‘Don’t “dear Tomos” me!’ Tomos snapped. ‘I’m not under your spell anymore. I’ll ask my father to send you away as soon as he gets home.’
Mrs Honeybourne shook her head, smirking. ‘Your father. He was so easy to fool! He thinks he engaged me in London!’ She gave a hoot of laughter and reached up and adjusted her tiny hat. ‘They won’t send me off because you need a teacher and you haven’t got anyone but me.’
‘Rubbish.’ Seren turned and ran over to the Crow and began to wind the key in its side hurriedly. Mrs Honeybourne started. ‘What! That old moth-eaten thing! You think that’s going to help you? I could eat that up for breakfast and spit out the cogs afterwards!’ She smiled with her sharp, white teeth. ‘Maybe I will too!’
Seren ignored her. The key wound grittily. She knew it needed oil, but at last it was tight and the Crow gave a groan and flapped its wings feebly.
‘Oh my head! Oh my legs and my back and my wings and my cogs.’
Mrs Honeybourne hooted with scorn.
The Crow turned its head. It took in the situation at once and drew itself up with offended dignity. ‘And what are you laughing at, pray, Madam?’
Mrs Honeybourne waved a gloved hand. ‘At you, you ridiculous bird.’
The Crow glowered. ‘I’m not a bird. In fact, I happen to be an Emeritus Professor of Alchemy and the Supernatural Sciences at the University of Oxford, with further degrees specialising in Dragonlore, Transformation Techniques and Methods for Control of the Tylwyth Teg. In short, Madam, I am more than qualified to deal with you!’
Tomos flicked Seren a startled look.
She shrugged. As usual she had no idea if what the Crow said about himself was true. She suspected it wasn’t, because he had told her even more enormous lies before about being a prince.
Mrs Honeybourne giggled. ‘Yes, and I’m Red Riding Hood and the King of Spain’s daughter.’ She collapsed on to her large teacher’s chair and laughed till it rocked.
The Crow ground its beak.
Seren heard a sound behind her and glanced back. Gwyn had opened the door and was peering in. He slipped in and stood with his back to the door. ‘Everyone’s waking up,’ he whispered.
‘Good.’ Seren glanced at the window. The night was over. The first rays of the morning sun were streaming over the trees by the lake, and a soft mist was rising from the lawns. ‘But we have to get rid of her.’
‘Leave this to me!’ The Crow hopped on to the table.
‘Oh, I can’t wait!’ Mrs Honeybourne wiped tears from her eyes. ‘Are we to have a magical contest? Shall we turn ourselves into different things? I could be a cat and then you could be a dog and then I could be a wolf or… No! Something much bigger. An elephant! I’m sure I could do an elephant, and then you could be a mammoth and we could fight and rampage all over the house and destroy everything…’
‘And there you see,’ the Crow said, in a lecturing voice, ‘the essential irresponsibility of the faery mind.’
‘Or…’ Mrs Honeybourne sat up. ‘I could give you three wishes and…’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ The Crow waved a wing. ‘All that is so out of date!’
‘Not where I come from, dearie.’
‘Madam, my methods are far more clinical.’ The Crow folded its wings. ‘I am now going to render you powerless with one simple and unspectacular act. And I will certainly take great pleasure in doing it. What sort of teacher are you, anyway? Latin for boys and sewing for girls? You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Seren wanted to cheer. She slipped over to Tomos. ‘Listen!’
The house was coming to life. Doors banged, a coal scuttle rattled. Upstairs, Mrs Villiers’ bell rang, furiously. Seren turned to Gwyn. ‘Get Denzil. Quick!’
As Gwyn hurried out, Mrs Honeybourne rose to her feet and faced the Crow. She folded her arms. ‘So. If it’s not a magical contest or the three-wishes thingy, I may as well go and prepare today’s lessons because there’s nothing else you could possibly do…’
‘You won’t be here for lessons.’
‘Why not? Ooo. Are you going to blast me with wildfire?’
‘No.’
‘Sing spells over me so that I VANISH INTO THIN AIR?’
‘No.’
Mrs Honeybourne smirked. ‘I do hope you’re not going to kiss me.’
The Crow recoiled. With immense dignity, it shuddered, ‘Madam, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m going to do none of those things.’
‘Then…’
‘What I am going to do is…’
‘Yes?’
‘Remove your gloves.’
Mrs Honeybourne paled. She gaped. Her eyes went wide. She took a step back and, at the same time, the Crow said, ‘Now!’ and Seren and Tomos jumped into action. Seren grabbed Mrs Honeybourne’s right hand and Tomos grabbed her left.
She gave a piercing shriek, but before she could do or say anything else they had both tugged the red gloves off and were staring at her hands.
Seren gasped. ‘Look at that!’
Tomos said, ‘Oh yuck. That’s horrible.’
Under the governess’s gloves were small paws, with red fur and neat claws.
Mrs Honeybourne gave a shriek of horror. ‘Give those gloves back! Right now!’
