by Natasha Lowe
“Go and sit over there.” Miss Dickenson nodded at an old oak table in the corner. She handed Della a pair of thin white gloves. “And you must put these on before you handle it.”
For some reason Della couldn’t explain, her heart was racing extra hard as Miss Dickenson put down a smallish, leather-bound book. She was expecting something big and engraved, but from the outside this was about the plainest book Della had ever seen. There wasn’t even a title on the cracked brown cover. Pulling on the gloves (which she was glad to have, because her hands had started to sweat), Della waited for Miss Dickenson to leave, and then very carefully she opened it.
Della blinked as a cloud of glittery dust rose off the first page, swirling around her in a mist. There was a strong smell of spices and burnt caramel, mingled with the fizzy scent of magic that made her want to sneeze. Lute music played faintly, seeming to come from the pages of the book, and Della stared at the spiky handwriting, which had faded to the color of chestnuts. She tried to read, but it was as if she couldn’t absorb the words, and a strange but powerful thought suddenly occurred to her. Books were all very well, but if she could talk to Della Dupree, if she could see what things were like back then and hear about being a witch in Della’s own words, she could give an amazing presentation. “That’s what I have to do,” Della whispered, getting to her feet. Her head felt heavy and full of treacle as she left the library. She sensed Miss Dickenson calling after her, but she sounded so far off and faint, Della wasn’t sure.
Walking directly to the fortune-telling lab, Della marched over and opened up the cabinet that held the time-travel amulets. Even though she knew she would get into a great deal of trouble if anyone discovered what she was doing, for some reason this didn’t bother her. With an unusual display of confidence, Della took out one of the necklaces and slipped it on. They were all programmed to return the girls to the exact time and place of their leaving, but you had to be clear about where you wanted to go.
The chain was chunky but featherlight, being made out of moon gold, and hanging from the center was the fossilized dragon’s eye, a deep amber color flecked with green and copper streaks. Holding the fossil in her hands, Della stared into its center. She could hear words coming out of her mouth, although they didn’t seem to be linked to her thoughts.
“Twelve twenty-three, twelve twenty-three, Ruthersfield was founded by Witch Dupree.”
The dragon’s eye started to glow, and a buzzing in Della’s head got louder, as if a swarm of bees had nested in there. A wind picked her up, and for a moment she felt like she was being sucked inside a vacuum. Cold air blew around her, and the buzzing turned into a gushing, swirling roar. Della covered her ears and shut her eyes, and when the noise finally stopped, she lay perfectly still, feeling twigs press against her check and smelling the damp scent of earth after a rainfall. A bird cawed, and Della gingerly opened her eyes, realizing that she was lying on the floor of a forest.
Chapter Four
A Show of Magic
WHAT ON EARTH HAVE I done?” Della whispered, sitting up and pulling a leaf out of her hair. For a moment her thoughts were so jumbled up she couldn’t work out what had just happened. She remembered opening The Book of Spells and then thinking how much better it would be to try to talk to Witch Dupree herself, to go back in time and see what life was like. But the fact that she’d actually gone and done it? Taken a travel amulet from the lab and transported herself back to 1223? Della shook her head and groaned. This was not at all the sort of thing she usually did. Daring and risky belonged to the other Della Dupree.
“Except I did do it,” Della whispered, thinking that maybe there was some strange ancient magic stuck in the book that had made her react that way. Rubbing the blurriness from her eyes, she looked around. The forest was so dense with trees, not much light could come through, and Della had no intention of staying here very long. She tried to remember what Ms. Randal had taught them to say on the return journey. Ruthersfield now! That was it. A soft rustle sent her hand grasping for the amulet. What if there were wolves prowling about? The last thing she wanted was to meet one. Deciding she had seen enough to write about (how dark and scary medieval woods were), Della opened her mouth to speak. But just as she was about to say the return command, she heard what sounded like sobbing coming from a nearby thicket. Human sobbing. Creeping closer, Della saw a wooden pail on the ground, half-full of blackberries.
