“You don’t know what it’s like to be loved!”
“THAT’S WHY I’M TRYING TO FIND MY FOREVER PARENTS!” Max screamed. “Because I DIDN’T! I NEVER KNEW!”
He felt a dizzying surge—then Martha was there, hands on her hips, confronting the astonished twins.
“I know what it’s like to be loved!” she said. “My parents loved me when I was alive and now they don’t, but they loved me when I was alive, and I remember so I know. And I know they loved me because when I went to bed I used to be scared of the dark and so Mummy would come in and get into bed with me until I fell asleep, and once when I was sick there was this dream I had that made me scream and I woke up and my Mummy was still there even though she had to get up early the next morning to milk the brown cow. And my Father, he never held my hand but I know he loved me because I could see it in his eyes even when he shouted at me, and he made these dresses for me that were nicer than all the other dresses in the village and best of all he would sew my name into the hem in really beautiful writing that would take him hours and hours late at night and it was just my name that nobody except me could see. And one time, there was this time when I was out playing in the fields and I fell asleep under a hedge because it was sunny and the bees were making this noise that made me feel sleepy and dreamy and the whole village came out looking for me because they thought I’d got lost in the Woods and when they found me they took me back to the house and my Mum and Dad were there and they were so angry that I knew they loved me so much! So I know what it’s like to have parents that love you. I do! And this horrid old Witch even if she is your Mother she shouldn’t be, because she’s HORRID and MEAN! As for you, Mr Knight-In-Shining-Armour,” she rounded on Max, her eyes flashing, “if you DARE ever say you don’t know what it’s like to be loved then I—”
There was a clatter of utensils from the kitchen—the Witch was coming. Martha disappeared in a flash. The Maxes leapt at the shelves and began dusting furiously.
“WHAT’S going on in here?” snarled the Witch, throwing open the door. “What’s all the hullaballoo?”
The Maxes lowered their heads guiltily. The Witch grinned at their new forms.
“Playing copycats are we, when poor old Mum is slaving over a hot stove? Well, what are you waiting for? Dinner’s ready! Wash your hands!”
“He says you’re not our Mother,” one Max blurted out suddenly, pointing at Max.
“He does, does he?” The Witch came into the room, her eyes gleaming. “And what else has Fish-Face-Nosy-Parker been saying?”
“He says you’re always mean to us.”
“He says we don’t deserve it.”
“I’ll tell you what you don’t deserve!” the Witch snapped. “You don’t deserve DINNER! You don’t deserve lamb chops and mashed potatoes, apple pie and custard! Not if you listen to a liar who trundled in out of nowhere instead of your own Mother.”
The Maxes sulked. They’d only been trying to get Max in trouble, and their plan had backfired.
“We don’t even like custard!”
“We hate it.”
“We never get food like that anyway!”
“We just get carrot porridge!”
“You had apple pie the other week, don’t you dare tell me you didn’t! You had a golden-crust apple pie that I busted a gut to make and you left nothing for me, not a crumb! As for not liking custard, just have a look in the pantry! Will you see any custard? You won’t! Why? Because you polished it off! You had LASHINGS of the stuff and you kept asking for more!”
“But we don’t like custard.”
“Custard is what comes out of eggs when they poo.”
“Yuck!”
“We hate custard.”
“Hate custard?” spluttered the Witch. “Why—why—you’ve a fine way of showing it, if you hate custard! Straight from the jug! Glug glug glug. That was you last week, jug-gulpers.”
“No…”
“That can’t be right…”
“We really DO hate custard.”
“Ah!” cried the Witch triumphantly, snapping her fingers together. “But if I never give you that kind of food, how do you know you hate it? Eh? Eh?”
“Because one day we crept into the pantry when we were hungry…”
“And we stole some…”
“And it was so yuck we were sick…”
“Which meant you found out…”
“And you punished us…”
“That’s when you bought the chain and padlock from the blacksmith.”
“That chain there.”
“Yes, and that padlock.”
