by Anne Forbes
“How could she do this to me?” Lord Jezail muttered, his voice rising. “My own daughter,” he said, “hiding the talisman not only from the eyes of the world of magic but from me, her own father.”
Vassili made a vague noise that could have meant anything.
“She knew perfectly well what was going to happen to her!” his master added. “Why the devil didn’t she send it back here?” He turned round and glowered accusingly at the count as though it were all his fault.
“I’m sure …” Vassili attempted to soothe his master’s anger but wasn’t given the chance to finish his sentence.
“I should never have given it to her in the first place!” Lord Jezail continued. “I must have been mad to even think of it!”
“Forgive me for asking,” Vassili ventured as his master continued to pace the room, “but what is it that’s so … well, special about the talisman?”
Lord Jezail turned and looked at him through hooded eyes. “Well, to begin with, its magic is extremely powerful and it protects its owner from danger of any sort,” he explained. “That was the reason I gave it to Merial in the first place; to protect her from harm. But it has many other magical properties; it can cure evil spells and has great power over nature. That’s one reason why the witches must never have it, for in the wrong hands they could, and would, use it to cause earthquakes, tidal waves and hurricanes; to say nothing of drought, flood and famine.”
“But the witches have that power already,” Vassili pointed out, “and so do you,” he added reasonably. “Why, even I can call up storms and the like and,” he deftly slipped in the compliment, “I’m nowhere near as great a magician as you are, milord!”
“Ah, but the talisman can control the witches and the storm carriers,” Jezail answered. “It works for the good of the earth. That’s why Merial couldn’t …” he stopped in mid-sentence “… that was why she couldn’t leave it to any of the witches.”
“You said that before,” Vassili acknowledged.
“Yes, but the point is that she must have known that in so doing she was virtually leaving the talisman to me.” Lord Jezail replied.
Vassili eyed him warily.
“Think about it,” his master smiled, rubbing his hands together almost gleefully. “She’s hidden it! It has no owner now that she’s gone; which means, Vassili, that as I gave it to her as a gift, it is mine by right! It must return to me!”
Vassili nodded, his mind working swiftly. “Yes,” he agreed, “yes, it would work like that, milord. But … what if the witches find it? I mean …”
“Let them find it,” Lord Jezail said, smiling nastily. Vassili looked at him, startled. “It will save us the trouble of looking for it,” he pointed out coldly, “and if we keep an eye on the witches through the crystal, we can take it from them whenever it’s found!”
3. Craiglaw House
“It’s strange being here without Auntie Muriel and Uncle David, isn’t it?” Neil said wistfully to Clara, as they entered the hall. His father, elbowing the heavy door shut, dumped a pile of carrier bags on the black and white tiles and put his car keys on a side table. “I can remember Auntie Muriel giving me a real telling off for sliding down the banisters.”
“Quite right, too,” his father said. “You ought to have had more sense!”
Neil grinned unrepentantly. “Uncle David thought it was funny. He said it was a pity he was too old to join in!”
A look of sadness shaded John MacLean’s eyes. He missed his only brother and was glad that over the years they’d managed to visit quite often. Edinburgh wasn’t that far away and they’d driven down frequently for the odd weekend. And now the house was his. He couldn’t quite believe it. Losing David had been bad enough but Muriel’s death in a car crash had been totally unexpected.
Clara looked at the wooden staircase that curved gracefully up to the first floor. “I still can’t believe we’re going to live here, Dad,” she said, her face shining happily. “I’ve always loved Craiglaw House. Auntie Muriel knew I did.” Tears blurred her eyes suddenly. “I just can’t believe she’s gone …”
Her mother appeared from the living room. “I thought I heard the car,” she said, hugging them all. “How was the drive down, John?”
“Dad got stuck behind a couple of combine harvesters!” Neil grinned.
“It was fine,” her husband answered, cuffing Neil playfully. “We stopped off for ten minutes at Blackriggs Farm on the way. You remember, Jimmy MacFarlane’s place?”
