“Gammer knew, of course—” Great Uncle Edgar began.
But Chrestomanci was still using Performative Speech. Dad spoke up. “They told all of us,” he said, bending his saw about. “All his sons. They needed to, because of dividing out his property. We weren’t surprised. We’d all seen it coming. We arranged for Cedric and Isaac to leave him eggs and bread and stuff behind the barrier.” He looked earnestly up at Chrestomanci. “He must be still alive. The food goes.”
Here, Great Aunt Sue, who had been sitting holding the collar of the one fat dog that had come back from chasing the flying machine, quite suddenly stood up and slapped her hands down her crisp skirt. “Alive in the woods,” she said. “For eight years. Without the use of his legs. And all of you lying about it. Nine grown men. I’m ashamed to belong to this family. Edgar, that does it. I’m leaving. I’m going to my sister outside Hopton. Now. And don’t expect to hear from me again. Come on, Towser,” she said, and went striding briskly out of the yard, with the dog panting after her.
Great Uncle Edgar sprang up despairingly. “Susannah! Please! It’s just – we just didn’t want to upset anyone!”
He started after Great Aunt Sue. But Chrestomanci shook his head and pointed to the bench where Great Uncle Edgar had been sitting. Great Uncle Edgar sank back on to it, purple faced and wretched.
“I must say I’m glad Clarice isn’t here to hear this,” Great Uncle Lester murmured.
I wish I wasn’t here to hear it! Marianne thought. Tears were pushing to come out of her eyes, and she knew she would never feel the same about any of her uncles.
Aunt Joy, who seemed to have waited for this to be over, stood up too and folded her arms ominously. “Eight years,” she said. “Eight years I’ve been living a lie.” She loosed one arm in order to point accusingly at Uncle Charles. “Charles,” she said, “don’t you expect to come home tonight, because I’m not having you! You spineless layabout. They do away with your own father, and you don’t even mention the matter, let alone object. I’ve had enough of you, and that’s final!”
Uncle Charles looked sideways at Aunt Joy, under her pointing finger, with his head down, rather like Joe. Marianne did not think he looked enormously unhappy.
Aunt Joy swung her pointing finger round towards the rest of the aunts. “And I don’t know how you women can sit there, knowing what they’ve all done and lied about. I’m ashamed of you all, that’s all I have to say!” She swung herself round then and stalked out of the yard as well. The invisible person on the roof played a march in time to Aunt Joy’s banging shoes.
Marianne looked at her other aunts. Aunt Polly had not turned a hair. Uncle Cedric had obviously told her everything years ago. They were very close. Aunt Helen was staring trustingly at Uncle Arthur, sure that he had good reasons for not telling her; but Aunt Prue was looking at Uncle Simeon very strangely. Her own mother looked more unhappy than Marianne had ever seen her. Marianne could tell Dad had never said a word to her. She looked at Uncle Isaac’s grave face and wondered what – if anything – he had told Aunt Dinah.
“I hope no one else wishes to leave,” Chrestomanci said. “Good.” He turned his eyes to Dad. Though his face was pale and pulled with pain, his eyes were still bright and dark. Dad jumped as he met those eyes. “Mr Pinhoe,” Chrestomanci said, “perhaps you would be good enough to explain just what you had seen coming and why everyone felt it was necessary to – er – do away with your father.”
Dad laid the saw carefully down by his feet. The brownish-purple hand at once obligingly offered him another tankard of drink. Harry Pinhoe took it with a nod of thanks, too bothered by what he was going to say to notice where the drink had come from. “It was that egg,” he said slowly. “The egg was the last straw. Anyone had only to look at it to know Gaffer had fetched it from behind the confinement spell. Everything else led up to that really.”
“In what way?” Chrestomanci asked.
Harry Pinhoe sighed. “You might say,” he answered, “that old Gaffer suffered from too much dwimmer. He was always off in the woods gathering weird herbs and poking into things best left alone. And he kept on at Gammer that the hidden folk were unhappy in confinement and ought to be let free. Gammer wouldn’t hear of it of course. Nor wouldn’t Jed Farleigh. They had rows about it almost every week, Gammer saying it has always been our job to keep them in, and Gaffer shouting his nonsense about it was high time to let them out. Well then —”
Harry Pinhoe took a long encouraging pull at his strange drink and made a puzzled face at the taste of it before he went on.
