by Natasha Lowe
“Della is right,” Dame Bessie agreed.
“But what if Ivan won’t help us and tells his father?” Faye said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Willow whispered, and Isolda gave a worried nod of agreement.
“He’ll help,” Della answered. And then, as if she was the one who needed convincing: “He’s my friend, and he knows me.”
* * *
After Mary had scampered off, Della faced the others, holding the wooden spoon. She would be in so much trouble if this were Ruthersfield, turning girls into rats. “I’m sorry, Ms. Cray, but I have no choice,” Della said softly, pointing the spoon at Faye. “This shouldn’t hurt, Faye.”
“Just do it,” Faye said. “Get it over with, please.”
“Wait for me and I’ll lead the way,” Della instructed. “We need to stay together, and I know the castle.” She took a deep breath and waved the spoon as if it were a wand. “Mutatiarno rat!” Della uttered. A cloud of red smoke exploded from the handle end, and where Faye had been standing, an extremely plump rat with a spoon-shaped tail now sat.
“It looks funny,” Gwyneth said.
“The spoon must have distorted the magic a little bit. But it’s adorable,” Della cooed. “So cute and cuddly. All plump and furry and—” The rat bared its teeth at Della, and she realized she was getting off topic. “And so long as it can get through the bars, that’s okay. I don’t think anyone will notice.”
“Me next,” Willow said, scrunching up her eyes, and one after the other Della turned the rest of the girls into rats, all with the same spoon-shaped tails.
“You’re not leaving me behind,” Dame Bessie said as Della stood in front of her, hesitating.
“It just seems so disrespectful, Dame Bessie.”
“I’ve never heard such nonsense. This is about survival, Della. You know that. And it’s better that than leaving me here to rot.”
“Okay then,” Della agreed, pointing the spoon at Dame Bessie. “Mutatiarno rat.”
Not wasting a second now in case they were discovered, Della tapped her left leg, and whispered the transformation spell, changing herself into a plump, furry rat. Immediately she was bombarded by smells, the damp of the dungeon and the smoky ashy scent of the kitchen from up above. Della’s nose trembled, and she had a sudden urge to hunt out the tangy bit of goat cheese she was sure she could smell. Her brain went all fuzzy, and for a moment she forgot what she was meant to be doing, scurrying around the room, sniffing at a fossilized bread crumb. It was only when she bumped her tail against the wall that Della remembered. The pain cleared her head, and making sure the other rats were following, Della squeezed through the bars and darted off along the stone corridor. It led upward toward the kitchen, and before Della could scamper underneath the door, Tom Foolery pushed it open, coming the other way. Della couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be in a great hurry, and she squeaked in distress as one of his pointed shoes almost crushed her. He had to be going to check on them, Della thought in a panic, because the only place that corridor led was to the dungeons. Her rat ears quivered, and she could hear him muttering something about witches under his breath. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before he sounded the alarm, Della sped up, leading the rats past him and across the kitchen floor, straight by Mrs. Chambers. She stood at the table, yawning and slicing bread, while the kitchen staff shuffled about, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
“I can’t believe it. I really can’t,” Mrs. Chambers said, talking to Myrtle, who was crouched in front of the hearth, using a pair of bellows to get the fire going. “To think little Della is a witch. Honestly, it gives me the chills, remembering how close we were to her.”
“You’d never know it,” Myrtle agreed as Mrs. Chambers suddenly shrieked and leaped away from the table.
“What in heavens is the matter?” Myrtle said.
“Someone disturbed a rat’s nest,” Mrs. Chambers screeched, grabbing a broom and swiping at Della. “Open the door, Myrtle. Quickly now.” The rats ran faster, but it was difficult to move swiftly with a spoon-shaped tail and an angry Mrs. Chambers trying to bash you.