“Mmm,” Janet MacLean nodded. “How’s the farm doing?”
“Not too well, I gather. He didn’t have time to say much but his kids have fairly grown. The youngest has just started school.”
“They’re really into horses, these days,” Clara said enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t mind a pony. Once we’ve settled in, that is,” she added hastily.
“Once we’ve settled in, we’ll talk about it,” her mother said, smiling at her enthusiasm. Moving from a busy, bustling city like Edinburgh to a remote country house was a big step and she hadn’t quite known how the children would take it. She didn’t have to look at Neil’s face to know that he had reservations since it wasn’t only the city he’d miss; it was the world of magic.
If the truth be told, she was secretly quite relieved that they had left Edinburgh — for the MacArthurs, the magic people who live inside Arthur’s Seat, the huge hill that dominates the city, had, over the years, succeeded in dragging the family into all sorts of hair-raising adventures involving magicians, magic mirrors and flying horses to say nothing of some particularly nasty goblins. She was, in actual fact, very fond of the MacArthurs; enjoyed their company and loved Arthur, their great red dragon, but …
“Won’t you miss Edinburgh, Clara?” Neil queried doubtfully. “Not school particularly, I mean the MacArthurs and Arthur and … and our magic carpets and all. We’re really too far away from Edinburgh to call them like we used to. I mean, it’d take ages for them to arrive, for a start.”
“You’ll soon get used to living in the country,” his father interrupted cheerfully, “and you’ll still be able to visit the MacArthurs from time to time, you know.”
“And you have to remember, too, that we’ve been very lucky, Neil,” his mother added. “If your Uncle David and Aunt Muriel hadn’t left the house to us, we would never have been able to afford anything as grand as this,” she pointed out gently.
“I know,” Neil muttered, “it’s just that we don’t know anybody here.”
“It’ll work out fine, Neil,” his father smiled, “and once you start at Netherfield, you’ll get to know lots of boys your own age.”
“And girls,” Clara added. “It’ll be funny being boarders, though.”
“That won’t be for long,” her mother assured her, with a quick look at her husband. “Dad’s contract finishes at Christmas so you’ll only be boarders for a term. And since your old school’s marked down for closure, it’s pointless, really, starting at a new school in Edinburgh for just one term, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Clara admitted.
“Don’t forget that you’ll be spending Saturdays and Sundays here with us,” her father smiled, ruffling her hair. “We’ll be down more or less every weekend to check up on the builders, and sort out any problems.”
“Why don’t you both go upstairs and have a look at your rooms,” their mother suggested with a twinkle in her eyes. “I forgot to tell you that the painter finished them yesterday. Oh, and I’ve left some carpet samples on the chest in the upstairs hall so that you can choose a colour you like,” she called after them as both children raced up the stairs in sudden excitement.
“How have you been managing on your own then, Janet?” John MacLean asked as he followed his wife into the living room and looked round appreciatively at the polished woodwork, gleaming windows and cheerful chintz sofas grouped round the huge fireplace. It was a comfortable room and he could imagine relaxing in front of a roaring blaze of
logs when winter came and snow blocked the roads.
His wife put her finger to her lips and, walking over to the door, shut it carefully.
John raised his eyebrows. “Why the secrecy?” he asked, half laughing.
“Can I ask you a question first?” she asked seriously.
“Of course! Fire away!”
“Are you wearing your firestone?”
“Wearing my firestone!” he repeated blankly. Of all the questions she could have asked, this was the last he’d have thought of; for firestones were the magic stones the MacArthurs had given them so that they could fly on magic carpets and merge with people, birds and animals.
“Are you?” she insisted.
“Well, no,” he replied. “I’m not. You know perfectly well that I don’t wear it all the time. Neither do you, for that matter.”
“I know,” she said, wringing her hands. “I wish I’d thought of it before. I’d have asked you to bring mine down with you today.”
