A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

  She moved across the bridge, drawn by the sight of an overgrown merrypenny bush. A few mouldering berries were oozing on its branches, but the bush had been plucked almost bare. She remembered a morning back in summer when she, Fliss and Charlie had picked merrypennies in the fields. As they’d filled their baskets Fliss had regaled them with Granny’s superstitions: how it was unlucky to pick the berries after sundown, and how you should never eat them after Halloween because imps would have danced all over them. Granny also knew a recipe to boil them up into a potent liquor, which she did every year while singing the old nursery rhyme about them:

  The merrypennies in the meadow, silver by the night, Were hopped upon by midnight imps who danced by pale moonlight . . .

  Betty would do just about anything to hear Fliss’s dreadful warbling again.

  A berry bobbed in the wind, like it was agreeing sadly. Betty stared past it, standing up straighter. On a hill directly ahead was a dilapidated building, its once grand sails useless as broken birds’ wings, its windows boarded up. It was so bleached and faded, and its sails so sparse that at first she had mistaken it for an old water tower or beacon.

  She turned, beckoning Colton. ‘Look, there!’

  Already she was scrambling towards it, kicking up dust on the road. Colton hurried after her with Fingerty, who was regarding the eerie-looking place with trepidation.

  ‘Slow down,’ Colton hissed after her. ‘We can still be heard, remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember!’ Betty retorted, but it was hard to hold herself back, knowing she might be moments away from seeing her sisters again. As they neared, Betty slowed, scanning the windows. The mill was isolated, and looked as though it had been empty for some years. The weatherboards were decaying, and the whole place looked like a rotten tooth sticking out of the scrubby land.

  The sounds of their approach were camouflaged by the boggy ground. Heart racing, Betty searched the windows for any sign of movement, but it was impossible to see past the boards that had been nailed over them. This was the right place, she was sure of it! But were her sisters still there? This time they were the ones with the element of surprise, not Jarrod. With the dolls’ magic she could help her sisters escape, for Jarrod couldn’t catch what he couldn’t see.

  It was here, however, that Fingerty hesitated.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ he muttered. ‘If the warders catch me with him, that’ll be the end. They’ll think I masterminded all this!’

  ‘Pull yourself together!’ Betty hissed.

  Fingerty stopped walking. ‘I want to go back!’

  Colton elbowed him. ‘Shut up. You’ll give us away if you keep wittering!’

  ‘Remember what’s in it for you,’ said Betty. ‘If you help capture Jarrod you’ll be pardoned. And . . . and if I make it back, I’ll see you get free drinks in the Poacher’s Pocket for the rest of your miserable life. Deal?’

  Fingerty smacked his lips, considering. ‘Yerp.’

  They approached the mill in silence. Now they were closer, Betty could see chunks of wood on the ground where the door had been torn away, and the overgrown grass had been trampled down. Someone had been here recently.

  Betty turned to Colton. ‘How do we get in? Even if we are invisible, Jarrod’s probably barricaded the door.’

  Colton looked up at the mill. ‘Let’s check every window. One might not be boarded, or there could be a cellar trapdoor.’ He pressed a finger to his lips as they edged round the back of the building.

  ‘There!’ Betty whispered, pointing. ‘Look!’

  A tiny window was above their heads. A plank of wood had been nailed across it, but one side had worked loose.

  ‘It’s too small and too high,’ Colton whispered.

  ‘I could look through and see if they’re there,’ Betty said. ‘If they are, perhaps I can draw Jarrod away from the door and you and Fingerty could break it open. Quickly, lift me up!’

  Colton linked his hands, ready for Betty’s boot, but before he could hoist her up there was a loud thump from inside the building. They froze. Maddeningly, Betty couldn’t hear much more over the noise of the crows in her head. Silence followed.

  ‘What was—’ she began, breaking off as the tiny window came flying open and a tangled head appeared. Two small hands reached on to the sill.

  ‘Charlie?’ Betty whispered, dizzy with relief.

  Charlie lifted her head, her pointed elfin face confused. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s me, Betty! Hold on!’

  ‘Betty, is that really you?’ came another voice, muffled from inside the mill.

  ‘Fliss!’ Betty gasped. She emptied the dolls, rushing to make herself, Fingerty and Colton visible again. ‘What’s going on in there? Where’s Jarrod?’

