Clover Twig and the Magical Cottage

by Kaye Umansky

  “Fluffy! Spot! Oliver! Tibbikins! Cub to bubby, oh cub to bubby dow!”

  Humperdump emerged next, sucking his bitten hand. He lumbered down the steps, still hoping to redeem himself in the eyes of his beloved, although he had a feeling that things had gone beyond the point of no return.

  “Don’t you worry, Miss Fly!” he shouted. “I’ll help you! We’ll get ’em! Humpy’ll help!”

  Miss Fly turned on him like a spitting cobra.

  “Oh—get away frob be, you stupid, stupid ban!” she screeched, and stamped hard on his foot. Humperdump staggered backwards and tripped over the small ginger cat, who was crouched on the step coughing up yet another fur ball. He went down like a stone, bringing down two footmen with him.

  “Clover!” warned Wilf again. The Captain of the guard had picked himself up and was hopping around, trying to untangle his sword, which had become caught up in his legs.

  “Ah! Found it!” cried Clover, pouncing on the book, which had fallen under the kitchen table.

  Stan was hesitantly approaching the window again.

  “Still want your spear?” asked Wilf.

  “Yes,” said Stan. “I do.”

  “Here it is, then,” said Wilf, poking it through the window and making threatening little jabs. “Be careful how you take it, it’s sharp.”

  “Imp-et-us I lack and need the bubble …” gabbled Clover.

  At that point, just when it seemed that things couldn’t get any worse, Mesmeranza appeared in the castle doorway. She raised an arm and pointed a red talon at the cottage.

  “Arrest those children!” screeched Mesmeranza. “Get them out now!”

  “ … Arise and bring the sack or you’re in trouble!”

  There was a brilliant flash, and the kitchen was filled with coiling green smoke.

  “Now what?” snarled Bernard, from his customary place on the middle shelf. “I hope this won’t take long, I’m in the middle of the crossword.”

  “Bernard,” said Clover. “This is an emergency. We have to take off right now.”

  “Yes!” howled Wilf, from the window. “For crying out loud, hurry up!”

  Wilf and Stan were engaged in a strange dancing ritual with the spear. Wilf kept making little thrusting movements, and Stan kept trying to grab it from the side. Meanwhile, Mesmeranza came striding across the courtyard, kicking everyone and everything out of her way.

  “Fly! Where are you?” she was screaming.” The Wand! Fetch me the Wand!”

  “Anyone know the name of a four legged animal beginning with H?” inquired Bernard, slowly opening the sack. “Four across. Five letters, ends with an E …”

  Clover snatched a fork from the floor and came threateningly toward him.

  “I said now,” she said.

  “All right, all right,” said Bernard, sulkily. “Keep your hair on.”

  “Quick!” bellowed Wilf. Stan had finally succeeded in catching the spear, and they were engaged in a desperate tug o’ war through the window. The Captain was running towards them, sword drawn, and Mesmeranza was bearing down. It was hopeless. Any second now the cottage would be surrounded and it would all be over.

  And then … and then …

  They went up.

  It wasn’t a bit like the first time. There were no creepers to hold them down. There was no jerking or grinding or bucking of floors. The cottage just rose, smoothly and steadily, with no fuss at all. Wilf let go of the spear and hastily backed away from the window.

  “Wait!” shouted Clover. “Stop right there! What about Neville? We can’t leave without him!”

  Bernard gave an irritable sigh. He made a little adjustment to the bubble that floated between his hands and the cottage paused in its ascent.

  Clover ran to the window and peered out, anxiously scanning the courtyard below, where confusion still reigned. People and cats were staring up, pointing in horror at the cottage hovering directly above their head. In the middle of it all stood Mesmeranza, staring up, face incandescent with rage.

  “I’ll get you!” she was screaming. “I’ll get you, Clover Twig, just see if I don’t!”

  “Neville!” bellowed Clover. “Where are you?”

  Down below, Neville sat in the courtyard looking around in puzzlement. For some reason, there were a lot of cats and humans running around screaming, but he couldn’t remember why. Was it anything to do with him? He thought perhaps it might be, but he wasn’t sure.