“Well then, the crisis came when Gaffer came out of the woods with this huge, like, egg. He gave it to Gammer and told her to keep it warm and let it hatch. Gammer said why should she do any such thing? Gaffer wouldn’t tell her, not until she put a truth spell on him. Then he told her it was his scheme to let the hidden folks out. He said that when this egg hatched, he would be there to watch the bindings on the hidden folks undone.” Harry Pinhoe looked unhappily over at Chrestomanci. “That did it, see. Gaffer said it like a prophecy, and Gammer couldn’t have that. Gammer’s the only one that’s allowed to prophesy, we all know that. So she told her brothers Gaffer was quite out of hand and ordered them to kill him.”
Marianne shivered. Cat found he had one hand protectively on Klartch, gripping the warm fluff on his back. Klartch, luckily, seemed to be asleep. Chrestomanci smiled slightly and seemed entirely bewildered. “But I don’t understand,” he said. “Why is it necessary to keep these unfortunate beings confined?”
Dad was puzzled that he should ask. “Because we always have,” he said.
Gammer Norah came abreast of the talk again. “We always have,” she proclaimed. “Because they’re abominations. Wicked, ungodly things. Sly, mischievous, wild and beastly!”
Dorothea looked up from her enormous glass. “Dangerous,” she said. “Evil. Vermin. I’d destroy every one of them if I could.”
She said it with such venom that a desperate, terrified shiver ran round all the half-seen and invisible beings in the yard. Cat and Marianne found themselves clutched by unseen, shaking hands. One half-seen person climbed into Marianne’s lap. A hard head with whiskers – or possibly antennae – butted pleadingly at Cat’s face and, he was fairly sure, another person ran up him and sat on his head for safety. He looked at Chrestomanci for help.
Chrestomanci, however, looked at Dorothea and then, sternly, at Harry Pinhoe. “I regret to have to tell you,” he said, “that Gaffer Pinhoe was quite right and the rest of you are quite, quite wrong.”
Dad jerked backwards on his bench. There was an outcry of shocked denial from Pinhoes and Farleighs alike. Dad’s face turned red. “How come?” he said.
Millie glanced at Chrestomanci and took over. “We’ve been finding out all about you,” she said. “We’ve traced Pinhoes, Farleighs and Cleeves right back almost to the dawn of history now.”
There was another shocked muttering at this, as everyone realised at last that their secrecy was truly at an end. But they all listened attentively as Millie went on.
“You’ve always lived here,” she said. “You must be some of the oldest witch families we know about. We found you first almost like clans, most of you living in tiny houses round the chief’s great hall, and the rest of you living in the hall as followers of the chief. Woods House is certainly built on the exact spot where the Pinhoe hall was – and that was built a surprisingly long time ago too. Before the church, in fact. The Farleigh hall seems to have been destroyed in the trouble that came, but the Cleeves still have theirs, although it’s the Cleeve Arms now, over in Crowhelm.”
This caused some interest. Pinhoes and Farleighs turned to one another and murmured, “I never knew that. Cleeve Arms is old though.”
Heads turned back to Millie as she continued. “Now there are at least three important things you should know about those early days. The first is that your chief, who was known as Gaffer from quite early on, was chosen from among the
old chief’s family, and he was always chosen for having the most dwimmer. And he wasn’t just chief, he was a prophet and a foreteller too. Your old Gaffer was behaving just as he should, in fact. He was the one who chose the Gammer – and she wasn’t always his wife, either. She was the woman with the most dwimmer. And the pair of them not only governed the rest, they worked in partnership with the hidden folks. These folks were cherished and loved and guarded. You shared magics with them and they repaid you with healings and —”
This was too much for everyone. Millie was drowned out with cries of “That can’t be!” and “I never heard such twaddle!”
Millie smiled slightly and her voice suddenly came out over and above the objections, clear as a bell and, seemingly, not very loud. But everyone heard when she said, “Then comes the awful gap, with all sorts of horror in it.” Everyone hushed to hear what this horror was.
