Witch for a Week

by Kaye Umansky

  ‘Phew. That’s the round finished,’ he sighed ‘How’s the caretaking going, Elsie?’

  ‘Good,’ replied Elsie.

  ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Reading, mostly. Learning how to do . . . things.’

  ‘What “things”?’

  ‘Well – spells and stuff.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to mess about with magic,’ he said trying to hide a smile.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Elsie.

  ‘Ahem!’ said Corbett.

  ‘Well – not much.’

  ‘Ahem!’

  ‘Well, all right, I can do two little spells. But they’re easy.’

  ‘You made the love potion, too, didn’t you? I can smell it,’ said Joey. ‘You should have invited me. I did offer to help.’

  ‘Corbett was here and it was quite straightforward really. Did you give my note to my mum and dad?’

  ‘Of course. They said to tell you they’ve spent the pennies on a new bell. And they miss you.’

  ‘I miss them too,’ said Elsie. And she did. But there was so much happening that she didn’t miss them too much.

  That night, Elsie dreamed of bustling around a crowded tea shop with a tray of teacups containing tiny storms. Everybody seemed very pleased with their storm and showered her with gold coins.

  Under the sink, the potion fermented.

  On the third day, Elsie felt pretty confident with eggs and small storms, so she moved on to the third spell from Three Little Spells for Beginners. A short time later, she could conjure up frogs! Sweet little green ones. She demonstrated to Corbett on the kitchen table. He looked at them with a glint in his eye, so she hastily made them vanish. But she knew she could make them come back again, any time.

  She was getting good, she knew that. So much so that she didn’t need the book any more. She knew all the rhymes and finger movements by heart.

  That night, she dreamed that she was sitting on a large lily pad on a moonlit lake, watching a cast of little green frogs perform a water ballet. She was tempted to join them, but didn’t want to get her blue shoes wet.

  And under the sink, the potion still fermented . . .

  Chapter Eleven

  CAKE

  ‘Have you checked the love potion?’ asked Corbett. It was the morning of day six of Elsie’s caretaking, and she was eating a boiled egg and idly conjuring up a small storm in her morning cup of tea. Three newly materialized little green frogs sat behind the pepper pot, keeping a close eye on Corbett. It was a warm day. A welcome breeze blew in the open window and out through the front door, which they’d left ajar.

  ‘No,’ said Elsie. ‘Goodness. Have three days gone already?’

  ‘Yep. It should be ready by now.’

  Elsie pulled the bucket out from under the sink. Peering inside she saw a wobbly pink goo that looked a little like blancmange. It smelled of honey, flowers and strawberries.

  ‘Morning,’ said Joey, sticking his head through the window. He placed a foot on the sill and jumped into the room. ‘It’s my day off, so I came to see if the potion’s ready. Is that it? Wow! Fantastic smell! Can I have a taste?’

  ‘Not unless you want to fall in love with Sylphine,’ replied Elsie.

  ‘It’s got her snot in it,’ added Corbett.

  ‘I’ll give it a miss, then. Does Aggie know you made it?’

  ‘It’s Sylphine,’ came a cross voice from the archway. ‘How many more times?’

  ‘Hello, Sylphine,’ said Elsie. ‘That’s a nice tortoise you’ve got in your hair.’

  It was a sentence she never thought she’d say.

  A small tortoise was indeed caught up in a long lock of Sylphine’s frizzy hair, waving its little legs, clearly furious. Sylphine advanced into the kitchen, yanking at the poor animal none too gently.

  ‘Stand still, you’re making it worse,’ said Elsie, and untangled it. She put the tortoise on the floor, where it immediately made for the door in a slow but determined escape bid.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Sylphine. ‘Oswald and I were just passing, and we smelled this lovely, sugary— What’s that in the bucket? Is it my love potion? Oh, Elsie! You made it!’

  She threw her arms around Elsie, nearly knocking her over.

  ‘I did,’ said Elsie, disentangling herself. ‘Now all we have to do is get it down Hank’s throat.’

  ‘Hah!’ cried Joey. ‘So that’s who you’ve got a crush on!’

  ‘Shut up!’ snapped Sylphine, going red.

  The four of them stared into the bucket.

  ‘It’s not exactly a potion, is it?’ said Joey. ‘More . . . gloopy than runny.’

