The Courage of Cat Campbell

by Natasha Lowe

  “She’s brewing a storm,” Peter wailed softly. “She’s going to wash Ruthersfield away, isn’t she? She’ll probably wash the whole of Potts Bottom away.”

  Cat could hear his teeth chattering. She forced herself to remain calm. “I doubt our Maddie has that kind of power anymore,” she said. She didn’t really believe this at all, but she knew it was what Peter needed to hear. It was what she needed to hear too. “Come on, let’s keep going,” Cat said, giving him her best attempt at a smile.

  They followed the smoke up to the third floor and along another hallway, passing two more classrooms, another laboratory, and a narrow purple door with BROOM SUPPLY CLOSET on it. At the end of the corridor the smoke turned into a small classroom; beautiful scrollwork letters on a plaque above the door read HONORS STUDENTS. Cat wondered if this was Madeline Reynolds’s old class. She and Peter hovered in the hallway keeping to one side, so Madeline Reynolds wouldn’t see them. As Cat peeked through the opening, she didn’t know what she expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t the world’s most evil witch sitting at a desk in the third row, staring straight ahead as if she were waiting for class to begin. She looked so small and frail and wrinkled. It was hard to believe that she was dangerous. They watched her open the desk and peer inside. Madeline Reynolds looked at whatever was in it for a long moment before closing the lid.

  Then, with a howl of anger, she zapped her wand furiously around the room. Desks exploded, spilling out pens and papers in a haze of purple smoke. There was a cracking sound and the blackboard shattered into pieces, crumbling to the floor as if it were a broken jigsaw puzzle. Posters melted off the walls, and a shelf of books flew into the air, the pages ripping loose, fluttering down like confetti.

  Surveying her destruction, Madeline Reynolds seemed to slump, as if she had run out of energy. With a raspy sigh, she rested her bald head on top of the desk. Hunched over in her boilersuit, she looked like a bag of bones.

  “I think she’s taking a nap,” Peter mouthed after four or five minutes had gone by. A soft, snoring noise could be heard, and Cat nodded in agreement. This was the time to catch her.

  “Right, I’m going in,” Cat whispered, stepping bravely through the door. She walked up to the teacher’s desk with Peter right behind her. Madeline Reynolds lifted her head off the desk, staring straight at Cat. Her eyes were rheumy and unfocused, and she seemed a little disoriented.

  “Do it,” Peter whispered. “Now!”

  But Cat completely froze. This was Madeline Reynolds in front of her. Madeline Reynolds who had given her nightmares for years. Cat felt her courage slip away like quicksand. She held the wand in her hand, but her arm wouldn’t move and she couldn’t remember the spell. Panic buzzed in Cat’s ears, and she stared at the witch, paralyzed with fear. For a brief moment Madeline Reynolds looked startled at seeing anyone else in the room. She abruptly pushed her chair back, and something vulnerable passed through the old witch’s eyes. Then they grew hard and angry, fixed on Cat with such hatred that Cat gave a silent plea, her legs turning soft as molasses.

  “Cat, the spell,” Peter cried, but although Cat heard him, her brain wasn’t responding. She watched in a trance as Madeline Reynolds flung the desk aside, looking like a wild animal as she overturned it. “Maddie,” Peter croaked in a hoarse voice, “can we talk about this?”

  The old witch pointed her wand at them, sending out a jagged bolt of lightning. And that’s when Cat screamed.

  Peter pushed her to the floor as the lightning whizzed over their heads, singeing his frizzy hair. “Get under the desk, Cat,” he said, fumbling for the rope. “I should have stayed home and watched television. That would have been so much smarter.”

  He scrambled back up and waved the lasso once around his head, then let it fly toward Madeline Reynolds. It was a good aim. A really fantastic aim. And for a second Cat thought it was going to reach its target. But the old witch sent out another lightning bolt, which met the rope in midair.

  “Awwwh!” Peter screamed, as a zigzag current of electricity traveled up the rope, sending him stumbling backward. His hair stood on end and his body glowed green for a second. He was unable to hold on to the lasso, and it jerked out of his hands, flew across the room, and deftly tied itself into a knot. Baring her teeth, Madeline Reynolds hissed with loathing.

