A Witch Alone

by James Nicol

  ‘It was lovely to see my grandmother and show Salle the city,’ Arianwyn said, ignoring the second question to avoid lying again about hex samples.

  ‘And you gonna be a big star now then, Salle?’ Mr Thorn joked, giving her a nudge.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Salle said, trying to keep her voice bright.

  Mr Thorn gave Arianwyn a wide-eyed, questioning look. But she just shook her head and mouthed, ‘Not now’. She could see Salle’s mood was not quite one of triumphant return.

  As Beryl bumped her way over every small pothole and lump in the road the tourists gave little cries of fright, jostled about in their seats.

  ‘Is this normal?’ a lady in thick glasses and a broad straw hat asked Arianwyn.

  Arianwyn nodded. ‘I’m afraid so . . . but you do kind of get used to it!’

  ‘Or after a while your bottom will be so numb you won’t feel it,’ Salle added with a giggle.

  Arianwyn watched the countryside flash past and in her mind ran over everything that had happened. She wanted to share everything with Salle – she would be so interested and excited. But Arianwyn knew that she couldn’t. Sharing her worries might have helped with the nagging fear that perhaps something had happened to Estar and that was why the summoning spell had failed.

  She shook that thought away quickly. However much she wanted Salle’s support, she knew she was alone with the secret until Colin arrived: the High Elder had made that clear.

  Mr Thorn called over the roar of Beryl’s engine: ‘Not much changed since you pair went off. Mrs Ganby had her baby, a little boy called Oscar. Oh, and Dr Cadbury is looking for some help at the surgery. Miss Tooly, the last assistant, upped and left without a by-your-leave. Apparently she signed up with the army medical division.’

  ‘Heavens!’ Arianwyn said.

  ‘We’ve not seen much of Miss Delafield – reckon her poor leg must still be causing her problems, eh?’

  Miss Delafield had broken her leg during the fight with the night ghast. ‘I had a letter from her when I was in Kingsport. Her leg’s nearly better, but she’s not allowed to drive yet,’ Arianwyn explained.

  ‘Well, everyone will be right pleased to have you back home!’ Mr Thorn smiled.

  Arianwyn smiled too. She realized that all the way back she had felt like she was coming home, not like when she had left Kingsport nearly a year before to start her posting. Then, Lull had been an alien place. Now, as each bridge, church, or tree whizzed past, she felt a little closer to home – and to new adventures. She hugged Bob, who gazed out of the window. Across a wide, open field, a tractor was dragging a plough in the far corner, turning golden stubble over to reveal velvety brown earth.

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone has really noticed I’ve gone!’ Salle laughed, but something in her voice told Arianwyn that her friend felt this might be true. She reached for Salle’s hand and squeezed it smiling.

  ‘I’m sure your aunt and uncle will be right pleased you’re back, Salle!’ Mr Thorn called brightly.

  Salle half smiled and turned away again.

  Arianwyn’s tired mind seemed to fizz and churn with thoughts of the last few days and the excitement of nearly being home again. Somehow, though, she must have dozed off again as the next thing she knew Mr Thorn was shaking her gently awake. ‘We’re here, miss. Back in Lull.’

  Arianwyn’s eyes fluttered open and she was looking out across the town square through a slightly fogged-up bus window. The cobblestones, the buildings – all just as they had been when she’d left almost two weeks ago. It was nearly dark now. Bob jumped from her lap and headed out on to the town square, sniffing at the cobbles. Arianwyn and Salle waited for the tourists to disembark and then retrieved their own luggage and followed them off the bus. They strolled across the town square watching the tourists pause to snap pictures of the shops and buildings at the edge of the square. ‘Looks like you’re going to be kept busy at the Blue Ox,’ Arianwyn said to Salle.

  ‘I know, very glamorous, isn’t it?!’ Salle said, poking her tongue out at Arianwyn. She gathered her luggage together. ‘Right, I’ll see you in the morning, Wyn,’ she said, hurrying to catch up with the tourists who were heading for the Blue Ox, Lull’s only inn and Salle’s home.

  ‘Goodnight!’ Arianwyn called quietly as Salle made her way home. Then Arianwyn hefted her own suitcase and bag and made her way slowly through Lull’s familiar narrow streets towards the Spellorium. Bob the moon hare skipped happily beside her.

