by Kaye Umansky
The screech cut off. Quickly and efficiently, one by one, the flashing lights winked out. Only the little red one remained. The black clouds of smoke cleared away, leaving only the dainty little wisp of mist drifting about inside the Crystal.
Amazingly, unbelievably, despite all that abuse and mishandling – the Ballmaster Mark Six was working!
‘See?’ said Mrs Eckles triumphantly. ‘I knew I’d get the better of it in the end. Not a bad picture actually.’
‘What do you see?’ asked Bernard faintly.
‘Got a close-up of inside the basket. Good quality wicker, I must say. Ssshh, stay quiet now, I don’t want no interruptions. Clover? Are you there? Pick up, will you? It’s me. I’ve got through!’
Inside the Crystal, the ghostly twist vanished. There was a dizzying, flickering effect – and suddenly Clover’s face swam into view. She looked pale, Mrs Eckles thought. Pale and tired. Not herself, by any means.
‘There you are!’ said Mrs Eckles. ‘Sorry I took so long. Coupla technical hitches – you can blame Bernard. I got news. I just had a visit from –’
‘Mrs Eckles,’ interrupted Clover, speaking urgently under her breath. ‘Listen. We’re in trouble.’
‘What sort o’ trouble?’
‘I’m turning the mirror round. See for yourself.’
There was another confused effect as a hundred images flashed by, then settled.
A strange scene met Mrs Eckles’ eyes. Several figures were gathered on a long, straight Path that cut between too-green trees. She knew Wilf, of course, but there were two others she didn’t recognise – a small boy in a filthy clown suit and a girl in riding breeches, who appeared to be feeding apples to an unusually calm but all too familiar horse.
And there was someone else. Someone who didn’t look calm at all. Someone who was striding up and down in a pair of unsuitable purple high heels, waving her arms around, talking animatedly.
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Eckles slowly. ‘Right. This I wasn’t expectin’. Bernard! Emergency overdrive!’
‘What? I can’t do that – you know I can’t do that! This is an old cottage. It has to be handled careful—’
‘Emergency overdrive! Now!’
Back on the Path, Mesmeranza was really getting into her stride.
‘. . . make it rain snakes, turn the footmen into giant lizards, cause a plague of flying cockroaches, anything I like. Once I get my hands on that Book. Mislaying the bait has complicated matters somewhat, but a slight glitch in my Plan isn’t –’ She broke off. ‘What are you doing with that mirror?’
‘Nothing,’ said Clover. She smoothed her hair and slipped the mirror back in her basket. ‘Just bored, that’s all. Bored of hearing you talk. All you ever do is prance about talking and threatening people. You think it’s all about you, but it isn’t. I’m sick of listening.’
‘Insolent girl!’ hissed Mesmeranza. ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ From beneath her cloak, she produced a thin black stick. ‘Remember this? Grandmother’s Wand! All charged up and ready to go. Remember what it’s like to be on the receiving end? You’ll recall it packs quite a punch.’
‘I thought your grandmother took it back,’ said Wilf. ‘I distinctly remember her taking it off you and going back to the Twilight Home with it.’
‘Yes, well, now it’s mine again. Don’t move, any of you! I’m just debating what to do. Turn you into pillars of stone or zap you into next week. Each has a certain charm.’
‘Excuse me?’ said Philip Tidden suddenly and unexpectedly. ‘Is that a joke Wand?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Your Wand. Is it made of rubber?’
‘Rubber?’
‘It’s just that in Clown College, all weapons are made of rubber. Could I take a look?’
‘Stand back!’ ordered Mesmeranza as Philip Tidden moved towards her, hands in his pockets. ‘Not another step!’
‘All right,’ said Philip Tidden. ‘Watch this, Wilf. I think I’ve got the knack now.’
Whooosh!
A thin jet of foul-smelling water shot from the centre of his bow tie and squirted Mesmeranza in the left eye. At exactly the same time, Wilf ran forward, stepped to the side and swiped at the back of her knees with his stick. Simultaneously, a perfectly aimed apple came whizzing through the air and connected sharply with her ear. Mesmeranza gave a little scream, clawed at her eye, clutched at her head and buckled at the knees, dropping the Wand, which fell under a bush.