  ‘I tricked him into getting drunk,’ Fliss answered. ‘He’s sprawled right in front of the door and the bag is stuck under him, we can’t free it!’

  Colton held out his arms to Charlie. ‘Jump, I’ll catch you.’

  ‘You better,’ said Charlie, eyeing the drop. She leapt like a frog through the air and Colton caught her neatly. She gave him a quick hug, then slithered down him like he was a tree and ran to Betty, who scooped her up and squeezed fiercely. She had never been more grateful to feel her little sister’s arms around her.

  ‘I knew you’d find us,’ Charlie said loyally.

  ‘Looks like you didn’t need my help to escape,’ Betty said, stroking her hair. She marvelled at how happy Charlie seemed, when escaping from Jarrod was only part of a much bigger problem. Did Charlie understand the curse and what it meant? Or did she simply have faith that Betty was going to figure out a way to somehow make everything all right? The burden of responsibility weighed as heavily as the stone in her pocket.

  ‘Come on.’ Betty’s voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘We’ve got to help Fliss.’ She squealed suddenly as something warm and furry wriggled at her collar. ‘Charlie! You’ve still got that bleedin’ rat!’

  ‘Of course I’ve still got him,’ Charlie replied huffily. She scooped the rat up and put him on her shoulder. ‘You don’t leave friends behind!’

  ‘I’m surprised Jarrod hasn’t killed him,’ Betty said grimly.

  ‘He tried.’ Charlie eyes narrowed. ‘But I managed to hide him . . .’ She grinned. ‘And then we got him back, didn’t we, Hoppit?’

  They moved to the front of the mill, shoving at the door. Thuds came from the other side as Fliss tugged and swore, words that she could only have heard from Granny. Colton’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘It’s not budging,’ Fliss fumed. ‘Jarrod’s too heavy!’

  ‘Wait, it is,’ said Colton. ‘I felt it give. We all need to push and pull together. On three: one, two, three!’

  Betty dug her heels into the grass and pushed for all she was worth. She was reminded of how heavy Jarrod had been when they’d lifted him on to Colton’s prison bed. Had that really been just a few hours ago? It seemed like another lifetime.

  Colton used his shoulder to ram the door, shattering the partially rotten wood, and even Charlie and Fingerty shoved. Little by little, the door began to move and they could hear Fliss more clearly through a narrow gap.

  ‘Just a . . . little . . . way . . . more!’

  The gap widened. Betty could see a limp, meaty hand through it, and a low groaning as Jarrod flopped uselessly on the other side. Finally, the gap was just wide enough to slip through.

  ‘Quickly,’ Colton cried, urging Fliss to come through. ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  But before Fliss had even got her breath back, Betty had pushed past and was inside the windmill with her, hugging her tightly. There was a thick, sweet smell in the air that Betty recognised. It reminded her of home. It was a moment before she noticed that something about Fliss felt different. She stood back to look at her – and gasped. For Fliss’s glossy dark hair, which had once tumbled down her back in smooth, flowing locks, had been hacked away unevenly and was now too short even to tie a ribbon in
.

  ‘Oh, Fliss,’ she murmured in dismay. ‘Your hair. Your beautiful hair! What happened?’

  ‘Jarrod,’ said Charlie, who had squeezed through the door with them. ‘He chopped it all off because he caught Fliss looking in the mirror.’ She shot a look of contempt at the sprawling body on the floor. Jarrod’s eyelids fluttered at the mention of his name. His head lolled to one side, tongue out like a dog.

  Betty shot him a look of loathing. How dare he?

  ‘He said it’d teach me not to be so vain,’ Fliss said, in a choked voice. ‘It’ll grow back. If we live past sunset . . .’

  ‘Let’s worry about that after we get out of here,’ Betty said fiercely. She didn’t have the heart to confess to Fliss that she was no closer to breaking the curse, but they could at least escape Jarrod and see Granny one last time. ‘Quickly, the bag!’ She released Fliss as Colton slipped through the door with Fingerty close behind.

  Together they knelt by Jarrod. The bag’s handles were poking out from under his back, and Charlie tugged at them impatiently.

  ‘Careful, Charlie,’ Betty warned. ‘We don’t want it ripping.’

  ‘What exactly did you do to him?’ Colton asked. He sniffed the air suspiciously.