  When arriving in your new posting it is essential that you make a good first impression on any local dignitaries who may have influence within the town and local district area.

  This may be the parish or town council or the local mayor. They will offer you every support and may well have experience of having worked with several witches during their time in office.

  You should make good use of their knowledge, support and guidance for a positive relationship will be better for all than one which is strained or suffers from regular conflict. But you must also be wary of becoming too embroiled in local political whims.

  A WITCH ALONE: A MANUAL FOR THE NEWLY QUALIFIED WITCH

  Chapter 10

  BEHIND WITH WORK

  rianwyn woke suddenly, the shreds of a dream flitting away from her like a red-winged tree sprite. Something of the dream lingered around her . . . a glyph, that was it: the shadow glyph. Her mind had chased the half-remembered fragment and the night ghast had been waiting for her, lurking in the shadows.

  She jumped from her bed, shaking the memory off, and walked quickly across the apartment towards the kitchen. She busied herself filling the kettle, lighting the hob and setting out a mug. Bob lay curled up on the bed, legs twitching as the moon hare chased its own dreams. Arianwyn smiled. ‘I wonder what moon hares dream about?’ she asked the quiet apartment, looking out over the Lull rooftops in the grey light of dawn.

  Questions drifted through her mind. Was she the only one to see these quiet glyphs? Could there really be other witches out there like her and Effie, as the High Elder suspected? Or was she really alone? And what did it all mean?

  The kettle gave a shrill whistle, making her jump and stopping her train of thought. Bob gave her a rather thunderous glare at having been disturbed. ‘Sorry!’ Arianwyn smiled.

  She rifled through the cupboards in search of something to eat, but all she unearthed was a box of stale crackers which she tossed straight into the bin. She would have to visit the grocers as soon as possible. ‘I wonder if Aunt Grace is cooking anything nice for breakfast?’ Arianwyn said to Bob, who sat up straighter when she said ‘breakfast’, head tilted to one side.

  Once she’d finished her tea, she washed and dressed quickly, pulling on her uniform jacket as she headed down the stairs into the Spellorium. She cast a guilty look at the stack of unopened letters on the counter as she dashed past. ‘We deserve a nice breakfast, don’t we, Bob?’ Arianwyn said as she unlocked the door and stepped out into Kettle Lane. ‘It’s going to be a busy day and we’ll need our energy,’ she added, locking the door. She could already imagine a plate of Aunt Grace’s famous pancakes waiting for her on the cosy table beside the welcoming fire in the Blue Ox. But as she turned to descend the three steep steps to the pavement she almost walked straight into somebody who was standing right behind her.

  ‘Oops, sorry!’ Arianwyn turned round and found herself face to face with Josiah Belcher, Lull’s mayor.

  ‘So, you are back, Miss Gribble!’ Mayor Belcher smiled as he peered down at her. ‘I would have thought you might come to see me as soon as you returned—’

  ‘Oh, it was very late, Mayor Belcher. I didn’t want to disturb you.’ It was only a half-lie.

  He gave her a look which suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced, his moustache twitching a little. ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘I was just heading to—’

  ‘Now, Miss Gribble, I’m pleased you’re back early as it’s been rather problematic without you, I must say.’ The mayor gripp
ed a wodge of small slips of paper. ‘Miss Prynce was kind enough to keep a log of requests for you in your absence.’ He shook the pile of paper at her. ‘I imagine you’ll want to get on with them as soon as possible.’ He thrust the papers at Arianwyn.

  She flicked through them quickly. There seemed to be a worrying amount that related to ‘things’ coming out of the Great Wood amidst the usual day-to-day issues. The mayor was right: she ought to make sure there wasn’t anything urgent. She sighed, her stomach grumbling.

  She turned back and unlocked the Spellorium door again. Bob gazed longingly down Kettle Lane in the direction of the town square. ‘We’ll go later,’ Arianwyn said to the moon hare, trudging back inside and slipping off her jacket. Mayor Belcher followed her, looking annoyingly pleased with himself. She put the pile of papers on to the counter beside her stack of unopened letters and pulled the ledger round, picked up a pencil and started to log the appointments.

