by Natasha Lowe
“Ivan, please, it’s not like you think it is.…” Della knew she should simply erase the memory from his mind, before she lost her nerve. But he was her friend. He’d confided in her and drawn her picture, and she just couldn’t do it.
“You’re a witch?”
“I am, but I’m not evil. I’ve never done anything evil in my life,” Della said, leaving the wand in her pocket. “Where I come from, Ivan, people aren’t frightened of witches. In fact they love them.”
Ivan put his hand on his sword. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I don’t want to end up in your dungeon,” Della said. “I just want to go home.”
“Then why not fly home? What’s keeping you here?”
“I’ve lost something very special,” Della said. “And I can’t leave until I find it.” She took a deep breath to stop her voice from trembling. “Which is what I was trying to do now,” she added, feeling like an explanation for her midnight flying was needed.
“And did you? Find it?”
“No, but I’m close. I know where it is, and I think I know how to get it. But what are you doing out here?” Della said, deciding it was time to move the conversation away from witches.
Ivan didn’t answer, and it was too dark to see his expression. “I’m running away,” he finally said. “But you probably know that because you’re a witch and you can read my thoughts.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous. Of course I can’t, and even if I could read your thoughts, I wouldn’t. In my country that’s completely illegal.”
“Since all I do is disappoint my father, I think it’s better if I go,” Ivan said, starting to walk away. Della could see he was limping, and she hurried after him.
“You can’t go anywhere like that.”
Ivan sped up and stumbled, looking back at Della in fear.
“Oh stop acting like I’m going to turn you into a toad,” she said impatiently. “What did you do?”
“I fell,” Ivan admitted. “And I’ve cut my leg.”
“That’s what comes from running away at night,” Della muttered. She crouched down beside him and saw that his pantaloons, or tights or whatever he called them, were ripped, and a nasty gash had bled through the fabric. “You’re a mess.”
“Can you stitch me up?” Ivan said. “I have a rag I can bite on while you sew.”
“That is such a horrid image.” Della shuddered and reached for her wand.
“No! Please don’t hurt me.” Ivan flinched, shielding his face with his arm.
“Oh will you stop that. This won’t hurt one bit,” Della said. She waved the wand over Ivan’s leg. “Healitoesious!” Della whispered, and in the faint glow of moonlight watched the cut knit itself back together.
“Unbelievable,” Ivan gasped, running a hand across the wound. “It’s gone.”
“See, magic is a good thing,” Della said. “If everyone here would stop being so hysterical about witches, they might see that.”
“Except there’s talk tonight about a young witch on the far side of Giddington who stirred up a wind strong enough to blow down three of the houses in the village.”
“Probably because she doesn’t know how to control her magic,” Della snapped. “Or maybe she’s so frustrated she couldn’t help calling up a wind. I mean, what do you expect? If you can’t be yourself and you’re always trying to hide who you really are and everyone hates you just because you’re different. That is not easy, Ivan.” Della stared at him, breathing hard. “Witches are not these awful, evil creatures who fly about putting hexes on everyone.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Ivan said, glancing around. “But no one else does, so you should keep your voice down, Della. If my father’s knights find out what you are, they will throw you straight in the dungeon.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Della said, realizing she had to be more careful. It wasn’t her job to change these people’s minds. That was up to Witch Dupree, and good luck to her, Della thought. Besides, she didn’t want to get Ivan into trouble by being caught talking to a witch.
“I’d better be going,” he sighed.
“But where to? You can’t just go chasing off without a plan.”
“Back home.” Ivan shook back his hair. “My mother would miss me, and it’s a coward’s way out. I’m not a coward, Della, so I shall get on my horse and joust.”
“Here,” Della said, impulsively pulling the little bottle of courage potion out of her pocket. “Drink this before the competition, Ivan. It won’t help you win, but it will give you the courage you need to fight.”
“Magic?” Ivan asked a little cautiously.
“Good magic,” Della pointed out, deciding that Ivan needed the courage potion far more than she did.