‘Get it, Clover!’ shouted Wilf.
Clover dropped her basket, made a dive for the bush and snatched up the Wand. Instantly, an unpleasant buzzing sensation crackled up her arm. At the same time, Mesmeranza rolled over, shot out an arm and seized her by the wrist. Long red talons dug in. Clover gave a sharp cry of pain, her fingers loosened and the Wand once again fell in the dirt. Snarling, Mesmeranza kicked out with a high-heeled shoe, catching Clover in the stomach. Clover reeled back, winded. Mesmeranza reached for the fallen Wand . . .
And then something else happened. Once again, there was the sound of breaking branches overhead, followed by an almighty, earth-shattering thump from behind! The ground shook violently. Cracks appeared at their feet. Everyone whirled round, fearing the worst.
There, sitting right across the Path, was the flying cottage. It sat in a great cloud of swirling dust, surrounded by fallen trees and broken glass from the shattered windows.
As if that wasn’t dramatic enough, there came the sound of shouting voices, and from out of the trees poured . . .
‘The gardeners!’ gasped Verruca. ‘It’s the gardeners come to get me!’
It was. A whole posse of them, armed with rakes and shovels. They all wore flat caps and rolled-up trousers, and were shaking their fists!
g
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The back door of the cottage burst open, and Mrs Eckles appeared in the doorway.
‘Quick!’ she shouted. ‘Over the threshold! Now!’
Nobody needed telling twice. All four friends reached for each other’s hands and raced for the open door.
‘In! In!’ squawked Mrs Eckles as they fell into the kitchen. ‘Back away from the door! I’ll deal with this.’ And she folded her arms and stood waiting in the doorway.
Mesmeranza stood, Wand in hand. Shaking with fury, she strode towards the cottage, green eyes blazing. But she stopped well short of the threshold.
The gardeners stopped shouting and fist-waving. This was clearly witch business. They stood around uncertainly, scratching their heads.
‘You again!’ snapped Mrs Eckles. ‘I thought I’d seen the last of you, but here you are, turnin’ up like a bad penny, givin’ everyone a loada grief! I suppose you’re after somethin’, as usual. What is it this time?’
‘She’s planning to kidnap Herby!’ piped up Wilf helpfully. ‘Something about some old book. She’s trying to make Clover steal it for her.’
‘Silence, boy!’ rasped Mesmeranza. ‘Nobody asked you to speak. This is between me and my sister.’
‘You’re dead right it is,’ snapped Mrs Eckles. ‘Time you picked on someone yer own size. And if by book you’re referrin’ to that old book of wicked spells that Grandmother put under the loose slab, you’re wastin’ your time. That’s long gone. I burnt it.’
‘What?’ Mesmeranza’s jaw dropped.
‘You heard. There’s enough bad stuff already in the world without that fallin’ into the wrong hands. By which I mean yours.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘Nope, it’s the truth. But I ain’t standin’ here arguin’ the toss with you. I need to get these kids ’ome. Looks like they’ve ’ad a rough time of it. By the way, I’ll be mentionin’ to Grandmother that you nicked ’er Wand. I expect you’ll be hearin’ from ’er. Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.�
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And with that, Mrs Eckles slammed the door. From outside came a scream of rage, followed by a whoosh as a stream of green light arced from the tip of the Wand and thumped harmlessly into the woods. The gardeners dropped their rakes and shovels and dived for the bushes.
‘Don’t worry, the Protection Spells’ll cope,’ said Mrs Eckles calmly. ‘Right, Bernard, take ’er up, at the double.’
‘Wait!’ shouted Clover. ‘What about Herby? We haven’t found him – he’s still on the Path!’
‘No, he ain’t,’ said Mrs Eckles. ‘He’s back ’ome with yer ma, safe and sound.’
Clover, Wilf, Philip Tidden and Verruca stared at her in disbelief.
‘What?’
