by Kaye Umansky
Seven days of snow was enough. Sylphine was fed up with it now. Plus, there was an emergency: she was out of shampoo. Sylphine used a special magical anti-frizz shampoo that Magenta Sharp made for her. It was expensive, but it did what it said on the bottle:
Running out of shampoo was almost as bad as running out of food, so she decided there was nothing for it but to wrap up warm and walk to the tower for a new supply. That was assuming the tower was there, of course. Sometimes it moved to different locations within the forest, and occasionally it visited other dimensions entirely.
Sylphine put on three wafty dresses on top of each other and reached in the wardrobe for the awful brown coat. Then she shook her head and put it back again. Instead, she hacked a hole in a blanket with a pair of scissors, stuck her head through, added several scarves and shawls, pulled a shapeless woolly hat over her unwashed hair, pulled on extra socks, and finally pushed her moon-dancing feet into the clumpy work boots.
Sylphine examined herself in the hall mirror, gave a little sigh and hoped she wouldn’t bump into anyone. At least she wasn’t wearing the coat.
Elsewhere in the forest, another expedition was on its way. Elsie, Joey, Nuisance and Bill were crunching their way through the snow – and Elsie was loving it! Snow was so much better in the woods than it was in Smallbridge. The forest looked beautiful, like it had been carved from a wedding cake. Better still, she had her friends with her. And it was nice to have a proper walk for the first time in over a week. Even though worrying about Magenta made them all quieter than usual.
Every so often, one of them would lob a sneaky snowball. Once, they stopped in a glade for a short but giggly snowball fight. Nuisance ran round barking madly, then went racing off with Bill to play hide and seek among the trees.
But the fun didn’t last long, because there wasn’t time. The Red Witch was missing. This was serious stuff.
They moved deeper into the forest, Joey leading the way. The snow was dangerously deep in places, and at times they had to duck under branches so heavily laden that they seemed on the point of cracking, but Joey seemed to know exactly the right route to take.
Elsie had looked into the wardrobe before setting out, and sure enough, the tower had come up trumps yet again – this time providing a warm winter coat in blue, her favourite colour, plus a matching hat and a pair of huge, fluffy mittens. Despite her new clothes, the air took her breath away. Joey didn’t seem to feel the cold so much, but then he was used to being out in all weathers. So was Nuisance, who showed no signs of flagging. Bill sailed easily around the tree trunks.
I really must stop taking short cuts, thought Elsie. This walk is making me puff.
‘How much further?’ she asked. It seemed to be getting even colder. Her feet and hands had gone numb. The end of her nose was actually beginning to hurt.
‘Not far now,’ said Joey. ‘Left at the big oak, then sharp right and it’s just ahead. There’s a big sign in the front garden that says:
‘If she’s the Wise Woman of Clackham Common, what’s she doing living in Crookfinger Forest?’ asked Elsie. ‘Ouch,’ she added. ‘The tip of my nose is really hurting.’
‘She said the Common was too draughty, and she can’t be bothered to change the sign.’ Joey rubbed the end of his nose. ‘Ow. So is mine. Ow, ouch!’
Elsie suddenly grabbed his arm.
‘What?’
‘I heard something. Listen.’
Joey listened. ‘I don’t hear anything.’
‘I can hear . . . bells. Can’t you?’
Just then, Nuisance came bolting back from somewhere under the trees. He ran to Elsie and gave a series of urgent barks.
‘What’s up, boy?’ said Elsie, ruffling his head. Nuisance pawed at his nose and barked again.
Seconds later, Bill came zooming up, landed with a thump in Joey’s arms and tried to snuggle in. This was very unbasketty behaviour.
‘What’s up with them?’ said Joey.
‘I don’t know,’ said Elsie. She gave a frown. ‘But I know I heard bells. This is weird. Let’s hurry up. I’m freezing.’
Sylphine wasn’t enjoying walking through the snowy forest. The trailing scarves were turning out to be a problem, because she kept treading on the ends and falling over. A low branch had hooked off her hat. Also, she was more than ready for lunch. Something hot from the tower’s magic larder – a mug of chocolate and a slice of ginger cake, perhaps. Or a bowl of soup and a plate of toast. Crumpets. Anything. Witch Sharp didn’t exactly welcome visitors, but even she wouldn’t leave someone standing outside in the cold. Would she?
