by Kaye Umansky
‘She never told me. I’m the post boy, I’m supposed to know when people move address. What does Corbs make of all this?’
‘He hates it. Crowds of people coming to stare all day. The tower’s not happy either. But Magenta says she wants it there so she can get to the shop easily. Claims she’s going to walk there and back for exercise.’
‘She won’t,’ said Joey. ‘She’ll take shortcuts. I’m surprised she even put in the hard work to open a shop at all.’
‘She didn’t. Her sister sent her some weird new gadget that did it all for her.’ said Elsie. ‘Corbett and I don’t trust it. It didn’t come with proper instructions.’
‘Hmmm. What’s it like? The magic shop?’
‘Flashy outside, and packed with great stuff inside, but it just doesn’t . . . feel right somehow, but I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong with it.’
Joey nodded. ‘Sounds a bit fishy,’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘I’ve got a letter for Her Witchiness so I’ll pop along and see the shop for myself. Nuisance can run to the tower and fetch Corbs and then I’ll come back and the five of us can discuss what’s what.’
‘You mean four,’ said Elsie. ‘Me, you, Nuisance and Corbett.’
‘You forgot Bill.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry. Look, I’ll get Corbett. See you back here in ten minutes.’
And before Joey could remind her about cutting down on shortcuts, she was gone.
Instantly, Elsie was in the tower kitchen! It was really exhilarating. Elsie had missed taking shortcuts. All the time they saved. The fun of them!
She felt at home right away. The tower was glad to see her too. The minute she arrived, she could feel it perk up a bit. But it still felt a bit out of sorts. Unsettled. Obviously unhappy on a dull, draughty common with no sheltering trees, too much sky and a constant crowd of onlookers.
Elsie peeked out of the curtains at the crowd. Somebody shouted, ‘Oi! Where’s the rude bird?’ She snapped the curtains shut again.
‘Hello, Tower,’ she said. ‘It’s good to be back. Sorry I haven’t been along to see you. I’m told you don’t much like it here.’
The tower gave a little shiver. Somewhere upstairs, a door banged. A small jug fell off a hook and broke on the floor. The tap went on and off by itself, just a small, disgusted squirt. No. It didn’t like it.
‘What d’you want, Elsie?’ came a cross croak from Corbett’s sleeping perch. ‘May pelicans peck your pimply ears, be quiet. I’m trying to catch forty winks here. I’ve been up on the roof screaming at sightseers since sun up.’
‘Joey’s back at the Emporium. Are you coming?’
‘Really? Oh! Good. Yep, right away.’ Corbett perked up immediately and flapped on to her shoulder. ‘What are we waiting for, take a shortcut, let’s go!’
Wendy, Maureen and Shirley stepped out of Sharp Spells, their baskets full to overflowing. All three had the triumphant look that people get when they’ve experienced the perfect shopping trip. A trip where they found absolutely everything they wanted, plus some extra treats.
Behind them, the door slammed shut, causing a sudden shower of red paint. Another tile fell off the roof.
‘Some good stuff she’s got in there,’ said Maureen. ‘Credit where it’s due.’
‘I don’t believe she set that shop up all by herself, though,’ said Shirley. ‘Not for a minute. She’s taken a shortcut. I hear there’s some sort of newfangled gadget out. Cuts your time right down. Uses a different sort of magic.’
‘I don’t trust new sorts of magic,’ said Wendy. ‘You don’t know what they put in it.’
‘Oh, here’s Pickles’ Emporium, little Elsie’s dad’s place,’ said Shirley. ‘Shall we pop in and say hello, as we’re in the neighbourhood?’
‘Could do’ said Maureen. ‘Looks like the sort of useful shop that just might have clothes pegs.’
‘They do! I can see ‘em,’ said Wendy, peering into the Emporium window. ‘Ooh. I don’t know about you two, but I love them green glass vases!’
In Sharp Spells, Joey was walking around with his mouth open, Bill bobbing happily in his wake. This was a magic shop, where a floating basket was free to be itself.
‘This is great!’ said Joey, meaning it. There was nothing he loved more than a magic shop. ‘I could spend hours here. Bill and I are coming back on Thursday. It’s our day off.’