  ‘So, I’ll just leave you to it then, Miss Gribble,’ said the mayor. ‘But when you do have a few spare moments, perhaps we could catch up.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mayor Belcher,’ Arianwyn said, with as much brightness as she could muster to hide her frustration.

  ‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’

  ‘Let’s see how I get on with my list first.’ Arianwyn smiled, prodding the pile of paper.

  ‘Ah yes, indeed – well now, it looks as you have a customer already. Good morning, Mrs Emerson.’

  A harassed-looking woman dashed through the door. ‘Oh, thank heavens you’re back, Miss Gribble. We’re in uproar at home.’ The woman, who was huffing and puffing, leant against the counter and took a deep steadying breath and then placed a jam jar which appeared to be filled with a bright yellow liquid on the counter.

  ‘I’ll just get out of your way then!’ Mayor Belcher said, eyeing the jam jar suspiciously. ‘Cheerio!’ he called, as he vanished through the door.

  ‘This has been bubbling up out of our kitchen sink for over a week,’ Mrs Emerson said, pointing at the jar.

  ‘Oh, well, I’m not really . . . perhaps you need a plumber?’ Arianwyn suggested.

  Mrs Emerson fixed her with a glare and then unscrewed the lid. ‘I’ve had the plumber in already,’ she explained. The liquid had begun to wobble and bubble, then there was a bright flash, the Spellorium filled with a shower of sparks and yellow goop splashed across the counter. ‘He says it’s not really his area of expertise. Any ideas?’ Mrs Emerson folded her arms over her chest and stared hard at Arianwyn.

  ‘Let’s just jot down some details, shall we?’ Arianwyn asked, wiping the fizzing, sparking yellow goop from her pencil and leaning over the ledger.

  She was never going to get breakfast now!

  There was a constant stream of customers after Mrs Emerson had left with some powdered gant dung for her mysterious yellow goop. And the next time Arianwyn had a chance to even glance up at the clock she saw it was nearly lunchtime. Thankfully Salle had called round just after Mrs Emerson had left, with some warm muffins and a small basket of provisions from Aunt Grace. ‘That should keep you going,’ she’d said, smiling, before hurrying off on more errands.

  There was still a queue of people at the counter. Arianwyn recognized the next man as one of the local farmers. He clutched his cap in his massive muddy hands.

  ‘Did you get my note, Miss Gribble? I’m Farmer Eames from Bridge Farm.’

  Arianwyn checked quickly through the wodge of paper the mayor had left with her. Bridge Farm certainly rang a bell. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘A bogglin, is it?’

  ‘I reckon so,’ Farmer Eames said. ‘About so big, dark brown and a nasty temper to be sure.’

  ‘Well,’ Arianwyn said, reaching for a large jar on the shelves to her right. ‘I could give you some jessen seed powder; that might help for—’

  ‘Tried that already, miss,’ Farmer Eames interrupted. ‘Think you need to come and take a look.’

  A few more people came through the door and joined the back of the queue.

  ‘I might be able to get to you in a few days . . . it’s rather busy, as you can see.’

  The door banged open again and Millicent Caruthers – who ran the ladies’ boutique next door, which specialized in the most fabulous hats – came into the Spellorium, a warm smile on her face. She raised a hand in greeting. She was followed by two assistants carrying several large boxes between them.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Caruthers,’ Arianwyn called brightly. She eyed the boxes with a feeling of trepidation.

  ‘Arianwyn, sweet girl, how was your holiday? We all missed you terribly.’ She took in the Spellorium, swarming with people. ‘Er – as you can see!’

  Arianwyn smiled. ‘It’s all go today.’

  ‘Yes, well that’s why I thought you might be in need of your . . . delivery here.’

  Arianwyn glanced at the boxes again, stamped with C.W.A. STORES and FRAGILE. But she couldn’t remember what it was she was waiting for. She had sent a small order just before her holiday, to top up her supplies with what she couldn’t find locally, but nothing this large, she was quite sure. Could it be new equipment from the C.W.A. perhaps? Had she missed something important in the pile of letters which she still hadn’t had chance to look at?

  ‘Well, we’ll just pop them over here for you.’ Mrs Caruthers pointed to the floor beside the counter and her two brown-coated assistants moved quickly and placed them in a neat pile.