  “Get over here,” Cat sobbed, waving Peter back under the desk. “This was such a bad idea.” Her mind had gone completely blank and she couldn’t think what to do. But she had to get to Peter, who appeared to be suffering from shock, slumped on the floor and still glowing faintly green. Crawling toward him, Cat saw Madeline Reynolds raise her wand in the air again. “Hurry, Peter, grab my hand,” Cat screamed, as the witch let fly a jumble of words.

  But it was too late. Jagged lightning bolts shot toward them, and Cat dived back under the table. There was a burst of orange smoke where Peter had been sitting, followed by a powerful smell of wet fur. As the smoke cleared Cat saw a ginger-and-white guinea pig cowering behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The glasses belonged to Peter. . . .

  But Peter was nowhere in sight.

  It took Cat a moment to understand what had happened, and as the truth slowly sank in, she covered her mouth in shock. Peter had been turned into a guinea pig. Cat watched him scuttle under the supply cupboard. A sick, dizzy feeling swept over her, followed by a powerful wave of fury. It was like watching your friend disappear down a drain, or vanish into a black hole. You couldn’t quite believe he was gone.

  “How dare you,” Cat screamed, leaping to her feet and staring right at Madeline Reynolds. She had never felt this sort of rage before, flooding through her in a red-hot torrent, like a volcano about to explode. Cat wasn’t scared anymore. Not one tiny bit. She was furious, and waving her wand in a fast spiral motion, she yelled, “Intratangledcacoono” at the top of her lungs.

  At the same moment Madeline Reynolds pointed her wand at Cat, but Cat was too fast for her. She jumped out of the way as the lightning bolt zipped by, hitting a terrarium of frogs on a table behind her. Cat heard glass shattering, but she didn’t look round because she was watching streams of white thread shoot out of her wand and spin toward Madeline Reynolds. The old witch couldn’t move quickly enough, and in a matter of seconds, the threads wound around her from the shoulders down, tying her up in a sticky white cocoon. Her arms were bound to her sides and her legs pressed together. The only visible part of Madeline Reynolds was her head, which looked as small and withered as an old apple. She gave Cat a long, cold stare before closing her eyes. There was no fear in the old witch’s face. Just a deep, fierce hatred, although for a moment before her lids drooped, Cat was sure she glimpsed sadness as well.

  “Serves you right!” Cat said shakily, sinking down on the teacher’s chair. She felt so light-headed she thought she might faint. Frogs were hopping everywhere, but Cat ignored them. She gave a soft sob, taking no pride in the fact that her spell had worked brilliantly. What did it matter? She had risked Peter’s life and now he was a guinea pig. Who knew if she’d even be able to find him again? Peter had believed in her, and she had let him down. She had failed her friend in the worst way.

  Cat gave her nose a hard blow. Sitting and crying wasn’t going to help matters when she should be looking for Peter. His glasses were still on the floor, and Cat picked them up as she walked over to the supply cupboard, slipping them into her pocket for safekeeping. She bent down and peered underneath the cabinet. “Peter, are you there?” Cat called out. There was no answer, which was not surprising considering Peter was now a guinea pig.

  It was also difficult to see much. The only light in the room came from outside, and Cat looked around for a light switch. She couldn’t see one, but there was a lamp on the teacher’s desk. Trying not to step on frogs, Cat hurried over and unplugged it, carrying it back to the supply cupboard. She plugged it in again and shone the lamp under the cabinet, and there, cowering against the back wall, was Peter.

  “It’s all righ
t,” Cat said, using her gentlest voice. “Don’t be scared. I’ve tied her up so she can’t escape.” Peter didn’t move from his spot, but Cat was sure he shook his furry little head. “Honestly, Peter. It’s quite safe. Please come out.” Cat was just thinking about using a long pole or something to prod him out with, when two of the escaped frogs hopped underneath the cabinet. They were about the same size as Peter. As soon as he saw them, he gave a series of little squeaks and charged toward Cat, his ginger bottom swaying as he ran.

  Cat scooped him up and gave his whiskery little face a kiss. She stared into the guinea pig’s shiny currant eyes. “I will figure this out, Peter. I promise.” She kissed his nose again. How Cat was going to figure this out she had no idea. But one thing was clear. She couldn’t take Madeline Reynolds directly to Uncle Tom’s, not with Peter being a guinea pig. Auntie Charlie and Uncle Tom would be devastated. Peter was their only child, and even though they were very fond of guinea pigs, they would not appreciate having Peter as one.

