the prison. They would pass this first, located on the island of Repent, which was one of three nearby craggy isles on the marshes. The second, smaller island was known as Lament, where all of Crowstone’s dead were buried. Betty had been there only twice, most recently when her mother died shortly after Charlie had been born. A pang of sadness crept over her at the memory, still raw even now.

  The final island was called Torment. It was out of bounds for those who lived on mainland Crowstone. Those on Torment had been exiled: people who had been released from the prison, but still had punishment to serve by not being allowed to return to the mainland, or those who had committed crimes not serious enough to be locked away for, but enough to warrant being banished. Collectively, the three places were still part of Crowstone and were known as the Sorrow Isles. Along with mainland Crowstone, they were all the girls had ever known – and the farthest any of them had ever travelled.

  Tonight, after all Betty’s longing, that was about to change. It was her birthday gift to herself, she decided. A step towards the life she wanted, one of opportunities and adventure; one where she would have golden sand crusted under her fingernails instead of coal dust.

  The boat had not gone far when Betty became aware that something was happening. The Misty Marshes were living up to their name: the prison’s lights had vanished. Instead, all that could be seen was thick, swirling grey mist, and it was curling around them, chilling their bones. Her scalp prickled with dread. A mother sitting opposite drew her small son closer, muttering in concern.

  ‘Betty?’ Charlie tugged at her sleeve. ‘What if the boat gets lost, or we can’t find our way back from Marshfoot—’

  Betty swallowed. Granny had used many excuses over the years to avoid taking the girls too far, and now those warnings came flooding back. ‘We could miss the return ferry . . . lost boats have struck rocks and sunk into the marshes . . . people say
there’s still slavers in these parts, just waiting to snatch people away and sell them . . .’ Suddenly, she didn’t feel so smart or brave. She felt rather silly, and worried.

  ‘It’s getting hard to see!’ the lady with the young boy called to the ferryman.

  ‘Aye,’ he grunted. ‘May just be a pocket. If it don’t clear in a minute we’ll have to turn back.’

  Charlie’s bottom lip wobbled. ‘B-but my candyfloss . . .’

  Betty didn’t answer, fighting to appear calm for her sister’s sake. Perhaps Granny hadn’t been too cautious. Perhaps she was right to be afraid . . .

  The temperature plummeted as thick, freezing fog wrapped around the boat, frighteningly fast. This wasn’t a pocket. It was all around them. The ferryman stopped rowing, lifting his lantern. Betty felt Charlie’s small hands reaching for her. She wrapped an arm round her sister’s shoulders, and lifted her free hand in front of her face. It was almost touching her nose before she could see it.

  A huge bump shook the boat. There were screams and gasps as it rocked dangerously on the water.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Charlie’s voice was high-pitched with fear. Her fingers dug into Betty’s arm painfully.

  ‘I don’t know!’ Betty gasped, clutching the side of the boat. Freezing water slopped up her elbow. ‘Did we hit a rock?’

  ‘I want to go home!’ Charlie wailed, all thoughts of candyfloss forgotten.

  The boat lurched again as a familiar figure loomed over the two girls. Betty gave a squeak of surprise as someone pushed their face to hers, almost nose to nose.

  ‘Good!’ said Granny. ‘Because home is exactly where we’re going!’

  Chapter Two

  Prisoners

  BETTY SAT RIGID WITH SHOCK and confusion. Next to her, Charlie was also frozen, her hand clamped round Betty’s arm.

  Bunny hadn’t been on the boat when they’d left, Betty was convinced of it – but now she had doubts. Could Granny have disguised herself? It was impossible that she could have boarded without them seeing her otherwise . . . but then why would she let the boat leave? It made no sense.

  ‘Granny?’ Betty whispered. Already, through the folds of her disbelief, she knew what this meant. Any future glimmers of freedom were in tatters; as impossible to grab as the swirling mist. ‘How did you . . . where did you come from?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Granny glowered down at her. She looked half-mad, with her grey hair flying loose from its bun, and her shabby coat and shawl and Wellington boots horribly mismatched. Worse still, Granny had brought the ugly old carpet bag she insisted on carrying everywhere, though goodness knew why. Betty began to feel grateful for the fog. It was, at least, a screen against curious eyes. Clearly the only things that awaited her audaciousness were embarrassment and confusion, not adventure. She needed a new motto.

  ‘Return this boat!’ Granny demanded. ‘We’re getting off!’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to do,’ the ferryman snapped, not looking up from the windrose he was bent over.

  Other passengers squinted, their eyes flickering over what they could see of Granny’s strange appearance as though they were trying to work out what kind of Halloween costume this was. Betty cringed.

  ‘Hurry up, please,’ Granny repeated loudly. ‘This is no place for children!’

  ‘You’re the one who brought ’em!’ the ferryman said, annoyed. Then he frowned. ‘Although, come to think of it, I never saw you get on . . .’

  ‘Nonsense. I’ve been here all along!’

  But she can’t have been! Betty thought, bewildered. Or she would have said something sooner. She bit back a frustrated growl. All that sneaking about and effort, for nothing! She didn’t feel like a big adventurer now. She felt like a silly little girl. And the worst of it was there was a tiny part of her that was relieved, because in those misty moments before Granny had appeared, Betty had been scared.

  ‘But, Granny,’ Charlie whispered. ‘You haven’t!’