Della scurried outside, shocked at how different the world looked when you were only a few inches from the ground. It was difficult to see much, but her nose led the way, following the musky tang of horses toward the stables. She skidded around the corner, claws scrabbling in the dirt, her tail banging against the stone wall. The rest of the witches followed, running in circles and sniffing at the ground as they waited for Della to turn them back. The problem, Della realized, after she had changed herself into a girl again, was that performing a transformation hex on someone else required a separate reversal spell to turn them back. Which Della couldn’t perform, because her spoon was still in the dungeon.
“I’m very sorry,” Della whispered, kneeling down in front of the rats. “We’re going to have to wait for Ivan. I just need a bit of beech wood,” she added, “and I’ll have you all back to normal in no time.”
The rats scowled at Della, their furry brows creasing, and their eyes going all squinty. And one of them (Della wasn’t sure who, but she had a strong suspicion it was Faye) scampered up and nipped her on the leg.
Chapter Twenty-Two
An Unusual Way to Fly
I’M SURE IT WON’T BE long,” Della kept saying as they waited for Ivan to show up. She tried not to think about all the things that might have happened. What if Mary had got knocked on the head with a broom before she had time to change back? Or she might have forgotten how to turn herself into a girl again and still be running around the castle as a rat. Or (and this didn’t bear thinking about) what if Ivan didn’t want to help them? “Oh, please stop squeaking,” Della begged the rats, sensing their crankiness.
There was also the worry that Tom Foolery was, right this very minute, gathering a search party together to find them. At least the rats would be able to hide. She was a sitting target, and Della crouched on the ground, pressed up against the wall. “Ivan,” she whispered. “Where are you?”
Della could hear footsteps crunching across the yard, a stable hand whistling, and the creak of the well handle being turned. Soon the castle would be alive with people, knights and guests milling about, getting ready for the big jousting competition. The knot in Della’s stomach got tighter and tighter until she could barely breathe. Her eyes ached from straining to see Ivan, and when he finally staggered round the corner, his arms full, Della thought she might faint from relief. Especially because there was Mary, hurrying after him carrying a little stool.
“You came!” Della cried out, forgetting to whisper.
Ivan dropped the pile of wooden things he was carrying on the ground. “Of course I came. I may not like jousting, but I’m still a knight, and you don’t leave a damsel in distress.”
“Even if that damsel is a witch?”
“I’m not my father, Della. I don’t have to think like he does. And if my uncle really is on his way to attack the castle, we’ve got to stop him.”
“Oh, Ivan. This probably isn’t very ladylike, but I don’t care,” Della said, giving him a hug. Letting go, she turned and squeezed Mary. “Well done, Mary. You’re the best.”
“I think those rats are trying to tell you something,” Mary whispered.
The rats were running around Della, nipping at her heels. “Gosh, I’m sorry. Yes they are. I need beech wood, Ivan, quickly.”
“Here’s a spoon and a broom,” Ivan said, poking through the heap. He held them out, and Della took the spoon. It was longer and sturdier than the one she had used before, but Della could feel the flow of energy as she held it.
“Perfect,” she whispered. “Now I just need to remember the reversal spell Dame Bessie taught us.” A sharp nip on the ankle told her to get on with it. The spell was a slight variation on the one listed in the “Emergency Action” section at the back of Advanced Magic, one of the Ruthersfield school textbooks. Not that the girls were ever, under any circumstances, allowed to pra
ctice those spells, but Della had flicked through them for fun.
“Ficklebackelroo,” she called out softly, waving the spoon at the rats. There was a huge cloud of pink smoke, much bigger than usual, and Della watched in horror as it drifted up over the stables, little sparks of silver shooting out. “Grab your woods,” Della cried in a panic, sitting astride the spoon. “Help them, Ivan.” She pointed at Willow. “She’s an apple, and Faye right there is hawthorn—”
“That was not pleasant,” Willow grumbled, her nose still twitching as she stumbled around in a daze. She took the enormous mixing bowl Ivan handed her and peered inside. “What do I do with this?”
“Fly on it,” Della ordered, nodding at Mary, who had settled herself on the pear wood stool.
Faye looked totally bemused as Ivan shoved a lute into her hands. “I can’t fly on this,” she complained, holding up the instrument.
