The Daring of Della Dupree

by Natasha Lowe

  “Can you take my magic away?” Mary asked.

  Della nudged her gently. “Don’t say that.”

  “I don’t want it. It just makes me change color, and all these peculiar things happen.”

  “Which is why you have to learn to control it,” Dame Bessie said soberly. “Otherwise you’re going to get caught. Like poor Gwyneth over there.” She nodded to the corner of the room, and Della realized that there was a tiny child tucked up under the heap of blankets, a tangle of messy curls spilling out.

  “Oh my goodness,” Della whispered, walking toward her. She peered down at the sleeping girl who couldn’t have been much older than Robbie. She looked so small and vulnerable, and Della wondered how her family must be feeling. She couldn’t bear it if something this awful happened to Lion. “Thank goodness you found her, Dame Bessie.”

  “She was playing in the cow barn when her magic started,” Dame Bessie said. “Dipped her finger into the milk bucket and turned the milk blue. The poor thing got so scared, she ran and hid in the pigpen. But her magic was powerful, like new magic often is, and the pig she lay on top of started to fly.” Dame Bessie shook her head sadly. “Caused quite a commotion, and now she can never go home again.”

  “She must be so frightened,” Della said softly. “And homesick.”

  “That’s the evil witch from Little Shamlington?” Mary whispered.

  “Indeed it is. Terrifying, isn’t she?” Dame Bessie pointed her wand at the kettle, and it lifted off the fire and floated over to the table, where three wooden mugs were waiting to be filled. In a somber voice she said, “You must learn how to survive without getting caught. And from what I’ve seen, neither of you have those skills. Hiding behind trees,” Dame Bessie muttered, handing each girl a mug of ginger tea. Della felt as if she’d just been given a D for survival. “So come back tonight at the darkest hour, and I will show you what you need to stay safe.”

  “I’m scared of the dark,” Mary said. “And how will I know when it’s time? Or how to find my way here?”

  “Trust me, you will. I’ll send Tambor and Bralin to guide you.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be here,” Della said hopefully. “Once I get my necklace back, I’m leaving right away.”

  “Well, Tambor will know. If you’re here, he’ll find you. If you have gone, then I wish you a speedy trip back.”

  “Is it mean of me to want you to stay?” Mary said, clutching Della’s skirt.

  “Oh, Mary, you have Dame Bessie to look after you now,” Della said, hating to leave Mary but knowing she had no choice. “You’ll be just fine.”

  “But not a word about this to anyone,” Dame Bessie cautioned. “If we’re found out, we will all be locked away.”

  “Where do they lock witches up?” Della asked, sipping her ginger tea.

  “In the castle, child,” Dame Bessie said gravely.

  “The one you’re going to,” Mary added. “So please be careful, Della.

  Chapter Nine

  Castle Hepworth

  DELLA HELPED MARY CARRY THE bag of kindling back as far as the edge of the village. Just as the huts came into view, a bird with an enormous beak, fluffy tail, and turkey-size body waddled out in front of them. “Oh, it’s adorable,” Della gushed as the bird ran into a tree. “And so clumsy and cute! I wish I could take it home with me.”

  “Stupid bird,” Mary said. “They’re always doing that.”

  “Wait, is that…” Della stared at the creature. “Is that a dodo?” she whispered in excitement, not wanting to frighten the bird away, although it hardly seemed aware that they were watching.

  “We just call them stupid, because they run in front of carts and into trees. I’ve seen one leap right off the side of a hill. And they can’t even fly.”

  “Must be a relation of the dodo,” Della murmured, remembering that the dodo bird used to live in Mauritius and not Potts Bottom.

  “I don’t know.” Mary shrugged. “I just know they get in the way.”

  Della wished she had a camera to take a picture of the bird. But she didn’t, so she’d just have to memorize what it looked like. “We don’t have these kinds of creatures where I come from,” she said, staring at the peculiar-looking bird until it wandered away. “Well, that was exciting!”

