by Kaye Umansky
5. Pointy hats. Magenta had forgotten to buy any, so the Spellatron 3000 was called upon to provide a dozen. When they arrived – in a box, with a whoosh, if you’re interested – they were all identical. Same shape, colour and size. Pointy, black, too small.
6. Two shiny kaftan-like gown things, one red with green dragons and one green with red ones. Elsie draped them artistically over the dummies from the dump and added peacock feathers and necklaces of lucky horse shoes and Don’t-Worry beads. The outfits looked rather good. They added glamour.
7. Bits and bobs, assorted: wands; magic mirrors; watches that told the time in seven dimensions; fake cobwebs to either wear like a shawl or just drape around the place; curly-toed slippers; safety gloves with reinforced fingertips, to be worn when throwing spells from a distance; genie lamps; turbans; wishing rings; wishbones; lucky charms; crystal balls; a couple of Hide-Me Hats, both in red.
8. The Jokus Pokus stuff for kids: Nevergon Sweets; Rainbow Bubblers; Musical Wands; Fizzy Wizzles; Hissy Wissies; Wiggly Spiders; Rubber fake snakes; and, of course, the pretty little pots of Tickle Dust.
‘It looks good, doesn’t it?’ said Magenta as they both stood back and surveyed it. ‘Didn’t we do well? I’m exhausted. I’m off home for supper and an early night. Opening day tomorrow, need to get my strength up for the crowds. Lock up, Elsie, would you? Corbett, are you flying or coming with me?’
Corbett hopped onto her shoulder, and they instantly vanished, leaving Elsie to shut up shop.
When Elsie finally arrived home for supper, the boys were already in bed.
‘All ready for tomorrow?’ asked Tilda, setting plates of stew on the table.
‘Yes,’ said Elsie. ‘It’s looking good. You must pop along and have a look, Mum.’
‘I will. But I still don’t understand why she’s opened a magic shop here. There’s no call for spells in Smallbridge, is there?’
‘Magenta thinks Smallbridge needs shaking up. And that shop-keeping’s easy. Just sitting down putting things in bags and taking the money.’
‘Ha! I wish,’ said Albert.
‘Why magical stuff, though?’ said Tilda. ‘Isn’t that a bit dangerous?’ She glanced at Elsie. They didn’t talk about it much, but Tilda knew her daughter had a knack for magic.
‘Not if you follow the instructions, Mum,’ said Elsie, reassuringly. ‘It’s like fireworks, or cooking. Be careful, no harm done.’
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ said Tilda. ‘Will a magic shop being so close to us affect our sales, do you think, Al?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Albert. ‘We’re selling very different things, aren’t we? Whatever happens, I wish her success. We could do with a bit of variety in Smallbridge. We are a bit stuck in our ways here.’
To his surprise, Elsie leaned over and dropped a kiss on his head.
‘What was that for?’
‘For being a nice dad.’
Albert smiled. ‘Well. I suppose you’ll need to nip along and give her a hand tomorrow? Her being new to the business.’
‘She says she’s going to advertise for an assistant, but I think I might have to help her out in the meantime,’ said Elsie, trying not to sound too excited. She didn’t want to hurt her dad’s feelings by appearing too keen. ‘Sure you can spare me?’
‘I’ll manage,’ Albert said.
‘I took the boys along to have a look at the tower on the common,’ said Tilda. ‘They loved it. They liked the flag at the top best. People say there’s a rude bird that comes out, but it didn’t when we were there.’
‘That’s Corbett,’ said Elsie. ‘He was helping set up the shop. What about you, Mum? Did you like the tower?’
‘The ivy’s pretty. I wouldn’t like to live in it, mind, I’m no good with heights. There was a big crowd that had come to stare, so we couldn’t get too near. But people did look a bit uneasy. I reckon they’re nervous of coming face to face with your Witch Sharp, Elsie. She’s got a reputation for having a short temper.’
‘There’s a public meeting tonight about our new arrival,’ said Albert. He gave a little sigh. ‘I’ll go along. Show a bit of support for a fellow shopkeeper.’
‘Can I come?’ Elsie asked.