Chapter Seventeen
A Different Kind of Magic
OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS poor Della couldn’t find a time to slip away from Mrs. Chambers’s steely presence. With guests arriving for the jousting tournament, Della was kept busy in the kitchen, plucking birds for roasting over the fire and stirring the bubbling pans of pottage, but the worst job of all was the fish she had to pickle in big barrels of sour, salty brine so pungent it made her eyes water. Every time Della tried to escape from the kitchen, Mrs. Chambers would give her a new job.
“These are important guests,” Mrs. Chambers kept muttering, handing Della a pile of preserved plums to chop.
Della could hear the carriages arriving, rumbling over the cobblestones, and as she lugged water back from the well, it was difficult not to stare at the elegantly dressed ladies getting out of them. A steady stream of knights paraded around the castle, throwing their cloaks over puddles so the women wouldn’t get their shoes wet and generally trying to outdo each other with their lavish displays of chivalry.
“Lord Hepworth has requested that you make your special pottage for tonight’s feast,” Mrs. Chambers instructed.
“Shall I help clean the rooms first?” Della said, desperate to find the travel amulet. She had been tied to the kitchen for five days now, and there were so many guests milling about that slipping away upstairs seemed next to impossible.
“Pheasant stew,” Mrs. Chambers ordered, “and it better be as good as before.”
Della picked up a spoon, dropping it quickly back on the table.
“And what is the matter now?” Mrs. Chambers barked, shaking her head at Della. “I don’t know what’s got into you lately. Jumpy as a jackrabbit, you are.”
“Sorry.” Della reached for the spoon again. This time she was prepared for the tingling that shot through her fingers. Beech wood, Della realized.
“And I don’t know what’s so funny,” Mrs. Chambers added, glaring at Della’s smile. “There’s work to be done.”
“I’m just glad that Lord Hepworth likes my stew,” Della said, happy that whipping up a chicken curry was going to be a whole lot easier than she’d anticipated. Instead of getting out her wand, she could just use the spoon. It was long and narrow at one end, and should conduct spells just as well as a beech stick.
Della waited until Mrs. Chambers had bustled off to the pantry before waving the spoon over the soup pot. There was so much activity going on in the kitchen that no one paid much attention to the cloud of orange smoke. Tasting a bit, Della had to admit that the flavor was a little different from the last curry spell, sweeter, with extra-plump raisins floating in it, and she hoped that Lord Hepworth would approve.
Much to Della’s delight, Lord Hepworth not only approved, but was so pleased by the compliments the stew received from his guests that he invited Della and the rest of the kitchen staff in to watch Tom Foolery perform.
“Now, no talking, and stand well back,” Mrs. Chambers whispered, herding them into the great hall.
An enormous fire burned in the hearth, and the tables were crowded with people. Della spied Ivan squeezed in between his father and a pale girl in a blue velvet dress who kept fanning herself. She had pearls woven through her ha
ir and looked like the sort of damsel in distress who might easily be in need of rescuing. Since she was obviously very busy fluttering her eyes at the knight on her other side, Ivan was able to whittle away at a piece of wood without anyone noticing, except for Della, who could see the little knife in his hand.
“Attention, everyone,” Lord Hepworth called out, waiting for the noise to subside. “For your pleasure and entertainment, I give you Tom Foolery.”
The guests erupted in a chorus of cheering and clapping as the jester bounded into the room, cartwheeling his way across the floor and bowing to the crowd. He shook his bells and danced over to the table, skipping along and pulling flowers out of the ladies’ hair. They oohed and aahed and clapped again as he gave another bow, offering the flowers to Lady Hepworth, who looked magnificent in a rose-colored, lace-trimmed gown.
“He is good, isn’t he?” Myrtle whispered.
Leaning over the table, Tom Foolery cut into one of the pies, and a flock of blackbirds flew out, causing the crowd to gasp in amazement. Then he waved his hands over a large roasted pike. The fish flapped its tail on the platter, and the girl in the blue velvet dress squealed in horror. Della had noticed a thin thread tied around the fish’s tail in the kitchen, and now she could tell Tom Foolery was pulling it.