  “I can show you our chickens if you want to stay longer,” Mary suggested. “They are much more interesting than that stupid bird.”

  “I can’t stay longer, Mary. I’m sorry.” Della hugged her good-bye. “It’s going to be okay, though, you’ll see.” Mary didn’t look so sure about this, and Della (who didn’t feel too sure either) hugged her again before setting off toward the castle.

  There was a rough path rutted with hoof marks, and the closer Della got, the more nervous she became. Halfway up the track a cart rumbled past, loaded with hay.

  “Out of the way, girl,” the driver yelled, scowling at Della. She stumbled onto the grass and stopped for a moment, staring up at the castle. Its stone walls and tiny narrow windows gave it an extremely unwelcoming air. So unwelcoming that Della decided to rest for a minute before going on. From somewhere close by she could hear the sound of running water, and following the gurgling, Della came upon a stream nestled in a wooded hollow. Kneeling beside it, she splashed water on her face, and since her braids were unraveling, tried to smooth them down, hoping to smarten herself up. But the result was more “damp mess” than “fair maiden,” which didn’t help Della’s confidence much.

  Two young deer trotted out of the woods to watch what she was doing.

  “Hello,” Della murmured, sitting quite still and holding out her hand. After a few moments the deer walked over and nestled against her, sniffing at her palm. “Hey, that tickles!”

  Somebody laughed, and looking up, Della noticed a boy beside the riverbank, sitting against a tree. It was difficult to judge his age because his clothes were so old-fashioned, but Della guessed him to be around thirteen or fourteen. He was whittling a piece of wood with a knife, and catching her eye, the boy grinned. “You certainly have a way with animals.”

  “We understand each other,” Della said with a smile, deciding he seemed friendly enough.

  “Where are you heading?”

  “To the castle. I’m looking for a job, although I’m a bit nervous about going up there. Lord Hepworth sounds a touch scary.”

  The boy laughed. “That’s an odd way to phrase it, but yes, he can be.”

  “Do you know him?” Della stroked one of the deer on its muzzle.

  “We’re acquainted. We don’t always see eye to eye, the lord and me. But you don’t need to worry,” he added. “You won’t have much to do with him. It’s Lady Hepworth who’s in charge of the household.”

  “What are you carving?” Della asked, walking over, the two little deer trotting along behind.

  The boy held up a smooth wooden crescent. “It’s a new moon, see.”

  “Oh, that’s beautiful,” Della said. “You’re very talented.”

  “Here, you can have it if you like. It’s made from beech wood. My father doesn’t like it when I carve, so I try not to do it at home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I have to go anyway.” The boy scrambled to his feet and presented the moon to Della. She took it without hesitating, and a tingling rushed through her fingers, as if the wood had somehow triggered her magic. Inhaling sharply, Della slipped the carving into her pocket, not wanting to attract attention.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome.” The boy gave a deep bow, and before she could ask him his name, he took off at a run.

  Della waited a few minutes before pulling out the carving to examine. It was smooth and fine grained, the wood a pale silvery blond with a tiny acorn etched on one side. The second her fingers touched the surface she felt her magic stirring again. A powerful sensation that reminded her of the danger she was in. Not that she needed reminding, and gathering up her courage, Della headed back toward the
path.

  It was strange to see a castle on top of Clackton Ridge, and Della had to stop halfway across the drawbridge, holding on to the side because she felt suddenly dizzy, like it was all too much to take in. There was actual water in the moat, and off to the left she could see a group of knights practicing jousting. They were galloping about on horses, trying to knock each other off with long poles. In fact it all looked rather similar to the medieval fair Potts Bottom held every summer. The only thing missing was the smell of frying donuts. Two ladies strolled past, dressed in embroidered silk gowns, with ribbons and flowers braided into their hair. They glanced briefly at Della and then (as if she wasn’t worth noticing) away again, taking with them her last shred of confidence.

