Carbonel and Calidor (New York Review Children's Collection)

by Barbara Sleigh

  ‘Whew! That was quite a ride!’ said John. ‘Hallo, there’s Mattins.’

  The grey cat was sitting with drooping head by the remains of the broken seat.

  ‘Whatever has happened to your poor whiskers?’ said Rosemary. ‘They’ve gone all crinkly.’ Mattins lifted his head with a jerk.

  ‘She plaited them,’ he snapped, with an angry toss of his head towards Tucket Towers.

  ‘But whatever for?’ asked Rosemary.

  ‘As a punishment, because without her permission, I told Grisana about the black cat she is keeping prisoner. When I managed to get my whiskers un-plaited, they were like this, and I can’t get them straight again.’

  ‘But didn’t Grisana stick up for you?’ asked John.

  ‘Not she! She laughed fit to burst when she saw my poor whiskers. I’ve done with both of them, Grisana and the Witch Woman. I’m really sorry I told tales about Crumpet. But I was angry with him when I heard him telling you about this business of being a royal animal, and he hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me too. I came to see if this one would take me on instead.’ He nodded towards the Waiting Room.

  ‘She’s not much of a witch, but I’m not much of a cat, not with whiskers like this. I knew she was catless now Crumpet has gone. But even that’s no good. She says she’s giving up witching. You can ask her for yourselves. She’s in there.’ He nodded once more to the open door behind him.

  John picked up the broom and marched into the Ladies’ Waiting Room with Rosemary at his side. Miss Dibdin was sitting crouched on the floor by the empty fireplace, with her head in her hands. Rosemary tiptoed up to her.

  ‘Miss Dibdin,’ she said softly. ‘Do please cheer up.’

  ‘Go away!’ she replied, without looking up. ‘Whoever you are.’

  ‘It’s us, John and Rosemary. We’ve brought your broom back for you. You left it behind at Tucket Towers.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want it,’ said Miss Dibdin sourly. She looked up miserably at the two children. ‘You don’t mean to say you saw it happen? Me being bundled off like that by Dulcie Witherspoon’s magic! So humblingThey nodded, unwilling to say anything that might increase her unhappiness. ‘It’s no good,’ she went on. ‘I’m giving it all up. Some people are good at one thing and some at another. Well, I’m no good at witching, and Dulcie is.’

  ‘Like me being no good at football,’ said John. ‘And Tony Wilkins is, although he doesn’t try nearly so hard.’ Miss Dibdin nodded understandingly.

  ‘And just look at my furniture!’ she went on with a wave of her hand. ‘I bought one or two things to make it a bit more comfortable. I had to do something about it when Dulcie turned me out of Tucket Towers.’

  John and Rosemary looked round. As well as the packing case and the station bench, there was an armchair with the stuffing coming out, propped up with what looked like a telephone directory. In a corner on the floor there was a mattress covered with a rug.

  ‘But whatever’s happened to them?’ said Rosemary. ‘They are all ... shadowy!’

  ‘You can see right through them!’ said John.

  ‘I know that!’ said Miss Dibdin irritably. ‘I thought if someone came and found out I had settled in here, I might get into trouble for trespassing on the station; but if no one could see my furniture they would never know, so I planned to make everything invisible, except to me. But I couldn’t even get a simple spell like that right! I looked it up in my notes — but I must have done something wrong, as usual. Turned over two pages by mistake, probably — and they came out only half invisible. I don’t feel really comfortable somehow, sitting on a chair you can see through.’

  ‘Is that why you’re sitting on the floor?’ asked John. Miss Dibdin nodded. ‘But the broom,’ he went on. ‘What shall we do with it?’

  ‘Whatever you like,’ Miss Dibdin replied impatiently.

  ‘Then can we keep it?’ asked Rosemary eagerly.

  ‘If you want to,’ said Miss Dibdin with a shrug. She turned and patted the broom where it lay beside her on the floor. ‘The nearest thing I got to a bit of real magic was riding it, even if it did only hop. If I could only fly, just once, high in the air, with the clouds trying to keep up beneath me, and fields and houses slipping away miles below! What witty things I should say to the birds when they cheeked me. If I could do it just once, I could give up the rest quite cheerfully!’ She broke off with a sigh. ‘It isn’t much to ask, but it’s no good. If I hadn’t left my reading glasses behind at Fairfax Market and could see my notes properly, it might all have been different,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Where are your notes?’ asked Rosemary. ‘I can read without spectacles!’

