The Witch's Revenge

by D. A. Nelson

  “Heeeeelp!” she cried, reaching out for her horrified friends.

  Aldiss managed to grab hold of Henry, who was dangling from Morag’s neck. He held on for all he was worth, anchoring himself to the doorframe with one paw and pulling with the other, but the wind was strengthening. Bertie grabbed ahold of the rat, Chelsea held the bird and a tug-of-war ensued between the chain of friends and the wind above. It lasted for a few seconds before there was a sudden roar from the whirlwind and a long blowpipe emerged from its core.

  Puff! A dart flew from its barrel and glanced off the rat’s ear, ripping off the tip. Aldiss shrieked and let go of Henry, falling to the floor. He looked up to see the medallion spinning off Morag’s neck as she was sucked upward into the blustering winds.

  With a Pop! the tornado disappeared into thin air, taking the screaming girl with it. Aldiss scrambled to his feet, his head dull and unfocused. He frowned as he tried to work out what Bertie was shouting at him. He felt so sleepy. He stumbled and fell onto one knee. He tried to get up but slipped on the stone floor and collapsed. With a small sigh, he lay there and closed his eyes. Bertie and Chelsea immediately ran to his side.

  “Aldiss! Aldiss!” the bird cried, but the rat did not respond. Bertie saw the arrow lying on the floor nearby and looked up at Chelsea. “He was hit,” he said as he cradled his friend in his wing. “Just like Queen Flora. He didn’t stand a chance.”

  High above them the tornado rematerialized in a richly furnished bedchamber and spat Morag onto a polar bear rug in front of the fireplace. When she was no longer giddy from all the spinning, Morag looked around and realized where she had been taken.

  “Mephista’s room,” she said to herself. She had cleaned it often enough when she had been forced to be her maid. It had not changed a bit: the same sprawling bed with the gossamer curtains, the vast dressing table groaning under the weight of Mephista’s perfumes and cosmetics, and the enormous, yawning fireplace, over which were hanging two oil paintings of a sad-looking man and woman reaching out for each other.

  As Morag tried to regain her balance she heard a low growling snigger behind her. She turned to see a Klapp demon baring his yellow teeth in a hideous grin and clutching his potbelly as he chuckled. “Oh, that whirlwind trick never fails. And I thought it up myself!”

  Morag scowled. “Tanktop. I should have known. What are you doing here?” she snapped, anger rising in her throat. She was not afraid of this ugly creature. He had been in the Klapp Demon Secret Police, but she knew what a coward he was.

  “I could ask you the same, little miss,” he replied. “Why were you creeping and crawling about in the castle? You were looking for the prisoner, weren’t you?”

  Morag flinched.

  “I thought so.” The Klapp demon smirked. “My Lady will reward old Tanktop well for capturing you,” he added, rubbing his hands together. His mean little eyes gleamed. “I wonder what I will get for the likes of you! Hmmm, Rotten Ruk Tails would be good or Sorrow Slime or … or …”

  Morag closed her eyes in disgust as globs of saliva oozed from his wide mouth and leaked all over his matted chest hair. When he saw her discomfort he laughed all the more. He loped toward the door and yanked the big metal key from the lock.

  “See this?” he said, waggling it at her. “Now, don’t you be thinking you can escape from here, cos I’m going to lock you up. Do you hear?”

  She nodded. His eyes flickered amber in the firelight. “And don’t be thinking your friends can come and help you either. You can forget about seeing them again.”

  The Klapp demon yanked the door open.

  “Wait!” cried Morag. “Why did you do it?”

  He frowned.

  “The whirlwind … why did you—” she went on, but was interrupted.

  “Well, it was fun and I got to use magic. I’ve never been allowed to do that before,” he said, his voice high with excitement.

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” she replied. “Why did you kill the Queen?”

  The creature shrugged. “She was no use anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “My mistress had the tooth, so she didn’t need Flora anymore. The Queen was a liability, she knew too much.… Wait a minute, why am I telling you this? It’s nothing to do with you,” he growled.