‘Yep. It was your grampy told me, Wilf. Came hammering on my door with the news early this morning. Seems Herby was never on the Path to start with.’
‘But you said . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know I did. Thought I saw ’im on the bridge, but I must have been mistaken. Seems the pedlar and Tilly Adams found ’im in the woods, cryin’ and shiverin’ in ’is undershirt. They was on their way back from their weddin’, all set to make peace with Tilly’s pa. Gave ’im a lift ’ome on the cart.’
‘So what you’re saying is,’ said Wilf slowly, ‘we went through all that for nothing?’
‘’Fraid so. Still. No bones broken, eh? And you made a couple o’ new friends. And you survived the Perilous Path – not many can say that. Now, let’s get off it, before I starts turnin’ nasty. Hold on tight, we’re goin’ up!’
Over in the cupboard, Bernard blew on the bubble – and the cottage went up!
Afterword
That would be a good place to end, don’t you think? After all, what could be a better ending than a magic cottage flying dramatically to the rescue just when everything seems lost?
But there are a few things you will want to know, and who can blame you? Let’s tie up some loose ends and see if it all worked out neatly.
THE JOURNEY
If you want to know about the journey home, it went smoothly. It took a while, because Bernard was still a bit shaky from taking the cottage into overdrive and couldn’t cope with more speeding. Philip Tidden and Verruca were terribly excited, running from window to window, because flying was all new to them. Wilf just stood groaning with his back to the wall and suffered from vertigo, as usual. Clover found the broom and swept up the pieces of shattered cup that Mrs Eckles had thrown at the wall, then made everyone a cup of tea. Mrs Eckles complained that it wasn’t sweet enough. They all talked a lot, of course. There was a lot of filling in of gaps to do.
GOODBYE TO NEW FRIENDS
How did Philip Tidden and Verruca get home? Easily. The cottage dropped them off – first Verruca, then Philip Tidden. As expected, Verruca lived in a grand house with enormous grounds. The cottage swooped down and hovered just over the lawn. She clapped Wilf on the back, gave Philip Tidden a cheery thumbs up, hugged Clover, and said, ‘I’ll write. Absolutely.’
‘Will he make you go back? Your pops?’ asked Clover.
‘Not a chance. I can twist him round my little finger,’ said Verruca, and hopped down. The last they saw of her was a tiny figure, jauntily waving before making for the stables.
Philip Tidden’s house turned out to be a small, dull bungalow in a small, dull town. The lace curtains were firmly drawn, but Philip Tidden said his mother and father would be in for the simple reason that they never went out. The minute garden was too small for the cottage to land, so he had to climb down a tree. He managed quite nimbly, though. Everyone agreed that he had grown greatly in confidence. The last they saw of him, he was checking the angle of his tie and filling his pocket bulb from the water feature before going in to bring lasting fun and happiness to his parents. He promised to write too, and I think he will.
THREATS AND GROVELLING
You may want to know what Mrs Eckles whispered to the Ballmaster Mark Six. Well, that’s really a witch secret – although the words ‘throw’ and ‘deep well’ and ‘for ever’ might give you a clue. She took it back to Granny Dismal the next day, with a humble air and a bunch of scarlet peonies from the garden. She said words like ‘can’t thank you enough’ and ‘really, REALLY sorry’ and ‘worked perfectly, wonderful gadget’ and ‘eternally grateful’. Granny Dismal looked it over and couldn’t find a single scratch. It seemed in perfect working order too. Even faster, if anything. Grudgingly, she accepted the apologies and said words like ‘understand it was an emergency’ and ‘glad it all turned out all right’ and even ‘suppose you can borrow it again, if you must’. Mrs Eckles’ reply to that included the words ‘very kind’, followed hastily by ‘but’, ‘no’ and ‘thanks’. They parted with promises to meet up at the next Light Buffet Supper, but neither of them meant it. Granny Dismal waited until Mrs Eckles had gone before slinging the flowers in the compost because they weren’t grey.
WHAT OF MESMERANZA?
