by Natasha Lowe
At the end of the corridor, Della discovered a narrow door with a spiral staircase behind it. She climbed up, breathing in the musty dampness, and stepped out into another hallway. This looked more promising, and Della knew she was close, because she could hear Tom Foolery singing. Following the noise, Della tiptoed along the passage, stopping outside a room with the door open a crack. Peering through, she could just make out the jester, juggling a handful of what looked like sticks tied with ribbons. Della stood quite still, but he glanced up, as if sensing something, and looked over at the door. She stepped back quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen her. Closing her eyes for a moment, Della took a deep breath before creeping away. At least now she knew where his room was. And the second he left, she planned to go in and find her necklace.
Chapter Fourteen
In Which Ivan Draws a Picture
NOT WANTING TO GO BACK downstairs, Della tiptoed along the corridor, deciding to wait around until Tom Foolery left his room. She had time to spare. The cleaning was done, and it seemed unlikely that anyone would come looking for her.
Right at the end of the passage was a door, and Della opened it as quietly as possible, deciding to hide in there so she wouldn’t be discovered loitering in the hallway. She slipped inside, startled to find Ivan sitting on a stool by the window. He had a piece of paper spread across his knees and appeared to be sketching. Wood shavings were scattered around his feet, and a number of carvings were clustered on the deep stone sill of the narrow window.
“What are you doing up here?” Della whispered. “You gave me a shock.”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I’ve been cleaning the castle.” She held up her hand. “Since I cut my finger, Mrs. Chambers said I didn’t have to be around knives.”
Ivan grinned. “So you were exploring?”
“Sort of,” Della confessed.
“Well, I’m hiding,” Ivan admitted. “From my father. I’m supposed to be out there practicing my jousting, and I don’t want to do it. So this is where I come to escape. Here or the river.”
“You like to draw as well as carve?” Della asked, walking across the room.
Ivan shrugged. “I enjoy it. I’m not sure how good I am.”
Della pointed at a canvas that was propped on the floor facing the wall. “Is that one of yours?”
“Oh, no.” Ivan shook his head. “Definitely not. We don’t look at him anymore.”
“Him? It’s your father?” Della said, turning the picture around and seeing the red, bearded face of Lord Hepworth.
“That’s not my father. It’s his brother, James. His twin.”
“And we don’t look at him because…?”
“Because he tried to run a sword through my father and take the castle for himself.”
“Not very brotherly behavior,” Della murmured, looking at the portrait with its thick layers of paint.
“He was born second, which means he didn’t inherit the main estate. That goes to the oldest son. When my grandfather died, James, my uncle, got a pig farm that the family owns in the Highlands of Scotland, and my father got Castle Hepworth and twenty thousand acres of land, including all the surrounding villages.”
“Well, I have to admit that doesn’t seem very fair.”
Ivan gave her a strange look. “It’s the law, Della. And not only did he try to slay my father, he threatened to burn the castle and Potts Bottom to the ground.”
Della turned the picture back against the wall. “Okay, I agree. Not a nice man.”
“Where exactly are you from?” Ivan asked, giving her a quizzical look. “I’m not sure what it is about you, but you say things in a different way.”
“It’s a long story,” Della sighed, walking over to stand by the window. She didn’t look at Ivan as she spoke, because it was hard to lie and make eye contact. “The short version is I’ve got relatives in Potts Bottom I was meant to be visiting, but when I arrived here, they had left. So I’m working to get money to go home again.” There was some truth in this story. She did have relatives in Potts Bottom, her family, although they wouldn’t be born for another eight centuries, but it was the best (and most believable) answer she could come up with.
Wanting to change the subject, Della nodded at what looked to be a burnt stick in Ivan’s hand. He hadn’t started to sketch anything yet, but his fingers were stained black from holding it. “What is that?”
“Willow twig. I bundle them up and take them to the baker’s at the end of the day, and he leaves them in his oven for me overnight. They make excellent drawing sticks.”