  “No use to you anymore? You mean the Queen helped you get the tooth?” Morag asked, not quite believing what she had heard.

  Tanktop stared at her, unwilling to talk. “Got to go,” he said finally, and pulled the door shut. Morag waited until she heard the key scrape in the lock and felt under her coat for the medallion. “Did you hear that?” she said. “Henry, you’ve got to use your magic to get us out. I don’t want to be here when he gets back.…”

  She put her hand to her throat and gasped. The medallion was missing! Her stomach lurched. He must have fallen off in the stairwell. She looked around. Maybe there’s another way out of here, she thought, going to the windows. She pressed her face up against the diamond panes and looked out. Through the gloom of the early winter’s evening, she could just make out the cobbled courtyard a long way below, but it was too far to jump. Not that way, then, she said to herself. She felt along the walls for signs of secret doorways, but there were no hidden catches or sliding panels. She lifted the bearskin rug and looked under the bed for a trapdoor; she peered into a large chest in the corner and knocked on the walls. After about ten minutes, it became obvious that the locked door was the only way in and out of the room. She tried not to cry, but sighed loudly and threw herself on the bed. Now what, Morag?

  A log crackled and spat on the fire. The fireplace! Of course! In books she had read, the hero or heroine always found a secret passageway behind the fireplace. She leapt to her feet and ran across the room. Placing her hands carefully on the stone mantel, she searched for a button concealed in the intricate carvings, pushing and kneading the knots and stone flowers as she went. She found nothing.

  “Ggnnnhh!” she said in frustration, dropping onto the hearthrug.

  “Oh, poor soul …,” said a man’s voice from above her. Morag looked up, but could see no one. “It’s heartbreaking watching her trying to find a way out,” the voice continued.

  “Hello?” Morag said quietly.

  “I wish we could do something for her,” said a woman’s voice now. “Like show her a way to escape. But how can we?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do, darling,” replied the man’s voice. “Not in our current position. It’s so frustrating.”

  Morag stood and scanned the room. There was no one.

  “Hello?” she tried again. “Who’s there?”

  “Poor child. I wonder what she’s done to deserve this,” said the woman sadly. “Oh, wait, isn’t she the one who was here before?”

  “Hmm … she could be. I always wondered what happened to her,” the man’s voice replied.

  “Are you ghosts?” said Morag. “It’s fine if you are. I’m not frightened. Moira and Jermy always said they had ghosts in their basement.…”

  “Is she talking to us?” asked the man.

  “I’m not sure,” replied the woman. “She’s not supposed to be able to hear us. Mephista made sure no one could talk to us, remember?”

  “I certainly can hear you, but I can’t see you!” said Morag, trying hard to keep the fear from her voice. “Where are you? Show yourselves!”

  “Bless my soul. She can hear us!” said the woman. “Talk to her, Nathan, ask her a question.”

  “Um … hello there, little one,” Nathan said.

  “Where are you?” Morag asked again.

  “Turn around,” instructed the man.

  Morag did. She was now facing the fireplace. She looked in the grate and up the chimney. “Are you up there?”

  “No. Do you see the two portraits above the fireplace?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s us!” he said.

  Morag raised her eyes to the two oil paintings: one was of a m
an with dark brown hair, the other of a blond woman wearing a red stone pendant. “But … I don’t understand,” she said. “How can I hear you speak when you’re not moving?”

  “That’s a good question, my dear. Most people can’t,” said the woman softly. “Are you using magic? Mephista’s entrapment spell was very powerful. She made sure no one could hear us or help us to escape. Are you a witch?”

  “No, I’m not a witch at all,” replied Morag. “I’m just an ordinary human girl.”

  “A human child?” asked the woman with surprise. “Yet you can hear us? How can that be, Nathan?”

  “Maybe Mephista’s spell is wearing off? It doesn’t matter. It’s a miracle that after all this time someone can hear us. Perhaps now we can be freed …,” the man said with real hope in his voice.

