A Sprinkle of Sorcery

by Michelle Harrison

  ‘What about that?’ Goose asked, nodding fearfully at the wisp. ‘What do we . . . do with it?’

  ‘Same as always,’ Wild muttered. ‘Don’t listen, and don’t follow. Who knows what dark magic summoned it . . . what curses it might contain . . . ? And this household is placed under immediate curfew,’ he continued. ‘No one leaves, and no one enters, you hear me? You’ll wait for the morning warders to arrive, when you’ll all be properly questioned.’

  He put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie immediately shrugged it off.

  ‘Ain’t going nowhere, mister. You can’t arrest me – I’m seven next week!’

  ‘We don’t arrest children,’ Wild said through his teeth. ‘We take them into custody.’

  Charlie stopped wriggling and looked suddenly hopeful. ‘Custardy?’

  Wild gave her a look that suggested he already found her very tiresome indeed, but Betty doubted it was enough to put him off. He clamped his hand down on Charlie’s shoulder again, more firmly this time. ‘Move.’

  ‘Now look here,’ Granny said, stamping over to Charlie. ‘She’s not going anywhere, not without one of us.’

  ‘That’s not permitted,’ Wild said. ‘Might I remind you that this household is now under curfew—’

  ‘Curfew my backside!’ Granny growled. ‘You’re meant to be protecting us! I should be questioning you as to why there are wisps floating around and getting into innocent people’s homes!’

  Charlie looked down at Wild’s hand, then gave Betty a sideways glance.

  Shall I bite him? she mouthed.

  ‘No!’ Betty blurted out, to the confusion of everyone else in the room. She coughed and gave Charlie a warning look.

  ‘Well, I’m coming, too,’ Granny said, grabbing her pipe determinedly. ‘Any questions you’ve got for me can be answered on the way!’

  ‘You are most certainly not coming,’ Wild said coldly.

  Granny reached for Charlie’s hand. ‘Watch me.’

  And suddenly things began to get worse very quickly.

  Wild knocked Granny’s hand away roughly. Her mouth dropped open and she unleashed a terrible word that made Fliss blush and Charlie’s eyes pop.

  ‘How dare you raise your hand to me?’

  Before Betty’s horrified eyes, Granny brandished the wooden spoon she was holding and smacked Wild smartly on the nose.

  ‘Right, that’s it!’ he bellowed in Granny’s face. ‘You’re under arrest!’

  ‘No!’ Fliss cried. ‘You can’t! Granny, quick, apologise—’

  ‘I will not,’ said Granny, with a strange little glint in her eye.

  She got herself arrested on purpose, Betty realised, with a great rush of love. So she could stay with Charlie!

  Wild, looking oddly triumphant, simply nodded to Goose. ‘Cuff her. We’ll drop her off at Bootleg Beak.’

  ‘You mean . . . she’s not going with Charlie?’ Betty asked, with a sinking feeling, as Goose produced a pair of silver cuffs.

  He snapped them on. Granny’s wrinkled hands clenched into fists, and another stream of cuss words poured out of her.

  Wild turned to Fliss. ‘The duty warder can deal with her in the morning.’

  He bundled Charlie towards the kitchen door. Goose followed, with a guilty look about him as he nudged Granny forward. Betty’s hands twitched at her sides. She wanted nothing more than to grab both of them back and hold on to them tightly, but she didn’t dare.

  ‘How can they do this?’ Granny raged. ‘It’s practically kidnap, that’s what!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Granny,’ Charlie said, slipping her small hand into Granny’s old one as Wild urged them down the stairs. ‘At least I’ll get to see Torment, and I’m really good at being kidnapped!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Granny murmured. ‘You’ve never been kidnapped, Charlie. This isn’t some daft game!’

  Betty and Fliss exchanged a look. They both remembered what Granny and their father did not. Only the three sisters knew of the adventure they had shared, in which Charlie had indeed been kidnapped.

  The slam of the front door shook the Poacher’s Pocket. Moments later came a familiar clang as Granny’s horseshoe fell from above the door frame. Betty listened to it ringing out as it settled, unable to shake off the sense of foreboding that was digging its claws further and further in. All those little warning signs . . . the crows, the misplaced horseshoe. Could they have meant something, after all?

  Despite her belief that the warders would realise their mistake and return Charlie, she had a terrible feeling that something about the whole situation was very wrong.

