by James Nicol
He looked puzzled.
‘Do you remember where the town is?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘Near to the North Gate there’s an old mill, it’s abandoned. You could hide there for a while . . . until you’re fully recovered.’
‘Why are you helping me?’ Estar asked suddenly. He gripped Arianwyn’s hand and she was shocked at the warmth of his skin.
‘Because it’s not fair. You’ve done nothing wrong. And I’d like to know more about that shape you’ve drawn in the dirt.’
‘How is it going, Miss Gribble? Do you need help?’ Mayor Belcher called suddenly into the shed.
‘Is there another way out?’ Arianwyn whispered.
‘Possibly – now I’ve got a bit more energy!’ Estar’s eyes sparkled.
He struggled to his feet. Almost at once a strange blue light started to form around him, like an aura. The shed was bathed in its watery glow.
Estar himself shimmered as though he was not really there. Arianwyn panicked. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked quickly.
The light increased, Estar was hovering in mid-air, held in the brilliant blue circle. He reached out a hand towards Arianwyn. ‘Thank you for helping me, Arianwyn Gribble. I will not forget your kindness,’ he whispered.
The blue light shone so brightly now that Arianwyn raised her hand to shield her eyes.
It felt as though all the air was being sucked past her, towards Estar. There was a sound like bubbles under water and the air was suddenly rushing back the other way.
Arianwyn peeked through her fingers and found Estar was gone. So was the symbol that had been drawn in the dirt floor.
‘He’s gone,’ Arianwyn said as she emerged from the shed a few moments later.
‘You sure?’ Mrs Caulls said and she poked her head into the shed for a second before disappearing inside entirely. Sounds came from the shed of buckets and things being thrown about. The hens took up a furious clucking.
Mayor Belcher eyed Arianwyn warily. ‘And where is the creature?’ he asked quietly.
‘Gone,’ Arianwyn replied, deciding that it was true – he was gone, even if it was not in the way the mayor expected. She looked out across the farmyard, now wet with fine spring rain.
‘But how, what?’ Mayor Belcher stuttered.
‘I did what you asked.’ Arianwyn replied firmly. ‘He . . . I mean, it is no longer in the hen shed.’ She felt she was burning with the lie.
Mrs Caulls emerged from the shed, ‘Foul creature,’ she spat. ‘Good riddance I say!’ With that she turned and charged back towards the farmhouse, scattering people out of her path.
The rain fell harder. The entertainment over, the watchers made their way out of the farmyard.
‘Well then, Miss Gribble, a job well done!’ Mayor Belcher said, a small half-smile on his surprised face. ‘I was worried we might need to reintroduce the curfew.’
‘Thank you,’ Arianwyn said, feeling like an utter fraud and wanting to get away as soon as possible. ‘I think I had best be getting back to the Spellorium. Do you need a lift back into town?’
The mayor paled at the suggestion. ‘Er, no, that’s quite all right, thank you. I need a walk and it will be quite pleasant . . . in the rain.’
Back at the Spellorium, Arianwyn raided her cupboards for some food and an old blanket. She packed them carefully into a basket and waited until it started to grow dark.
Keeping to the shadows, she made her way quickly to the North Gate and Kurtis Mill. She approached carefully, unsure what to do. She didn’t want to leave her parcel by the door, which was locked up tight, for fear that someone would see it and investigate. All the windows looked too high to reach.
She slipped down the side of the mill and pulled a few empty crates to the wall before clambering up to the high window. The small panes of glass were mostly intact, except for a few lower down.
Arianwyn peered into the dark. There was no sign of Estar.
Perhaps he had got confused about where to hide. Perhaps he had gone back to the wood. Perhaps he had just run off. She hoped she hadn’t made another mistake in letting him go free. She chewed her lip for a moment and watched the dark alleyway.
She tucked the basket carefully on the window ledge and climbed back down the crates.
As she made her way back along North Gate Street she stopped and turned, looking back over her shoulder.
The basket had vanished from the window ledge.
She pulled her coat tightly around herself and, smiling, headed back home.
On occasion spirits have been known to form a bond with a witch. In such cases the bond is usually formed for life. The most famous instance of this was Gertrude Yates, who bonded with a stagget spirit that guarded local moorland. The spirit was known as Lor’ar and on the death of Ms Yates appeared to vanish into thin air.
