Witch for a Week

by Kaye Umansky

  ‘What was that about?’ Elsie asked Corbett as she returned again to the kitchen.

  ‘She’s got a crush on the woodcutter,’ said Corbett. He gave a little smirk. ‘Wants a love potion, but we’re waiting for the ingredients to arrive. Takes time to arrive, time to make, time to ferment. You can’t hurry love. That’s a line from a song.’

  ‘Corbett,’ said Elsie, ‘you really know a lot, don’t you?’ (Customer Service Rule Ten: Use Flattery. When people feel good about themselves, they buy more.)

  ‘Well,’ said Corbett, puffing out his chest, ‘I do have years of useful knowledge. You could call it a bird’s-eye view.’

  ‘Exactly. I can learn a lot from you.’ Elsie unhooked the bunch of keys. ‘I bet you know this tower like the back of your hand. I mean wing. How do you fancy showing me round?’

  ‘Well, it’s getting close to my lunchtime . . .’

  ‘You would be doing me an enormous favour. Just a lightning tour.’

  ‘W-e-l-l . . .’

  ‘Oh, thank you! You’re a real darling! Where shall we start – top or bottom? You choose.’

  Grumpy ravens are no different to difficult customers, Elsie thought to herself with a smile.

  Chapter Seven

  EXPLORING THE TOWER

  They began at the top. Elsie stepped through a small door into a breezy world of green treetops and blue sky. Above, the red flag fluttered on its pole. Sticking out over the parapet was a long brass tube mounted on a tripod.

  ‘That’s the Spelloscope,’ said Corbett, who was sitting on her shoulder. ‘It’s like a telescope, but with added functions.’ His claws were digging into her a bit, but Elsie didn’t want to complain now she was winning him over.

  She stooped and applied one eye to the tube.

  Corbett snatched a passing bug out of the air, swallowed and choked a bit. ‘Ugh. That’s one to avoid. What do you see?’

  ‘Treetops and sky.’

  ‘If you press the red button on the side it turns the magic on; then it’ll home in on anyone you like. Just say their name.’

  ‘What, this one?’ Elsie put her finger on the red button.

  ‘Not now!’ Corbett held up a warning claw. ‘Save it for later. Once you start, it’s hard to stop. Let’s keep moving. Lousy bugs up here.’

  They descended the winding stone steps to the next level, where there was a red-painted door with a round brass knob.

  ‘The office,’ said Corbett. ‘Shocking tip, since Magenta started Sharp Spells on Tap. You need the key with the red ribbon.’

  Elsie inserted the key in the lock. The door swung open with a squeal.

  Corbett was right about the state of the room. It looked like a garage sale. Sagging shelves lined the walls, bearing hundreds of books. A lot of them were jammed in upside down and backward. Quite a few had fallen to the floor. A lopsided pegboard was plastered with yellowing scraps of paper bearing faded addresses, letters of complaint and lists of things to do.

  Almost all of the floor was taken up with unravelling rolls of brown paper and mountains of cardboard boxes ranging from small to enormous. Set in the middle was a chaotic desk piled high with papers, scissors, balls of string, dried inkpots, old quill pens and dirty mugs. A dusty crystal ball was balanced precariously on top. The desk chair lay on its side, as though its occupant had been unable to take the mess any longer and suddenly shot up and ran out, screaming.

  But Elsie’s eyes were on the shelves that lined the walls.

  ‘The books!’ she breathed. ‘Just look at all those books!’

  ‘Look at them later.’ Corbett was getting fidgety. ‘Come on, let’s go, I haven’t got all day.’

  With a last lingering look, Elsie stepped out of the room, locking the door behind her. Down they went, to the next level.

  ‘Her bedroom,’ said Corbett, as they halted before a plain oak door. ‘The purple ribbon. Not much to see.’

  He was right. The room contained a bed with a plain grey coverlet, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Nothing else. Clearly Magenta’s chaotic side was confined to the office.

  Next to Magenta’s room was a simple blue door – Elsie’s favourite colour – and she assumed this must be where she would sleep. It was the only one left. It had to be.

  ‘That’s enough for now,’ Corbett said. ‘Let’s go down to the kitchen, I’m busting for bugs. You hungry?’