  Oh well. He didn’t much like this place. It was raining a bit, and he didn’t like rain. Perhaps it was time to go home.

  The trouble was, for some peculiar reason, home was now floating way above his head. He would need a bit of help to get up. That new girl was leaning out of the window, shouting his name. Good. It must be supper time.

  Neville’s eyes fell on a tall woman standing in the very center of the courtyard. She had her back to him and was waving her fist and screeching. She seemed to be upset about something. Why? He didn’t know. What was her name again? He couldn’t remember. But he knew he didn’t like her.

  She’d do.

  Neville took a flying leap and landed in the middle of the tall woman’s back. Using his claws as grappling hooks, he scrambled up to her shoulder and then onto her head. He tensed, sprang, soared through the air, and landed with a thump on the window sill.

  “Here he is,” cried Wilf. “Good old Nev! In you come, boy, we’re going home.”

  And Neville dropped down into his own kitchen and looked around for something to eat.

  “Can I proceed?” inquired Bernard, poisonously “Or is there something else you’ve forgotten?”

  “Go!” said Clover. “Go up! Now!”

  And up they went. Up past the high gray walls and turrets. Up, up, up over the mountains, up into the lowering skies. Far below, tiny little specks scurried like ants around the fast receding courtyard.

  And then they were in the clouds. Wispy tendrils floated by the window, becoming thicker and more dense then finally blotting out everything. Slowly, the green smoke was dispersing out the windows.

  They’d made it!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Flying Home

  “We’ve made it,” croaked Wilf. He was curled up on the floor with his head in his hands. “We have, haven’t we? Tell me we’ve made it!”

  “I think we have,” said Clover. She stood by the broken window, staring out at the gray cloud, waiting for her heart to steady. Far below, the mountains were a blue blur. Already, the castle was far behind.

  “I really thought weren’t going to make it.”

  “Me, too. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Did you see me with the spear?”

  “I did. You did a great job.”

  “So did you.”

  “Thanks. But it was mostly all thanks to Neville.”

  They both looked at Neville. He was staring in bewilderment at the place where his basket should be but wasn’t. It was upside down in a corner, but he seemed to be having trouble getting his head around this.

  “Nev?” said Wilf. “Are you all right? One miaw for yes, two for no.”

  Neville carried on staring into basketless space.

  “I think the serum’s worn off,” said Clover. “He’s gone back to being his stupid old self again.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Wilf. “I was looking forward to hearing all about his adventures. But I guess we’ll never know.”

  “I do wish you’d stop your endless yacking,” remarked Bernard from the cupboard. “I’m attempting to keep us steady.”

  “You do that, Bernard,” said Wilf. “It must be really hard, what you’re doing. I mean, Clover and I have only spent an entire night and day escaping from dungeons and fighting off guards with spears. But you, you’ve got it real tough, sitting in a cupboard keeping a little floating bubble suspended …”

  “A horse!”

  Clover’s urgent cry came from the window.

  “What?” said
Wilf.

  “It’s a horse!”

  “That’s it!” said Bernard. “Five letters, beginning with H and ending with E. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “No!” Clover was pointing out the window. “I mean there’s one behind us! A flying horse! Oh, Wilf! It’s her! She’s coming after us!”

  Wilf shot up and ran to join her.

  Some way behind—but gaining fast—was a tiny, enraged figure. She was riding bareback on a black, snorting horse that sported a large pair of flapping, feathery wings! There had been no time for a harness or the Vanishing Saddle. Booboo was visible to all, and it was an unsettling sight. Finding a mouse in his food had upset him badly, and he still had the jitters. He didn’t want to go on a ride at short notice, and he wanted to make that very clear. His eyes were rolling, his legs were a blur, and it was all Mesmeranza could do to stay on.

  “Faster!” shouted Clover over her shoulder. “We’ve got to go faster! She’s catching up! She’s got the Wand!”

  “I can’t,” said Bernard. “It’s too dangerous, the walls won’t stand it.”