‘Right,’ said Magenta shortly. ‘Thanks.’
‘They bought a lot, didn’t they? Your first three customers? I saw their baskets.’
‘They did,’ said Magenta ‘I didn’t enjoy it much, though. I’m exhausted with all that trying to be nice. Shop work’s not as easy as you think. I’ve advertised for an assistant. You wouldn’t be interested, would you?’
‘Yes! Yes! Yes, I would!’ cried Joey, the mad-for-magic boy.
‘On second thoughts, forget it. I need someone with the knack, like Elsie. Not just nice, like you. No offence.’
‘None taken, I suppose,’ said Joey. He gave a small sigh. Bill the basket gave him a comforting little nudge. At least he was nice. ‘I’ve got a job anyway.’
‘There’s another thing bothering me a bit,’ went on Magenta. ‘I haven’t mentioned it because Corbett will only say he told me so, but I’ve noticed a few faults with the shop. Cracks have appeared in the walls. The till keeps sticking. And the outside S’s have lost their twinkles. Plus the posters are drooping and the roof’s losing tiles. It’s not quite as perfect as it was in the beginning.’
‘Can’t you fix it?’
‘I don’t know how,’ admitted Magenta. Her eyes flicked below the counter, where the Spellatron 3000 sat back in the shadows, purring. Except . . . the purr didn’t sound quite as convincing as before. There was a rusty quality to the sound. And when the little green light blinked out, it took longer to come back on again.
‘Look on the bright side,’ said Joey. ‘Your friends showed up and bought loads. Tomorrow, you won’t move for customers. You should celebrate tonight. Ask the tower for a cake. I’ll come round.’
‘The tower’s sulking. No cakes. But you’re right. I should look on the bright side. After all, it is early days.’
‘By the way, I’ve got a letter for you,’ said Joey, reaching into his sack. ‘From your sister, by the looks of the writing.’
‘Put it under the till,’ said Magenta. ‘Her letters are always so depressing. I’m sure it’s nothing important anyway.’
Chapter Eight
SYLPHINE
The following day passed into Smallbridge legend as The Day the Witches Came. Because come they did. By broomstick, by bicycle, on foot, but mostly by shortcut. By nine o’clock in the morning, a long queue of them snaked along the alley, spilling out into the high street. Smallbridge didn’t know what to do about this. Everyone thought that the mayor should deal with it, but he wasn’t answering the door again. Albert, Elsie and Corbett watched the queue through the Emporium window. Corbett had come on a flying visit as a break from shouting insults. As he explained, he needed to rest his throat now and then. He was becoming quite a celebrity. He was known as the ‘funny bird on the roof’. Children kept pestering their parents to go and see him.
The witches came in all shapes and sizes. Some looked cheerful and expectant. Some looked fierce and determined. Some chattered to their neighbours, some didn’t. Some were all dressed up, and some were a total mess and clearly didn’t care. All were armed with a variety of serious-looking shopping bags.
Mixed in with them, to Elsie’s surprise, were a few Smallbridge parents with excited children hanging off them. It seemed that not everyone in Smallbridge was witchist (though you wouldn’t know it from the town meeting). There were quite a few who were intrigued by the idea of a magic shop. The children were proving popular with the witches, who patted them on the head, chucked their chins and told them they were clever. (They were certainly clever at pestering their parents for Tickle Dust which had now reached mythi
c status although no one actually knew what it was.)
‘Looks like Wendy and her friends have spread the word,’ said Corbett. ‘The crystal balls must have been hot last night.’
‘Where do they all come from?’ gasped Albert.
‘All over,’ said Elsie. ‘They look really out of place in Smallbridge, don’t they?’
‘But they are potential customers,’ said Albert, finally pulling himself together and closing his mouth. ‘I’m sure they’re the same as anyone once when you get to know them. A few more warts and broomsticks, maybe, but nothing wrong with that. We could certainly do with a few more like your three friends yesterday, pet.’