‘Don’t let her get them!’ the Crow commanded.
Seren jumped away; Tomos whisked his behind his back.
The Crow said, ‘Without them, Madam, it’s quite clear what you are. A creature of the Tylwyth Teg, in this house for mischief and deceit. You won’t be fooling anyone anymore.’
Mrs Honeybourne scowled, and snapped her paws. Instantly, Seren felt the glove she was holding come to life; it squirmed and struggled.
‘Look out,’ she gasped, holding it tight.
Tomos yelled and almost dropped his. ‘It’s alive!’
‘It’s just a trick,’ the Crow snapped.
‘But it’s punching and hitting me!’
‘Keep tight hold!’ The Crow hopped rapidly over and snatched the glove in its beak. Fiercely he tore it open and shredded it to pieces.
‘Now yours, Seren.’
Seren tossed it; the Crow caught it deftly and sliced it in half. The red rags lay on the floor like some dead prey.
The Crow strutted up and perched on the globe. ‘And that, I think, is that. You will leave at once.’
‘You,’ Mrs Honeycombe snarled. ‘You think you’re the King of the World, don’t you! But you’re still just a moth-eaten bird.’
‘I’m not moth-eaten.’
‘Soon your cogs will rust and your key won’t turn. You’ll stop forever.
‘I won’t.’
‘Of course we, the Fair Family, could help. For a price.’
For a moment the Crow’s controlled stare flickered.
Seren stepped forward hastily. ‘We actually like you as a Crow. You’re handsome.’
‘And brave,’ Tomos said quickly.
‘And clever.’
‘And wise.’
The Crow shrugged modestly. ‘Well, yes. I am. So don’t worry. I’m not making any deals with Them.’
‘In that case I’m off.’ Mrs Honeybourne bundled her knitting into her bag. ‘If you think I’m staying here for everyone to stare at my sweet little paws you’re quite wrong.’ She flung her coat on. ‘It’s been a terrible job, anyway. I’d never have come if I’d known. Rubbish food, cheeky servants and stupid pupils who don’t even know where Italy is.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Tomos said. ‘You liked everything I wrote.’
‘All trash, dear.’ Mrs Honeybourne picked up a pile of bags that had appeared at her feet. ‘All complete rubbish. You’ll never make Oxford. And as for you,’ she glared at Seren, ‘you’re just an orphan and you’ll come to nothing. You certainly won’t be learning Latin. Scrubbing floors is more likely.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ The Crow waved a wing. ‘Seren, open that door.’
Seren grabbed the handle and yanked it wide, because the governess’
s words had upset her and made her angry.
Mrs Honeybourne swept out, her bags in her paws. She marched down the stairs with Tomos running in front of her and Seren close behind. The Crow perched on a ball of the bannister and surveyed the scene loftily.
Down in the hall, to Seren’s surprise, the servants were lined up and waiting. Mrs Villiers looked a little puzzled, but she just said, ‘So sorry to hear you’re leaving us, Mrs Honeybourne. We…’
‘Oh shut up, you stupid mortal.’ The governess swept past, ignoring Gwyn and Alys and Denzil, who watched her intently.
Tomos opened the door. At once the wind gusted leaves into his face.
And there, rattling furiously up the drive, was the red carriage, driven by the coachman in the scarlet coat, the splendid horses all chestnut and glossy, their hooves thundering in the misty morning.
The carriage squealed to a stop. Mrs Honeybourne climbed in, so that it dipped with her weight. Denzil threw the bags in after her quickly, as if he didn’t even like to touch them.
The governess leaned out of the window. ‘I hope Plas-y-Fran falls down,’ she said sourly. ‘I hope you lose all your money and the crops fail and ruin. I hope…’
‘That’s enough!’ Denzil slapped one of the horses and said a sharp word; it reared up and plunged, and the whole carriage took off and thundered down the drive. As Seren watched it go it got smaller and smaller and then drove straight into a storm of leaves and vanished from sight.
At once the wind died down.
Everything went so quiet she could hear a blackbird singing in the chestnut tree.
‘Well!’ Mrs Villiers said. ‘That was rather odd. And I’d thought her such a nice woman.’ She looked round. ‘What a lovely morning.’
‘Do you feel … all right?’ Seren asked cautiously. ‘Not sleepy?’
‘Sleepy! Great heavens!’ Mrs Villiers drew herself up tall. ‘I’m NEVER sleepy. There’s far too much work to be done. It’s laundry day and there’s Lady Mair’s room to be dusted. She and the captain are already on their way home.’
‘And am I … still in trouble?’ Seren thought of the stillroom with its smashed jars of jam and jelly.
‘Were you in trouble?’ Mrs Villiers shrugged. ‘It must have slipped my mind. But I’m sure it was nothing important.’
‘So you’re not going to tell the captain and Lady Mair and have me sent away?’
Mrs Villiers shook her head. ‘You really must stop reading those fanciful books, Seren. They’re giving you bad dreams.’ She whisked indoors briskly.