  Mesmeranza was now almost directly behind the cottage. She hauled on Booboo’s flying mane, and he reared and lashed at the air with his hooves. In her hand was the Wand, which she pointed at the window. Wilf and Clover ducked as a stream of green light zoomed over their heads and fizzed across the kitchen, taking out a large chunk of wall and scattering Bernard with plaster dust.

  “All right!” said Bernard, hastily. “I’ll try going into emergency overdrive. Just don’t blame me if it all goes wrong.”

  And with that, he took his little green hands away from the bubble—and blew. Instantly, the bubble shot up towards the ceiling and began to spin.

  From all around came a trembling. The floor vibrated beneath their feet, and the walls were beginning to crack. From above their heads came a splintering noise. One of the rafters was starting to buckle.

  The most frightening thing of all, though, was what was happening outside. The clouds were speeding up. They raced across the sky at impossible speed. For a split second, a rainbow appeared then vanished again. A heavy squall of rain blew through the window, followed by snowflakes, then hail, then a dazzling flash of sunlight, then forked lightning, followed by a howling wind. It was as though all the weather in the world was happening at once.

  Wilf dived underneath the kitchen table, dragging Clover with him. Neville continued to sit right where he was, pondering the mystery of his basket until Clover’s hand shot out, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and hauled him to safety.

  With a terrible groaning noise, the beam gave way and fell down with a crash, bringing a large section of ceiling with it.

  The air was filled with dust and debris, setting them choking and spluttering. The fallen beam lay partly on the floor and partly on the table. The noise was terrible—plates, cups, saucepans, everything was vibrating.

  “Arrrrrgh!” howled Wilf. He felt sure his teeth were coming loose.

  “Eeeek!” screamed Clover, clapping her hands to her ears.

  “Forest coming up!” came Bernard’s voice. “Descending now, prepare for landing! Mind your heads, there might be a bit of a …”

  CRASH!

  Anyone walking in the woods would have had a terrible shock. One minute there was nothing but a ruined garden with a gate lying on its side and a great big cottage-shaped hole in the middle. The next minute, there was a whistling noise, the sound of breaking branches, a rain of falling leaves, and, finally, an earth-shattering thump …

  And there was the cottage. Or what was left of it.

  It gave what sounded like a huge, shuddering sigh. Then … slowly … it shifted on its base and eased itself down into the ground. There was a pause. A long, long pause, where nothing happened. And then the back door fell off its hinges.

  Clover and Wilf stood in the doorway looking out at the destruction. The garden had already been pretty well decimated by the lift off, but the touchdown had completed the job. The cherry tree now lay on its side, roots ripped from the soil. The lawn was awash with pink petals and broken branches. The little bird feeder that had once hung from the bottom branch lay in splinters.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” came a petulant voice from behind. Bernard was standing in the cupboard, bubble back in the sack, clearly ready to go.

  “Thanks, Bernard,” said Clover, absently.

  “Yeah, thanks,” said Wilf.

  “And that’s the best you can do? You’ve no idea of the risks involved, doing what I just did. The skill, the technical difficulties, the—”

  He broke off. There was no point in continuing. He was talking to himself.

  “Typical,” snorted Bernard, and vanished.

  Outside in the garden, Clover and Wilf stood together, surveying the fallen cherry tree.

  “Oh dear,” said Wilf.

  “Mrs. Eckles is not going to be pleased about this,” said Clover. “She was fond of that tree.”

  “I was,” said a dry voice from behind them. “Didn’t expect to see it lyin’ all over the garden, that’s fer sure.”

  They both whirled around. Mrs. Eckles was standing by the wrecked flower bed, peering down at her feet.

  “Mrs. Eckles!” gulped Clover. “I thought you weren’t back ’til tomorrow.”

  “Yes, well I came ’ome early. Looks like them crocuses is done for. See? All squashed. Shame, they was a nice color, too. Oooh.” A smile creased her cheeks. “There’s my boy!”

  Neville came trotting up, tail erect, and rubbed around her ankles. Mrs. Eckles stooped down and picked him up. He scrambled up to his usual place, draped across her shoulders.