  “I’m going to take you both with me to the bakery,” Cat whispered. “Then I’ll find my spell book and work out how to change you back.” Peter gave a series of high-pitched little squeaks that sounded a lot like panic to Cat. “Don’t be scared, Peter. You have to trust me,” Cat whispered, slipping the guinea pig into her pocket.

  He gave her finger a little nip and it wasn’t entirely friendly. But Cat couldn’t blame him for being upset. He probably knew that the odds of Cat Campbell changing him back into a boy again were not good. Not good at all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  * * *

  An Unusual Journey

  THE NEXT BIG PROBLEM CAT faced was how to get Madeline Reynolds and a guinea pig back to the bakery by herself. The storm was still blowing outside the windows but not as hard as before. There were long pauses between the rumbles of thunder, and the rain seemed to be letting up.

  Cat walked over to Madeline Reynolds, who appeared to have drifted off to sleep again. She wondered how heavy the witch was. Cat hated touching her, but there was no other choice. Just in case Madeline Reynolds started screaming, or tried to bite her, Cat took a roll of sparkly purple duct tape out of the supply cupboard and, grimacing in disgust, she taped the witch’s mouth shut. Madeline Reynolds’s skin was as soft and wrinkled as moldy citrus peel, and she stank of rotten grapefruit and old porridge. Turning her head to one side so as not to breathe in the stench, Cat wrapped her arms around Madeline Reynolds and tried to lift her up. It was impossible. She might be a bag of bones, but she was still too heavy for Cat to carry.

  Walking around the witch, Cat studied her from all angles. There was a nice loop of white thread for grabbing on to in the middle of Madeline Reynolds’s back, and for a brief moment Cat felt a glimmer of satisfaction at how perfectly the spell had worked. If this had been performed on a screaming toddler lying in the street, you could simply pick the toddler up by the loop and cart him back home for a bath. Cat tried picking Madeline Reynolds up this way, but she still couldn’t get her off the ground.

  “There has to be a solution,” Cat said, speaking to Peter as if he was right beside her. Just because he happened to be a guinea pig didn’t mean she intended to ignore him. Cat paced around the room, stepping over bits of broken desk. A large glossy poster lay crumpled on the floor, and she stopped in front of it. The poster showed a sketch of a young girl riding on a broomstick, her back straight, and her legs tucked underneath her. At the top in bold letters, it read, “Correct Posture for Broomstick Riding.”

  “Hey, I have an idea, Peter,” Cat said, her enthusiasm starting to return. She ran out into the hallway and found the door with BROOM SUPPLY CLOSET on the front. Flinging it open, Cat switched on the light. She stepped inside, staring at the neat rows of broomsticks hanging from the wall. There were Beginner Brooms, Easy Flyers, and High Strung Stallions. Then a whole row devoted to Stunt Brooms, Sport Brooms, and Work Brooms. Cat reached for a Stunt Broom but changed her mind with a sigh. This was not the time for stunts. She hung it back up and took down a Beginner Broom, but as she did so, Cat noticed a bin in the corner of the closet full of chunky-looking broomsticks. The notice on the wall said “Training Brooms,” and Cat tugged one out of the barrel. It didn’t look fast or sleek like the High Strung Stallion, or up for much in the way of tricks like the Stunt Broom, but Cat guessed this was her best chance of getting them all home safely. The broom had an on-off switch, and Cat realized it was motorized, which accounted for its thick, chunky shape. This must be the equivalent of riding a bike with training wheels, she guessed. Anyone could do it, or that’s what she hoped.

  Cat dragged the broom back into the classroom, trying not to think about how many rules she must be breaking. Uncle Tom would probably lock her up for trespassing on school property, using magic without permission, stealing a broomstick—not to mention the fact that she was completely responsible for his son being turned into a guinea pig. Cat might not have cast the spell on Peter, but he would never have been here in the first place if it weren’t for her.

  Madeline Reynolds was still snoring away. Her head had nodded forward and she looked like a giant white slug. Cat walked around behind her and poked the end of the broomstick through the loop of string. Then she put one leg over and flicked the switch to on, grasping the handle in both hands.

