by Anne Forbes
Let their wisdom rule your choice
“That’s it finished,” he said, getting up and handing her the paper as the classroom started to fill with sixth formers.
“Right, that’s fine,” she said, glancing at it briefly before folding the sheet in half and slipping it inside a book of poems. “I’m afraid it’ll be break before I have a chance to look at it,” she apologized. “As you see, I have a class now.”
Although Neil tried to hide his disappointment, his face fell noticeably.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’ll catch up with you later on in the day. Promise!”
“I’ve got rugby practice after lunch,” Neil said, suddenly wishing that all his classes had been in the main building that afternoon.
“I’ll find you,” she said, seeing his worried look.
“And you won’t tell anyone, will you?” he whispered. “It’s a secret …”
“My lips are sealed,” she assured him seriously. And her eyes were kind.
Herr von Grozny raised his eyebrows as Neil knocked on the door and entered the classroom with a muttered apology.
“Where were you, Neil, to be so late?” he queried in German. “The rest of the class managed to arrive in good time.”
“I was with …”
“In German, please!” Von Grozny’s tone was haughty.
Neil took a deep breath and marshalled his thoughts. “I had a question to ask Mrs Weston and it took longer than I thought.” He looked doubtfully at von Grozny, almost sure that he’d made a horrendous mistake with his endings somewhere along the line. The icy blue eyes should have frozen him solid but, for an instant, he thought he caught more than a flicker of amusement in his glance.
“Very well, Neil. Sit down and get your book out. We are on page 175, the perfect tense.”
Neil slipped into his seat and made a face at George as he rummaged through his bag for his German grammar. It wasn’t there. His heart sank. He’d left it in his room, hadn’t he? Blast, it had probably slipped down the side of his bed and he just hadn’t noticed.
“We are waiting for you, Neil …” von Grozny’s was smooth and unhurried, almost as if he knew the book wasn’t there.
“Sir, I …” Neil rummaged some more.
“In German, please.”
“I’m very sorry, Herr von Grozny, but I was …” he gulped, “I was learning my verbs in bed last night and I think I must have fallen asleep and … and …”
Von Grozny sighed. “Are you trying to tell me that your German grammar book is in your bed?” he said gravely.
Neil nodded, his face red with embarrassment. The class, however, seeing von Grozny’s lips twitch in amusement, burst out laughing.
“Since you have already wasted so much time, I suggest you share George’s book,” von Grozny said as the laughter died away, “but first we’ll see how much you remember, shall we?”
Neil eyed him apprehensively. He wasn’t really worried as he’d been studying hard. The man demanded high standards and Neil felt he would rather die than fall short of them. Indeed, he was beginning to have serious doubts at his assertion that von Grozny was using magic to teach him.
“Now, Neil,” von Grozny began. The questioning went on for some time until some of the class shifted uncomfortably, feeling that the inquisition had gone on long enough. Von Grozny took no notice and by the time he had finished, Neil felt totally washed out. Nevertheless, he’d only made two mistakes and felt that he hadn’t done at all badly.
“So,” von Grozny nodded thoughtfully, ‘very well done, Neil. You look like becoming our star pupil. Didn’t you tell me that you hadn’t studied German before you came to the school?”
“I did French in Edinburgh, Sir,” Neil answered readily enough.
“You obviously have a flair for languages, Neil. Three house points.”
There was a gasp from the rest of the class. To get one house point out of the German master was an achievement. Three was unheard of.
The rest of lesson proceeded as normal and it was as they filed out that George whispered. “You did really well out of that!”
Neil flushed and was about to answer angrily when George looked at his face and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t be daft,” he said. “I’m not talking about the house points. You deserved them. It’s just that if anyone else had forgotten their German grammar he’d have really blasted them, you know he would!”
“Maybe he knows that I like the language,” Neil said doubtfully. “I don’t know what it is about German, I just like it. More than I did French.”