  There was a pause. Morag, who was bursting with questions, asked: “Why did Mephista trap you in the paintings? I’ve met her before and that is cruel, even for her. What did you do?”

  “We fell in love,” Nathan explained. “Mephista didn’t like it, tracked us down and imprisoned us in these pictures.”

  “But why would she do that?” the girl asked. “Why was she so against you falling in love?”

  “It’s a bit complicated,” he replied. “Isabella and I are both heirs to the Marnoch Mor crown. Look, it’s a long story and it will take some time to tell it all.” Nathan stopped suddenly. “What was that?”

  There was a scuffling at the door; a key turned and the scraggy face of Tanktop leered in at Morag. “You’re to come with me,” he said with a nasty grin.

  Morag flinched. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said bravely, although she wasn’t feeling the least bit brave.

  “Atta girl!” Nathan cheered her on, knowing only Morag would hear him.

  The Klapp demon scowled, grabbing her tightly by the arms and dragging her toward the door. Morag pulled and twisted and turned and punched and kicked, and did everything she could to loosen the creature’s grip, but it was no use. Tanktop had her and he was not letting go. There was nothing she could do but go with him.

  She allowed herself the briefest glance back at the paintings. I don’t know how, but somehow I’ll help you, she thought as she was pulled through the doorway and into the corridor beyond. Even though she knew the figures in the paintings could not move, their faces seemed sadder than ever.

  13

  “Move it, human!”

  Tanktop growled and gave Morag a harsh tug, pulling her off her feet. She stumbled and nearly fell as he dragged her downstairs. Morag tried to keep up with him, but the Klapp demon struck up such a pace that it was impossible not to fall behind.

  “Slow down,” she pleaded, nearly tumbling down the stairwell. “We don’t all move like Klapp demons, you know!”

  “Stop whining!” the creature said with a snarl. “You’re wanted and you’re wanted now!”

  “Who wants me?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he snorted.

  Without stopping, Tanktop dragged her to the top of the stairwell that led down to the dungeon. He wasted no time in scampering ahead, his great feet slapping hard on the steps as he pulled her behind. Deciding she’d had quite enough of this treatment, Morag suddenly let her body relax and slid to the floor. Tanktop was abruptly yanked off his feet and hit the stairs with a yowl. He scrambled to stand and turned on her, spit flying from his lips in rage. “What are you doing, stupid girl?” he hissed, slapping her shoulder. “Get up! Get up!”

  But Morag stayed put, staring back defiantly. “Let me go,” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Oh, but you have. You broke into this castle illegally.” The Klapp demon smiled smugly. He was pleased with his good answer. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’ve got a nerve coming back to this island after what you did to Devlish.”

  “You should be thanking me for getting rid of him,” she began, but got no further, for the Klapp demon grabbed her by the waist, throwing her over his shoulder.

  “Let me go!” she squealed as he carried her down the stairs. She wriggled and kicked, but his grip was too tight for her to break, and it became apparent that all her struggling was getting her nowhere. With a sigh, Morag gave up and allowed herself to be carried into the dungeon.

  Despite his gangly frame, Tanktop negotiated the twists with agility. At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden door. Tanktop flipped his prisoner from his shoulder, dropping her unceremoniously onto the floor. While he examined the large iron lock, Morag wondered if now was a good time to try to escape. Eyes pinned to the Klapp demon, she slowly edged aside. She took another step, then another and then …

  “Ow!” she cried as his sharp nails dug into her shoulder, dragging her close to his face.

  “You’re going nowhere. Even if you tried to run I’d catch you,” he growled, teeth bared and eyes glinting in the torchlight. She recoiled from his horrible breath.

  “Get your hands off me,” she said, slapping his grasping fingers. “When everyone in Marnoch Mor hears about this, they’ll be the ones who come after you!”