  ‘He won’t eat that,’ said Corbett. ‘Too sweet and too pink. No way.’

  ‘He could use it as hair gel,’ suggested Joey. ‘On his lovely hair. Would that work?’

  ‘No,’ said Corbett. ‘The recipe was very clear. It has to be taken by mouth.’

  ‘Aggie will have to wrestle him to the floor and force-feed him with a spoon, then.’

  ‘Be quiet, Joey,’ said Sylphine. ‘I don’t think that’s funny. And it’s Sylphine.’

  ‘I’ll try asking the book,’ said Elsie. ‘It might have a suggestion.’

  ‘What book?’ chorused Joey and Sylphine.

  ‘Magenta left a sort of guide,’ said Elsie, going to the table and opening Everything You Need to Know. ‘It’s got all kinds of useful information.’

  Joey and Sylphine gazed at the single blank page.

  ‘There’s nothing there,’ said Sylphine.

  ‘Wait,’ said Corbett. ‘Watch.’

  Everyone watched Elsie press her thumb on the page.

  ‘Any suggestions on how we get Hank to drink love potion?’

  A single word appeared in the centre of the page.

  CAKE

  ‘Brilliant!’ cried Joey. ‘Everyone likes cake.’

  ‘Right,’ said Elsie, reaching for her apron. ‘I think a sponge is called for. You can’t go wrong with a sponge.’

  The cake was a masterpiece. A golden, perfectly risen sponge cake in two layers, with red jam in the middle. It looked like regular cake and it smelled like regular cake – perhaps a little bit sweeter. You would never guess that it contained love potion.

  Elsie had done most of the work. She loved baking. Pickles’ Emporium didn’t bring in much money, but they always managed to scrape together enough to make a cake for special occasions.

  The others had helped Elsie a bit, but mostly they just stood around getting under her feet while she measured, whisked and poured. When she found she had run out of eggs, instead of asking the tower, she conjured one out of the air without even thinking about it.

  ‘Wow!’ said Sylphine. ‘You didn’t say you could do that!’

  ‘Elsie, you are a mini witch!’ Joey said. ‘Ladies and gents, for her next trick, fried snowballs!’

  There was some discussion about how much fermented love potion to put in. All of it or just a teaspoon? In the end, Elsie added three heaped, wobbling tablespoons to the mix, because that felt about right. She had handed the wooden spoon to Sylphine and told her to give it a stir and make a wish. That felt right too.

  So now here it was. A beautiful cake sitting on Magenta’s best plate, all ready for the eating.

  ‘It’s wonderful!’ cried Sylphine. ‘Elsie, you are the best friend ever!’ She clapped her hands, twirled on the spot and knocked over a chair.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Elsie with a smile. She really was getting the hang of magic now!

  ‘Shame we can’t try it,’ said Joey. ‘It’s making me drool.’

  ‘There’s an apple pie in the larder,’ said Elsie. ‘We can have that instead. Off you go, Sylphine.’

  ‘What? Where?’ said Sylphine, looking alarmed.

  ‘To the woodcutters’ camp. I’m guessing that’s where Hank is.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. Why not? Strike while the cake’s hot.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Sylph
ine. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘You seem a bit unsure,’ said Elsie. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

  ‘What? Oh, no. No, of course not. Um . . . what should I say?’

  ‘Say: “Hello, Hank, here’s a cake”.’

  ‘Which definitely doesn’t have love potion in it,’ added Joey.

  ‘Or snot,’ said Corbett. They both sniggered.

  ‘Should I tell him his hair looks nice?’ asked Sylphine.

  ‘No!’ chorused everyone.

  ‘Let the cake do its job,’ added Elsie. ‘First, Hank will eat it. Then you can talk about his hair. One bite of this and you should be able to tell him his hair looks like a haystack in a gale and he’ll still think you’re the bee’s knees.’

  ‘Yes. Right . . . um . . . I should go and change my dress first, though. And put some flowers in my hair. And I don’t know where Oswald’s got to, I really ought to—’

  ‘Don’t make excuses,’ said Elsie. She picked up the plate containing the fragrant cake and placed it firmly in Sylphine’s hands. ‘Good luck. Go. Now.’

  ‘Can’t one of you come with me?’

  ‘No. This has to be done by you.’