‘No children allowed, pet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because grown-ups think only grown-ups should make important decisions.’
‘Well, that’s silly,’ said Elsie. ‘I’m coming. I think Magenta needs all our help.’
Chapter Five
OUTRAGEOUS!
The council chamber was packed. Every chair was taken and people clustered in the doorway. News travelled fast in Smallbridge.
Albert and Elsie squeezed in at the back. Elsie had cast a little spell around herself so that no one noticed her. Not total vanishment like the Hide-Me hat, just a mild spell that made her instantly forgettable. People would look at her and immediately forget she was there. She had found out how to do it in one of the spell books she had borrowed from Magenta. It was the first time she had done it and it was working perfectly. Everyone just looked straight through her. Not her dad, though. He knew she was there.
From all around came a loud buzz of conversation. The Red Witch from Crookfinger Forest was opening a shop! Tomorrow morning! A shop selling spells! In Smallbridge! And if that wasn’t enough, she’d gone and brought her accommodation with her! A thumping great tower, slap bang in the middle of the town common!
Everyone had plenty to say about the new shop – although nobody had actually seen it. In fact, the only information anyone had was from a couple of little kids called Eric and Thelma-Sue, who had been playing hide-and-seek around the dustbins and came racing back with a hair-raising report:
There wuz a new magic shop where the dump used to be! It wuz, like, reeeeeely red! There wuz all posters with writin’! There wuz big red twinklin’ letters over the door! There wuz this ‘orrible sound like a monster! That Red Witch lady came out so they runned away. No, they didn’t stop to read the posters. Well, only one. One caught their eye. The one that said:
Neither Eric nor Thelma-Sue knew what Tickle Dust was, but they knew they wanted some.
The grown-ups had listened and absorbed all this information with raised eyebrows, tight lips and snorts of disapproval. However, in Smallbridge, it didn’t do to show too much interest right away. No one was prepared to be the first to gawp and get branded a nosy parker.
But the tower. Now, that was different. Everyone walked on Smallbridge Common on a Sunday so there wasn’t a person present at the meeting who hadn’t seen it. You certainly couldn’t miss it. And no one could miss the talking bird who had appeared on the roof, told everyone to push off, then flown away, looking furious.
If truth be told, people felt a bit disappointed. Over the years there had been many rumours about the Moving Tower of Crookfinger Forest. That it was made of glass, or ice, or cheese, or something equally silly. The fact that it was made of plain grey stone was a bit of a letdown. It was big, granted, but essentially it was normal. There was even a privy round the back.
Anyway, all the adults agreed that whatever it looked like, it was taking up space on their common and was in clear breach of planning rules.
But, back now to the council chamber.
The meeting had been called by the mayor. His anxious little head poked up above the long table. Things were off to a bad start. There weren’t enough chairs, and all but one of his councillors had called in sick, which always happened on public meetings.
‘Order!’ squeaked the mayor, banging his gavel. Nobody paid any attention.
The mayor’s name was Sam Short. He lived with his mum. Annoyingly for him, he really was short. There is nothing wrong with that, but when he stood up to make speeches, he was often hard to see.
‘Order!’ he called again pathetically.
The man sitting next to him gave a sigh. This was Councillor Skinnard, the mayor’s right-hand man. He had a long, pale face and a dry, dusty vo
ice.
‘Quiet, if you please,’ ordered Councillor Skinnard. ‘Settle down.’
Everyone settled down instantly. Those on chairs sat up properly. Those without chairs poked each other and stopped shuffling. Councillor Skinnard would have made a better mayor than Sam Short, but he preferred to be the power behind the throne. He had cleverly figured out that the blame always falls on the one on the throne, not the one behind it.
‘So,’ said Councillor Skinnard. ‘This meeting has been called to address the business of two unlicensed buildings that have sprung up in Smallbridge overnight, both believed to be owned by the witch, Magenta Sharp. No booing, please, this isn’t the playground. His Worship will now say a few words. The floor is yours, Mr Mayor.’
His Worship the mayor stood up to audible groans, sighs and restless muttering. Not everyone worshipped him.