The day before had turned out to be a good one after all. Wendy, Maureen and Shirley had indeed descended upon the Emporium. And once Elsie had been hugged and kissed with huge enthusiasm, the three of them had then proceeded to shop.
A witch’s shopping basket is never full, however highly heaped. The three witches bought clothes pegs, nails, pens, dish mops, scissors, door mats, hair nets, kettles, ironing boards and many more dull but necessary items. All three bought a green vase. In fact, Wendy bought two. One for herself and one for her sister (which she said she’d have back if her own got broken). Elsie had been relieved to serve customers again. It felt like the Emporium was once again back on track.
But that was yesterday. Today, it seemed nobody was interested in the Emporium. The waiting witches were there for one thing only: Sharp Spells The Shop!
The clock on the town hall struck nine. Opening time. The queue shuffled forward.
‘Do you want to pop along and give her a hand, pet?’ asked Albert. ‘It looks like another quiet morning for us. Unless you think she’ll cope on her own.’
‘She won’t,’ said Corbett. ‘She’ll already be on the point of jacking it in.’
He was right. When Elsie arrived, squeezing past the queue, saying things like, ‘I’m sorry,’ and, ‘Excuse me, can I get past, please?’ she found Magenta sitting bolt upright at the till with her arms crossed. The shop was packed. From the doorway came impatient grumbling and the odd cry of ‘Hurry up, don’t have all day!’ Magenta looked as though for two pins she’d freeze the lot of them and take a shortcut home.
‘The drawer’s stuck again,’ she growled and then looked at Elsie a bit sheepishly. ‘Actually, a few funny things are happening.’
‘I was worried something wasn’t right,’ said Elsie. ‘It’s the Spellatron 3000, isn’t it? There’s something funny about its magic. It seems to be losing power.’
‘Have a look at it, will you?’ said Magenta. ‘Be quick. I don’t want anyone knowing about it.’
Elsie dipped her head under the counter. ‘It’s not purring as steadily. More like a weak sort of gaspy noise. And the blinking green light’s slowed down. It’s hardly flashing at all.’
‘How much are the Yes Drops, miss?’ demanded a customer.
‘Be quiet,’ snapped Magenta. ‘Can’t you see we’re talking?’
‘One shilling. Two bottles for the price of one, a bargain,’ said Elsie pleasantly. ‘How many would you like, madam?’
Once she’d dealt with that customer, there was another close behind and then another, and soon Elsie found herself a permanent fixture behind the counter, serving customers with a smile.
Every so often she would look up and notice another defect in the shop, items tumbling off shelves, a table wobbling and falling over, a tin popping open. But even as she worried about the Spellatron 3000’s failing magic, she felt in her element behind the counter. She would never admit it to her dad, but it was more fun working in a shop that sold spells rather than screws. The customers were different too. They liked to poke things and smell things and try things out. There were pink sparks and rains of little blue stars. Things fizzled and twinkled and went off with a bang. There were strange smells.
Corbett helped put things in bags and even worked the till, pecking the keys with his beak. The children were delighted to get a chance to see the ‘rude bird’ up close, but even Corbett wasn’t as big a hit as the Tickle Dust. The little gold pots were eagerly clutched in hot little hands to be tried out later, under the supervision of an adult, as instructed on the bottom.
Magenta slumped in the chair behind the counter, reading Witch! magazine and eating her way through a bag of Nevergon biscuits from the children’s range. When witches complimented her on the new shop, she gave a surly shrug and carried on reading. Everything else was left to Elsie.
Elsie didn’t mind, though. She was having a lovely time.
And there we shall leave them for now – because someone else needs our attention.
Back in the Emporium, Albert was on his own, wondering whether to give up and close for the day, when the door burst open. A girl in an unflattering navy blue suit staggered in backwards, arms wheeling wildly, and crashed into the stack of green vases, which toppled noisily to the floor. Rather to Albert’s disappointment, none of them smashed.
‘Oops,’ said the girl. ‘Sorry. I’ll pick them up.’
‘Don’t worry, young lady,’ said Albert. ‘I’m thinking of discontinuing the line anyway.’