  ‘Miss Dibdin pointed with a fat finger to an untidy pile of loose sheets of paper lying in a corner. Rosemary picked them up and thumbed them through. Her eyes were very bright, and her cheeks were flushed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked John. But she motioned him not to interrupt. ‘Here we are,’ she said at last. ‘ “To make a besom fly where it shall be commanded.” ’ With a frowning face, she read the instructions through to herself, looking at the broom from time to time, as though checking various points.

  ‘Did you brew the mixture at the full moon?’ she asked Miss Dibdin.

  ‘Of course. A beautiful green steam it gave off.’

  ‘We know, John saw it,’ said Rosemary crisply. ‘And did you boil the tape in the liquid while the wind was nor’-nor’-east, so that it rose three times?’

  ‘Miss Dibdin nodded. ‘And picked the twigs just before the church clock struck midnight,’ she added. ‘It’s the twigs that hold the magic.’

  Rosemary peered at the untidy bundle at the end of the broom handle. She could still read ‘Nostradamus Ltd. Fancy Goods’ printed on the tape which secured it to the handle. She looked at the notes again.

  ‘But you’ve tied it with the wrong knot!’ she said. ‘You’ve made it the ordinary granny kind. ‘There’s a diagram here showing how it should be done.’

  Miss Dibdin looked where Rosemary’s finger pointed at the closely written page.

  ‘That?’ she said. ‘Oh dear! I hadn’t realized it was a diagram. I thought it was just an idle bit of doodling! Oh silly me!’

  Rosemary began to untie the knot.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ asked John again. Rosemary ignored him. Without looking up from the diagram she said briskly: ‘While I re-tie the string, properly this time, I have to say the magic words. When I come to the last twist but one, John, I shall nod, then you must put your thumb on the knot so that I can make it really firm.’

  ‘I must, must I?’ he said with a grin. ‘Who’s being bossy now?’

  Rosemary looked up. ‘Don’t you see? If it really flies high this time, the broom can take us to Fallowhithe twice as quickly as any other way! Are you ready? Then I’m going to begin the spell.’

  Her fingers took the two ends of the ribbon, and twisted and twined them exactly according to the diagram, and at the same time she chanted in a sing-song voice:

  ‘Fly-by-night,

  And fly-by-day.

  What I command,

  You must obey.

  Whither or thither,

  Hither and yon,

  Whoever bestraddles you,

  Carry them on,

  Up and over, wherever they will.

  Do as you’re bid. Their wishes fulfil.’

  And as she said ‘fulfil’, she nodded, and John placed his thumb squarely on the knot, and she gave a final twist and tug to the ribbon.

  Even through the ball of his thumb John felt the quiver of the broom’s response, even more strongly than when they had flown across the field. For a moment, there was a restless stirring among the twigs, and then they lay still.

  ‘I say!’ said John, gazing at Rosemary with respect.

  ‘My dear, you did it beautifully!’ breathed Miss Dibdin, who had watched the proceedings with her hands clasped under her chin to control her rising excitement. But Rosemary did
not seem to hear either of them. She was standing with the broom in her hands, wrapped in her own thoughts.

  ‘Rosie!’ said John. ‘I say, Rosie!’ he repeated, and as she still took no notice he gave her shoulder a pat. ‘Wake up! What’s the matter with you?’ Rosemary gave herself a little shake, and turned to John with rather a wobbly smile.

  ‘Come on. Let’s see if it will fly with us to Fallowhithe!’

  ‘To Fallowhithe?’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘Oh, please, may I come too?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Rosemary doubtfully.

  ‘Is the broom strong enough to take all of us?’ said John.

  ‘The magic is young, and should be powerful,’ said Miss Dibdin eagerly.

  ‘You said if you could fly high, just once, on the broomstick, you’d stop this witching business for good. If we say you can come, will you promise to be sensible and give it all up?’ said John.