Actually, thought Sylphine, she might.
Sylphine had steered clear of Magenta since an unfortunate incident in Smallbridge involving her newly opened magic shop. Not only had Sylphine accidentally put the shop out of business, she had put it out of existence. Long story, most of it bad. Luckily, Magenta had been getting bored with shopkeeping anyway, but it hadn’t been the best way for her to end her retail career.
To Sylphine’s relief, when she arrived in the clearing, the tower was in its usual place. She was just about to cross the glade when a familiar voice spoke just above her head:
‘She’s not here.’
Corbett was hunched on a low branch, staring down with his black, beady eyes. His feathers were fluffed against the cold.
‘Oh,’ said Sylphine. ‘Hello, Corbett. How are you?’
‘I’ve been better.’
From a nearby tree, a robin suddenly struck up a happy song.
‘Push off, twig legs!’ shouted Corbett. ‘May your daft red breast turn out to be a rash.’
The robin said something sharp in Bird.
‘Fly over here and say that,’ snarled Corbett.
The robin decided not to push its luck and flew away.
‘Are you moulting again?’ asked Sylphine. ‘You’re very snappy.’
‘No. Magenta’s missing.’
‘Oh my. How come?’
‘How do I know? No note, just gone. And it might just be my fault.’
‘Why?’
‘We had an argument about worms. She said they put her off her supper.’
‘Spaghetti, I expect,’ nodded Sylphine.
‘How did you—? Anyway, I haven’t seen her since. The tower’s been without a witch, so I fetched Elsie. She and the dog have gone off to see Wendy Snipe. With Joey and the basket.’
‘Oh. Without me?’ Sylphine felt a little miffed.
‘They were in a hurry.’
‘Where does Wendy Snipe live?’
‘A mile or so as the raven flies.’
‘Is that the same as the crow flies?’
‘Yes, but better.’
Sylphine thought about this. A mile or so. That was a long way. On the other hand, it was a long way home without lunch and her hair desperately needed a wash. Magenta might not be here but hopefully she would have a stash of the special shampoo in a cupboard somewhere. Failing that, Sylphine thought, I’ll ask Elsie to magic me some up.
‘How long do you think they’ll be?’ she asked.
‘Haven’t a clue. You can’t come in and wait. The door’s locked. Besides, I’m not in the mood for company. If you want to find ’em, follow the footprints.’ He pointed a claw at the mixture of human and doggy footprints that led away through the trees. ‘Or don’t. I don’t care either way.’
‘Cheer up, Corbett,’ said Sylphine.
‘I don’t think it’s your fault that Witch Sharp’s missing. A silly little row about worms isn’t enough to make someone disappear. It has to be something much more serious. Kidnapped by goblins, maybe, or lost at sea, perhaps an accident or something. Maybe she’s fallen down a cave and lost her memory so she can’t magic herself out.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Corbett bleakly. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Sylphine. ‘Happy to be of service.’
Corbett took off and flapped up to the top of the tower, where he perched
on the broken Spelloscope and stared off into the distance, hoping in vain to see a flash of red.
Chapter Six
THREE WITCHES
‘Biscuit?’ asked Wendy Snipe.
‘No, thank you,’ chorused Elsie and Joey.
They were squeezed on to a too-small sofa in the cluttered living room. Wendy Snipe went in for knick-knacks. The surface of every sideboard and spindly table was covered with tiny pots and fiddly little ornaments that Nuisance would have instantly knocked to the floor if he had come in. Being strictly an outside dog, he hadn’t. He and Bill had elected to squeeze into the tiny porch, alongside a mop, a dead spider plant and a collection of broomsticks. They both seemed a little spooked.
‘Well, if nobody wants it, I’ll put it away.’ Wendy reached over and picked up the tin of biscuits. Or rather, the tin of a biscuit. There was only the one. It looked small, dry and unappetising.
‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, though,’ added Joey. He gave Elsie a private little nudge.
‘Not sure if I’ve got any milk,’ Wendy said. ‘I’ll check.’
She bustled out into the kitchen, taking the tin of a biscuit with her.