‘I know,’ said Mayor Short. ‘I know you’re not happy. It’s all very . . . difficult. An uncomfortable situation.’
‘It’d be comfier if we could sit down,’ shouted a man at the back without a chair.
Elsie stifled a giggle.
‘I only found out myself a short while ago,’ explained the mayor. ‘I believe one or two residents called earlier today to advise me of the prob— ah, the delicate situation. But I was mowing the lawn in the back garden all afternoon and didn’t hear.’
There was a lot of scoffing at this. Everyone knew it was a lie. The mayor had been having a lie-in and told his mum not to answer the door.
‘So now you’ve finally heard about it, what are you doing about it?’ shouted a peevish voice that Elsie instantly recognized as belonging to Mr Sourman.
‘I’ve had no time to do anything apart from call this meeting, sir,’ said Mayor Short. ‘But I intend to form a crisis committee to report back at the very earliest opportunity.’
‘We don’t need reports, we need action!’ shouted a furious voice, coming from a man with a flat cap and a beard who was sitting in the middle of the front row. ‘This is outrageous! A witch opening a shop! Selling bad, dangerous spells that children might get hold of !’
(Recognize him? He’s the very same angry man who bought a hammer in the Emporium earlier on.)
‘Right,’ muttered voices. ‘Health and safety! Think of the kiddies!’
‘That’s not right,’ Elsie whispered to Albert. ‘Magenta doesn’t sell bad spells, Dad. I should know. I unpacked it all.’
The angry beard man leaped to his feet and shook his fist in the air. ‘And another thing!’ he bellowed. ‘She’s got the cheek to park her ugly eyesore of a tower slap-bang in the middle of our common!’
There was vigorous clapping at this.
Albert stuck his hand up.
‘Yes, Mr Pickles?’ said the mayor. People quietened down. Albert had a calming influence. It was all those years of customer service.
‘I would just like to point out that Witch Sharp’s stock is most certainly not dangerous,’ said Albert. ‘In fact, it sounds rather entertaining. I have it on good authority that Witch Sharp is a good witch.’
‘Is that so?’ This was Mr Sourman again. ‘And what authority would that be, Albert? Your Elsie, by any chance?’
‘As for the tower on the common,’ Albert continued, ignoring him, ‘it’s doing no harm. There’s plenty of space there.’
The crowd thought about this. Albert Pickles was well respected in the town. A man who usually talked good sense.
But—
‘Witches can’t be trusted, everyone knows that,’ bawled a woman in a green hat. ‘Who does she think she is? Coming into our town, with her red gloves, starting a shop up at night, no warning, when decent folk are asleep. I hear it twinkles!’
‘Before you know it, there’ll be a whole row of twinkling witch shops selling rubbish on the high street!’ shouted the man with no chair.
‘Has she applied for planning permission?’ enquired a man with a droopy moustache. ‘That’s what I’d like to know!’
‘No,’ said Councillor Skinnard. ‘But all is in hand. His Worship intends to be there at the shop’s opening first thing tomorrow morning.’
The mayor looked at him in alarm.
‘You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, do you?’ Councillor Skinnard murmured under his breath. ‘Of course you must pay a visit. Do you want to appear witchist?’
‘But I am,’ said the mayor. ‘Everyone here is. We don’t like witches in Smallbridge.’
‘But you don’t want the witch to know that, do you?’
‘Oh,’ said the mayor. ‘No. I see what you mean.’
‘Dad,’ hissed Elsie. ‘This isn’t fair. They want to shut her down before she’s even open. What can we do?’
‘Nothing right now, pet,’ said Albert. He gave a sigh. ‘I’m afraid it seems most minds are made up.’
‘Oi! Mayor! Just to be clear,’ shouted the man without a chair. ‘First thing tomorrow you’ll go and close her down, right?’
‘Yes,’ said the mayor. ‘Most probably. Weather permitting.’ Councillor Skinnard’s sharp elbow dug into his side. ‘I mean, rain or shine, I shall be there. I intend to be firm with the lady. Very firm indeed.’
‘She should be thrown out of town! Thrown! Hurled!’ The angry man with the beard was back again.