“You have no choice,” Della said, suddenly freezing. Even though the tinkling of bells announced his arrival, she still gave a muffled shriek as Tom Foolery leaped around the corner.
“You traitor,” Della fumed, taking in the jester’s wild eyes. “You’re a thief and a traitor.”
Tom Foolery stepped closer, and Della gasped in terror, certain he was about to grab her.
“Hurry,” the jester panted. “The guards are coming.” Della stared at him in confusion. “Go. Now,” Tom Foolery mouthed, jumping back out into the yard and jangling his bells. “Good morning, good morning to everyone, and a fine, bright day it is too.”
“Out of our way, foolish jester,” Della heard one of the guards bark, followed by the sound of scuffling as they shoved Tom Foolery aside.
There was no time to question why the jester should be trying to help them, and Della certainly wasn’t going to hang around to find out. Crouching over the spoon, she gripped the wooden handle, hoping that if she could fly on a beech branch, she could fly on this. “Avante,” Della said, and with a surprisingly powerful lurch the spoon rose into the air.
“Avante,” Mary cried, wobbling off the ground on her stool. “It works, Della! I’m flying.”
“Me too!” Willow shrieked, swooping after Mary in the wooden bowl. Isolda sat on a jousting pole that almost took Della’s eye out as she zoomed past, and Faye had somehow managed to perch on the hawthorn lute, which was playing an airy melody as it flew. Bobbing along behind them came little Gwyneth, riding a big oak ladle.
Glancing over her shoulder, Della saw Dame Bessie struggling to take off on a broom. One of the knights had grabbed the other end and was trying to pull it out of her hands.
“I refuse to surrender!” Dame Bessie cried, clearly back to her old vigor. Not hesitating, Della spun her spoon around, and using the handle end like a wand, she aimed it at the knight. Shouting out the transformation spell, Della changed him into a hare.
“Nicely done,” Dame Bessie gasped, soaring away. “Oh, this handles very well. We should all be flying on brooms.”
“They’re chasing after us!” Willow cried, holding on to the sides of the bowl and peering down. “On horseback.”
“I wish I didn’t have to keep doing this,” Della panted. “Keep flying toward the river. I’ll catch up,” she instructed the others.
“I’m right behind you, Della,” Dame Bessie called out, and diving down, the two witches ducked a flurry of speeding arrows.
“We’re trying to help you,” Della yelled, “but you don’t leave us much choice.” Hovering in the air, she pointed the end of her spoon at the knights. Dame Bessie joined her, and together they sent a whoosh of magic straight at Lord Hepworth’s army. This was what gave witches a bad name, Della thought, as the men changed into a mess of long-legged, fluffy-tailed hares, and the horses started munching on grass. Dame Bessie gave a loud whoop of triumph that really didn’t help their image, and trying not to think what Ms. Cray would say, Della turned to speed back toward the others.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Crystal Balls Don’t Lie
WHAT AM I DOING? DELLA wondered, flying higher and faster than she knew was safe, especially on a wooden spoon. What had happened to not interfering with the past? Because not only was she interfering, she was probably changing the entire course of history, and who knew what that might mean for the future. But she couldn’t stand by and do nothing, waiting for them all to be burned along with Castle Hepworth. Della could see the strange band of witches up ahead, accompanied by faint strains of lute music.
“Tell me your plan,” Dame Bessie called out, her long hair streaming behind her. “When we find Lord Hepworth’s brother?”
“I don’t quite know yet,” Della panted, not having thought that far ahead. She’d been too busy escaping to work out what would happen next, although now that they were airborne, this seemed like rather poor planning. Defeating an army wasn’t the sort of magic they had learned at Ruthersfield, so she was definitely going to need Dame Bessie’s help.
“We could send the land rolling back like a great rug and trap the scoundrels inside,” Dame Bessie said. “Or stir up a wind and blow them right across the waters to Spain?” She reached out a hand and steadied Gwyneth as the little girl hit a wind pocket, almost slipping off the ladle. “There’s also a nice shrinking spell, which would make them no taller than my little finger,” Dame Bessie continued rather breathlessly. “We could put them in a box and give them to Master Ivan to play with.”