‘Wise decision,’ said a mournful voice from the armchair in a corner. ‘She’s offered that biscuit to everyone for the last six months.’
The voice belonged to Maureen, the Hag of Heaving Heath. She was long and thin and favoured the traditional witchy clothing of black cloak and tall, pointy hat, which currently sat beside her on the floor.
‘The last biscuit’s always the worst,’ observed a second voice from the opposite corner. ‘I wouldn’t hold out much hope for that milk either.’
This was Madame Shirley, Fortune Teller to the Stars. In contrast to Maureen, Shirley was a riot in a paint shop. Orange turban and turquoise dress. Pink high-heeled shoes. Gold bangles. Scarlet lipstick. Bright green eyeshadow. It hurt the eyes to look at her. The large, yellow china teapot she used for her fortune telling sat by her feet.
Both of them had already been at Wendy’s when Elsie and Joey were ushered inside, stamping the snow off their boots. Elsie had the feeling that these three particular witches spent a lot of time in each other’s houses.
‘Wendy’s not known for her hospitality,’ Maureen told Elsie and Joey. ‘She might have the whole cosy-motherly-favourite-aunty-kind-granny vibe, but she’s definitely missing the feeding-people-up urge.’
‘Her wisdom’s good, though, to be fair,’ said Shirley.
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Maureen. ‘I’m not saying she’s not wise. Just mean.’
Wendy Snipe came bustling back.
‘Sorry, loves, all out of milk,’ she told them sadly. ‘So,’ she beamed around. ‘What are we all talking about?’
‘You,’ said Maureen. ‘And how mean you are.’
‘I don’t call it mean, Maureen. I call it being careful.’
‘Admit it, dear, you’re tight with the catering,’ said Shirley. ‘You’re not like those old-fashioned witches who used to stay up all night making gingerbread to fatten up children. Sorry for mentioning that,’ she added to Elsie and Joey.
‘No problem,’ chorused Elsie and Joey politely.
‘Anyway,’ said Shirley. ‘If you’re not feeding these kids, Wendy, let’s at least find out what it is they want. I don’t s’pose this is just a social visit.’
‘You’re right!’ cried Wendy. ‘Madge send you for supplies, did she, Elsie dear? What’s she run out of this time?’
‘No,’ said Elsie. ‘Magenta’s actually gone missing. We were wondering if you’ve heard anything.’
‘She’s been gone a week,’ said Joey. ‘No note. She didn’t say anything to Corbett, like he says she’s supposed to.’
‘You don’t want to take any notice of that gloomy bird,’ said Maureen. ‘That crow. It’s always moaning and going on about rules. That’s the disadvantage of living in a magical moving tower. You have to put up with the crow that comes with it.’
‘He’s a raven,’ Joey corrected, adding, ‘you’re right, though, he does like a moan.’
‘We haven’t seen anything of Madge anyway,’ said Shirley. ‘Not since the vanishing shop affair.’
‘Shame,’ chorused Wendy and Maureen although you could tell they didn’t really mean it.
‘We hoped you could help us find her,’ said Elsie.
‘I’ll try and raise her on the ball if you like.’ said Wendy.
She pulled open a sideboard drawer. Politely, everyone looked away. What’s in a witch’s private cupboards and drawers is secret. And almost always incredibly untidy.
Wendy rummaged around and finally emerged with a large, grubby-looking crystal ball. As well as greasy fingerprints, it had a bad crack. ‘Here we are. Could do with a bit of a polish. Never mind, it’ll do.’
She swiped the ball on her sleeve, waved a hand over it and said:
‘Wendy Snipe calling Magenta Sharp. Madge? You there? Come in, will you?’
The ball just sat there, looking dirty.
‘Come on, Madge,’ said Wendy. ‘Show yourself. I’ve got young Elsie here. She just wants a quick word.’
Nothing.
‘I’ll try reading the tea leaves,’ said Shirley. ‘I always bring my own, I know I won’t get any here.’ She picked up the teapot and headed for the kitchen.
Chapter Seven
COLD MAGIC
Shirley came tottering back in on her pink high heels. In her hands was a tray bearing the yellow teapot, a small china cup and saucer and a long spoon.
‘Right,’ she said, depositing the tray on the table. ‘I’ll just give it a stir.’