“A new religion came to this country,” Millie said, “full of zeal and righteousness – the kind of religion where, if other people didn’t believe in it, the righteous ones killed and tortured them until they did. This religion hated witches and hated the hidden folk even more. They saw all witches and invisible folk as demons, monsters and devils, and their priests devised ways of killing them and destroying their magic that really worked.
“All three Gaffers at this time prophesied, as far as we can tell, and all of you, Pinhoes, Farleighs and Cleeves, at once made sure that no one knew you were witches. What craft you used, you used in utmost secrecy and, because the hidden folk were even more at risk than you were, you all combined to keep them safe by locking them away behind the back of the distance. It was only intended to be a temporary measure. The Gaffers were all quite clear that the bloodthirsty righteous ones would go away in time. And so they did. But before they did, their priests became even more skilfull and learnt to conceal their plans even from the Gaffers. Even so, the Gaffer Farleigh of the time started to prophesy disaster. But that was the night the bloodthirsty ones attacked.
“They came with fire and swords and powerful magics and they killed everyone they could.” Millie looked round the yard and at the people clustering at the gate. “When they had finished,” she said, “the only people left were children, all of them younger than any of the children here. We think the bloodthirsty ones took all the children they could catch and educated them in their own religious ways, and some children escaped to the woods. The gap lasts about fifteen years, so those children had time to grow up. Then, thank goodness, the bloodthirsty ones were conquered themselves, probably by the Romans, and you all came together again, those from the woods and those who had been captured, and started to rebuild your lives.”
Chrestomanci took a deep breath as Millie finished and steadied himself on the arms of his chair. He was looking awfully ill, Cat thought anxiously. “But you see what that means,” Chrestomanci said. “These children had been too young to understand properly. They only knew what their anxious parents had impressed on them before the slaughter. They thought they had to keep their craft secret. They believed it was their duty to keep the hidden folks confined – and they had a vague notion that danger would come if they didn’t. And they all knew that if a Gaffer prophesied, horrible things would happen – so they chose Gaffers that were good at giving orders, rather than those with dwimmer or the gift of foresight. And,” Chrestomanci said ruefully, “I am afraid to say that the bloodthirsty doctrines of the religious ones had rubbed off on quite a lot of them, and they saw it as their religious duty to do things this way.”
A long, thoughtful silence followed this. While it lasted, Cat watched a spidery hand, a new one that was a silvery white colour, reach from behind Chrestomanci’s chair to pass Chrestomanci a small glass of greenish liquid. Chrestomanci took it, looking rather startled. Cat watched him sniff it, hold it up to the light, and then cautiously dip a finger into it. His finger came out sparking green and gold like a firework. Chrestomanci examined it for a moment. Then he murmured, “Thank you very much,” and drank the glassful off. He made the most dreadful face and clapped his hand to his stomach for a moment. But after that he looked a good deal better.
Everyone stirred then, except for Gammer Norah and Dorothea, who seemed to be asleep. Dad looked up and said, “Well, it makes a good story.”
“It’s more than a story,” Chrestomanci said. He turned to a piece of the air beside him and asked, “Have you got a record of all this, Tom?”
Chrestomanci’s secretary, Tom, was unexpectedly standing there, holding a notepad. Beside him stood old Miss Rosalie, the Castle librarian. She had her glasses down her nose and her nose almost inside the large blue folder she held, which she seemed to be reading avidly.
Tom said, “Every word, sir, right from the start.”
Miss Rosalie looked up from the folder and, in her usual tactless, downright way, declared, “I’ve never met such flagrant misuse of magic, not ever. Not to speak of conspiracy to misuse. You can prosecute the lot of them.”
Chrestomanci and Millie looked as if they had rather Miss Rosalie had kept her mouth shut. There was an outcry of anger and dismay from all round the yard. The Pinhoe uncles stood up threateningly and so did most of the Farleigh cousins. Gammer Norah woke up with a jump, glaring.
Unfortunately, that was the moment when Klartch woke up too and staggered enquiringly out across the cobbles.
Cat was sure that either Chrestomanci or Millie – or possibly both of them – had caused Klartch to wake up. It was otherwise hard to understand how Klartch slipped so easily between Cat’s clutching fingers, or how Marianne missed her grab for his tail.
Dad said, “What the hell is that?”