Of course, you will want to find out what happened to Mesmeranza, who we left in a right old tizzy, firing off useless lightning bolts on the Perilous Path, her Plan finally in ruins. All I know is that she hasn’t arrived back at the castle, so she’s probably still there. As we know, the Path has a bad effect on witches, so who knows what she will be like on her return? If she does return, that is.
At any rate, Booboo came flying home without her, in a strangely good humour for once, smelling strongly of apples. Miss Fly is in no hurry to make enquiries about her boss’s whereabouts and is making the most of the time off. Things are a lot more relaxed around the place and she is able to give her full attention to the cats.
GOLD
Did Humperdump Chunk get his bag of gold? No. That would be ridiculous. A whole bag of gold, just for giving a few directions? I don’t think so. When he tried reminding Miss Fly, she explained that she never actually promised him gold, just asked him what he thought of it, which is a different thing altogether. Rather sly for Miss Fly, but let’s face it, he didn’t deserve it. At least he now knows for sure that she doesn’t love him. He can move on.
What about Hybrow Hunter and his brothers? Did they get away with the gold? Did they spend it all on riotous living, with chicken drumsticks and jugs of ale served by rosy-cheeked maidens? No. They bought their old mother a house and did it up a treat. The rest was invested in a logging company which is doing very well. They seem to have turned over a new leaf, so that’s good.
HERBY, WILF AND CLOVER
And Little Herby? He is absolutely fine. In fact, let’s find out for ourselves. Mrs Eckles has given Clover an extra day off to spend at home, which is only fair. Unlike Wilf. Not only didn’t he get a day’s leave, he got a ticking off from Old Trowzer about Mrs Pluck’s missing loaf, which seems unfair, but there you go. After only two hours’ sleep, he has reluctantly set out to deliver a replacement, but has called in to see Clover on the way. Tell you what, let’s pop in on them for one last time.
IN THE TWIGS’ GARDEN
‘You’d never think he’d been mugged by a Goblin, would you?’ said Wilf to Clover. ‘Not to look at him.’
They both stood in the garden, staring at Little Herby. He wore his spare cut-down flour sack, which didn’t have a pocket, and was happily handing nails to Pa, who was fixing the garden gate. His newly washed red hat was on his head, and he was tunelessly singing a song about a chicken. Pa’s back didn’t seem to be too bad. He was swigging from a mug of tea, even joining in the chorus.
‘He’s fine,’ agreed Clover. ‘Hasn’t even mentioned it. Seems to have taken it all in his stride. He was more excited about getting a lift home on the pedlar’s cart. He got more free chalk and a squeaker. Does nothing but scribble and squeak all day. He hasn’t mentioned his comfort rag either. I don’t know where that went.’
‘I reckon there’s a lot of things we’ll never kno
w about his little adventures.’
‘It’s my guess the Goblin came on him just before he started up the Path,’ said Clover. ‘Took his clothes and stuff and left him crying. And then the pedlar found him. Mrs Eckles thought she saw him crossing the bridge, but it must have been the goblin.’
‘So much for her second sight,’ said Wilf.
‘Well, to be fair, she only caught a glimpse. I can’t believe we were following a false trail all that time.’
‘I can’t believe we were only away for a night,’ said Wilf. ‘It seemed to take for ever on the Path.’
‘So many Perils in so short a time,’ agreed Clover. ‘It doesn’t seem possible. Were there seven? I keep trying to work it out.’
‘Who cares?’ said Wilf. ‘It’s all over now. And we won, didn’t we?’
‘Yes,’ said Clover. ‘We did. We won.’
And they looked at each other and grinned.
I think we’ll leave them there, before Wilf drops the loaf in the dirt again and spoils it all.
And that really is the end. Except –
ONE LAST THING
You may want to know if Clover ate that last sweet. Remember? The blue one rolling around in the bottom of her basket?
Sadly, no. When she looked for it, it was gone. Maybe somebody took it, or maybe she just lost it. Of course, she’s far too sensible to mind that much. It was only a sweet. But when she lies down at night in her little attic room at Mrs Eckles’ cottage, she likes to imagine how it might have tasted.