  For the longest time Della didn’t move. She stood frozen on the drawbridge as if waiting for something to happen, someone to help her, but no one stopped to ask if she was all right, and Della shut her eyes for a moment, terrified of being so alone.

  “I really don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, but she had no choice if she wanted to find the travel amulet. Before losing her nerve completely, Della took a deep breath and forced herself to finish walking into the courtyard and up to the huge wooden door. She banged the heavy iron knocker against it, and the door opened almost at once, taking her a little off guard.

  “And who are you?” a man dressed in tights and a tunic inquired, looking at Della as if she were a bad smell.

  Clearing her throat and hoping she didn’t look too young, Della said, “I’m looking for work. I wondered if you might have any?” She paused and added, “I—I know Tom Foolery.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows Tom Foolery. He’s not here. Won’t be back until the morrow. What kind of work can you do?”

  “Anything.”

  “Really.” The man folded his arms and studied her. “Mrs. Chambers is always on the hunt for good, strong girls, but you don’t look like you’re used to hard work.”

  “Oh, I am,” Della said, nodding. “I clean, and make beds, and can help in the kitchen.” Although she wasn’t sure her mother would agree with this.

  “Is that so?”

  Della waited for him to ask her age, but clearly that wasn’t important. Nor where she had come from or if her parents knew. In fact the only thing he seemed to care about was if she could lift two pails of water at once.

  “I’m much stronger than I look,” Della said.

  “We’ll let Mrs. Chambers be the judge of that. She runs the household for her ladyship. Come along.” And the man led Della across an enormous hall that had a long table stretching down it, and a smaller table on a raised platform at one end. There was a fireplace so big Della could have walked inside it, and thick tapestries hanging on the walls. The room was dark and, like all the homes she had been in so far, smelled rather strongly of smoke. A rat scuttled past her, and Della gave a soft cry.

  “Better get used to those.” The man grinned. “We’ve got plenty.”

  They walked down a hallway that led to an entirely separate building, past a laundry room crowded with women leaning over tubs, scrubbing clothes. It was loud and steamy, but the kitchen was worse, filled with the clatter of pots and sweaty bodies. There was a whole pig lying on the table and a pile of dead blackbirds waiting to be plucked. Averting her gaze, Della decided that the second she got home she was becoming a vegetarian. One woman rolled out pastry for a pie, and a huge cauldron bubbled away over an open hearth. There were young girls chopping and sweeping and boys bringing in armfuls of wood. The noise level was deafening, and Mrs. Chambers turned out to be the beefy red-faced woman yelling out orders. She looked Della up and down, prodded her arm, and said, “You’ll go where you’re needed, girl. Penny a day and you start now.”

  “Thank you,” Della said as a pot clattered to the floor.

  “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  “I said thank you,” Della shouted, reminding herself that this was only for one day. It had to be, she thought, trying not to cry. She couldn’t stay here for longer than that. She just couldn’t.

  For the next four hours Della chopped up a mountain of cabbage and onions for a stew, scrubbed out pots, and carried in pail after pail of water from an outdoor well. Her arms ached, and the skin on her hands cracked, and every time she slopped water on the floor (which happened most trips), she got yelled at. Worst of all, Della sighted at least six more rats, hauling off bits of cheese and vegetable peelings. There was a continuous chatter of gossip, and a great deal of the conversations seemed to be about the witch from Little Shamlington.

  “I saw her fly over the castle,” one of the girls sweeping the floor said. “She looked terrifying. You could see the evil in her eyes. Cackling away, she was, and I swear she threw a spell right at me.”

  “No she didn’t,” Della whispered, thinking of little Gwyneth curled up in the corner of Dame Bessie’s hut. The poor thing was probably terrified, experiencing her magic for the first time.

  “Don’t stand there dawdling,” Mrs. Chambers called out, poking Della gently in the back with a wooden spoon. “There’s more water to be brought in.”