Seren shook her head. It was baffling. None of them remembered that anything had happened to them! The servants all chattered off to work; the morning sun gleamed on the house. Smoke rose straight and calm from the chimneys and a row of white doves was cooing peacefully on the roof. There was not a twig of the hedge left.
Gwyn waved. ‘See you later.’
‘Wait! Thanks for helping. If you hadn’t crawled through the hedge and brought that pine cone…’
‘What pine cone? What hedge?’
‘The giant one round the house.’
He laughed. ‘Seren, she’s right about those big books of yours. They’re filling your head with all sorts of stuff.’ He set off to the stable.
Seren turned to see Tomos talking to Denzil. The small man looked confused.
‘They may all have forgotten, but I know something strange has happened here. The Family was in the Plas, was it?’
Seren nodded. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘Their spells are strong. That woman. She was one of Them. I knew when the boy wouldn’t come fishing with me.’
‘Yes,’ Seren said.
Denzil shook his head. ‘This comes of your boasting, bachgen.’
Tomos looked down at his shoes. ‘I know. I’m really sorry. I’ll never do it again, I swear.’
‘Promise me?’
‘I promise.’
Denzil nodded slowly. ‘Da iawn… and I’ll set new iron at every doorway, and gather secret herbs to hang at the windows this Calan Gaeaf. They’ll not find it easy to get in again.’ He glanced at Seren. ‘And you, girl. That toy bird of yours. Tell it … tell him, Denzil says well done.’
He hurried off, scratching his thatch of black hair.
Seren looked at Tomos in alarm. ‘Oh my goodness, the Crow! Where is he?’
For a horrible moment she was afraid it had left again, and she knew she didn’t want it to go.
She and Tomos ran all around the house, searching each room, while the smells of toast and bacon rose from the kitchen. On the stairs Seren raced up past Sam the cat; he was washing peacefully, and he gave her one glance from his green eyes.
‘He’s happy!’ she said. Then she stopped and her eyes went wide. ‘Wait a minute! I know where the Crow will be!’
She ran to the schoolroom and creaked open the door. Tomos peered over her shoulder.
They stared.
The Crow was perched on the teacher’s desk. He wore a tiny pair of spectacles and a mortar board, and he was trying to pick up a piece of chalk in one claw.
‘You’re late! Come in at once and sit down. We’re starting with Latin.’
Seren came in. ‘But what…?’
‘I’m taking over your education. It’s been rubbish up to now, and I’m going to put that right. Your parents won’t get more of an expert than me.’ He scratched his head and left a white chalk mark on it. ‘And I’m not even asking a fee. Tomos … what are you doing?’
‘I just want to get rid of this.’ Tomos had gone to where the carousel stood on the table by the window. He picked it up.
Seren felt a little shiver of worry, but then she saw that he wasn’t winding it up. He held it at arm’s length and took it to the fire that now smouldered low in the grate. Then, as she watched, he threw it on, and the wooden horses and the striped pillar burned with a strange green flame. The smell was so nasty, she had to open a window.
‘I should think so, too,’ the Crow observed, trying to write on the board. ‘Cheap magic is bad magic. And this is rubbish chalk.’ He shook his head over the squiggles that were all he could make. ‘You’ll have to do the writing, Seren. And er … maybe I could take this opportunity to congratulate you on your handling of the Fox. You did very well. In fact…’ It croaked a gruff laugh. ‘You’re a star, Seren.’
Tomos’s eyes opened wide.
Seren giggled.
Had the Crow made a joke?
That would be a first!
‘And so, let’s begin. Stand up and repeat after me. Amo, Amas, Amat.’
Was that Latin? She had absolutely no idea what it meant.
But she stood and put her hands behind her back, and felt the precious bracelet of red beads, and said the words as if they were a magic spell.
‘Amo, Amas, Amat.’
Tomos grinned and clapped.
The Crow nodded. ‘Reasonable pronunciation. We can work on that.’
Seren laughed. And maybe the words were a magic spell, she thought, because outside in the park all the autumn birds were suddenly singing, and Gwyn was whistling ‘Men of Harlech’ as he swept up the dead leaves into his wheelbarrow.
About the Author
Catherine Fisher is an acclaimed poet and children’s novelist and has won many awards for her work including the Tir na n-Og Welsh Children’s Book Award for The Clockwork Crow.
She is the author of Times Children’s Book of the Year Incarceron, the Snow-Walker trilogy, the internationally bestselling Oracle trilogy and the Chronoptika series.
Catherine lives in South Wales and was the first Wales Young People’s Laureate.
First published in 2019
by Firefly Press
25 Gabalfa Road, Llandaff North, Cardiff, CF14 2JJ
www.fireflypress.co.uk
Copyright © Catherine Fisher 2019
The author asserts her moral right to be identified as author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act, 1
988.
All rights reserved.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-913102-08-1
ebook ISBN 978-1-913102-09-8
This book has been published with the support of the Welsh Books Council.
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