“Shrinking seems a bit wicked,” Della gasped out, “but the rug idea is good.” She caught her breath for a moment, looking down at the River Ribble. It was a cold, bright morning, and the surface of the water ruffled like dark velvet. There was so much land stretching in all directions that Della couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Lord Hepworth’s brother, being left a pig farm in the wilds of Scotland while Lord Hepworth got all of this.
Gwyneth gave a bubble of laughter, smiling at a bird flapping past. Her curls whipped around her face as she held on to the ladle, and Della wondered how anyone could think she was evil.
“Oh, look,” Willow suddenly exclaimed, bobbing along in the bowl. “Down there. On the other side of that hill.” Della followed Willow’s gaze toward a camp that had been tucked away from view. There were horses milling about and a few tattered-looking tents. It was the picture she had seen in the crystal ball.
“Stay high,” Della ordered in alarm. “We can’t be seen.”
But it was too late. A guard they hadn’t noticed standing on the hill suddenly blew a horn. He was pointing in their direction, and the camp quickly stirred into action.
Della could hear the cry of “Witches!” echoing off the hills, and Gwyneth started to cry.
“Keep calm, Gwyn, it’s okay,” Della said, worried that she might fall off.
Gwyneth nodded as the cries came again. “Witches!”
A shower of flaming arrows shot toward them, and even though they were flying too high to get hit, Della still swerved. “I’m getting really tired of being used as target practice,” she panted.
“To the woods,” Dame Bessie ordered. “Now.”
* * *
The girls huddled in a thicket of trees. Dame Bessie had drawn an invisibility circle around them with the end of her broom, which meant that they couldn’t be seen so long as they stayed inside, but it also meant they ran the risk of being bumped into. The invisibility circle couldn’t make them vanish, just hide them from view, so they stood close together, hoping some big-booted knight wouldn’t kick them accidently and realize they were there. Della’s whole body ached (from being scrunched into a rat shape, followed by riding on a wooden spoon), and it was agony not to move while they waited for the knights to give up their search. Three or four times the men marched past the witches and once stopped right beside them, a booted foot inches from the circle. Della could see a big hole in the toe of the boot, and the knight it belonged to also had a rip in his tunic.
“They’re not around here,” he said. “I have a nose for witches. I
can sniff them out from a mile away.”
“What do they smell like then?” another knight asked, standing so close to Della she could have reached out and touched his leg.
“Rotten onions and swamp mold.”
Mary pressed a hand against her mouth, and Della couldn’t tell if she was trying not to laugh or scream, or possibly both.
“They’re not here,” a gruff-sounding knight muttered, blowing on his chapped hands. “We can report back that we scared them away.”
“I can’t wait to move into Castle Hepworth,” the knight who had made the swamp-mold comment said. “A fire and roast meat for my supper.”
“The squire is giving the order to attack on the morrow. We march before dawn. But I don’t think we’re moving in,” the first knight added rather wistfully. “I believe we’re burning it down.”
After the knights had shuffled off, Dame Bessie whispered, “We’ll surprise them tonight, at dusk, just as the light is leaving. They won’t be expecting us, but,” she added in a somber tone, “it will take all of our magic to cast this enchantment.”
Della wasn’t sure how well the lute or the bowl would conduct the attack spell. Luckily, the spoons worked very nicely, as did Dame Bessie’s broom and the jousting pole. Della had broken one of the legs off Mary’s stool, because it was easier for Mary to hold, and they all practiced rolling up a small field, much to the distress of a number of field mice and rabbits.
With each attempt Della felt more and more uneasy. This went against everything she had been taught about magic. But, Della kept reminding herself, she wasn’t at the academy anymore. And if she wanted to see Ivan in the future, she had to save Castle Hepworth and show Ivan’s father that witches were not the evil, terrible creatures he imagined—even if it meant breaking nearly every rule in the Ruthersfield handbook.