  ‘But what if it doesn’t work?’

  ‘It’ll work,’ said Elsie. ‘We read the instructions and followed the recipe.’

  ‘All right,’ said Sylphine. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Make sure you invite us to the wedding,’ said Corbett.

  ‘Break a leg, Aggie,’ said Joey. ‘Actually, don’t.’

  The three of them went to the door and watched Sylphine walk off into the trees.

  ‘She’ll mess it up,’ said Corbett. ‘I’ve got that feeling.’

  ‘She’ll drop it,’ said Joey. ‘She’s always tripping up over those droopy dresses she wears.’

  ‘Be brave, Sylphine!’ shouted Elsie, trying to be supportive. ‘Have faith in the cake!’

  Secretly, though, she was a bit worried. It was only a guess as to how much potion to add. Was it too much? Too little? Suppose Hank turned down the cake, just to be mean? He seemed to get real pleasure out of being rotten to Sylphine.

  ‘I wish we were flies on the wall,’ said Joey. ‘Then we could see what happens. Better still, birds in the tree. Learned any spells that can turn us into birds, Elsie?’

  ‘Afraid not.’ Elsie shook her head. ‘I can only do eggs, frogs and storms in teacups.’

  ‘I’m a bird already,’ pointed out Corbett. ‘I could fly over to the woodcutters’ camp, see how it’s going and report back.’ He clapped a wing to his head. ‘Wait a minute! No need. We’ve got the Spelloscope!’

  ‘Of course!’ cried Elsie.

  The three of them turned as one and made for the stairs.

  Which meant that nobody noticed as Nuisance emerged from under a bush, stretched, sniffed the air and then trotted off into the trees.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Woodcutters’ Camp

  The woodcutters’ camp was easy to find, if you knew your way around Crookfinger Forest. It helped that there was a wooden sign erected by the side of a narrow path. It bore a painted arrow and the words:

  The camp took over the whole of a large clearing. In the middle was a fire with a big pot suspended above, in which bubbled some sort of brownish stew. To one side was a massive tree stump, with six axes stuck in it. Hank’s hammock was currently unoccupied.

  A rickety shed sat on one side of the glade. It was where the woodcutters slept when it was raining and it consisted of just two rooms. Hank had the largest one all to himself because he had the biggest muscles and the best hair. The small room housed Ed, Ted, Ned, Fred, Jed and Short Shawn.

  Right now, Ed, Ted, Ned, Fred, Jed and Short Shawn were sitting round the fire in the centre of the clearing, engaged in a rowdy sing-song. Their rough voices rose in the air.

  ‘If yer ’appy and you knows it, choppa tree (chop, chop!)

  If yer ’appy and you knows it, choppa tree (chop, chop!)

  If yer ’appy an’ you . . . knows it—’

  Suddenly, the singing dwindled away into silence as the woodcutters noticed Sylphine standing nervously on the edge of the glade, the cake in her hands.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Ed. ‘We gotta visitor.’

  ‘Aggie Wiggins, no less,’ said Ted.

  ‘What’s that you got, Aggie?’ said Ned. ‘A cake, is it?’

  ‘Is that fer us, Aggie?’ said Jed.

  ‘It’s Sylphine,’ said Sylphine. Her voice wobbled a bit. ‘And the cake is for Hank.’

  Slowly, all six woodcutters stood up, eyes on the cake.

  ‘Hank ain’t ’ere,’ said Fred. ‘Gone to the barber’s.’

  ‘You can leave it wiv us,’ chipped in Ed. ‘We’ll see’e gets it.’

  The six of them moved closer.

  ‘No,’ said Sylphine, trying to sound brave. ‘I want to give it to him myself.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Aggie? Don’t ya trust us?’ said Ed. He held out a huge hand. ‘ ’And it over.’

  ‘No,’ quavered Sylphine, backing away.

  Ed’s shadow fell over her, and then something happened that nobody expected.

  There came a blood-curdling snarl and Nuisance exploded from a nearby nettle patch! His teeth were bared and his fur stood on end. Elsie’s frizzy-haired friend was being threatened and it was up to him to protect her! Grrrr! Ark, ark! Woof! All that! Whatever it took! To the rescue!