  ‘Poor Charlie,’ she whispered. ‘None of this would have happened if I hadn’t let Willow in.’

  ‘They’ll be all right,’ said Fliss, rubbing Betty’s arm comfortingly, but the look in her eyes betrayed her. She was every bit as afraid as Betty was. ‘Charlie’s a tough egg, and they’ll have to bring her back when they realise their mistake.’

  ‘We need to get Willow out,’ said Betty, barely listening. She drew her sleeve across her runny nose, trying to stop sniffling. ‘We’ve got to get rid of her. Now.’

  Betty went into the bedroom, leaving Fliss to clatter around in the kitchen. Her breath was ragged in the darkness. From some hidden space, the wisp emerged, glowing softly as it drifted round her ankles. In the last awful moments of the arrests and Charlie being taken, she had almost forgotten about the eerie orb. Had the warders forgotten, too? Or had they simply chosen not to deal with it now they had captured Charlie? The sight of the wisp so close unnerved her all over again and strengthened her resolve. It didn’t belong here, and neither did the strange girl it accompanied.

  ‘Willow,’ Betty said quietly. ‘Are you there?’

  For one heart-stopping moment, there was no reply, and a terrible thought popped into Betty’s head. What if Willow had silently left, unseen, with the Widdershins’ most treasured possession . . . ? Her eyes went to the chest of drawers where she had hastily – and foolishly – left the nesting dolls. She exhaled shakily. They were still there. She snatched them up and slipped them into her pocket, stepping closer to the wardrobe. The wisp was hovering in the corner, suspended in the air like a tiny moon.

  ‘Willow?’ Betty said again, reaching into the darkness. Her hand met only air.

  ‘Over here.’ The voice came from the other side of the room. Betty stared as the rumpled bedsheets moved, seemingly by themselves. It was eerie to watch.

  ‘He was tapping the walls,’ Willow said softly. ‘I crept past him as he moved. But after he’d gone I was so cold, and I couldn’t stop shivering. Couldn’t get warm. So I-I . . .’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Betty said gruffly.

  The bedclothes stopped moving and there was a beat of silence.

  ‘I’m sorry they took Charlie,’ Willow whispered. ‘This is all my fault.’

  Betty held back a bitter remark, reminding herself that Willow was just a child. And, after tonight, possibly a child who no longer had a mother – just like them.

  ‘It’s done now, no point blaming yourself. They’ll have to bring her back when they realise she’s not you.’ She glanced at the window. Outside was thick with mist and doubts began creeping into her mind. Willow was barely older than Charlie – could they really turn her out and let her fend for herself? ‘Look,’ she began awkwardly, ‘you don’t have to go straight away. It’s still so foggy out there—’

  ‘No,’ said Willow. The bedclothes shifted again as she moved off the bed. ‘The mist is on my side. I should leave now, while they have Charlie. As long as they think she’s me . . . well, that’s the best chance I have.’

  Betty nodded, reaching for the dolls. As she pulled the outer doll apart, Willow snapped into view, huddled at the edge of Betty’s bed. The wisp zipped over to her and buzzed round her ankles, but Willow looked so lost and forlorn that Betty hesitated. ‘I could keep you invisible for a little while longer, if you like?’

  Willow shr
ugged. ‘Maybe. Or maybe it’d only cause more problems—’

  ‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!’

  The scream from the kitchen made them both flinch.

  ‘Fliss?’ Betty yelled, her voice bubbling in her throat. Legs wobbling with fear, she ran from the room, afraid of what she was about to see.

  Fliss stood with her back to the kitchen sink, chest heaving. Her eyes were fixed on the table. In one hand she held a kettle. In the other a large, half-empty bottle. ‘It just . . . appeared,’ she gasped.

  ‘The whiskey?’ Betty asked, eyeing the bottle suspiciously.

  ‘No, the rat!’ Fliss squeaked.

  Betty turned, finally noticing Hoppit on the table, partially submerged in the open bag of raisins Charlie had been pilfering. ‘Charlie must’ve left him behind. Oh, hang about, Oi’s on the prowl!’

  Devilish yellow eyes had appeared at the edge of the table, along with the tip of a flicking black tail. Quickly, Betty scooped up the rat, shuddering at the feeling of his clammy little paws and worm tail, and stuffed him into her dressing-gown pocket.