“Hello?” Della called out softly. The crying stopped, and there was a scuffling noise. Peering into the bushes, Della saw a frightened pair of eyes staring back at her through the leaves. “Are you okay?” she whispered. There was still no answer. “You can come out. I won’t hurt you.”
After a minute or two the sobbing started up again, great heaving sobs that sounded like whoever was in there was having trouble breathing.
“All right, I’m coming in, because you clearly need help.”
“No, don’t,” a small voice gasped. “You mustn’t. You’ll tell on me.”
“I promise I won’t,” Della said, wondering what on earth could be the matter. “I just want to help.”
There was a rather long silence and then the sound of branches snapping as a strange green creature crawled out of the bushes. The creature stood up, and Della stared in surprise, because it wasn’t some sort of extinct medieval beast. It was a little girl. A little green girl with green braids and green skin; even her clothes were the same exact mottled shade of green as the blackberry thicket she’d been hiding in. The only things that weren’t green were her eyes, a pale, watery blue and so full of fear that Della took a step back, not wanting to frighten the girl further.
“It’s all right. I’m a friend,” Della murmured. “Don’t be scared.”
The girl pointed a shaky finger at Della’s clothes, and glancing down, Della saw that she was still in her school uniform. The gold-trimmed purple jacket and purple pleated skirt must have looked as strange to this girl as her greenness did to Della.
“It’s what we wear in my village,” Della said, deciding that this was not the time to try to explain where she had come from and why she was dressed this way.
“You’re not from around here?” The girl’s voice was so soft, Della had to strain to hear.
“I’m not, no.”
Picking up the pail, the girl hugged it to her chest. She didn’t take her eyes off Della as she reached into the bucket and popped a blackberry into her mouth. Almost immediately her skin and clothes began to turn purple, a deep, dark purple like the berry she was eating. Staring at her arm, the girl dropped the pail on the ground, spilling out the fruit. “No, no, no!” she wailed, starting to cry again, and where her tears hit the ground, delicate purple violets sprouted up. The girl screamed, crushing the violets with her feet and sending a heady floral fragrance into the air. “What’s happening?” she sobbed.
“Oh, I think I understand,” Della said in relief. “I thought you had some weird disease, but you don’t.” A cloud of purple butterflies flew out of the girl’s tunic pockets, and Della smiled. “It looks like you’ve got the gift, that’s all. This is a good thing,” she added.
“Gift?”
“Of magic,” Della explained. “You’re a witch.”
“NO!” The girl curled up on the ground, covering her head with her arms. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that ever again. I’m not a witch. I can’t be.”
“How old are you?” Della crouched beside the girl. “Is this the first time something like this has happened?”
The girl nodded, continuing to cry. There was a thick carpet of violets around them now, and the scent was intoxicating. “This is my seventh year.”
“That’s about the age magic shows up. I was five,” Della said, putting a gentle hand on the girl’s back.
“You’re a witch?”
“I changed my bathwater into lime jelly and blew hundreds of green bubbles into the air. One of them was so big I floated out of the tub on it. Magic often begins by tur
ning things different colors.”
“I don’t want to be a different color,” the girl wept. “My parents will send me away. They’ll have me locked up in the castle.”
“I’m sure they won’t,” Della said. “I’ll come and explain to them. Make them understand that being a witch is a wonderful thing. Okay, sometimes it’s a bit stressful,” Della added, thinking about her history project, “but most of the time it’s great.”
“No it’s not.” The girl shook her head vigorously. Lowering her voice, she glanced around and said, “Last harvest there was a witch in Pig Hollow who put a hex on the wheat crop so it withered and died, and the village didn’t have any food for the winter. And there was a witch in Deckle Mead who turned all the cows into mice. And,” the girl continued without taking a breath, “one in Little Shamlington who gave Lord Middlebury donkey ears. Witches are evil,” she finished with a shudder. “I don’t want to be one.”