  He stared at her for a few seconds, then grunted and, keeping a secure hold of her, produced a small wand, seemingly from nowhere. He pointed it at the door and called out a dark Klapp demon magic spell, and a stream of purple sparks flew at the lock. There was a small click, the handle turned and the door swung open with a high-pitched shriek. Morag flinched as she found herself being wrenched through the doorway into the darkness beyond.

  The door banged shut behind her. She was aware of the Klapp demon’s snuffles, and could feel a dirt floor beneath her feet, but could not see it. She believed they had entered a narrow corridor, but she could not be sure. There was nothing to guide them, no torches on the walls, no chinks of light. The demon, undeterred by the pitch-blackness all around, continued dragging her onward, and Morag could do nothing but follow. As she stumbled along, she wondered if her friends had managed to escape and if they were looking for her. She wondered what had happened to Henry and hoped Aldiss and Bertie had the sense to get out of the castle altogether and fetch Shona. Now that she had been captured, they hadn’t a hope of rescuing Montgomery.

  “You won’t get away with this,” she said, finally finding her voice again. “My friends from Marnoch Mor will come and rescue me.”

  “Ha!” laughed the demon, not slowing his pace. “They won’t be able to if there’s no Marnoch Mor left.…”

  “They will, you know, and then you’ll be sorry. I’ll tell them everything: how you kidnapped Montgomery and murdered the Queen and then held me hostage and …”

  But she got no further. Tanktop suddenly stopped, causing her to crash into him.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  There was a flash as the wand was lit. More purple sparks poured from its tip like a sparkler on Bonfire Night. The demon barked some magic words and a doorway opened up in the darkness, flooding the passageway with a bright light. Morag shielded her eyes with an arm and recoiled. “Mistress, look what I bring you,” Tanktop hissed as he pushed Morag in front of him.

  Morag blinked, her eyes watering in the bright light. A strong smell of decay made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

  “Well! Look who it is,” a familiar voice said.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the brightness, she saw with horror who had spoken. A tall, slender woman was staring down at her.

  “Well done, Tanktop, you’ll be rewarded later,” said Mephista, daughter of the evil warlock Devlish, as a nasty smile played about her lips. Morag’s heart beat wildly, and she could only stare at Mephista. She had hoped never to meet her again.

  The witch looked magnificent in a long silk dress of palest blue, her red hair flowing down her back like a river of fire. Around her throat, dangling from a long gold chain, was a human tooth, an incisor. The tooth that was stolen from the museum! Morag realized. It swung as the witch laughed in the face of the frightened girl standing before her.


  “You didn’t expect to see me again, did you?” The witch smirked.

  “Where is Montgomery?” Morag demanded. “What have you done with him?”

  Mephista’s lips pursed before she answered. “Your concern is so sweet, and so predictable. And you wouldn’t want anyone to harm him, now, would you?”

  Mephista glanced behind her and for the first time Morag realized a figure was slumped in a dark corner. She squinted in the gloom and could just make out a familiar face. “Montgomery? Let him go! You have no reason to lock him up like this!” Morag shouted, straining to free herself from Tanktop’s grip. The demon cackled and held on tightly.

  “Ah, but this was the only way,” replied Mephista. “You left me no choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The witch strode toward her, bending down so that their noses were almost touching.

  “I knew that in order to get you to leave Marnoch Mor, I’d have to tempt you out. I couldn’t get you out using magic, but if you chose to come of your own accord … now, that would be a different matter. So I took your precious Montgomery as bait.”

  “Bait? What are you talking about?” Although Morag asked the question, she already knew the answer, and the realization made her feel sick.

  “Bait for you. The great Morag MacTavish, heroine of Marnoch Mor and murderer of my father,” Mephsita snarled.

  “I did not murder your father,” Morag said calmly. “The Eye of Lornish did it.”

  “Oh, you can blame the Eye, but it was you, all right, and now that I’ve got you here you’re going to pay for what you did.”

  Mephista smirked, stood back and strolled away.

  “Whatever you’re going to do to me,” Morag pleaded, “at least let Montgomery go.”