‘Unbelievable,’ remarked the woman with the green hat. ‘Selling magic outright! Where anyone can walk in and buy some!’
‘Well, I won’t be buying anything, that’s for certain,’ said her friend, who had a single unbroken eyebrow. She gave a little shudder.
‘Outrageous!’ burst in angry beard man. ‘No witch shops in Smallbridge!’
‘Right!’ roared the crowd.
‘No witches in Smallbridge!’ the beard cried again.
‘No witches in Smallbridge!’ the room echoed.
‘Witches Unwelcome!’
‘Witches Unwelcome!’
Albert and Elsie went home.
Chapter Six
OPENING DAY
The following morning, Mayor Short arrived in the alley at nine. He was clutching a briefcase containing planning application forms. In his head, he was rehearsing what he was going to say to the Red Witch. He would either start with, ‘Now, see here, my good woman, this simply will not do!’ or, ‘Charmed to meet you. I’m wondering if I can interest you in filling in a few forms?’ It depended on the level of threat when he arrived.
A sizeable crowd had also gathered at the alley’s entrance. People were very keen indeed to see how the mayor got on. A reporter from the newspaper was there, pad at the ready. The angry man with the beard was there (he gets everywhere, as you’ll have noticed). So was the woman with the green hat and her friend with the eyebrow and the man with no chair. Mrs Lardy was there, and Mrs Snoring and Miss Winnie Whippet. And Mr Sourman.
Nobody had ventured down the alley.
The mayor himself wasn’t at all keen on the task ahead. Nobody wants to confront a witch first thing in the morning.
The waiting crowd parted to let him through.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Lovely day for – um. . .’ The rest of the sentence trailed away.
‘Telling witches where to get off ?’ suggested a helpful voice from the crowd.
‘Think you’re up to the job, Mayor Short?’ shouted the reporter. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you?’
The mayor pretended he hadn’t heard.
Everyone watched him walk down the alley. Nuisance gave a friendly little tail wag as he approached the Emporium doorway. The mayor ignored him.
‘Morning, Mr Mayor,’ called Albert, who was giving the Emporium windows a fussy final polish.
‘Good morning, Mr Pickles,’ said the mayor unhappily. He walked on past, readying himself for the task ahead.
He had only just rounded the bend when Elsie appeared in the Emporium doorway. In her hand was a sausage.
‘Here,’ said Elsie, holding it out to Nuisance. ‘Lovely breakfast for a
good dog.’ Nuisance downed it in one.
‘The mayor’s just gone by,’ Albert told her.
‘Ah. Right,’ said Elsie. ‘Perhaps I should pop along. Just to make sure things stay calm. Magenta’s not too good with authority.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,’ said Albert. ‘You need to teach her a bit of customer service, pet. You can’t run a shop without it.’
‘I’ll just run in and take off my apron.’
‘On the other hand, don’t bother,’ said Albert. ‘He’s already coming back.’
Both of them stared as the mayor came tottering unsteadily up the alley. His face was ghastly pale. There was a blankness about his gaze. No sign of the briefcase. Instead, a large toad was hopping along at his heels, its webbed feet leaving damp marks on the cobbles.
‘All right, Mayor Short?’ called Albert. ‘Need to come in and sit down for a minute? Glass of water, perhaps?’
No response. The mayor tottered on, followed by the toad.
At the alley’s entrance, the crowd parted once more to let him through. Nobody said anything. There was something about the look of Mayor Short that made any comments or questions die in the throat. The toad didn’t help. That was just . . . strange.
The mayor wobbled away down the main street and finally disappeared from view. So did the toad.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Lardy. ‘I can’t stop here all day. Need to pop into the Emporium for half a dozen screws and a new colander.’
The Emporium had never had such a busy morning. It seemed that everyone in Smallbridge had suddenly found themselves urgently in need of a kitchen mop, a packet of drawing pins or a wallpaper brush.
Elsie wanted to go and help Magenta, but there were so many customers there was no chance of slipping away. In fact, Elsie and Albert didn’t have a moment’s rest until the clock chimed midday and then, true to form, everyone disappeared for lunch.