“That’s so clever,” Della said, realizing this was an early form of charcoal.
“Can I draw you?” Ivan suddenly asked. “I get tired of always copying this view. It would be nice to have a person to draw.”
“Well…” Della hesitated, feeling self-conscious. But she did want to stay up here until Tom Foolery left his room, and this was a perfect excuse. “Okay. If you like.”
“Stand just where you are, by the window,” Ivan said, starting to sketch. “This is about the only place in the castle that gets good sunlight.”
Della glanced through the window, seeing the village of Potts Bottom spread below her. Except there was no canal or bustling town center, and if her sense of direction was correct (which it very well might not be), there was a field of sheep where Ruthersfield Academy should be.
“What’s wrong?” Ivan asked. “You look so sad.”
“I miss my home,” Della said, swallowing hard. “I really miss it.”
Ivan didn’t ask any more questions, which was nice, because she knew if he did, she would cry. And standing there quietly gave her time to collect herself. She could feel the sun on her face through the tiny window and smell real fresh air that didn’t need to be perfumed with magic.
“You like doing things with your hands, don’t you?” Della said softly. “I do too.”
“I can tell you have a way with the animals,” Ivan said. “You’ve got a gentle touch, Della.”
“That isn’t exactly a skill.”
“It’s a gift.”
“So is what you do.”
“But it’s not courageous, is it, playing about with wood and drawing pictures.” Ivan flicked his gaze up at her. “You probably think I’m a coward.”
“No, I don’t at all. I think you’re really talented. Your carvings are incredible, Ivan.”
“I am a coward. I don’t want to joust and knock people off their horses. I don’t want to risk my life for the sake of my honor and looking brave.”
“Then I’m a coward too, because I’d hate to do those things.”
Ivan smiled at her and held up the sketch. “There. What do you think?”
“I think…” Della tilted her head to one side, scrambling for something to say. “It’s…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s…”
“You seem lost for words,” Ivan said. “Don’t you think I have captured your likeness?”
“Ivan!” Della burst out laughing. “I’m sorry.” She giggled. “It’s just that I look like a middle-aged woman. A grumpy middle-aged woman.”
“You’re supposed to look wistful,” Ivan said, examining his artwork.
“And please tell me I don’t have a nose that big.”
“I haven’t done many portraits,” Ivan admitted. “I usually draw landscapes.” He studied the picture and then looked up at Della. “It isn’t my best work, I’ll admit.”
“Doesn’t matter, if you enjoy it,” Della said, not suggesting that he should probably stick to carving, because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I should go. I’m supposed to be cleaning rooms.”
“I should too,” Ivan sighed. “Before my father comes looking for me.” But he didn’t move, and as Della opened the door, he said, “I understand you want to go home, Della, but you should know I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice having a friend in the castle.”
“Yes, it is,” Dell
a agreed, smiling at Ivan before slipping out into the hallway.
She couldn’t hear singing as she crept up to Tom Foolery’s door. Pressing her ear against it, Della held her breath and listened, but it was completely quiet. No rustling or noise at all. She waited another few moments and then gently pressed down the latch. It didn’t open, and Della pressed again, harder this time. She rattled the handle and pushed her weight against the door, but Tom Foolery had clearly locked it. Which shouldn’t have come as a surprise, although Della couldn’t help banging the wall in frustration. And of course she didn’t know any breaking-and-entering spells, because they didn’t learn that kind of magic at Ruthersfield. If you were caught doing something like that, you’d have your license to practice magic taken away. But I bet Dame Bessie knows a good unlocking spell, Della thought. This definitely counted as survival magic. And when they met at Dame Bessie’s cottage in three nights’ time, Della was determined to find out what spell she could use to break into Tom Foolery’s room.