“I wish I did,” George answered enviously. “I’m useless. I always forget to put the verb at the end of the sentence.”
Herr von Grozny sat back in his chair as the class filed out and tapped a pencil thoughtfully on the wood of his desk. He knew perfectly well that it had been Neil and Clara that he’d nearly caught in the library. He’d picked up their scent immediately and wondered idly if they knew he’d guessed their identity. Lady Merial’s niece and nephew. That had been a real eye-opener. He’d picked up the gossip in the staff room almost by accident.
Should he patrol the corridors again that night? He pursed his lips and sighed inwardly for so far his searches of the school and the surrounding countryside had yielded nothing and his master, too, was becoming steadily more and more irritated at his lack of progress. Indeed, the increasingly angry exchanges through the crystal made him wish that he’d never mentioned the two children for, although he’d kept a wary eye on the staircases that led to the towers, neither of them had ventured out in the dark to explore the school since. He’d have picked up their scent otherwise. And Neil had, indeed, been telling the truth when he’d said he’d spent the night learning his verbs. He sighed. Maybe he was attaching too much importance to them but the fact remained that they both wore magic rings and must, like the witches, be looking for the talisman.
He saw her coming towards him as he left the Rugby pitch, totally knackered, spattered with mud but over the moon, nevertheless, as he’d scored a try.
“Great game, Neil!”
“Well done, Neil!”
He grinned and waved his thanks as his mates who, seeing Mrs Weston approach with the obvious intention of collaring him, sloped off towards the changing rooms.
Neil’s heart jumped as he saw that Mrs Weston, clutching her coat to her in the biting wind, had a beaming smile on her face. She’s solved it, he thought. By golly, she’s solved it!
“You know the answer, don’t you,” he said eagerly, running towards her.
“Yes, I do,” she laughed. “It was very easy really!”
“Easy!” Neil said. “Clara and I and my mum and dad have been trying to work it out for weeks now!”
“You should have brought it to me whenever you started at Netherfield,” she said. “Muriel would know that I’d get the answer right away.”
“What is the answer then?” Neil asked, shivering in the cold.
“The answer is ‘Black Bull’.”
“A black bull?” Neil repeated, thinking the wind had blown her words away and he hadn’t heard her properly.
“Yes,” she nodded, pulling the paper from her pocket and showing him it. “Look!”
“I don’t understand at all,” his eyes mirrored his disbelief. “How do you get a black bull out of that?”
“Not a black bull, Neil. Just two words — Black Bull.” She smiled at him. “You’re obviously not a puzzle-solver. It’s quite easy, really! Look, the first letter of each word reading downwards make up the words.”
A gust of wind almost tore the paper from Mrs Weston’s hands as she said this but she clung on to it and held it steady. The words positively jumped out at Neil as he read down the line. “Black Bull,” he read. “How … how didn’t I see that before,” he gasped, looking up at her in amazement. “I can’t believe I missed it!”
“Have you been there yet?” she asked.
“Been where?” h
e queried.
“Why, to the Black Bull, of course,” she answered with a smile, seeing his blank look.
“I’ve … I’ve never even heard of it!”
She frowned and then her face cleared. “Of course,” she said, “I’d quite forgotten that you haven’t lived here for all that long. I … well, I thought Muriel might have taken you there when you visited her. Your mum and dad will know it. They do an excellent lunch.”
“So Mum and Dad will know where it is?”
“Bound to, I should think. It’s a very old inn,” she explained, “in a village called Etal — not all that far away, as the crow flies, really, just a few miles.”
“So … so the Black Bull is actually a place …?” Neil’s heart lifted. “For a few minutes I thought I was going to have to go round the countryside looking for black bulls!”
Mrs Weston shook her head. “Etal is well worth a visit,” she smiled. “It’s very, very old, you know. You’ll like it. There’s an ancient castle in the middle of the village and the Black Bull’s been around for centuries! It has a thatched roof and,” she paused, eyeing him with a smile and dropping her voice to whisper softly in his ear, “there’s an old fireplace in the bar.”