Della couldn’t help thinking that maybe these witches were driven to do such terrible things because everyone hated them so much. And how awful to try to keep your magic hidden so no one knew you had the gift. Reading about the Middle Ages was quite different from actually being here. This was not a place she wanted to spend any more time in than she had to. “Well, I agree that doesn’t sound too good. But most witches aren’t like that,” Della insisted.
“Yes they are. They’re evil and malicious. That’s what mama says.”
“You don’t look evil or malicious to me.”
“I would never hurt anyone.” The girl looked up at Della out of enormous, frightened eyes.
“And see these beautiful violets you made? How can magic be so terrible if it makes something this pretty?” This made the girl smile, and she wiped a hand across her damp cheeks. “What’s your name?” Della asked.
“Mary.”
“Well, I’m Della.” Continuing to rub circles on the girl’s back, Della tried to remember what Ms. Pringle, her year one teacher, had taught them about regulating their magic. “Can you take some deep, slow breaths for me, Mary?” she said. “It will help get rid of the purple.” Mary did what Della instructed, and immediately the color started to drain away from her skin and clothes, and her hair turned a pretty copper color. “Wow, it actually worked!” Della said, feeling quite pleased with herself. “Magic can be very temperamental in the beginning,” she explained. “Breathing like this will help you control it.” The girls sat quietly for a few more minutes until Della said, “Now let’s get these berries picked up so you can take them home to your mum.” Because until Mary went home, Della couldn’t exactly disappear back to Ruthersfield.
“Wait, someone’s coming,” Mary whispered, a look of panic sweeping over her face.
Della listened, and sure enough, footsteps could be heard crunching through the forest, accompanied by the tinkling sound of bells. Swiftly she pulled her wand out of her pocket and swept it over her uniform. “Changeotimeo,” Della murmured, her smart Ruthersfield jacket and skirt becoming a long, loose-fitting dress with a purple cape over it. She touched a hand to her head and was pleased to discover what felt like a rather complicated set of braids wound around it instead of her usual wispy hair hanging down. And even though this wasn’t a good time for such a thought, Della couldn’t help wishing she had a mirror handy.
Mary opened her mouth to say something, but Della put a finger to her lips, waving a hand around to disperse the faint purple smoke left over from the spell. She could see a man bounding toward them, wearing a red-and-green jester hat, scarlet tunic, and what looked like a pair of brown woven tights. It was more of a skip than a bound, and at the sight of Della and Mary he stopped, bowing low at the waist and making a sweeping curly gesture with his arm.
“Good day, my fair maidens.” The man tilted his head up and sniffed, cutting his eyes toward Della. There was a sweet smell of magic still lingering in the air, like slightly burnt toffee, and Della moved a few steps away, hoping he didn’t recognize it. She could feel her heart pounding and wished the man would stop staring at her in that slightly unnerving way, although when he spoke, his voice was all bubbly and friendly.
“Tom Foolery at your service, but it would be my pleasure if you called me Tom.” He darted over toward Mary and put his face up close to hers. “Someone has been crying, I see. And on such a pretty day as this.”
“Her berries spilled,” Della said quickly, wondering who this strange person was, and rather liking being called a “fair maiden.”
The man looked as if he might be about to cry. He raised a hand in front of his face and drew it upward, turning the sad look into a smile. Then he shook his head, jiggling the bells on the ends of his floppy hat, and turned a swift somersault over the ground.
Mary laughed, and Della couldn’t help joining in. He was so ridiculously silly it was impossible not to.
“I am employed by Lord Hepworth,” Tom said.
“In the castle,” Mary explained, which didn’t add much clarity to the conversation for Della. “He performs in the village sometimes. On feast days.”
“That’s nice,” Della said, feeling like she was in the middle of a bad dream and desperately wanting to wake up.
Tom Foolery started to dance around the girls, waving his hands in the air and pulling all kinds of ridiculous faces that made Mary giggle and Della want to run away. Clearly nobody had explained to Tom Foolery about personal space. He danced up to Mary and, with a flourish, pulled a coin out of her ear.