Chapter Fifteen
A Courage Potion Is Brewed
GETTING OUT OF THE CASTLE on Wednesday night was easy. Nobody seemed too bothered by Della’s whereabouts, so she simply waited until the kitchen was full of snoring and then slipped outside to get her branch from behind the stables. “Avante, and please keep me from crashing,” Della whispered, taking off with a lurch. She flew straight up behind the castle, gripping the branch in her sweaty hands. When she had gained as much height as she could cope with, she circled back around to fly over the forest. The wind was much stronger up here, and Della clung on tight, doing her best not to look down. She had to reach for her wand when she thought Dame Bessie’s cottage should be coming into view, and cast an illumination spell to light up the end. This way she could see the tiny cottage tucked in a clearing below her. Della would not have scored points for her landing from Ms. Durkin, their flying teacher, but this wasn’t Ruthersfield, and good landing posture didn’t matter right now. Getting inside without being discovered did.
Bralin and Tambor were sitting on the gateposts, and as she hurried past, they let out a soft cry. To announce her arrival, Della guessed, because before she got up to the door, it was cracked open, and Dame Bessie beckoned her inside. Willow, Faye, and Isolda were already there. And Gwyneth, too, of course, since she was staying with Dame Bessie. But not Mary.
“I hope she’s all right.” Della fretted, bending down to give Gwyneth a hug. “She’s only seven. That’s far too young to be flying by herself.”
“It’s the safest way here,” Dame Bessie said, but Della could tell she was worried too by the way she kept glancing out of the window. And both Della and Dame Bessie rushed for the door when Tambor and Bralin gave their low cry.
Mary was sobbing as she burst into the room. “I almost f-f-fell off my branch, and my m-mother found purple f-flowers floating in the pottage after I had stirred it.”
“Must have been the spoon you were using,” Dame Bessie said. “You have to be careful, Mary. Certain woods will stir up your magic if you touch them.”
“I’m s-scared,” Mary sobbed. “I don’t want to fly ever again. I don’t want to be a witch anymore.”
“Now take a breath and calm down, child,” Dame Bessie said. “Remember how to turn into a mouse or a rat? In case you need to get away.”
“Not a snail?” Mary said, sniffing.
“No, a snail probably wouldn’t be fast enough,” Della murmured, putting her arm around Mary. “Why don’t we make you some courage potion? Then you won’t need to be so frightened anymore.”
“You can make a courage potion?” Dame Bessie questioned Della. “I’ve never come across such a spell before.”
“It’s a good survival technique,” Della pointed out. “Channeling your inner courage. We use it all the time where I come from.” The girls often took courage potions before a math quiz or tryouts for the broomstick-gymnastics team. “If Mary feels brave, it will help her stay calm, which will help keep her magic under control,” Della reasoned. “So she’ll have less chance of being discovered.”
“Interesting,” Dame Bessie said. “Sounds like something we could all make use of. I would like to see how you brew one.” She pointed her wand at the fireplace, and just like before, the stone hearth opened up, exposing the narrow flight of stairs. One by one the girls followed Dame Bessie down into her workroom. She led them over to a shelf full of dusty stone bottles, none of which appeared to be labeled, so it was difficult to know what was what.
“Now, tell me what you need, my dear, and I can see if I have it.”
“Okay, let me just think for a minute. I want to be sure I get it right. Condensed dragon’s breath is the main ingredient,” Della said, the girls looking at her with interest. “There is a courage potion that calls for powdered griffin’s tooth, but dragon’s breath works much better. And a lion’s roar. Although if you don’t have one of those, you can substitute any fierce roar. Then just a little crushed hawthorn and bayberry.”
“This, and this,” Dame Bessie murmured, opening and sniffing and taking bottles off the shelf. “And would a troll roar do? I have no lion.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Della said, wondering where Dame Bessie got her ingredients, because she certainly wasn’t ordering them from The Witches’ Supply Catalogue.
“I gather them myself,” Dame Bessie said, as if she could read Della’s mind, which maybe she could, Della thought, since mind reading was an ancient magic that didn’t get banned until the 1700s.