  Peter started to squeak, poking his nose out of her pocket and looking up at Cat with terrified eyes. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and she felt terrible. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know this isn’t going to be fun, but there’s no other way.” Peter did some more high-pitched shrieking. “Just close your eyes,” Cat suggested. “Don’t look down.”

  The broomstick started to vibrate, and Cat pointed the nose upward. She could feel Peter trembling in her pocket. With a sudden jerky motion, they rose into the air, Madeline Reynolds dangling underneath. Cat flew bumpily around the room, gasping and laughing at the same time. She realized she hadn’t opened a window, and not wanting to get off now that they were airborne, Cat directed the broomstick toward the door, flying through it into the hallway. They would just have to go back the way they had come.

  There was a button for speed, and Cat turned it to the lowest setting as they flew down the stairs. Going down was much more difficult to control than going up, Cat realized, and she almost fell off, bumping into the wall and steadying herself against the banister with her foot. Peter was rustling around and nipping at her thigh, which made it difficult for Cat to concentrate. Plus, she worried he might try to jump out. The extra weight beneath the broomstick didn’t help matters either, but Cat navigated her way along the ground-floor corridor and into the fortune-telling classroom. She wobbled above the rows of desks and out the open window.

  It was still raining, and the wind buffeted Cat about. Flying at night was hard enough without having to battle bad weather. As she gained height, the broom’s automatic headlamps switched on, so at least Cat could see where she was going. She rose steadily into the sky, leveling out at about twenty feet above the rooftops. Cat wasn’t too worried about being seen. None of the villagers would be out in this weather, and she was quite certain they were all glued to their television sets. She gripped the handle tight, trying her best to fly smoothly. It was not all that easy because they kept hitting wind pockets and getting tossed about. Every time this happened Madeline Reynolds slid along the handle, and Cat struggled to keep the broomstick as horizontal as she could manage to stop the witch from sliding off.

  Cat focused on the landscape beneath her. She couldn’t afford to overshoot the bakery and get lost. Luckily the broomstick headlamps reflected off the canal, and Cat flew along beside it until she saw the glow of lights coming from Poppy’s. As she got closer, Cat could see that she had left her bedroom window open, but swooping through it would not be as easy as she’d anticipated. She had to circle the bakery twice before she got the broomstick lined up properly, and, gritting her teeth in concentration, Cat finally flew through. Having no id
ea how to land, she nosedived onto the bed, where she bounced once and rolled right off onto the floor.

  Cat lay still for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She had bumped her head, and touching a hand gingerly to the spot, Cat could already feel a lump forming.

  “Cat, is that you?” Poppy called up the stairs. “I thought you were at Peter’s. What on earth are you doing, banging around up there?”

  “I dropped something,” Cat shouted, getting slowly to her feet. She was relieved to see that Madeline Reynolds had arrived in one piece. The witch had slipped off the broomstick and was lying on Cat’s bed with her eyes closed—though Cat sensed she wasn’t asleep. Staggering over to the door, her legs all stiff and shaky, Cat called out, “I just got in. I came right up.”

  “You weren’t going to say hello first?” Cat could hear the hurt in her mother’s voice.

  “I’m tired, Mamma.”

  “It sounds like they’re getting close to catching Madeline Reynolds,” Poppy said. “No sightings yet, but the storm looks as if it’s going to be a big one, and she’s bound to be somewhere behind it. They’ve got fifty thousand different units lined up and waiting.”

  “Really,” Cat called down, thinking that grown-ups could be just the tiniest bit thick sometimes. She knew Peter would be laughing his head off if he weren’t a guinea pig, and Cat patted her pocket to see how he was doing. She patted it again, more wildly this time, and then shoved her hand inside, feeling frantically about. “Oh no!” Cat groaned, stuffing both hands in both pockets and turning them inside out. Peter’s glasses were there but not Peter. Somewhere between here and Ruthersfield her friend must have fallen out.

  Cat had been holding herself together for so long, but she couldn’t do it anymore. Walking numbly back into her room, she sank down on the floor and started to cry. Soft, quiet tears that dripped onto the rug. She was so involved in her crying that she didn’t hear the little chomping sound right away. It took Cat a few minutes to notice that a ginger-and-white guinea pig was chewing the frayed edges of her jeans.