  ‘By the witch of Endor, and Solomon’s Ring,’ said Miss Dibdin, making a curious flickering movement with her hands, ‘I promise to burn my notes and return to Fairfax Market! That is a very solemn oath.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Being sensible is so dull! But never mind that. Come, come, what are we waiting for? Have you thought what to say when you tell the broom what you want it to do? She turned to Rosemary, who nodded.

  ‘Then let us mount!’ said Miss Dibdin, adding, ‘Mattins! Guard the Waiting Room while we are gone.’

  They all three stood astride the broom, first Rosemary, then John, and Miss Dibdin at the back.

  ‘Go on, say it!’ said John, as Rosemary paused. She lifted her head high, and in a loud, clear voice said:

  ‘To Fallowhithe please will you fly.

  Not hopping, but high in the sky,

  To land where Calidor is standing,

  And please to make a careful landing!’

  ‘So efficient! She thinks of everything,’ breathed Miss Dibdin.

  ‘Up!’ cried Rosemary. ‘Up and away!’

  The broom rose gently in the air.

  ‘Look out! Duck!’ yelled John, as without warning it shot through the doorway of the Ladies’ Waiting Room, out into the daylight, circling up and up into the air, until Highdown Station looked no bigger than a toy below them.

  .’

  18. The Duel

  ‘WONDERFUL! Wonderful!’ sang Miss Dibdin, as the broom, sloping steeply, circled higher and higher. Up and up it went, the wind singing in its twigs and whipping Rosemary’s hair out behind her. After a dozen turns she called breathlessly:

  ‘Don’t you think we’re high enough, John? You’re hanging on to my waist, and Miss Dibdin is hanging on to your waist, and if I stop hanging on to the broom handle, we shall all three slither off the end! I can’t ... hold ... on ... much longer!’

  ‘Then tell the broom what you want it to do!’ shouted Miss Dibdin. ‘Showing off, that’s what it’s doing. You have to be firm with young flying besoms, and let ’em know who’s master.’

  ‘Down broom! Down a little!’ commanded Rosemary desperately. ‘And then straight on to Fallowhithe, and hurry!’

  At once the broom tipped the other way, so suddenly that John and Miss Dibdin nearly catapulted over Rosemary’s head, then it straightened out, settling down to a steady forward flight.

  ‘I say, I think I can steer it a little by pressing one knee or the other against the handle!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘The station is right behind us!’ joined in Miss Dibdin. ‘And we’re coming up to Tucket Towers. How thrilling. And I do believe that’s Dulcie Witherspoon in the garden. I can see her pink frock. Oh, I do hope she sees us! Dulcie! Dulcie!’ she shouted. ‘Coo-ee! Look at me flying up here!’

  ‘Don’t call her,’ said John curtly, turning so abruptly to frown at Miss Dibdin that the broom rocked perilously.

  ‘Do sit still!’ said Rosemary crossly.

  ‘Well, we don’t want Mrs Witherspoon knowing where we’re going. She might find out and start interfering,’ said John, facing squarely front once more.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ said Miss Dibdin in a resigned voice.

  As they flew over the clump of trees growing beside the house, the rooks rose in a protesting cloud, and then settled down again. Through the overhanging boughs, here and there, they could see the drive leading up to Tucket Towers, the crumpled humps that were the roofs and the tower itself which stood up like a warning finger, where Carbonel sat patiently waiting. When they flew over the pink blob which was Mrs Witherspoon, Miss Dibdin gave a sudden chuckle.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ called Rosemary over her shoulder.

  ‘Oh, I was ... just thinking how surprised Dulcie would be if she did see us. But of course there is no reason why she should look up, is there?’ She chuckled again.

  ‘Bags I sit in front and steer coming back!’ said John. ‘It’s simply super! You can see the fields and woods and houses down below, like your bed-cover, Rosie. You know, the patchwork one.’

  ‘And the roads like white ribbons!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘There’s the motorway to Fallowhithe with streams of cars and lorries, looking like beetles! That greyish, pinkish smudge must be the town,’ said John.

  ‘But surely you can tell me why it’s so important that Dulcie shouldn’t know why you are going to Fallowhithe?’ said Miss Dibdin.

  John told her about Carbonel and Calidor, and Grisana’s wicked scheme. But he made no mention of the purple cracker, although he began to feel uncomfortable about it.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me that my dear pussididdlums is a royal cat? I always thought there was something special about him! And poor Carbonel! Imagine being a prisoner of Dulcie’s! Of course I forgive Crum ... I mean Prince Calidor for running away. If there is anything I can do to help ... Oh dear, I do wish I hadn’t ...’ she stopped.