  ‘Thank you,’ Arianwyn said, still racking her brains.

  ‘There are a quite few more in my storeroom,’ Mrs Caruthers said quietly.

  ‘How many more?’

  ‘About twenty-four boxes,’ one of the brown-coats said.

  ‘Oh, heavens!’ Where was she going to put everything? Perhaps she had better take a look quickly. ‘Excuse me just a moment,’ she said to Farmer Eames and the queue.

  She pulled the lid of the first box open and lifted out a wad of scrunched-up newspaper. Nestled in the box were two large glass spheres, each about the size of a football. ‘What on earth?’ Arianwyn breathed, and then noticed a slip of paper.

  Dear Miss Gribble,

  We have the pleasure of enclosing your order of Charm Globes Size C.01.

  We regret we were unable to fulfil your original order of 500 but have sent our remaining stock. We are not sure when the rest of the order will be available as the larger charm globes have to be specially made now due to decreased use.

  Please do get in touch if you need any further assistance.

  Gregory Hardy

  C.W.A. Stores Manager

  ‘Oh, jinxing-jiggery!’ Arianwyn said, getting to her feet, the typed letter crumpling in her hand. ‘How many more boxes did you say you had, Mrs Caruthers?’

  She looked at the brown-coats. ‘Twenty-four. There are about thirty boxes altogether, miss,’ the shorter brown-coat replied.

  That was sixty of these gigantic charm globes that she had absolutely no use for whatsoever. How on earth had she made the mistake? It had to be a mistake at the C.W.A., surely. She’d have to call them to sort out returning the delivery as soon as possible and certainly before the other four hundred and forty arrived!

  Mrs Caruthers must’ve noticed her dismay; she reached forward and touched Arianwyn gently on the arm. ‘Not to worry about moving them all straight away, though. I’m sure they’re not in our way in the storeroom.’ She smiled. She was being too kind.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Caruthers.’

  ‘Well, I’d best get back to the shop or the whole place will have fallen apart in the last five minutes, and I wouldn’t want to keep you when you are busy. Come along, gentlemen, off we go!’

  Arianwyn leant on the counter as Mrs Caruthers and her assistants left the Spellorium, the door charm jingling merrily as the door closed behind them.

  ‘Miss Gribble, when can you come and sort out my problem, do you think?’

  Arianwyn started; she had almost forgotten Farmer Eames was there.

  ‘Oh, um . . .
’ She pulled the ledger to herself and scanned the entries she had already made and then glanced up at the pile of messages and notes Mayor Belcher had delivered.

  ‘It’s quite urgent, you know,’ Farmer Eames huffed. ‘I’ve had two farm hands bitten in the last week alone.’

  ‘Do you have any more of the charms for tamblerats?’ a woman asked as she barged up to the counter. Her two children charged around the Spellorium. The girl was clearly pretending to be a witch, flying on her broom, and the boy was pretending to be some sort of dark spirit in hot pursuit judging from the growling and shrieking.

  There was a sudden thud as one of the boxes stacked by the counter toppled off the pile and landed on the floor. The young girl looked up at Arianwyn guiltily. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

  Arianwyn hurried round the counter and reached for the tumbled box, praying the contents were intact. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Gubbage, nothing broken.’ She smiled up at the woman and the small girl.

  The woman sniffed and looked straight ahead. ‘Well, perhaps you ought not to leave things like that lying about—’

  ‘Miss Gribble, what about my bogglin—’

  ‘Tomorrow, Farmer Eames. I’ll come first thing tomorrow,’ Arianwyn snapped quickly.

  Farmer Eames smiled, despite her tone.

  Arianwyn looked around at the woman, at Farmer Eames and at the pile of boxes. If she didn’t take a break, she felt as if she might explode. ‘Let me just get these moved out of the way.’

  Arianwyn heaved a sigh of relief as she left the packed Spellorium, dragging the boxes into her own small storeroom. As the door clicked shut she paused in the darkness, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet. The noises from the Spellorium, the scuttles of Bob chasing a ball of dust across the floor, and customers arguing over whose job was more urgent, were all muffled by the door. But then a scratching sound came from somewhere at the back of the small room. She stood stone-still and listened – trying to focus.