The Wind Witch who had been hovering round them, frowned in annoyance. Try as she might, she hadn’t caught that last bit of the conversation but maybe it wasn’t so important. What she’d already heard was enough to set her pulses racing. Indeed, she was almost falling off her broomstick in excitement at what she’d just heard. Just wait until she told Wanda! Quivering with excitement, she pulled up the handle of her broomstick and soared towards the clouds.
It was as she had thought. At the mention of what she’d discovered, she had her mistress’s undivided attention. Indeed, at first, Wanda, Queen of the Wind Witches, could hardly believe her ears. A human child holding the secret to the talisman! It was unheard of! “Are you sure?” she said, sitting up straight, her eyes sharp with interest.
The wind witch bowed low. This was her moment of triumph! “The teacher mentioned Muriel, Majesty,” she said, “and I remembered that was Merial’s name in the human world. I think the boy must be her nephew. I saw him in the garden at Craiglaw House when we were searching in the trees.”
Wanda nodded impatiently. “And?”
“His name is Neil. That’s what the teacher called him. Then she gave him the answer to a riddle.”
“A riddle?” the queen repeated.
“That’s what she called it. I tried to grab the paper out of her hand but I wasn’t quick enough. She was holding on to it too tightly.”
“But you read it?” the Queen asked anxiously.
“Of course, I read it, Majesty. I can’t remember it word for word but it mentioned the talisman and the Lords of Morven.”
“The Lords of Morven,” Wanda sat back in the cushioned folds of her cloud-like throne and felt a stab of worry. One didn’t meddle in the affairs of powerful magicians without good cause. But then, as far as she was concerned, the talisman was the best of causes. She brought her mind back swiftly to the present. “What was the answer to the riddle? Did you hear that?”
“I did, Majesty. The answer is Black Bull,” the witch replied and, seeing her mistress’s puzzled frown, added. “The boy didn’t know what it meant either until she told him. It’s the old inn at Etal. The Black Bull.”
The queen rose gracefully from her throne, her grey silk robes falling in elegant folds round her feet. Her eyes shone with elation. “You have done very well, Janetta,” she smiled, “very well, indeed. But you must tell no one about this.” Her expression changed suddenly as she thought of what would happen should the Snow Witches get to hear of this boy; or the Earth Witches for that matter. “It must be our secret, do you understand?”
“I will tell no one, Majesty!” Janetta replied, reading the threat in the queen’s glance.
“We will go to Etal tomorrow,” the queen mused, already dreaming of the power the talisman would give her, “and you, Janetta, will be my second in command.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Janetta curtseyed, her eyes shining with excitement.
The Queen smiled. “After all,” she pointed out, “you are the only one who knows what this boy, Neil, looks like.”
17. Halloween Horror
“Better bring the umbrellas in as well while you’re out there, Bert,” Christine called out after him as a gust of wind swept in through the open door of the Black Bull, bringing with it a rustling scatter of dead leaves that lay in shades of brown, yellow and scarlet over the polished floorboards.
“Right,” he said, closing the door behind him with an effort. The wind, however, was so strong that it jerked the handle from his hand and once more the door flew open letting in yet more streams of autumn leaves. With a gale like this blowing, he thought, finally managing to shut it, the trees would be stripped bare in no time and it was so cold that he doubted if anyone would be sitting outside to eat any time soon. Halloween or no Halloween, Christine was right. It was definitely time to put the outside furniture into store, umbrellas and all.
Inside the Black Bull, Christine listened to the howl of the wind and shivered suddenly. It was a dull, grey day and without the sun, the inside of the bar had become dark and strangely oppressive. She tried to shrug the feeling off but the underlying malevolence lingered in the air and frightened her considerably although she was loath to admit it.