  “And if you meet that witch out there, throw a pail of water over her quick,” a young boy said. “My granny says she’ll melt right away.” Della stared at him in amazement, stunned that they actually believed such things. “You have to protect yourself from the witches,” he added. Although as far as Della could see, it was the witches who were in need of protection.

  Chapter Ten

  A Midnight Flight and a New Wand

  AFTER LORD AND LADY HEPWORTH and their guests had eaten, Della and the rest of the servants were offered some leftover blackbird pie (which Della refused), a selection of heavily salted mystery meats (also refused), and some strange beans dripping in honey and spices (which she wished she had refused). It was not a meal Della wanted to repeat, and she felt a fresh pang of sadness at the loss of her wand. A plate of lasagna or a warm apple pie spell would have made everything seem a whole lot more bearable right about now.

  Della had been working so hard she didn’t notice that the light had faded until Mrs. Chambers handed her a rush mat and bid her good night. Evidently there was no such thing as a bedroom, and Della watched in dismay as the servants laid their mats down wherever there was a space. There didn’t seem to be any privacy at all, or proper washing facilities for that matter (as far as Della could tell), which gave the air a rather powerful tang. She did manage to scrub her teeth with a carrot, but her scalp itched and her skin felt all sticky, and she would have given anything for a really hot shower.

  Most of the warm places near the fire had been taken, so Della spread her mat out by the kitchen door. She could feel a draft blowing in, but at least it was easier to breathe over here. Even though she was exhausted, Della lay awake for a while, listening to a symphony of snoring, and suffering from so much homesickness she could barely swallow around the lump in her throat. Girls like Mary and the tiny witch from Little Shamlington were definitely going to need some of Dame Bessie’s survival skills if they didn’t want to get caught. In fact, if she stayed here much longer, she would too, especially without her wand. But getting to Dame Bessie’s seemed an absolute impossibility. There was no way she was going to go traipsing around the woods in the dark, and with that thought swirling in her head, Della finally drifted off to sleep, only to be woken a short while later by the low cry of a bird and a soft peck-pecking against the door.

  Remembering that Dame Bessie had promised to send Tambor, Della got up and, as quietly as she could, opened the door. There, sitting right outside as if he’d been waiting for her, was the eagle. It was definitely Tambor, because she could just make out the yellow tip on his wing. And the sight of the eagle was surprisingly comforting. “Do you want me to follow you?” Della whispered, but Tambor didn’t move. He looked up at her and spread his enormous wings, which were wider than a full-grown man’s outstretched arms. After a few moments he gestured w
ith his head, and Della understood that he wanted her to climb on.

  “I’m really okay to walk,” she whispered, but Tambor gave what was clearly an irritated huff. Feeling a little worried he might decide to pick her up with his claws if she didn’t obey, Della very gingerly crawled on top of the bird, lying almost flat on her belly and wrapping her arms around his neck. Almost immediately she felt the muscles in Tambor’s back ripple as he launched himself into the air. Della gasped and then laughed as they gained height, swooping straight up. “No flying above the treetops,” she cried, which was the rule for all year four girls. Not paying any attention, Tambor flew higher, much higher than Della had ever been. She clung on tight as they soared across the meadows that bordered Potts Bottom and toward the shadowy expanse of woods. Della pressed her cheek against the warm feathered neck of the bird. He carried her as if she weighed no more than a handful of extra feathers, and when they began to descend, Della clung on harder, worried that she might slip right off. She could see the outline of Dame Bessie’s cottage below them, and the second they landed, the door was flung open.

  “Thank you, Tambor. That was amazing,” Della whispered, stroking the bird on the head. Her hands ached from holding on so tight, and her legs felt a little shaky as she slid off.

  “Quickly now,” Dame Bessie called from the doorway. “Don’t dawdle.”

  Della hurried toward the cottage, and as soon as she had stepped inside, Dame Bessie slammed the door shut. “Follow me, please.” She pointed her stick at the fireplace, and the hearthstone slid open, exposing a steep flight of stairs. “Careful where you tread.”