  Eager though Elsie was to inspect her bedroom, now that Corbett had mentioned food, she realized that she was starving. All she’d had that day was a bite of apple and a mouthful of milk.

  Together, they went down the last flight of stairs. Elsie opened the front door, and Corbett flapped away over the trees in search of his lunch. Nuisance was still sitting on the doorstep, looking hopeful.

  She went to the larder and cut herself a hunk of cheese and two thick slices of bread. She arranged it all on a plate with a big tomato and set it on the table. She then took a second plate and laid out the same for Nuisance.

  ‘Here,’ she said, taking it out and setting it down on the step. ‘For you.’

  In an instant, the dog was diving in.

  The food was delicious, but Elsie felt strange to be eating at a table on her own, with only the ticking clock for company. Mealtimes at home were noisy, messy occasions. There was rarely much to eat, but there was always plenty of fun. She finished with a slice of cake (scrumptious), then collected Nuisance’s empty plate and washed up. Nuisance was fast asleep on the step. Corbett was nowhere to be seen.

  Elsie couldn’t wait any longer. So, snatching the bunch of keys, she ran up the first flight of steps to the blue door. She found a key with a blue ribbon and turned it in the lock. The door swung open.

  ‘Oh . . .’ breathed Elsie as she took in the room.

  It was everything she had ever dreamed of. Pale blue walls and ceiling. Blue shutters over the window. A bed with a blue coverlet, patterned with tiny white clouds. A bedside table on which sat a single candlestick. A tiny chest of drawers, and a wardrobe – painted white, with blue handles. A wicker easy chair with a blue cushion. And an empty bookshelf. Waiting to be filled.

  Elsie stepped in, closing the door behind her.

  Her room. Just hers.

  There was a picture over the bed. She recognized it straight away. It was Pickles’ Emporium. Not as it was, but as it should be. How it could be, if money wasn’t so tight. The windows weren’t cracked, there was a fresh coat of paint on the door and the sign had all its letters. There was no sign of her family. Perhaps they were inside, eating turkey.

  Feeling just a little bit homesick, Elsie turned away.

  To distract herself, she opened the wardrobe. To her delight, it contained two crisp new cotton dresses – one blue with a white collar, the other a cheerful yellow. Yellow was her next best colour, after blue. She knew right away that they would fit her. On the bottom shelf was a pair of new leather boots.

  She was tempted to try everything on, but first she had to try the bed. Eagerly, she kicked off her old boots, folded back the coverlet and stretched out.

  It was like lying on a cloud. Her head sank into the fluffy pillows. The clean white sheet felt cool beneath her sore, scratched legs.

  There was so much more to explore, but first, she would just lie there for a little while.

  Just a little while . . .

  Chapter Eight

  MORE VISITORS

  Elsie awoke to the sound of chopping. The moment she opened her eyes, she realized what she had done. She had slept through the rest of yesterday and the night – and now it was morning!

  She’d never ever slept that long. It had to have been the bed. She jumped up, ran to the window and threw open the shutters.

  Below, a broad-shouldered muscular boy was attacking a large branch with an axe – which explained the chopping noise. The boy wore a black vest and leather trousers. His long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. Nuisance sat at a safe distance from the flying woodchips, ears
alert, giving the occasional woof, enjoying all the noise and action.

  ‘Slept all right, then,’ said Corbett, as Elsie rushed down the stairs and hurried into the kitchen.

  ‘You forgot to lock up last night. Some caretaker you are.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep for that long! I think it was the bed . . .’

  Corbett sniffed. ‘The Howlers came back in the night.’

  ‘Oh no! Did they steal anything?’

  ‘Your dog saw them off, so all they took was the bucket from the privy. They can never resist a bucket. We keep spares.’

  Elsie felt guilty. Her first important task as caretaker and she’d failed. Thankfully, Nuisance had saved her bacon. She would reward him with an especially nice breakfast.

  She was about to turn on the tap for a quick wash when the boy from the garden appeared in the archway, axe in hand. Up close, he had small eyes and a chin as wide as his neck.

  ‘Hey?’ he said, staring at Elsie with an air of vague surprise. He set down the axe, took the band off his ponytail and shook out his yellow locks.

  ‘Hello,’ said Elsie. ‘You must be Hank. I’m Elsie; I’m looking after the tower for a few days.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Hank, swishing his hair, giving it a good airing. ‘Hey.’