“Whatever for?” Her husband looked baffled. “There’s no magic here … is there?”
“Well, there might be. I hate to say it, John,” she said hesitantly, for she knew how much he loved the house, “but there’s something really strange going on.”
“Strange?” he frowned questioningly. “What, here? In the house?”
Janet nodded. “I think it’s haunted,” she said firmly. “I’m not imagining it,” she added quickly as he opened his mouth to scoff at the notion. “There are definitely ghosts around. They’re not in the room at the moment,” she added. “I can tell when they’re nearby. There’s a … sort of a different feel to the atmosphere whenever they come in.”
“Ghosts?” her husband repeated. “Are you sure? I mean, David and Muriel never said anything about the house being haunted.”
“Quite sure. It’s weird, really. They … they seem to realize that I can feel them in the room and when I come in they … well, they slip away and go somewhere else. I get the impression that they’re looking for something.”
“How very odd,” he frowned, putting an arm round her. “Bear up, Janet. We’ll sort it out, don’t worry. Now, tell me all about it.”
“It started when you left last week with the children. I thought I was imagining things at first and … what on earth was that?” She froze as a scream rang through the house.
“That’s Clara’s voice!” John MacLean was out of the room and halfway up the stairs when Clara ran onto the landing. “Stop her, Dad!” she yelled. “Stop her!”
“Stop who?” her father asked, genuinely puzzled.
“There! Can’t you see her?”
“I can’t see anyone apart from the pair of you,” her father answered, reaching the landing and turning to peer down the stairs. “What’s going on? Who did you see?”
“Chill, Clara! She’s gone now,” Neil said, his eyes alight with excitement. “Straight through the front door like a bat out of hell!”
As the front door, a massive piece of solid oak, was firmly shut, his father raised his eyebrows. “What went through the door like a bat out of hell?”
“You’ll never believe it, Dad,” Clara said, shivering suddenly as she gripped the banister tightly, “but it was a witch! A horrible, nasty, evil-looking witch!”
4. Witch Watch
“A witch?” her mother said, hugging her hard. “Here, in the house?” Meeting her husband’s eyes in sudden understanding, she looked thoughtful. “I wonder if that’s what’s been going on!”
Neil’s head jerked. “If what’s been going on, Mum?” he queried.
“Come down to the kitchen and I’ll tell you while I get dinner ready,” his mother said, looking searchingly at Clara. “It’s given you a shock, hasn’t it?”
“It has a bit,” Clara admitted. “She was awful-looking.”
“Was she a Snow Witch?” Neil asked as they went into the kitchen and slid along the bench seat that ran along one side of the table.
Clara shook her head, remembering the Snow Witches that had captured her in Argyle. “The Snow Witches were beautiful,” she said, “but this one was a proper witch, dressed in black with a sort of squidgy pointed hat and a hooked nose.”
“Tell us what happened, Clara,” her dad said quietly, drawing a chair up, “from the very beginning. You ran upstairs with Neil … now go on from there.”
“Well, we both went into our own rooms,” Clara began. “Mine’s lovely, by the way. I really like it …”
“And …” her father said encouragingly.
“I heard Neil opening cupboards and stuff so I thought I’d grab the carpet samples first. I sat on my bed and was turning them over, one by one, on the ring thing when … when this witch walked into my room. Cool as you please as though she owned the place! I gave a bit of a jerk and the samples fell off the bed and while I faffed around picking them up, I decided to pretend I couldn’t see her. I sat on my bed again, got the samples organized and kept turning them over, matching them up to the duvet cover. And all the time, the witch sat in the chair by the window watching me. That’s all she did. Sat and stared. She didn’t have a clue that I could see her.”
“What happened next?” her mother asked anxiously.
“Well, I thought she might get fed up and leave so I looked up and gazed straight at her. And then she suddenly realized that I was watching her. Honestly, it was almost funny! She sort of sat up and stared. She knew by my eyes that I could see her.” Clara almost smiled. “Her mouth dropped open and she looked …”
“Totally gobsmacked!” grinned Neil.