  ‘Blasted rat.’ Fliss dumped the kettle and stepped away from the sink, fanning herself. ‘Blasted cat, too. Shoo!’ she said, sweeping Oi off the kitchen chair. ‘Oh, to heck with tea! I need something stronger.’ Unscrewing the cap of the bottle, she took a deep swig.

  ‘Felicity Widdershins!’ said Betty, shocked. ‘What are you playing at?’

  Fliss retched, then spat the whiskey straight into the sink, eyes bulging. ‘Trying it. It works for Granny.’

  Betty snatched the bottle and put the lid back on. ‘You’re not Granny, and I need you to keep a clear head!’

  ‘It’s horrid, anyway.’ Fliss gagged.

  Willow had appeared in the doorway, and was hovering uncertainly. Fliss glanced at her nervously, then away, like she simply wanted her to disappear. Taking an empty potato sack from a hook, she knelt by the cupboard and began stuffing the tobacco tins inside it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Betty asked.

  ‘Ditching Granny’s stash.’ Fliss twisted the sack closed. ‘If duty warders are coming here in the morning, we should get rid of these. No point incriminating ourselves further.’

  ‘But the other warders already saw them—’

  ‘Their word against ours,’ Fliss said stubbornly. ‘Willow can take them and dump them somewhere when she leaves.’ She looked at Willow pointedly. Betty glanced at the window again. The swirling mist showed no signs of letting up. A knot of fear tightened in her belly. Why would the warders risk crossing the marshes in this mist? The uneasy feeling was back, pecking at her like a hungry crow.

  ‘All right then,’ Fliss said softly. ‘I guess it’s time for us to say goodbye, Willow. I hope you get to wherever it is you’re trying to reach.’

  Willow looked at her, her large eyes solemn in her thin face. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were snatched away.

  A sharp rapping at the front door made them all freeze in fear.

  ‘Who in crow’s name could that be?’ Fliss said shakily.

  Betty grabbed Willow’s arm and pushed her back into the bedroom, fumbling with the nesting dolls. As she connected the two halves of the outer doll, Willow vanished once more. ‘Stay out of the way, like before,’ Betty told her, returning the nesting dolls to the chest of drawers. ‘And get that wisp back into the lamp!’

  She hurried down the stairs, Fliss on her heels.

  ‘Perhaps the warders decided to release Granny,’ Fliss said breathlessly, crossing her fingers for luck. ‘Or Charlie convinced them to bring her back!’

  Betty said nothing as she slid the bolts back from the door, but her thoughts were a jumble. Much as she wanted to believe Fliss, the nagging sense of wrongness wouldn’t let her, and even as she opened the door Betty somehow knew, already, that it wasn’t going to be anything good.

  Two figures stood on the step, shrouded by mist. Warders . . . but not the ones who’d been there already. As their faces appeared in the dim light, Betty drew in a sharp breath. She recognised one of them, even if he wouldn’t know her.

  ‘Apologies for disturbing you at this hour,’ he said. ‘We’re looking for a runaway, and it’s vital we search all premises.’

  Fliss stared at him in confusion. ‘But . . . but you’ve just searched here.’

  The warder stared back at her, eyes narrowing. ‘No, we haven’t.’

  ‘I mean your colleagues,’ Fliss said. ‘Other warders.’ She turned to Betty. ‘Goose and . . . ?’

  ‘Wild,’ Betty answered, staring at a crease that was deepening between the man’s eyebrows and not liking it at all.

  The second warder glanced at the first one.

  ‘There are no warders called Goose and Wild.’

  Chapter Six

  A Glimpse Through a Hagstone

  ‘THEY WERE JUST HERE, MINUTES ago,’ said Fliss, her voice rising. ‘Asking us questions, searching the place . . .’

  The first warder spoke again in a clipped voice. ‘There are only two of us searching this side of Crowstone now. We split up from the other pair an hour ago. Whoever it was that came here, they weren’t warders.’

  Not warders? The news wrapped round Betty’s thoughts like marsh mist, drowning her. She felt lost and terrified.

  ‘B-but they were in uniform!’ Fliss continued, her bottom lip trembling. ‘They’ve taken our little sister! Our granny, too. It’s all a terrible mistake!’ She glanced desperately at Betty. ‘Tell them!’