  Elsie went to the change jar. Hank lounged against the wall, took a comb and a small mirror from his pocket and began combing. He did it with dedication. It was clearly something he loved to do.

  ‘Here,’ said Elsie, holding out the coins.

  ‘Yeah, right, hey, cool, cheers.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Elsie. ‘Cheers.’

  It was catching, this way of talking.

  Hank gave a satisfied look at his reflection, pocketed the comb, the mirror and the money, shouldered his axe and strolled out.

  Elsie was about to shut the door when Sylphine Greenmantle suddenly emerged from the trees. She wore the same gown as yesterday but had replaced the daisy chain with a bunch of bedraggled flowers behind one ear. Instead of Muffin the rabbit, today she was dragging a small, wild-eyed fawn on a length of green ribbon. It looked about as keen as Muffin had.

  ‘Hello, Hank,’ said Sylphine shyly, stepping into his path. ‘I like your hair.’

  Hank said not a word. Not even ‘Hey’. He just brushed straight past her and swaggered off into the trees.

  Sylphine went scarlet. The ribbon slipped from her fingers and the fawn bolted into the forest. Sylphine let it go. She stood radiating misery, like the last wood sprite to be chosen for the netball team.

  ‘Sylphine?’ called Elsie, taking pity. ‘Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea?’

  ‘You’ll be sorry,’ warned Corbett, from the kitchen. ‘She’ll cry.’

  ‘She won’t,’ said Elsie. ‘Not if there’s cake.’

  Ten minutes later, Sylphine was sitting at the kitchen table, weeping into her tea and telling Elsie her whole sorry story, in between mouthfuls of cake.

  ‘. . . and I always wear my nicest dress (sniff) and spend ages on my hair and everything and he doesn’t even notice and I can’t help having freckles or going blotchy when I’m nervous and he’s always like that (sniff, sniff), he never says a single word to me even when I tell him I like his hair. Which I do. (Sniff.)’

  ‘Is that all you like about him?’ asked Elsie. ‘His hair?’

  ‘No. Yes. Mostly. I don’t know.’ Sylphine burst into fresh sobs.

  ‘There, there,’ said Elsie. ‘More cake?’

  ‘Yes, please. And the other woodcutters think it’s funny. They’re really mean and they laughed when they saw me dancing barefoot in the glade and the Howler Sisters stole my shoes – they’re mean to me too. They sneak into my garden at night and empty the bird feeders and open the rabbit hutch.’

  ‘You danced barefoot in a glade?’ Elsie glanced down at Sylphine’s large feet, which were currently clad in weird green moccasins.

  ‘Yes. In the moonlight. I often do. I love dancing. It’s how I express myself.’

  From the perch, there came a little snort. Elsie caught Corbett’s eye. He had clearly seen Sylphine’s moonlight dancing and wasn’t impressed.

  ‘Why?’ went on Sylphine, raising her pink eyes to Elsie. ‘Do you think I shouldn’t?’

  ‘No, no . . . What sort of dancing?’

  ‘It doesn’t have a name. I don’t need music. I just dance what I feel.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Elsie, ‘right. Er – what do you feel?’

  ‘Miserable, mostly, because Hank won’t speak to me.’

  ‘Oh dear. More tea?’

  ‘Yes, please (sniff). Have you got another hanky? This one’s soaking.’ Sylphine blew her nose noisily. ‘And now Miss Magenta’s gone away and she promised me a love potion. To make Hank like me. Corbett heard her, didn’t you, Corbett?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted the raven. ‘If I recall correctly, her actual words were, “All right, all right, I’ll make your wretched potion, just go away, I’ve got bottles to wrap.” ’

  Elsie thought that sounded like the witch.

  ‘I expect she’s waiting for the ingredients,’ Elsie said, trying to make Sylphine feel better. ‘Perhaps they’re being slow to arrive.’

  It must have been magic. No sooner had she said those words than a voice called from the front door.

  ‘Hello? Anyone in? Make way, delivery coming through.’

  A mop-headed boy with a sack over one shoulder came staggering in. Elsie and Sylphine jumped up and moved chairs out of his way as he hurried past and dumped a large cardboard box in the sink.

  ‘Phew!’ he said, standing back. ‘Glad to put that down. How’s it going, Corbs? All right, Aggie?’