  Sylphine wasn’t expecting him. His sudden appearance startled her as much as the woodcutters and she screamed and lurched backwards, catching her heel in her hem. The cake sailed from her hands and fell to the ground with a moist plop.

  The woodcutters drew back in alarm, away from Nuisance’s slavering jaws and demented barking.

  Sylphine looked down at the ruined cake. It lay amongst the forest debris, deflated, covered with dirt and surrounded by broken pieces of plate.

  ‘Now see!’ she wailed. ‘Oh, you – you – you beasts, you! You mean, horrible boys! Everything’s spoiled!’ With a muffled sob, she sped away into the forest.

  Back at the tower, it was a despondent party that trailed down from the roof and into the kitchen.

  ‘She blew it,’ said Corbett. ‘I knew she would. Clumsy as a one-legged chicken.’

  ‘They would have taken it off her anyway,’ said Joey. ‘They’re real mean, that lot. After all the trouble we went to, though. What a waste.’

  ‘Oh, well.’ Elsie gave a sigh. ‘I’d better wash up, I suppose. The kitchen’s a mess.’

  ‘We’ll help, won’t we, Corbs?’ Joey said, grabbing the bucket with the leftover love potion. ‘I’ll get rid of this. You can dry.’

  ‘Eh? All right, if I must.’ Reluctantly, Corbett picked up a tea towel with his beak.

  Gloomily, the three of them tidied up in silence.

  A short time later, they sat at the table, staring down at a large apple pie. But none of them felt much like eating now.

  There came a hammering at the door, and the sound of snivelling.

  ‘It’s her,’ said Elsie. ‘Be nice, both of you, all right? Joey, don’t you dare call her Aggie.’

  Elsie opened the door to a stricken-looking Sylphine. Her red face was streaked with tears.

  ‘It didn’t work!’ she wailed.

  ‘Come in, I’ll find you a hanky,’ said Elsie. Back in the Emporium, her dad kept a pile of clean hankies under the counter. (Customer Service Rule Nine was Always Have a Handy Hanky for Upset Customers).

  ‘Hank wasn’t even there but the others were and they tried to take it off me and they said they’d give it to him but they were lying and then that Nuisance dog jumped out and I tripped up and I dropped it!’

  ‘I know. We saw.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘There’s a thing called a Spelloscope at the top of the tower. We watched through that. Please don’t cry. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Bad luck, Ag – Sylphine,’ said Joey. ‘Sorry
it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Calm down,’ said Corbett. ‘Have some apple pie.’

  ‘Oh, there’s pie?’ Sylphine perked up. ‘Well, maybe just a small piece.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said Elsie, cutting a big slice. ‘Put the kettle on, Joey. I need to do something.’

  She took a handful of dog biscuits from the larder, went back to the door and looked out.

  ‘Nuisance?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’

  There was a moment’s pause, then the bushes parted and Nuisance’s head poked out. He had a peculiar look on his whiskery face. Pleased with himself, but not sure he should be. He’d done what he thought was right, but the frizzy-haired girl had confused him. All that shouting and crying. Had he done something wrong? Was he a bad dog?

  He approached the step uncertainly.

  ‘Good dog,’ said Elsie. ‘You did great. Here.’ She put the biscuits on the step.

  But Nuisance didn’t make a move to take them. His ears were pricked and his fur was rising. Sharply, he turned his head and snarled.

  Ed, Ted, Ned, Fred, Jed and Short Shawn were emerging from the trees. They stood hovering at the edge of the glade.

  Nuisance growled louder.

  ‘Shush,’ said Elsie. ‘I’ll handle it.’ She raised her voice. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’ (Customer Service Rule Seven: Always Be Helpful.)

  ‘We wants ter see Sylphine,’ shouted Ed, who seemed to be clutching a droopy bunch of bluebells. ‘We know she’s in there!’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t want to see you!’

  ‘But we wants to invite her for supper, tell’er! Stew! Wiv lumps!’

  ‘She’ll love it,’ added Fred. ‘I does.’

  ‘She can ’ave the best bowl,’ promised Ned. ‘We’ll wash it out!’

  ‘Tell ’er we finks she’s bootiful,’ said Jed. ‘Bootiful as a . . . like a . . . I dunno, what’s bootiful?’

  ‘My granny’s got a nice vase,’ supplied Short Shawn helpfully. ‘Yeller.’