  ‘It . . . it is,’ Betty croaked. She saw the plea in her sister’s eyes and knew Fliss was begging her to give Willow up, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Handing Willow over to the warders wouldn’t bring Charlie back. All it would do was incriminate the Widdershins.

  ‘They thought our sister was someone else – the runaway – and . . . and then, when we tried to stop them from leaving with her, they arrested Granny and said they were taking her to Bootleg Beak . . .’ She trailed off as shock gave way to an icy dread spreading throughout her body.

  Who were those people who had taken Granny and Charlie? What did they want with Willow? Whoever they were, they’d beaten the warders to it. A skittering, panicky feeling took hold of Betty. Everything had changed. If they no longer knew who had Charlie, they had no clue where she was really going, either. Or why . . .

  ‘Why would they confuse the two?’ asked the warder, more to himself than to the Widdershins. ‘Perhaps we’d better take a look around ourselves.’

  ‘Hold it right there,’ Fliss interrupted, barring his way. ‘If those weren’t real warders who were here before, then how do I know you’re who you say you are?’

  The warder’s lip curled. It was a thin lip, one Betty remembered, for she’d seen this warder before. He was a short, reedy-looking man with a limp moustache resembling a starved rat, and a personality to match. He flashed his badge: a golden crow’s foot that gleamed even in the dim light. Betty knew his name before he said it.

  ‘Tobias Pike. And this is Eli Minchin.’

  Minchin gestured to his badge, too.

  ‘That proves nothing,’ said Fliss. ‘The others wore badges.’

  ‘He is a warder,’ Betty put in. ‘I . . . I remember seeing him before. At the prison.’ This wasn’t strictly true, but it was easier than trying to explain to Fliss that she’d first encountered Pike on the marshes last year, when the three sisters had set out to break their curse.

  They stood aside to let Pike and Minchin pass. Fliss shut the door behind them.

  ‘And you showed them the birth papers for your sister?’ Minchin asked, frowning as they approached the bar. He was more softly spoken than Pike, with a kinder face. He took out a notebook and flipped it open, beginning to scribble in it with a pencil.

  ‘Yes.’ Fliss ran upstairs quickly, and returned with the handful of papers from Granny’s old biscuit tin. ‘This is Charlie’s. They said it didn’t prove who she was and took her, anyway.’

  ‘Back to Torm
ent?’ Pike asked.

  Betty nodded weakly. ‘That’s what they said, but if they weren’t real warders then . . .’ Then why would they take her to Torment? she wondered, the fear in her heart echoed in Fliss’s eyes. And what would they do to Charlie once they discovered their mistake?

  Pike turned to Minchin urgently. ‘We need to get to the harbour, and quickly. In this fog, they couldn’t have got far. We’ll light the beacons, send search parties out.’

  ‘And what about the other warders?’ Fliss asked. ‘Can you ask them to help?’

  ‘We need to find them first,’ said Minchin. ‘But if the impostors wore warders’ uniforms then . . .’ He paused, gulping visibly. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is why they took Granny,’ said Fliss. Her oval face was deathly white now, and even her lips, normally deep and rosy in colour, were sickly pale. ‘If they were just looking for this girl, why not take only Charlie?’

  ‘They didn’t want Granny. They wanted to scare us,’ Betty realised. ‘They created a distraction, throwing us off guard.’ Wild’s over-the-top reaction made sense now. It was clear Granny shouldn’t have been arrested, but it had certainly frightened Betty and Fliss into obedience.

  Pike gave Betty a long look. ‘Is there anything else you need to tell us? Anything we should know that could help your sister?’

  Betty shook her head, thinking of Willow in the room above, quiet and listening.

  ‘No.’ Her voice was hollow. Such a small word for such a big lie.

  ‘In that case,’ Pike said, ‘we’ll get searching right away.’

  ‘A description? Or photograph?’ Minchin put in.

  Betty handed him a small picture from the shelf above the till. Charlie’s face beamed out from it cheekily. ‘Here. This was taken early last year – she’s missing her two top front teeth since this was taken.’

  ‘Please,’ Fliss said in a wobbly voice. ‘Please find her. Bring her back.’

  Minchin nodded gravely and tucked the picture into his pocket.

  ‘You’re of age?’ Pike asked Fliss.