“Yes, I suppose so. And then she went all fierce and evil and I thought she was going to hex me. That’s when I screamed and she buzzed off.”
Janet MacLean looked worriedly at her husband but Neil and Clara eyed one another excitedly. Witches! Life in the country was certainly looking up!
Just then the telephone rang. John picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said. “Hello? Oh, it’s you, Jimmy. Hi.”
As he talked, Mrs MacLean turned to Neil and Clara and in a low voice, told them what had been happening in the house while they had been in Edinburgh.
“So now you think your ghosts might be witches?” Neil asked doubtfully.
“It seems more than likely,” his mother reasoned. “After all, Clara said that the witch walked into her bedroom as though she owned the place.” She shook her head worriedly. “It looks as though the house has been more or less a den of witches ever since Muriel died! They feel at home here, for goodness sake!”
Clara nodded, looking around the room, feeling excited and scared at the same time.
“There aren’t any witches in the room just now,” her mother said grimly. “I know the feel of them when they’re around only too well. They’ve been keeping me company all week!”
John MacLean finished his telephone conversation and, replacing the receiver, turned round with a strange look on his face.
“What’s up, Dad?” Neil asked.
“That was Jimmy MacFarlane on the phone,” his father answered. “Apparently, some jokers have been making crop circles in the fields round about his farm and he asked me if I’d mind staying out all night with him and his men. They want to catch the people who are making them and as there’s a lot of ground to cover, they need to rope in everyone they can to help.”
“Crop circles,” Clara queried, “in Scotland?”
“I’ve heard about them down south but not here,” Mrs MacLean agreed.
“He really wants to nab them,” her husband continued. “He’s had a few fields done already and can’t afford to lose another crop.”
“Well,” Janet advised, “if you’re going to be scrabbling about in cornfields in the middle of the night, you’d better look out some old gear.”
“Can I come as well, Dad?” Neil asked excitedly.
“He’d be another pair of eyes,” his mother nodded her agreement.
John MacLean didn’t answer immediately, however.
>
“There’s something else, Dad, isn’t there?” Clara said shrewdly. “I can tell by your face.”
Mrs MacLean looked at her husband in surprise. “What on earth’s the matter, John?” she asked. “Why shouldn’t Neil go with you? He’s old enough now.”
“It’s the crop circles,” he replied. “Apparently, some reporters from The Berwickshire News went out to the farm to write an article about them and, of course, took photographs and …”
“Well?” asked Neil.
“When they examined them it turned out that they were nothing like the crop circles you get in England. These are made up of pentagrams and other magic symbols. They seem to suspect witchcraft …”
“Witches again …” Clara’s mouth went dry but her eyes gleamed excitedly.
Her mother, however, looked at her husband in dismay. More witches!
“Right, Dad,” Neil said determinedly. “I’m definitely coming with you tonight and I’m going to wear my firestone.”
“I’ll lend you mine, Dad,” Clara offered immediately, her hands rising to unclasp the thin chain that held her firestone. “If there are witches around then you’ll want to be able to see them.”
As she fastened the firestone round her father’s neck, Neil moved over to the window and stared outside. Clara’s witch must be long gone, he thought, but still he scanned the sky, hoping to see the black shape of a witch on a broomstick.
Minutes later, Clara moved up behind him, knowing what he was looking for. “Can you see anything?” she asked hopefully.
Neil shook his head. “Not a thing,” he answered.
“We could go outside and poke around a bit,” suggested Clara. “After all, my witch must have been pretty close to the house to come wandering in like that.”
“You haven’t got your firestone on, though,” he objected.
“Never mind,” she said as they headed for the front door, “you can tell me if you see anything.”
A strong wind tugged at Clara’s hair as they left the house, making her wish that she’d worn a jacket but, despite the cold, they walked together down to the clump of trees that bordered the little stream that ran through a corner of the garden.