  “Ahh,” said Mrs. Eckles, tickling his chin. “He loves his mother.”

  Clover and Wilf exchanged a startled glance. Considering the circumstances, she seemed to be strangely calm.

  “You’ve probably gathered that we had a bit of trouble,” said Clover.

  “Well, yes.” Mrs. Eckles turned and surveyed the wrecked cottage. “Place has taken a bashin’. I can see that. Take a bit o’ fixin’ that will.”

  “We’re really sorry,” said Wilf.

  “And so you should be,” said Mrs. Eckles sternly. “Especially you, Clover, I thought you had more sense. You ‘ad no business pokin’ around in me private cupboard.”

  “That was my fault,” admitted Wilf. “I took the Changeme Serum and picked the padlock. Clover tried to stop me.”

  “Hmm. And then you both went off on a little joy ride.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” said Clover. “There was nothing joyful about it. I don’t think you quite …”

  “Bernard bein’ difficult?” interrupted Mrs. Eckles. “Spot o’ turbulence? Well, serves you right. Serves me right, too, I s‘pose. I shoulda known better than to leave a couple o’ kids alone with a bottle o’ serum and a cupboard they ain’t allowed to open.” Mrs. Eckles’s eyes were roaming the garden. “Just look at the state of that chicken coop. I bet that gave Flo an’ Doris a turn. I s‘pose they ran off in the forest? I’ll ’ave the devil of a job gettin’ em back.”

  She wandered off to inspect the mangled coop.

  “She’s taking it well,” whispered Wilf. “I thought she’d be furious. Considering her cottage is demolished.”

  “I know. I don’t think she’s getting the whole picture.”

  “Huh?”

  “She thinks we took the cottage up. She doesn’t know it was Mesmeranza. She hasn’t a clue what’s been happening.”

  “I bet she does,” said Wilf. “Witches know everything, don’t they? They see things in dreams and tea leaves and—I dunno—mystic runes and stuff. Why else is she back a day early?”

  “Let’s ask her,” said Clover.

  “Ask me what?” inquired Mrs. Eckles, wandering back with Neville still slumped over her shoulder.

  “Why are you back a day early?”

  “It was rainin’. Fayre was a washout. Thought I’d make
a dash for it on the broom and leave Archibald to bring the gear ’ome in his own time.”

  “You didn’t get any mystical signs, then? No premonitions that something bad might be happening back here?”

  “No. What are you tryin’ to say, Clover? Is there somethin’ I should know?”

  “Actually,” said Clover, “there is. You see …”

  But she didn’t get any further.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Final Reckoning

  A wind came in with a rushing roar, whipping the words out of Clover’s mouth. The tree tops lashed like waves at sea, sending leaves whirling down. And suddenly—with a whoooomp!—there was a large flying horse in the garden. Neville scrambled down from his perch and fled under a bush. He didn’t like horses. Especially this horse, although he couldn’t remember why.

  There wasn’t a lot of room for Booboo, because of the fallen cherry tree. He was confined to a smallish space between the tree and the hedge, so rearing and bucking and wing stretching opportunities were limited. He resigned himself to whinnying wildly and attempting to nip his rider on the arm as she dismounted in a flurry of red robes.

  “Ahhh,” said Mrs. Eckles, slowly. “I see.”

  “I did try to tell you,” said Clover.

  Mesmeranza didn’t look her best. Her hair was a bird’s nest, and her face had a flattened look from riding into the wind. She had gnawed off all her lipstick. Her green eyes were watering, sending little rivers of black down her cheeks.

  “Oh, drat!” she snapped, drawing up short and staring at Mrs. Eckles. “You’re here.”

  “Yep,” said Mrs. Eckles.“Didn’t expect that, did you? Stand back, you two. This is family business.”

  Hastily, Clover beckoned Wilf, and they both moved back to the edge of the lawn.

  The two Witches squared up to each other, the trunk of the cherry tree between them. Mesmeranza had the Wand in her hand. Mrs. Eckles had nothing.