THE APPRENTICE WITCH’S HANDBOOK
Chapter 21
THE MAYOR’S NIECE
rianwyn was hurrying back to the Spellorium, rain pouring down again, overfilling the gutters and streaming down Kettle Lane. She was soaked through and her boots squelched noisily as she ran. She rattled the key in the lock until the door swung open suddenly, causing her to stumble. ‘Boil it!’ she said.
She dropped the spirit lantern in its case with a clatter against the floorboards and a small pool of water immediately gathered around it. Shrugging off her coat, she crossed to the small pot-bellied stove to stoke the embers, just as Salle burst through the door, skidding on the patches of rain water.
‘We’ve been invited to the town hall for tea with the mayor,’ she gasped.
‘Tea?’ Arianwyn asked, agog. In the two months she had been in Lull the mayor had not invited her over for so much as a glass of water, let alone tea!
‘Apparently his niece is coming to visit. Did you know he had a niece? I wonder what she’s like?’ Salle rambled on.
Arianwyn tried to picture the mayor’s niece but she could only imagine the mayor with long hair and wearing a dress. It wasn’t a pleasant image.
‘So, are you going to go? Shall I meet you at the town hall?’ Salle asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Salle. I’ve been out all day and I’m soaked!’ Arianwyn had been looking forward to a nice hot bath and cosying up with the radio, snuggled under her eiderdown.
‘Please?’ Salle squeaked.
Arianwyn imagined it would not go down well if she refused an invitation from the mayor.
‘Yes, all right. I’ll see you there!’Arianwyn smiled.
Salle gave an excited cry and skipped out into the rain.
It was still pouring when Arianwyn dashed across the cobbles of the town square, splashing through the odd puddle. The town hall loomed before her, lights shining from the mayor’s parlour.
Miss Prynce, the mayor’s secretary, greeted her, taking her coat and umbrella and then led her up to the party. The room was packed to bursting. She saw Salle at once and headed over to the corner where she was standing.
‘Where’ve you been? You’re late! Mr Thorn went to Flaxsham to collect the famous niece and they are due back any second!’ Salle said and glanced quickly out of the window, just in case. ‘The mayor has been groaning on for the last forty minutes about how wonderful she is: top of her class, blah blah blah. Brilliant witch blah blah blah . . .’
‘What?’Arianwyn said. ‘His niece is a witch?’
‘Apparently so,’ Salle continued, oblivious to the panic that had gripped Arianwyn. ‘Oh, come on, Wyn. You’re not the only witch in the world, you know!’
Arianwyn scowled at Salle, which only made her burst out laughing.
‘And what are you two young ladies up to, giggling in the corner here?’ The mayor trotted across the parlour, his arms thrown wide in welcome.
‘I was just telling Arianwyn a story about my aunt in Bollington – she . . . fell off her bicycle!’ Salle lied.
‘Oh, poor lady. That doesn’t sound very funny at all. You can be rather peculiar at times, Miss Bowen!’ The mayor
stared at her suspiciously, clearly not convinced by her story. Arianwyn snorted loudly and tried to cover it with a sudden coughing fit.
‘Mayor Belcher, here comes Mr Thorn now!’ Miss Prynce had taken up a position by the window and was pointing excitedly out into the square.
The whole room surged to the long windows, the mayor calling as he ran, ‘Let me through, please. Let. Me. Through!’ He pushed the doors on to the balcony open and a blast of rain and wind gusted into the room. He stepped outside, calling down into the square. Salle and Arianwyn tried to catch a glimpse of the new arrival as she stepped out of the bus, but Mr Thorn was speedy with an umbrella and all they saw was a pair of shiny black shoes and the swish of a smart yellow rain mac.
‘Oh, fancy!’ Salle cooed.
The room was full of excited chatter as Mayor Belcher dashed back across the parlour from the balcony to the main doors. Everyone followed him, leaving Arianwyn and Salle stranded at the back of the crowd.
‘Here!’ Salle pointed to two chairs and quickly climbed on to one. ‘Perfect view!’ She smiled.
‘Salle, get down! I am not clambering on to a chair—’The doors swung open and, without thinking further,Arianwyn stood on the other seat.