Steam puffed up as she removed the pot lid and stirred the contents three times with the spoon. Then she replaced the lid, picked up the pot and poured tea into the cup.
‘Have to let the leaves settle,’ she said. ‘Talk amongst yourselves.’
‘So,’ Wendy turned to the children. ‘You walked all the way from the tower. How was the journey?’
‘Fun,’ chorused Joey and Elsie.
‘Until right at the end when it got absolutely freezing.’ Elsie added.
‘Around the time you thought you heard the bells,’ Joey said to her.
Wendy and Maureen exchanged a startled glance.
‘Did they jingle or jangle?’ asked Maureen. ‘The bells?’
‘Jangled,’ said Elsie. ‘Even in the distance, they sounded horrible.’
‘And then it got colder, you say?’ said Wendy.
‘Freezing,’ said Elsie. ‘It made our noses hurt. Why?’
Maureen and Wendy exchanged another look. They were about to speak when Shirley clapped her hands, sat up straight and beamed around.
‘That’s nice and ready now!’ she said and picked up the cup, curled her hands around it and peered into its depths. She frowned. ‘Oh. Well, well. There’s a thing.’
‘What?’ chorused everyone.
‘I’ve been hacked.’ Slowly, Shirley turned the cup upside down. A solid lump of brownish ice dropped out, fell to the floor and skidded off under a small side table.
‘What?’ said Elsie. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means there’s cold, strong magic at work,’ said Shirley. ‘Outside interference.’
‘You know who’s behind this, don’t you? There are enough clues,’ said Wendy.
Maureen nodded. ‘Snow that never thaws, jangling bells, nipped noses, cold hacking. All points to one thing.’
‘What?’ cried Elsie, feeling very confused. ‘What does it all point to?’
Heavily, in a doleful chorus, the three witches said two words:
‘Jack Frost.’
‘You don’t mean – you’re not referring to – the Jack Frost?’ said Elsie. ‘The one who’s supposed to – what – bring the ice and snow?’
‘That’s him,’ said Maureen. ‘I was wondering why we haven’t had a thaw. He must be somewhere in the forest. Probably hiding out in that ice box on skis he’s so prou
d of. With that bad-tempered reindeer in tow.’
‘Perfect place to lie low, the forest. Especially in the snow, in a white house,’ said Shirley, adding, ‘He’s on the run because he’s wanted for questioning. That’s what I heard.’
‘Too right’ said Maureen. ‘He’s gone too far this time. Abusing his powers and mistreating people like that. Caused a permanent winter in a forest in another dimension that lasted for a whole year. The poor animals and people who lived there were either half-buried or near solidly frozen when they were dug out from all that snow.’ Elsie and Joey listened to all of this with wide-eyed astonishment. ‘People are furious,’ added Maureen.
‘So they should be,’ said Wendy. ‘He needs a spell behind bars, that one.’
‘I didn’t think Jack Frost was real,’ said Joey. ‘I thought he was made up, like the Tooth Fairy or the Sandman or . . . or Old Man River.’
‘What makes you think they’re made up?’ said Shirley. ‘I happen to know the Tooth Fairy, we’re in the same book club. Natasha de Minty, lives in an ivory castle. People call her Gnasher. Not to her face, mind.’
All three witches tittered.
‘The Sandman’s really popular,’ Maureen told them. ‘Well, everyone likes a good night’s sleep. And I saw Old Man River in the laundrette last week, watching his smalls go round.’
‘They’re real all right,’ said Shirley. ‘Just because you’ve got a magical power doesn’t mean you don’t need to do normal things like eat or wash.’
‘The Sandman doesn’t wash,’ corrected Maureen. ‘He rubs himself down.’
‘How do you get a magical power?’ asked Joey. ‘Are they just . . . randomly given out?’
‘Handed down through the family,’ Maureen told him. ‘So don’t hold out hopes for yourself,’ she added, not unkindly.
‘They love to flaunt their power around, some of the big names,’ said Shirley. ‘None are as bad as Jack, though. Goes round doing exactly what he likes. Builds flashy palaces all over the place that he doesn’t even live in. And that silly all-white outfit he swaggers around in. Those daft white boots. That hat.’