  ‘Morning, Joey,’ said Corbett. He held up a claw and the boy smacked it with an open palm.

  ‘It’s Sylphine,’ said Sylphine. ‘I keep telling you.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right, sorry, Ags, I keep forgetting.’ The boy turned to Elsie. ‘Who’s this, then?’

  ‘I’m Elsie,’ she said. ‘The caretaker. And you are?’

  ‘Joey the post boy, happy to meet you. Away, is she? Her Witchiness?’

  ‘Yes. Visiting her sister.’

  ‘That won’t go well.’ He reached into his sack and took out a bundle of letters. ‘Complaints. I’ll stick ’em in the drawer with the others. Any of that cake going?’

  Elsie cut him a big slice. She liked his open face and his cheery grin. She saw Sylphine looking hopeful and cut her another one too.

  Joey stuffed the bundle of letters into a drawer, which was already brimming over with others just like it. He leaned against Corbett’s perch and took a huge bite of cake.

  ‘Best open that quick,’ he said, nodding at the box in the sink. ‘Been stuck in the depot for weeks. Got dumped in a dark corner and forgotten about. It’s making weird noises and releasing little pink hearts that smell like strawberries.’

  Sylphine sat up, cake halfway to her mouth. ‘It’s them!’ she squealed excitedly. ‘The ingredients! Can we open it? Can we?’ Corbett had flown to the box and was examining the label.

  ‘ “WARNING!” ’ he read. ‘ “MAGICAL CONTENTS! OPEN AND USE IMMEDIATELY!” ’

  Everyone stared at the box, which gave a jerk, right on cue. The lid rattled furiously. From inside, there came the sound of fizzing and popping. Whatever was in there had clearly had enough of being stuck in a box.

  ‘I’ll open it,’ said Joey, finishing his cake. ‘Got the tools, got the training. Always do the dodgy ones, don’t I, Corbs?’

  ‘He does,’ said Corbett. ‘He’s very good.’

  Joey took out a small pocketknife. ‘Any idea what we’re dealing with? Before I start?’

  ‘If Sylphine’s right, then it’s ingredients for a love potion,’ said Elsie.

  ‘Yeah? Who’s that for then, Aggie?’

  ‘None of your business,’ said Sylphine crossly. ‘And it’s Sylphine.’

  ‘Off you go, then, Joey,’ said Elsie.
‘Do your thing.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Stand back.’

  He sliced neatly through the cardboard and pushed back the flaps.

  ‘Hhhhhaaahhhhhhhhhh . . .’

  From out of the box came a long, whispering sigh of relief. It was the united sigh of tightly packed magical ingredients coming up for air.

  ‘A load of bottles,’ said Joey, poking around. ‘And little packages and jars. Whoops!’ He ducked as a stream of heart-shaped bubbles popped out and floated up in a pink cloud. The scent of strawberries filled the room. ‘There they go! Lid’s loose.’

  He took out a large glass jar containing a bubbling pink mass and screwed the lid down properly.

  The girls moved forward and curiously examined the tiny jars, oddly shaped bottles, small boxes and squishy packages as Joey emptied the box and laid the contents out on the draining board. Each was clearly labelled.

  ‘ “Raindrops on Roses”,’ read Sylphine. ‘ “Essence of Honeysuckle. Moon Mist. Pixie Mix”. Ooh! Doesn’t it all sound lovely?’

  Elsie picked up the jar of pink bubbles.

  ‘ “Love Hearts”,’ she read. The jar jerked in her hands and she hastily put it down. ‘Gosh, they’re lively.’

  ‘ “Dried Sugar Candy”,’ breathed Sylphine. ‘ “Rainbow Dust. All-Things-Nice Spice. Mermaid’s Dream”.’

  ‘ “Mermaid’s Dream”? Let me see that.’ Elsie looked where Sylphine pointed. ‘Looks empty to me.’

  ‘What do you expect, cod and chips?’ said Corbett.

  When Joey had finished, a host of packages, jars, tins and tiny bottles cluttered the draining board. Some were still fizzing and popping.

  ‘Well,’ said Elsie, ‘I suppose I’ll have to find room in a cupboard.’

  ‘But can’t you start making the potion now?’ asked Sylphine.