“OK OK, you hate custard,” the Witch chattered. “I’m old, sometimes I get confused. It’s because I’m tired, because I have so much to worry about. Dinner, and Anteaters, and Dragon Brains, and the World One, and BADLY BEHAVED UNGRATEFUL SNOTNOSES, so much that I… I just can’t… you ungrateful little horrors, I ought to… wait till your Daddy gets home! He’ll take the STRAP to you!”
The twins stood bolt upright, their mouths dropping open.
“You said you ate Daddy!”
“You said you had to because he never helped with the housework!”
“Did you eat him or didn’t you?”
“I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. Why would I eat your horrid old fat hairy Daddy? Eugh!”
“You’re a liar!”
“You’ve been lying to us!”
“None of it’s true!”
“None of it!”
“Well, so what?” the Witch said. “Big deal. Who cares?”
The Maxes shrieked. Their faces turned purple. They began stamping their feet and rushing up and down the room.
“You’re never to say you’re our Mother again!”
“You’re NOT our Mother!”
“You’re just a MEAN OLD WITCH!”
“WITCH WITCH WITCH!”
“WE HATE YOU!”
“WE HATE YOU. YOU’RE A HORRIBLE OLD WITCH AND YOU SMELL!”
The Witch’s face became cold as stone. “So I’m not your BIOLOGICAL Mother. I admit it. Boo-hoo. You think your real Mother is any better? What do you suppose happened after I stole you? A few tears, a snotty hankie, sure—everyone loves a drama. But then what? Do you think she’s going to snivel and snot all her life? No. Along comes a new little darling, a new sproglet, and Kaspar Hauser is forgotten for ever. You should be grateful you’ve got ME! Because when it comes to Mothers, SOMETHING’S better than NOTHING!”
“You’re a fibber.”
“We don’t believe you.”
“Bully for you! Your stomachs will believe me when you go without dinner. Now get in your box and don’t come out until morning.”
“No!”
“No!”
“What?”
“No…”
“No…”
“No?”
“NO!”
“NO!”
The Witch narrowed her eyes and lifted a finger. She began to speak in solitary words, each as indestructible as an Ogre’s Mountaintop Citadel With Human Skulls On The Battlements.
“IF.
“I.
“HEAR.
“ANY.
“MORE.
“LIP.
“FROMEITHEROFYOU!”
The finger jabbed: “From you, Kaspar.”
The finger jabbed again: “Or you, Hauser.
“I’ll THRASH you like there’s no tomorrow! Now get going! Into your box! HOP IT!”
The twins didn’t budge. They didn’t even seem to be paying attention to the Witch. Instead they were staring at each other closely.
“That’s wrong,” said one.
“She’s got it wrong,” said the other.
“Wrong?” spluttered the Witch. “What do you mean—wrong?”
They took no notice. Their faces were intent, their breath coming faster and faster.
“You aren’t Kaspar. Are you?”
“No.”
“But… you’re not
Hauser either.”
“That’s right.”
“That is right.”
“That’s why we could never get it.”
“That’s why we were so confused.”
“It’s so simple!”
“Why didn’t we think of it before?”
They grabbed each other’s hands and stared at each other in a rapture.
“You’re me!”
“Yes!”
“And I’m you!”
“We’re us!”
“We’re each other!”
They danced. They sang. They capered wildly, and it didn’t matter that the Witch spat and cursed—they were unstoppable. They span, span, span, they sang, sang, sang, they disappeared in a blur of colour, and this time when they broke apart—there was no apart. There was just a single, solitary boy, rolling across the floorboards like a marble, laughing merrily, then sitting up and staring in astonishment at his hands.
“ARRRGGGGGHHHHH!” screamed the Witch. “No no no! No no NO! Go back! Go back! Reverse! Rewind! Undo!”
Kaspar Hauser held up his hand solemnly. “I’ve got a splinter!” he announced. Then he burst into tears.
“I don’t care about your SPLINTER! Good! If you’ve got a splinter GOOD!”