  ‘Shush,’ said Granny, in a not-at-all-quiet voice.

  The ferryman peered closer at Bunny. ‘I remember the girls getting on, but not you. You didn’t pay your fare!’

  ‘I most certainly did.’ Granny’s voice cooled a few degrees. ‘Or do you suppose that I swam out here fully-clothed and boarded the boat still dry, by some miracle?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘And don’t get lippy with me, young man. I know your father!’

  The ferryman looked more alarmed about this than he did about the fog.

  ‘He’s in for it now,’ Charlie said in a small voice.

  ‘No,’ Granny snapped. ‘You two are in for it when you get home. And this time you’ll be getting more than you bargained for.’

  Betty gulped. She should have known better than to try and trick Granny – after all, she’d never managed to before. And now some other unpleasant thing was in store, to add to her already ruined birthday. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Granny didn’t answer. Instead she said to the ferryman, in an even sterner voice, ‘Now, I suggest you stop quibbling and get these cold, damp people back to safety. I expect many of them will want to know why the ferry was permitted to leave in the first place if a fog was expected.’

  ‘B-but it wasn’t . . .’ the ferryman objected.

  ‘Then you must be terribly inexperienced,’ Granny said coldly. ‘Or too fond of money.’ She looked away pointedly.

  The ferryman stopped protesting and, after consulting the windrose once more, began rowing meekly. No one said a word for the entire journey back to shore, but Betty could feel the tension building in Granny. She might be silent now, but there was no mistaking that once they were off the boat she would have plenty to say. But so did Betty. Something extraordinary had just happened, and neither Granny’s temper nor her punishment was going to stop Betty asking questions.

  Just how had Granny got on that boat? True, she had always possessed an uncanny knack for tracking the girls down. If they spent too long on an errand, or wandered further than they should while out mushroom picking, it was a running joke that Granny would pop up like a sniffer dog. But this time Betty found nothing funny – or logical – about it. Instead she felt a creeping sense of uneasiness.

  When they docked, Betty and Charlie were shivering, both from the freezing air nipping at their ankles and from the shock of being caught. Granny looked the opposite: hot and cross and a bit dragon-like, with her breath coming in quick bursts that misted the air. She made them wait until everyone else had got off before they clambered ashore and headed for the lanes leading to the Poacher’s Pocket. Betty looked back at the Misty Marshes. Sometimes the fog would come all the way up on to the land, wreathing its way through the streets. Tonight, however, the fog stayed at the fringes of the water, hovering like a marsh creature protecting its lair. When she was certain the other passengers were gone and the Widdershins were alone, Betty spoke.

  ‘How did you do that, Granny? How did you get on that boat without us seeing you? It’s not possible.’

  ‘I was on it the whole time,’ Granny answered shortly. ‘But you were so caught up in your little adventure you didn’t see me.’

  Betty stared, trying to read Granny’s face. All she saw there was anger, something which normally stopped her from asking too many questions or answering back . . . but tonight wasn’t normal. Her hopes and plans had all been dashed. She had nothing else to lose by saying what she really thought, even at the risk of being punished with extra chores. ‘I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t have waited all that time before saying something to us.’

  ‘I wanted to see if you’d actually do it,’ Granny snapped, but she still didn’t quite sound truthful. ‘Or whether you’d come to your senses and turn back.’

  ‘Come to my senses?’ Betty’s face grew hotter as her temper rose – or perhaps it was the sting from Granny’s harsh words.

  ‘Bringing Charlie out here like this was stupid and irresponsible. Anything could have happened!’

&nb
sp; ‘Exactly,’ Betty muttered. She ignored the prickle of shame, unable to hold her tongue now she had begun. ‘We might have even had some fun.’

  Granny ignored her, pulling her shawl tighter around her. She jabbed a finger between Betty’s shoulders, prodding her along the lane. ‘I thought I could count on you, Betty Widdershins. I thought you could be trusted, but it looks like I was wrong.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Betty’s voice rose, carrying through the night. ‘All right, I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. But, come on, Granny! Wanting a bit of freedom . . . that’s not a crime, and you know I’d never let Charlie come to harm—’

  ‘I know that’s what you think,’ Granny cut in. ‘But you’re thirteen years old! You know nothing of the world. There’s plenty out there that could harm you, things you don’t know about . . .’

  ‘I never will if you don’t let me.’ Betty spoke quietly now, but with as much defiance as she dared. Granny’s fierceness was normally enough to stop her answering back, as well as a feeling of not wanting to be a bigger burden than they already were – but enough was enough. She waited for her grandmother to protest, to make the usual promises about taking the girls on trips or holidays . . . but this time Granny didn’t. She looked terribly tired, then – and even older than usual.

  A guilty, worried lump rose in Betty’s throat. Granny was, after all, the one who had looked out for Betty and her sisters. If she hadn’t been there to take them in, the girls would have ended up in the orphanage or worse, split up and re-homed with strangers. She pushed the thought away. Being grateful shouldn’t stop her from getting some answers. ‘You say you can’t trust me now, but you never have – not to go out of Crowstone, anyway.’

  Granny stamped over the cobbles. ‘Leave it, Betty. This isn’t the time or the place.’ She set off at a pace, one hand clutching her shawl and the other carrying the travelling bag.

  Betty grabbed Charlie’s hand and hurried after Granny, determined not to be brushed off so easily. ‘How did you find out?’