“Have you ever met a dragon?” Mary asked, wide-eyed.
“Not personally, but if you go out in the early hours during the winter months, you can see their breath clinging to the tops of the leaves. It’s easy enough to collect.”
“And a troll roar?” Della couldn’t help asking.
“They bellow so loud you can hear them throughout the forest. Just open a bottle and in it goes.”
Dame Bessie’s cellar was not like the potions room at Ruthersfield. No clean glass beakers and sterilized equipment to mix the courage potion in. Della had to use a rather dirty-looking wooden bowl, crushing the hawthorn berries with a stone. When she shook in the troll roar, it bellowed out a medieval obscenity, and the girls giggled, covering their mouths in shock. Threads of tangerine smoke curled out of the bowl, accompanied by a great deal of hissing and bubbling.
Picking up a black feather quill, Dame Bessie bent over the table and dipped the sharp end in a pot of ink. Then, repeating the spell under her breath, she carefully wrote down what Della was doing. “So I don’t forget,” Dame Bessie murmured. “There are empty bottles at the end of the shelf, Della. Divide the potion out and give everyone some to take home.”
“I shall drink mine before I fly back,” Mary said. “I feel braver already, and I haven’t even had any.”
“I’m going to save mine until another witch gets caught,” Willow announced. “That’s when I get most frightened, thinking I’ll be next.”
“We can always make more,” Dame Bessie said, “now that Della has shown us how. But in case any of you do get caught…” She paused here a moment and looked around at the girls. “Well, that’s why I’m going to teach you how to wipe such knowledge right out of a person’s mind. We can’t practice this, of course, but you should know what to do if the situation arises. Now listen carefully.” The girls stared at her in somber silence, except for Gwyneth, who was leaning against Della, rubbing her eyes. “With a steady hand point your wand at whoever has discovered your identity,” Dame Bessie continued, “and then in a clear voice say the word ‘wipplelashwitch.’ ”
“Wipplelashwitch,” Della whispered, thinking that this could be quite useful, and then amazed that she was actually considering the possibility of using such a spell. But her life had changed, and sitting around crying over it wasn’t going to get her back home. She had to do everything she could to survive. “Dame Bessie, you don’t know any good unlocking spells, do you?” Della as
ked, imagining that Ms. Cray would wash her mouth out with unicorn soap if she heard her asking such a question.
“Indeed I do,” Dame Bessie replied. And Della listened carefully to every word Dame Bessie said, learning exactly how to break into Tom Foolery’s room. She could feel her pulse starting to race at the thought of carrying out such a plan and slipped the little bottle of courage potion into her pocket, knowing she was definitely going to need it later on.
Chapter Sixteen
A Surprise Meeting
ARE YOU GOING TO BE okay getting home?” Della asked Mary as they collected their branches from the woodpile.
“I don’t feel scared at all,” Mary announced, swigging the last of her courage potion. She gave a loud, troll-like burp and, with a quick wave at Della, soared off into the night.
The sky had cleared while they were at Dame Bessie’s, and as Della flew over the castle, she could just make out a number of knights on watch duty. Perhaps there had been talk of another witch sighting, and not wanting to risk being seen, Della headed toward the cluster of trees by the river. She glided down, managing to stay in control until the last moment, when she landed in a heap on the bank. “Ouch!” Della lay still for a minute, making sure nothing hurt before getting gingerly to her feet.
It was as she rubbed her elbow that she saw the figure watching her, standing a few yards away at the edge of the trees. Catching her breath, Della froze. Very slowly she felt for her wand, never believing she would have to use the spell she had just learned quite so soon. But if someone had seen her flying, she would need to wipe that memory clean. Although when the person spoke her name, she realized with a shock it was Ivan.
“Della?” he said, keeping his distance. “Did you…? Were you…?” Ivan’s voice petered away, as if he couldn’t say the words out loud.