“Take it out!” Kaspar wailed. “M-m-Mummy m-make it b-better!”
“Take it OUT? I’ll do no such thing. I’ll take YOU out. YOU’RE the splinter, you good for nothing little NOSE-MINER!”
The Witch seized a broom from the corner and swept the blubbering boy towards the door.
“I’ve had it with you! Be off! Go on! Shoo! Vamoose! See how long you survive in the Woods WITHOUT YOUR MOTHER TO LOOK AFTER YOU!”
She flicked Kaspar into the cold, wintery night, slammed the door and put her back against it.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, my dear,” she said to Max. “There comes a time when every little birdie has to fly the nest. It’s cruel on poor old Mum, but still. If you raise them to be confident, brave and adventurous, you can’t expect anything other than heartbreak. They’ll set out in the Woods whether you like it or not. Hey-ho!”
“He didn’t fly away,” Max told her sternly. “You kicked him out.”
“Well, all right, I kicked him out. But I wouldn’t do anything to hurt YOU, my little munchpot, not on any day of the year.” A look of almost unbelievable cunning crossed her face. “And especially not on this day, your Special Day, your Darling Day.”
What’s she talking about? What special day?
I don’t know… I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, that’s for sure.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked, coming closer. “It’s your BIRTHDAY, you great silly-billy. You haven’t forgotten your BIRTHDAY, have you?”
“Today isn’t my birthday.”
“When is it then, diddums?” smiled the Witch. “When is your birthday?”
“Nobody knows. Including you!”
“Do you think your own Mother doesn’t know when her Darling Pudding Princeling has his birthday?”
“You’re not my Mother.”
“Oh, but are you sure of that too? Are you absolutely one hundred per cent bullet-proof sure?”
“You don’t have any children. It’s all just lies.”
The Witch began clicking her fingers and singing.
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday Dear Cut-In-Two-So-He-Can-Help-Out-Around-The-House BOY!
Happy Birthday To You!
“Yes! Oh yes! Out with the old, in with the new! Divide and conquer! Haha!” Shrieking with laughter, she tossed him the broom. “I’ve got to meet a certain World One now. Get this place extra spick-and-span! We can’t have any nasty germs flying around for the Grand Operation! Don’t worry if it takes you a while, next time you’ll have HELP! Haha! I’ll be back in a jiffy! Toodle-oo!”
She hurried out of the workshop. The moment she was gone, Martha tore out of Max with tornado speed and ran to the door. There was a clatter of hooves and the rattle of a carriage.
“She’s gone!” Martha spun round. “Quick! We have to get to Rosethorn before the Dragons.”
“Go after her! She might not be going far! Get the key to this thing!”
“I can’t. If I go too far from you I’ll die.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t stray from the gravestone. It’s just how it works!”
“Then look for a spare key! She’s going to cut me in half when she gets back!”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing in fury. “So THAT’S what you’re worried about! You don’t care about Rosethorn at all!”
“HOW CAN WE GET TO ROSETHORN? You said it was miles away! Even if I could get free how could I get there in time?”
“You could use the Seven League Boots,” said a voice. “A single step. Then—BANG! You’re there.”
The door to outside had opened a crack—a small round face was peeking in.
“Kaspar!” Martha ran to him and took his hands pleadingly. “You have to help, Kaspar! We have to get to Rosethorn village!”
“You can go anywhere with the Seven League Boots. But why would you want to go there? It’s so-o-o-o-o boring.”
“What use are Seven League Boots when I’m chained up?” Max howled. “You think I’m going to jump around with an oven on my leg? The key! Ask about the key!”
“YOUASKHIMHE’SRIGHTHERE!” Martha screamed. Then she turned to Kaspar and said sweetly: “What about the key, Kaspar? Do you have a spare key for the padlock?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why I made Gerald.”
“Gerald?”
“He’s one of my creations. I use him when Mother locks me up and then—because, you know, sometimes she’s busy with things—forgets she’s locked me up. HEY! LET GO!”