“It’s clever, but it’s not magic,” Della said softly, thinking how unfair it was that the jester could perform his kind of tricks, but witches weren’t allowed to practice real magic. She noticed Tom Foolery staring at her, a bitter look on his face, and Della wondered if he’d been able to read her lips. Although why he should seem so upset, she had no idea.
Myrtle gave a horrified gasp. “Of course it’s not magic,” she hissed. “Don’t even say such a word out loud.”
“I have to get out of here,” Della said, suddenly feeling like she couldn’t breathe.
“It is rather hot,” Myrtle agreed. “Take some fresh air.”
“Fresh air.” Della stared at Myrtle. “Yes… yes, I will.” And grabbing this sudden opportunity, she added, “I’ll just step outside. I’ll—I’ll be right back.” But Della hoped, as she crept out of the hall and softly up the stairs, that she wouldn’t be back at all.
Chapter Eighteen
An Interesting Discovery
DELLA DIDN’T NEED TO USE the unlocking spell she had learned from Dame Bessie, because the door to Tom Foolery’s room was open. Glancing around to make sure she was still alone up here, Della quickly slipped inside. Without wasting a second, she started to search, although there weren’t too many places to look. She opened a heavy wooden trunk, feeling through the folded clothes and blankets, but there was no travel amulet in there. Della moved over to the straw sleeping pallet and ran her hands underneath it, touching nothing more exciting than a thick layer of dust. A jacket and tunic thing hung on wooden pegs, but her necklace wasn’t in any of the pockets. The longer she was in the room the faster Della’s heart beat, until it was racing at such a speed she had to stop for a moment and take a few deep breaths, reminding herself that Tom Foolery was still safely downstairs entertaining the guests. She had time, and Della hurried over to a cupboard in the corner of the room. This looked promising, and she opened the doors, wincing as they creaked. There wasn’t much on the shelves, just a basket of ribbons, a pair of soft gloves, playing cards, and a chessboard. But the thing Della’s eyes were immediately drawn to was a large crystal ball, sitting on a carved wooden stand.
She glanced back over her shoulder, and her palms started to sweat. What on earth was Tom Foolery doing with a crystal ball? Della reached out a hand and lightly touched the surface. The crystal immediately began to pulse with a soft purple glow. She inhaled sharply and wiped her hands down her skirt before lifting the ball out. Cradling it carefully, she watched the center fill with a thick purple fog. Her legs had started to shake, and Della leaned against the cupboard for support, certain that Tom Foolery must have stolen this, too. He wasn’t a witch, so how could he possibly own a crystal ball? Clearly Dame Bessie had been right about his magpie nature, hoarding beautiful, sparkly things that didn’t belong to him.
As she stared into the center of the globe, the fog began to clear, and Della could see a picture forming. Hills and a river came into view and what looked like a gathering of men—knights, or an army of some sort. There were tethered horses and some crude-looking tents. Following the method Ms. Randal had taught them, Della focused on the thing she wanted to study in more detail, and the picture narrowed in on the men, as if she were looking through a zoom lens. At first Della thought it was Lord Hepworth, huddled around a campfire with his knights, but Lord Hepworth was downstairs drinking ale, and Della realized with a start that this must be his twin brother, James. The one who had inherited the Scottish pig farm. The one who tried to slay Lord Hepworth because he wanted the castle for himself. Crystal balls show the viewer what is important to them, and Della stared at the picture, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The lord’s brother was drawing in the dirt with a stick, a circle here, a square there, and a line running between the two. He kept pointing at the shapes as if discussing some sort of plan, and it occurred to Della with a sickening feeling that maybe he was plotting an attack. An attack on Castle Hepworth. Why else would she be shown this picture? Della swallowed down her panic, but her thoughts were spinning out of control. What if the line was the river running north of the valley, and they were somewhere on the other side of it? The square had to be Castle Hepworth. And she became even more certain when the lord’s brother clenched his fist in the air, displaying the ring on his left middle finger stamped with the Hepworth crest, a dragon and two crossed swords.