There was the flash of yellow coat once more before the crowd of townspeople pressed in to greet the mayor’s niece. Arianwyn’s chair wobbled slightly as she craned to see more. There was the mayor, his arm protectively wrapped around his niece, who was still hidden from view as he led her forwards.
‘So wonderful to see you, my sweet girl!’ he was saying as the townspeople broke into rapturous applause.
Salle rolled her eyes. Arianwyn stifled a giggle.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am thrilled to present to you my dear niece, Miss Gimma Alverston!’
Arianwyn went cold.
She must have heard it wrong. The mayor couldn’t possibly have just said Gimma’s name. Could he?
Her mind flashed back to Gimma’s cruel taunts across the playground and to the last time they had seen each other on the day of the evaluation. Arianwyn’s stomach flipped. The crowd parted just at that moment. Arianwyn craned forward and saw clearly that it was indeed Gimma. The mayor held a protective hand on her shoulder as they both smirked at the crowd.
‘Gimma!’ Arianwyn gasped. She felt her footing go. The chair beneath her veered this way and that as she tried to regain her balance. And then it gave up, tilting too far to the left. It wobbled, it lurched and Arianwyn crashed to the floor.
She lay there for a second, wishing it was all some nasty dream and that any moment now she would wake up.
Gimma? The mayor’s favourite niece? Just as things were sort of smoothing out.
‘Are you quite all right, Miss Gribble?’
Arianwyn glanced up and saw the mayor and Gimma standing over her, the townspeople all giggling behind hands and handkerchiefs.
‘Arianwyn?’ Gimma repeated, her voice full of bright surprise.
Scrambling to her feet, Arianwyn brushed imaginary dust from her skirt, hoping she wasn’t blushing.
‘What on earth were you doing on the floor?’ Gimma asked loudly. More titters from the assembled audience.
Arianwyn glowered at her.
‘Heavens, do you two know each other?’ Mayor Belcher asked, glancing from Gimma to Arianwyn and back again.
‘Yes, Uncle. Arianwyn and I were at school together in Kingsport.’ Gimma smiled up at the mayor, who continued to gaze at her like a proud mother hen clucking over its chicks.
‘Fancy that!’ he beamed.
‘Yes, and we had our evaluations on the same day. Didn’t we,Arianwyn?’ Gimma’s eyes glittered.
Arianwyn felt everyone’s gaze move to the moon badge.
‘What are you doing here, Gimma?’ Arianwyn asked, deciding she’d had enough unwanted attention.
It was Gimma’s turn to look a little uncomfortable now. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes darted to her uncle.
‘My poor Gimma has overworked herself, Miss Gribble, and has been sent here for a rest. I’m sure she will be eager to be out and about and to come and give you a hand, once she’s feeling a little brighter—’
‘There’s no rush!’
‘Maybe next week!’
Arianwyn and Gimma burbled at once. The mayor gave a small chuckle. ‘Now, I do hope you girls are going to get along together,’ he said, his eyes narrowed at Arianwyn.
Arianwyn smiled at Gimma. They stared at each other for a long moment; the air in the room seemed to crackle.
‘Of course, Uncle!’ Gimma said in her singsong voice. ‘We’re going to be the very best of friends, aren’t we,Arianwyn?’
Arianwyn shivered as though a cold draught had tickled her skin. She could feel everyone watching her.
‘Of course,’ she said, a little hoarsely.
There was a long silence. Gimma pulled out a small mirror from her little beaded purse and gazed at herself until Salle stepped forward. ‘Hello there, I’m Salle Bowen.’ She extended her hand.
‘Miss Bowen’s aunt and uncle run the Blue Ox,’ Mayor Belcher offered.
‘Oh! How charming!’ Gimma sniffed and put the mirror away and took the tiniest step back from Salle, who immediately turned slightly pink. ‘Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind fetching me a cup of tea?’
Gimma pointed to the table nearby, which was laden with buns, cakes and a huge steaming tea urn. Salle, unsure what to do, hovered between staying and going, hopping from one foot to the other.
‘Salle!’ Arianwyn hissed, pulling on her arm to hold her still. ‘She’s not a waitress!’ Arianwyn said, not caring how angry she sounded.