  ‘Hadn’t what?’ asked John. But before Miss Dibdin could answer, Rosemary, who had been looking anxiously forwards, said: ‘There’s a great bank of cloud in front. It would take ages to go round it.’

  ‘Then we’d better go straight through if it will save time,’ said John.

  The swirling cloud swallowed them up and the broom ploughed on and on; but, no longer able to see anything but the surrounding mist, they could not tell at what speed they were flying. The silence was complete. There was not so much as the beat of a bird’s wing.

  ‘It’s like being wrapped in cotton-wool,’ said John.

  ‘I shall be jolly glad when we’re out in the sunshine again. Nothing but grey swirling cloud everywhere. It’s creepy,’ went on Rosemary.

  ‘Hush!’ said Miss Dibdin suddenly. ‘Quiet, I can hear something!’

  They all three listened. Far away, but coming nearer and nearer was the unmistakable sound of a bicycle bell. ‘There it is again, much nearer!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘But it can’t be a bicycle bell! Not up here!’ cried John incredulously.

  ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid it is,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘It’s Dulcie Witherspoon on her tricycle!’

  ‘But tricycles can’t fly!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘Hers could,’ said Miss Dibdin sourly. ‘If she made the right magic, and she might. She said I had no imagination because I thought only brooms could fly. And now she is following us, and it’s all my fault. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known about Carbonel and Calidor. But you didn’t tell me till I’d done it.’

  ‘Done what?’ asked Rosemary.

  ‘You wouldn’t let me call to Dulcie when we were flying over Tucket Towers,’ went on Miss Dibdin sadly. ‘I did so want her to see me really flying, so I pulled a button off my coat and dropped it on top of her as we passed.’ (The buttons on her coat were very large and black.)

  ‘Help!’ said John. ‘Well, we shall just have to hope we can go faster than she can, and escape her that way.’

  The bicycle bell rang again, and it sounded much nearer. Rosemary clapped the handle of the broom with her knees, and made encouraging noises with her tongue, and for a short time it increased i
ts pace, only to sink back again to the original speed.

  ‘We must be a pretty heavy load for it,’ said John. ‘I suppose it’s only meant to carry one person really.’

  ‘The noise of the bell is getting louder and louder,’ said Rosemary. ‘It must be quite near‘There’s a dark shape coming towards us through the mist!’ said John, who was looking over his shoulder. And as he spoke, through the cloud behind them came a strange sight: young Mrs Witherspoon on her tricycle, crouched low over the handlebars and pedalling fast. Her black hair was down and streaming behind her. She was not aware of the flying broom and its three passengers, until she was nearly on top of them; then she braked so sharply that the tricycle reared and she had to stand up on the pedals. Then, adjusting her pace to theirs, as it righted itself, she drew alongside. Gullion, immovable as ever, was sitting in the basket in front.

  ‘Well! Well! Well!’ she said, laughing heartily as she shook back her long hair. ‘If it isn’t Dorothy Dibdin, actually flying on her broom! Though I see someone else is in control. You there in front! Why, if it isn’t one of those deceitful children! And bless me, you are the other!’ she went on, turning to John. ‘Collecting for Orphan Children indeed! Well, you won’t get your two pennies from me, that’s certain! So the rooks were right. They warned me that something strange was flying overhead. So did Gullion, and something hard hit me on the forehead.’ (Miss Dibdin beamed at this.) ‘And so I came up to see what it was, and it’s only you! And where are you off to?’

  ‘That’s our affair,’ said John shortly.

  ‘We have no intention of telling you!’ said Miss Dibdin haughtily.

  ‘As if I care,’ said Mrs Witherspoon, with a toss of her head. ‘But wherever it is, I think ... yes, I think, I shall stop you from going there!’

  ‘Whatever for?’ asked Rosemary. ‘We simply must get to Fallowhithe!’ John’s warning ‘Shut up, Rosie!’ was too late.

  ‘So that’s where you want to go!’ the young witch replied, with a mocking laugh. ‘What a pity you will never get there! I shall stop you, just to show the power of my magic!’