“No,” Della whispered. This was all getting way out of hand. She had to tell someone, but who? Not Lord Hepworth, who probably wouldn’t believe her anyway, especially once he discovered she was a witch. Because how else could she have seen what she had seen? It would have to be Ivan.
Della was just putting the crystal ball back in the cupboard when the door opened behind her. She jerked around, giving a frightened gasp as Tom Foolery walked into the room.
“Wh-wh-what?” the jester spluttered, striding toward her. Anger flashed across his face. “What are you doing in here?” The crystal ball was still glowing purple, and Della slammed the cupboard shut. “Have you been trifling with my things?” the jester hissed.
“I—I…” Della’s voice dried up. He didn’t like her, that was clear, and she couldn’t think straight, worrying about what he had seen. There was nothing she could say that Tom Foolery might believe. Certainly not that she was in here to clean. “I was looking for my necklace,” she said at last.
“And did you find it?”
“No,” Della croaked, beginning to wonder if maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he hadn’t taken it after all. Which right now was even more upsetting than confronting an angry jester, because it meant that the necklace really was lost.
“Anything else I can do for you?” Tom Foolery said, staring at her so hard Della was sure he knew what she’d been doing.
Della shook her head, her mouth dry, and before Tom Foolery could ask her any more questions, she bolted from the room.
Chapter Nineteen
The Rat Visitor
IVAN WAS STILL AT THE table when Della came back down, and it looked like he was going to be trapped there for some time, considering the noise and laughter and amount of ale being drunk.
“There you are, child,” Mrs. Chambers said, loading Della’s arms with empty platters and sweeping her off to the kitchen. “Myrtle said you needed air. Are you feeling better?”
“Not really,” Della admitted. “I feel a bit faint.” Which was an understatement. She had never felt more shaky or scared in her life. What had Tom Foolery seen, and would he say anything to Lord Hepworth? This was worrying enough, but even worse was the fear that Lord Hepworth’s brother might be, right this very second, charging toward the castle. And as the evening wore on, Della got more
and more frantic, because she couldn’t find a way to get Ivan alone so she could tell him.
“I must do something,” Della fretted under her breath, scrubbing the kitchen table. And even though she knew she shouldn’t interfere with history, she decided to confide in Dame Bessie. Della couldn’t keep this information to herself, and Dame Bessie would know what to do. The girls were meeting tonight anyway, so perhaps they could all weave a protective web around the castle, or put up an invisible wall that would keep invaders out. It was also time to explain where she had really come from, because Dame Bessie was the only person (apart from the no-show Witch Dupree) who might possibly be able to help her get back now.
As Della lay on her mat waiting to slip out, she could hear the rats scrabbling about under the table, searching for scraps of food. One of them scurried right up to Della and sniffed at her hair. By the light from the fire she could see a pair of pale, watery-blue eyes staring at her. The creature studied Della with a strange focus, not looking away or blinking or acting like a normal rat at all. Something about the animal seemed extremely familiar, especially the way it was looking at her.
“Mary?” she whispered softly. “Is that you?”
The rat nuzzled Della’s neck and gave what was undeniably a sort of nod. A cold, sick feeling settled in Della’s stomach. Something bad must have happened, and she couldn’t lie here a second longer. There was no time to waste. She had to get to Dame Bessie’s. Della opened her pocket, and without hesitating, the rat crawled inside.
Trying not to make a noise, Della got slowly to her feet.
“And where are you going, girl?” Mrs. Chambers called out. “I hear you shuffling over there.”
“I still feel a bit sick,” Della whispered. “I just need a little fresh air.”
“Well, don’t go far,” Mrs. Chambers murmured. “It’s the witching hour, and you don’t know who’s about.”