  ‘He sent me out for food,’ said Fliss. ‘Keeping Charlie here with him, of course, so I had no choice but to return. He . . . he threatened to hurt her if I got help. I had no money, so I was forced to steal a few things, but then on the bridge I spotted some merrypennies.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Betty exclaimed, sniffing again. ‘I knew I recognised that smell.’

  ‘I boiled them up with honey, like how Granny does,’ said Fliss. She cast a scornful look at Jarrod. ‘The greedy oaf couldn’t get them down his neck fast enough, even though it took rather a lot to get him like this.’

  ‘Greedy oaf,’ Charlie agreed. ‘I stirred in a little something from Hoppit, too,’ she added mischievously, stroking the rat’s nose.

  ‘That’s one way to improve Fliss’s cooking,’ Betty said.

  ‘Hey!’ said Fliss. She wagged a finger at Charlie. ‘And that’s disgusting, you know.’

  ‘He deserved it,’ Charlie said with a shrug. ‘Told you we’d get him back.’

  ‘What’ll we do with him, though?’ Fingerty asked, one of his eyes twitching nervously. ‘I ain’t watching over him like this, he’s bound to come round soon.’

  Charlie pointed, bouncing with mischief. A sturdy trapdoor was set in the floor. ‘Chuck him down there.’

  ‘Good,’ said Colton. ‘We can throw him in and lock it.’

  With a generous heave, they succeeded in rolling Jarrod towards the wall. He belched as his head flopped the opposite way. He hit the floor with a thump, landing on his side and leaving the bag free.

  Fliss pounced, snatching it up. She had just delved into it and removed the mirror – which Jarrod had evidently confiscated, too – but her triumph ended as Jarrod’s eyes flew open and, with a drunken lurch, he seized her ankle.

  ‘You’re going nowhere, flower,’ he slurred, his face alive with rage. ‘And neither is the brat!’

  ‘My name,’ Fliss said through gritted teeth, ‘is not flower, or petal, or,’ she shot Colton a warning glance, ‘princess! My name is Felicity Widdershins!’ She lifted her other foot and brought it down on Jarrod’s hand – hard.

  Jarrod yelped and released her to nurse his crushed fingers. He rolled on to his knees, red-faced, raging and swaying.

  ‘And my name,’ Charlie declared, ‘isn’t brat. It’s Charlie, so there!’ She grabbed the travelling bag from Fliss and swung it at Jarrod. It hit him full in the chops with a satisfying whump. ‘That’s for kidnapping us, and that . . .’ she swung the bag again—whump!— ‘. . . is for chopping my sister’s hair off, and this—’ she brought the bag down on Jarrod’s head with a third donk— ‘is for my granny, because she’d bash you one if she was here!’

  ‘Too right,’ Betty agreed, momentarily enjoying the small triumph. No matter what happened now, at least her sisters were by her side where they belonged.

  Fliss dodged as Jarrod lunged for her again, and yanked the trapdoor open. It spewed out musty air and dust. Jarrod’s eyes widened, but he had no time to save himself as his own weight and poor balance carried him forward to teeter on the edge. For a moment there was a flash of victory in his eyes as he regained his footing, before Charlie stepped behind him and gave the bag one last swing.

  ‘One for luck!’

  The bag hit him between the shoulder blades, propelling him forward into the dark space. A series of clashes and bangs followed as he hit the bottom, and a cloud of dust and cobwebs flew up. Fliss slammed the trapdoor and bolted it shut.

  ‘Hope you like spiders!’ Charlie crowed gleefully, dancing on the trapdoor.

  ‘Well, well, princess,’ Colton said, gazing at Fliss in admiration. ‘I never knew you had it in you.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Fliss. ‘But these crows in my head are making me really cranky. And don’t call me princess!’

  ‘That takes care of him.’ Betty took Charlie’s hand, feeling a rush of pride for her sisters. ‘For a while, at least,’ she said, as Jarrod bellowed and cussed from below. Something thudded against the trapdoor from the underside. She turned to Fingerty. ‘Jarrod’s all yours now. That should hold for long enough for you to alert the warders.’