There was also the uncanny feeling that she was being watched. She looked round nervously. Was there an intruder? She could see no one. Surely, she thought doubtfully, surely it wasn’t her witches who were watching her … for hanging here, there and everywhere, all over the bar and the dining area, was her collection of witches. They were her pride and joy. Some she’d bought herself but over the years, most of the others had been given to her as gifts. Indeed, it was amazing how the number had grown — for now at least thirty witches of all shapes and sizes decorated the bar.
Sitting astride a variety of broomsticks, they were beautifully dressed, their black cloaks stiffened with wire so that they flew out behind them. Some were young and reasonably pretty as witches go, with frothy petticoats and gaily striped stockings relieving the gloom of their outfits but most were repulsive old hags dressed in black with hooked plaster noses, pointed chins and droopy pointed hats.
Christine bit her lip for, witches apart, the place actually looked frighteningly ghoulish. She’d put a lot of work into the Halloween decorations and what with grinning pumpkins, green-eyed black cats and flapping, white ghosts, the room looked … really creepy. Maybe, she thought, maybe they’d gone just a bit over the top with the decorations …
“Christine!” She heard the chef’s voice with an overwhelming sense of relief and turned thankfully to the warmth and brightness of the kitchen, anxious to leave her fears behind.
It was the mirror that hung at the side of the kitchen door that gave them away and, for an instant, her heart stopped beating — for the minute she turned her back on them, they started moving. Her witches! They were real and alive, their cloaks swirling, their eyes gleaming nastily and their frowning, painted faces, masks of evil.
She swung round and they immediately froze. Her eyes strayed to the front door. It was closed. Bert had shut it and there was no draught. Being a down-to-earth, sensible woman, however, she clung obstinately to reason. It was ridiculous, she told herself frantically, how could the witches move?
She looked at her favourite witch, a really wicked-looking old hag with gorgeously made clothes that hung at the end of the bar and its eyes met hers with an evil malevolence that sent her stepping backwards with a cry of fear.
“You all right, Christine?” queried the chef, grabbing her arm. “You nearly tripped on the step, there.”
“It’s the witches,” she whispered, her face as white as a sheet. “I thought … I thought for a moment that they were … alive.”
Chef gave her a funny look. If he hadn’t known t
hat Christine didn’t drink, he’d have sworn she’d been at the brandy. “Don’t be daft,” he said, sounding irritated. He’d just found out that they needed green coriander for the curry, which meant a trip into Berwick and he wasn’t, therefore, in the best of tempers. “Now,” he said, propelling her briskly back into the bar, “what’s the problem?”
She couldn’t believe it. The bar was totally normal, the awful atmosphere had gone and her witches hung innocently on their invisible strings; just as they’d always done. Relief swept through her. “Thanks,” she sniffed, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose loudly, “I can’t think what got into me!”
“You don’t fancy a trip into Berwick, do you?” he asked hopefully. “We’ve run out of green coriander and there are a few other things I could stock up on …”
“No problem,” Christine seized on the chance to get out of the bar and, remembering a sweater she’d seen in a shop in Marygate the previous week, decided that a bit of retail therapy was decidedly in order. “Make me a list and I’ll get my bag,” she said, feeling a million times more cheerful.
Chef stood in the bar as she went to get her coat and handbag. He didn’t share his employer’s passion for plaster witches any more than her husband did. “Bleedin’ witches!” he said aloud as he turned back to the kitchen.
Then he stopped dead and very slowly turned to look again at the witch that hung near the till; a rather dashing young witch that sported a frothy white petticoat under her striped dress. The witch looked blandly back at him with just a touch of amusement in her black eyes. He swallowed. Just another plaster witch or … was it? Now he was at it, he thought wildly, returning to the kitchen … imagining things …
Nevertheless, as he picked up a meat cleaver and proceeded to attack an inoffensive joint with unaccustomed vigour, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been mistaken — for as he’d turned, he could have sworn that the witch had winked at him.
18. All Hallow’s Eve