Martha grabbed his arm and hauled him into the workshop, then slammed the door and pinned Kaspar against it.
“You’re saying you made an insect that can open the padlock?” she asked intently.
“Y-y-yes,” Kaspar stammered. “Any lock. He’s a triple-headed rotational tumbler.”
“WHERE IS HE?” Max yelled, yanking on the chain to try and get closer to Kaspar. “Where’s GERALD?”
“I’m not really sure. I let him out to play before we left for London.” Kaspar got down on his hands and knees and began crawling about. “He’ll be here somewhere. Ger-ald! Where a-a-a-a-re you?”
Martha immediately dropped onto all fours too. “How big is he?”
“He’s about the size of a large Spider,” said Kaspar. “I just hope he hasn’t gone outside!”
“Oh my God,” Max sank to the floor. “He could be anywhere. We’ll never find him.”
“What does he look like?” Martha asked, searching under the shelves.
“He’s shaped like a starfish.”
“Really? So pretty!”
“I think so too! He’s basically three Centipedes stitched together in the middle. Oh!” Kaspar stopped suddenly. “There he is!”
“You see him?” Martha spun round. “Where is he?”
“It’s probably best… if you don’t move.”
She froze. “Why? Am I going to squash him?”
“No. No I don’t think so. It’s just some people panic.”
“Why would I panic?”
“Well, he’s in your hair, so …”
“Kaspar! We don’t have time for joking around!”
“No,” said Max. “He is in your hair. I see him. Can’t you feel him? He’s pretty big.”
“GETHIMOFF!GETHIMOFF!”
Kaspar quickly lifted “Gerald” from Martha’s hair, then held him proudly out in the palm of his hand. The three Centipedes, wriggling and twisting in Kaspar’s fingers, were joined in the middle by a delicate series of stitches. Long, curling feelers had been attached to each head.
“Wow, he’s… really, really ugly,” said Ma
x.
“He’s BEAUTIFUL, Kaspar,” Martha said, giving Max a shove. “Now LET’S GO LET’S GO!”
Kaspar placed Gerald over the padlock. The Centipede heads began to rotate slowly, each set of feelers dipping into the lock, one at a time.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
The lock sprung open.
“It worked!” Max gasped. He unclasped the shackle and jumped up, rubbing his ankle.
“Thank you, Kaspar!” Martha exclaimed, throwing her arms round the boy’s neck and kissing him. “Thank you thank you! Now please—get us the Boots!”
He smiled at all the kisses, but when she mentioned the Boots he looked at her blankly. “The Boots?”
“The Seven League Boots! So we can get to Rosethorn!”
“I know. I’ll get them when Mother gets back.”
“No, Kaspar, we need them now!”
“Why do you need the Boots now?”
“Because… because we need to catch up with your Mother. We need to… help her! She left us behind by accident!”
Kaspar blinked. “You need to… help Mother?”
“Yes!”
“You’ve come here to replace me?”
“What? No!”
“Nobody helps Mother but me!”
“Wh-what?”
“I heard what she said. She wants to turn him into me!”
“Kaspar… please just give us the Boots! Tell us where they are!”
“You can’t have them.”
“Why not?”
“They’re in the carriage.”
“The… carriage?”
“That’s where we keep them.”
He moved towards the shelves. Reaching up, he took down a jar marked FRESH WASPS.
“It’s time for you to leave,” he said.
“Kaspar,” Martha whispered faintly. “Please. Don’t. Open. That. Jar.”
“This is my workshop! And these are my insects! And that is MY Mother! And if you DON’T LEAVE NOW I’LL—”
Max rugby-tackled him, and they rolled across the floor. Martha pounced on him too. In moments they had confiscated Gerald and padlocked Kaspar to the pot-bellied stove.
Then they were outside in the cold night air, running to the edge of a clearing, where the trees began.
The Witch’s cottage stood on a steep slope, surrounded on all sides by the Woods. Over the treetops that dropped sharply away they could see the moonlit valley below.
The Beginning Woods Page 26