  Fingerty’s face creased into something that might have been a smile. ‘You Widdershins,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Yer all barmy as you like. Brave, though. You’ve got guts, just like Bunny.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Betty. And was it her imagination, or had a blush crept into Fingerty’s leathery old cheeks at the mention of Granny? She decided she didn’t want to know. ‘And I hope you get your pardon.’

  Fingerty squinted, looking thoughtful. ‘Yerp.’

  Fliss nodded to him. ‘See you in the Poacher’s Pocket.’

  We hope, Betty added silently. Her jubilation was already beginning to ebb away. She had her sisters back, but was no closer to the answer they so desperately needed – and time was running out. Granny would know they were gone, and so must everyone else now Betty and Charlie hadn’t turned up for school that morning. Would people already be searching Crowstone’s streets, calling their names?

  ‘Betty?’ Charlie slipped her hand into Betty’s. ‘I want to go home now.’

  ‘Me too,’ Betty answered. ‘But even if we get to see Granny again, going home can’t save us. By sunset—’

  ‘But it can,’ said Charlie. ‘I know how.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, Charlie,’ Fliss said gently. She cast a worried glance at Betty. ‘I told you before. Remember what Granny said, about the curse?’

  ‘Of course I know about the curse!’ Charlie roared, surprising them all. She stamped her foot. ‘I was there when Granny told us, REMEMBER? And these birds squawking in my head aren’t exactly letting me forget!’

  ‘Charlie, calm down!’ Betty said, startled.

  ‘I will if you listen to me!’ Charlie raged. ‘But no one ever does!’

  Colton knelt down in front of her and took her grubby hand in his.

  ‘Go on, Charlie. We’re listening.’

  ‘We use the bag to take us back to the start, before it happened. See?’

  Betty stared at her, baffled. ‘Back to the start of what?’

  ‘Back to the Poacher’s Pocket, before we ever left. Then the curse won’t happen, and we’ll be safe and the blasted birds will stop!’ Charlie gave Colton an apologetic look. ‘Only thing is, you’ll still be in prison.’

  Fliss sighed tiredly. ‘Charlie, poppet, it’s a lovely idea, but I don’t think the bag can be used to go back in time. We know it can take us anywhere . . . but anywhen? Even if it could, there would still be the other three of us already back in that time, and then things would get . . . well, rather complicated.’

  ‘I know,’ Charlie said seriously. ‘I thought that when I went back to the church hall t
o get another bread roll. I was nearly seen by the other me who was getting the first one—’

  ‘Wait, what?’ Betty could hardly breathe now, as Charlie’s revelation exploded in her head, momentarily drowning out the crows. Hope and excitement thrummed in her chest. Was it true? Had they really had the means to save themselves all along? She searched her little sister’s face, not quite able to believe what she was hearing. ‘Are you saying you used the bag to . . . to go back in time so you could get second helpings of food?’

  ‘I was hungry,’ said Charlie, with a shrug. ‘I thought it was worth a try.’ Her tummy rumbled loudly.

  Fliss gaped. ‘You mean . . . all that time you were messing around with the bag and practising with it without telling another soul?’

  ‘Of course.’ Charlie grinned. ‘That bag is my pinch of magic, or it will be when Granny’s finished with it. It wasn’t fair that I had to wait while you two had all the fun with yours.’

  ‘Charlie Widdershins,’ Betty said, sweeping her sister into a hug. ‘You are brilliant! Greedy, and sneaky, but brilliant!’

  Charlie preened. ‘I told you you’d need me.’

  ‘But how can this possibly work?’ Fliss shook her head, astounded. ‘You heard what Charlie said – when she went back there was another . . . another her! Even if we go back, how do we stop—’

  ‘Charlie’s idea is almost perfect,’ Betty said, turning the possibilities over in her mind. If the bag could take them back to Crowstone before they’d ever set the curse in motion, what was to stop it taking them back to before . . .

  Before the curse ever existed? ‘It wouldn’t solve all our problems, and might even create more,’ she said, speaking hurriedly now. ‘We’d still be trapped in Crowstone, under the curse and there would be two of each of us. Not to mention Colton would still be in the prison.’

  ‘So, what then?’ Charlie huffed. ‘You said it was brilliant.’

  ‘It is,’ Betty insisted, hugging her. ‘We need to go further back. Before any of us were even born, before the curse was even made. Back to Crowstone, the day Sorsha Spellthorn died. We’re going to stop her falling from the tower.’