“It’s what came out of the egg,” Uncle Charles told him. “Didn’t I mention it to you? I know I told Arthur.”
Their voices were almost drowned in Dorothea’s screams. “It’s an abomination! Kill it, Mother! Oh, the folks are loose! We’re all dead meat! Kill it!”
Gammer Norah sprang to her feet and pointed at Klartch, who turned his head towards her enquiringly. “Death,” Gammer Norah intoned. “Die, you misbegotten creature of night.”
To Marianne’s embarrassment and Cat’s heartfelt relief, nothing happened. Klartch just blinked and looked wondering. Dorothea pointed a finger at him and shrieked, “Melt! Die! Begone!” Klartch stared at her, while a crowd of hard-to-see beings rushed to him and hovered round him protectively. Quite a number of people could see these. Everyone began shouting, “The folks are loose! The folks are loose!” Some of those gathered by the gate screamed as loudly as Dorothea.
Rather shakily, Chrestomanci stood up. “Do be quiet, all of you,” he said wearily. “It’s only a baby griffin.”
The noise died down, except for Gammer Norah, who said angrily, “Why didn’t I kill it? Why is it not dead?”
“Because, Mrs Furlong,” Chrestomanci said, “while we were talking, my colleague Jason Yeldham here has been busy removing your magic.”
Gammer Norah gaped at him. “What?”
Dad said, “That has to be nonsense. Magic’s an inborn part of you. And, Marianne, you had no business at all giving that blasted boy that egg. You’ve betrayed our sacred trust and I’m very angry with you.”
Chrestomanci sighed. “You didn’t listen to a word we said, did you, Mr Pinhoe? There is no sacred trust and the hidden folks were only confined as a temporary measure for their own safety. And magic may be inborn, but so are your appendix and your tonsils. They can be removed too. Better show them, Jason.”
Jason nodded and made a gentle pushing motion. A huge ball, made up of half-transparent green-blue strands, all wound up like a vast ball of knitting wool, rolled away from beside Jason’s knees. In a light, drifting way it rolled to the middle of the yard and came to a stop there. “There,” Jason said. “That’s all the Farleigh magic. Every bit of it.”
Gammer Norah, Dorothea, and the Farleigh cousins stared at it. One cousin said, “You’d no right to do that to us.”
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“I not only have the right,” Chrestomanci said, “but as a government employee it’s my duty to do this. People who use their magic to give a whole village a dangerous disease like smallpox are not to be trusted with it.”
“That was just Marianne telling stories,” said Dad.
Chrestomanci nodded at Tom, who flipped back pages in his notebook and read out, We sent you whooping cough, we sent you smallpox, and you still didn’t stop! Those are Mrs Farleigh’s exact words, Mr Pinhoe.”
Dad said nothing. He picked up his saw again and bent it about, meaningly.
Irene nudged Jason and whispered to him. Jason grinned and said, “Yes!” He turned to Chrestomanci. “Irene thinks the woodfolks ought to have this magic as compensation for wrongful imprisonment.”
“A very good idea,” Chrestomanci said.
Irene stood up to make happy beckoning movements to the walls, forgetting that Nutcase was asleep on her knee. Nutcase thumped to the ground, looked irritably around and saw all the half-seen creatures leaving Klartch in order to dive delightedly upon the ball of magic. He was off like a black streak. He got to the ball of magic first and plunged into it, straight through and out the other side. Trailing long strings of blue-green, with a crowd of angry beings after him, he raced up across Dorothea, up the pile of barrels behind her, and from there to the top of the wall.
There will be no holding Nutcase now, Marianne thought, watching Nutcase jump off the wall into the alley and Dorothea resentfully licking scratches on her arm. She was depressed and worried. Dad was never going to understand and never going to forgive her. And Gaffer had still not turned up. On top of that, school started on Monday week. Though look on the bright side, she thought. It’ll keep me away from my family, during the daytime at least.
Meanwhile, the hard-to-see people were helping themselves enthusiastically to the rest of the ball of magic. The ball shrank, and tattered, and seemed to dissolve away like smoke in a wind. There were a lot more of the folks than Cat or Marianne had realised. Some of them must have been completely invisible.
The Chrestomanci Series Page 141