“Now you see it,” Tom Foolery said, closing his hand around the coin. “And now you don’t.” Mary giggled in delight as Tom Foolery peeled back his fingers to show them that the coin had disappeared. “Oh where did it go?” he said, skipping over to Della. Standing far too close, he fluttered his hands in front of her face, and once again Della felt he was scrutinizing her, as if he could sense that she wasn’t what she seemed. She caught a flash of suspicion in his gaze as he reached up and tugged a coin out of her braid. “Here it is!” the jester said. Mary laughed, and Tom Foolery smiled back. “Happy noise. Oh joy of joys. And now I must be on my way. I’m off to Deckle Mead to cheer up Lord Hepworth’s cousin. He has been feeling melancholy and has retired to his bed.” Giving them one last bow and another fancy wave, he bounded off, much to Della’s relief. That is until she put her hand up to her neck and started to pat about, more and more frantically. “It’s gone.” Della panicked, shaking her cloak and peering down the front of her gown. “It was here a second ago, and now it’s gone.” She gave a low, hysterical wail. “And it can’t break. The chain is moon gold.”
Mary stared at Della. “What’s gone?”
“My necklace.” Della spun in circles, searching the ground just in case it had fallen off. “The one I was wearing. That Tom person took it. I knew he was weird. We have to go after him.” She ran a few feet ahead, but the forest was thick with trees, and there was no sign of the jester at all. Of course he had disappeared.
“He’s good at making things vanish,” Mary said. “That’s one of his tricks.”
“That’s not a trick—that’s stealing,” Della said. “Where on earth is Deckle Mead? I have to find him.”
“I’m not sure.” Mary shrugged. “He’ll be back in a day or two, though. He never stays away from the castle for long.”
“Oh, this is worse than a nightmare, and I don’t know what to do.” Della’s stomach cramped, and her legs went all wobbly. Feeling sick and dizzy, she collapsed on the ground. She patted her neck again. But the time-travel amulet definitely wasn’t there.
Chapter Five
Return to Potts Bottom
I CAN’T GO HOME,” DELLA whispered, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “Not without my necklace.” She dropped her head down, realizing she was going to have to go to the castle and confront that horrible jester. Which seemed almost as distressing as being stuck here.
“I can’t go home either,” Mary cried. “The berries won’t stay still.
Mama will be so cross.” Della looked up, watching Mary pick a blackberry off the ground and drop it into the pail. But immediately the berry floated out, hovering in the air until a bird swooped past and ate it. “I feel so strange,” Mary wailed, starting to turn purple again. “Like I have an inside-out itch I can’t scratch.”
“Oh, Mary, that’s just your magic,” Della said, hating to see the little girl so upset. “Deep breaths, remember. Staying calm is the key. Here, you sit still,” Della instructed. “I’ll get the berries.” She scrambled to her feet and, trying not to step on them, gathered all the unsquished blackberries back in the pail. “There, now your mother won’t be mad, and you’ll probably have enough for a pie.”
Mary’s lip trembled. “My parents can’t know I’m a witch, Della. Nor can my brothers. It will break their hearts. As soon as they find out, I’ll get sent away.”
“I really can’t believe they’d do that,” Della said, remembering how excited her own parents had been when they realized she had inherited the magic gene, throwing her a party and telling everyone in Potts Bottom, making her feel like being a witch was the most wonderful thing in the whole world.
“It happened to a girl in our village,” Mary whispered. “One day she flew out of the window on a wooden spoon, and her parents were so worried she had put a hex on them both that they told Lord Hepworth and had her locked up. Can’t I stay with you?” Mary said, looking terrified.
“Oh, Mary, I don’t have anywhere to stay. I can’t go home, remember. Not without my necklace.” The knot of worry tightened in Della’s stomach, and she touched a hand to her neck again, finding it impossible to believe the dragon’s eye had gone.
“Will you come home with me then?” Mary pleaded, reminding Della of Pickle. She had the same helpless look the baby duckling had had when Della found him. “Just for tonight. You help keep my magic inside.”