‘Oh?’ was all Gimma could muster as a response, thoroughly bored. She stared at the wall, the floor and then at her own nails.
‘It’s fine!’ Salle said in a small voice and headed off to the table.
Mayor Belcher was called away and for a few seconds Gimma and Arianwyn stood staring at each other in tortured silence. Eventually Gimma caved in, saying, ‘I don’t know how you can stand it here, Arianwyn. It’s a rather ghastly little place, isn’t it?’
A well-dressed couple standing just behind Gimma overheard and glared at Arianwyn as if it were her fault. ‘Well, I quite like it!’ Arianwyn said, brightly.
‘I suppose it suits you. But I think when you’re used to a certain class of things, not to mention a certain class of people . . . well, it’s . . .’ She pulled a sour face and the couple walked off, casting filthy looks over their shoulders.
‘But I suppose you won’t be here all that long, anyway,’Arianwyn said hopefully.
‘Hmmm?’ Gimma pretended she hadn’t heard her. ‘Where has that waitress girl got to, do you suppose?’
‘She’s not a waitress, Gimma!’
Just at that moment Salle returned, carrying a cup and saucer. Tea sloshed over the sides of the cup as she thrust it into Gimma’s hands. ‘Oh thank you!’ Gimma smiled.
‘Don’t mention it!’ Salle said, rolling her eyes at Arianwyn. ‘And how long are you staying in Lull for? A week? Two?’
Gimma paled and started to stammer a response when Mayor Belcher returned from the other side of the room. ‘Now then, ladies, I trust you’ve all been getting along nicely. My niece is going to be with us for the foreseeable future and she’ll be needing some companions her own age! Can’t spend all her time with her old uncle!’
Arianwyn was sure she had heard wrong. He couldn’t have just said that, could he? She looked at Salle, who pulled a face and sighed heavily.
‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Gimma squealed. ‘I just know us three will be great pals! And I can’t wait to get to work!’
‘Work?’ Arianwyn spluttered.
‘Yes,’ Mayor Belcher beamed. ‘I spoke to Miss Delafield yesterday and she is going to see about Gimma providing you some assistance with your duties. Isn’t that nice? And won’t you benefit from having a fully qualified witch to assist you and show you the ropes?’
‘
Wonderful!’ Arianwyn said eventually, though her voice croaked a little, dry with shock. It was a million things other than nice or wonderful. She was going to have to speak to Miss Delafield about this situation as soon as possible.
Chapter 22
RETURN TO THE GREAT WOOD
t was nearly a week later before Arianwyn had a chance to speak to Miss Delafield. The moon hare had made a full recovery from its injuries and she and Miss Delafield had decided to return it to the Great Wood.
It was early afternoon, and Arianwyn heard the now-familiar sound of Miss Delafield’s silver-green motorcar pulling up in Kettle Lane. A few seconds later she charged through the door, twirling her driving goggles round her fingers and whistling a bright tune. ‘Afternoon, Arianwyn!’ She grinned. ‘Everything OK? All ready for a trip back into the Great Wood?’ She cast her usual cautious glance about the Spellorium.
‘Yes,’ Arianwyn muttered. The encounter with Gimma was still playing on her mind, even though she hadn’t seen her since that night, thankfully. Presumably she was still ‘resting’.
The thought of returning the moon hare to the wild was not filling her with enthusiasm, either. She’d become used to having the spirit creature around. It stared at her now, bright blue eyes expectant. Arianwyn felt a twist of guilt inside her. She bent to lift it up and it purred loudly as she stroked its long silvery ears. ‘Come on then, little one,’ she said, heading out into Kettle Lane. She clambered into the car beside Miss Delafield, making sure to fasten her seatbelt tightly.
The drive to the Great Wood was mostly silent. It was hard to have a conversation over the engine’s roar and Arianwyn wasn’t feeling talkative. She held tightly to the moon hare as the line of trees grew larger, Miss Delafield occasionally glancing in her direction.
They didn’t drive in as far as they had done before. Miss Delafield stopped in a small clearing full of yellow-green dappled light. ‘This should do, I think. Let the little thing find its own way back. Probably doesn’t want to go back to that clearing, anyway . . . I say, is everything quite all right, dear?’