‘I got jostled,’ said the girl, climbing to her feet. ‘It’s mad out there. These stupid shoes don’t help.’ She glared down at her feet, which sported a pair of ugly, thick-soled shoes. ‘It’s like having boulders strapped on. Are you Mr Pickles?’
‘I am,’ said Albert. ‘And you are?’
‘Sylphine Greenmantle.’
Ah-ha, thought Albert. Elsie’s friend from the forest.
He tried remembering what Elsie had said about her. Something about dressing like a wood sprite. Long hair with flowers in, wafty gowns, that sort of thing.
But that didn’t sound a bit like the girl in front of him. This girl was all bundled up in a thick, scratchy-looking suit and wore shoes like bricks. Her hair was scraped back into a bun. Not a flower in sight.
Albert quickly applied Customer Service Rule Eleven: Never Show Surprise.
‘Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Sylphine. What an … unusual name.’
‘I know. I like it too. But Granny says I should use my real name, Aggie Wiggins, when I’m interviewed for the job because Witch Sharp will have no time for nonsense, she says. Granny says I’m not to mention moon dancing or talk about animals.’
‘You’re … after the shop assistant job?’
‘Yes. Granny saw the advert on a tree. She says even shop work is preferable to moonlight dancing. I was hoping Elsie would give me some tips. Where is she?’
‘Helping Witch Sharp out. Business is brisk, as you can see from the queue.’
They both looked out of the window. The queue was moving, but didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. Every time it looked like it was shrinking, a whole new crowd of customers would join at the back.
‘So you’ve got no one to help you when a customer comes in here?’ said Sylphine.
‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ said Albert. ‘It’s a slow day.’
‘But if one should.’
‘One won’t,’ sighed Albert. ‘We had a flurry of customers yesterday, but it’s all gone quiet again—’
Right on cue, the bell jangled and, suddenly, two witches were in the shop. One was short and round and wore half-glasses. The other was dressed in purple, and had an eye patch. Both of their shopping baskets were heaped with products from Sharp Spells. Bottles rattled, fake snakes for the grandkids wiggled, and now and again in from the depths of the bags there would come a small, muffled explosion or a burst of green sparkles as magical artefacts rubbed up against each other. Glinting on the top of both baskets were pretty little gold pots with red jewels in the lids.
‘Why, ladies,’ smiled Albert. ‘Can I be of service? Or shall I let you look around and see if anything catches your eye?’
‘We want one of these green vases you sold Wendy Snipe yesterday,’ said the short, round witch. She nudged one with her f
oot. ‘Hmmm. Funny place to display ‘em, on the floor.’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Pickles,’ said Sylphine. ‘I’ll pick them up. I’ll help you. Then I can say I’ve had work experience in a shop when I go for my interview.’
‘I really don’t need any help—’ began Albert, but broke off because the shop bell announced the arrival of yet more witch customers. All of them had clearly enjoyed shopping in Sharp Spells – the evidence was the full to bursting shopping bags – but the day was young and there was no hurry to get home. Might as well check out the shop next door.
And after that – well, it wasn’t often you bumped into old what’s her name from wherever. Wouldn’t hurt to stop for a natter and a catch-up. Buy a fish for supper, perhaps. Take a stroll around the town, see what it had to offer. It didn’t look promising, but you never knew. Maybe there would be a café.
For the rest of that day, Albert sold a very respectable load of stuff, all to a steady stream of witches on their way back from Sharp Spells. The hideous green vases were a surprise hit. Matches were popular. As one witch explained to him, they were always blowing out when you’re trying to get a fire going on a blasted heath on a windy night, so you could never have too many. And it was surprising how many witches couldn’t resist a chicken tea towel.
All this and more Albert sold, always at his most charming, never slipping up once on customer service, despite being driven to distraction by Sylphine, who, unsurprisingly, turned out to be the worst shop assistant in the world.
The Pickles family talked about it that night, as they cleared away the supper dishes, keeping their voices low because Sylphine was at that moment flat out and snoring on the sofa, still wearing her awful suit and shoes. She’d arrived in Smallbridge without thinking about where she would stay or how she would eat. She had also forgotten to bring any money. The choice for the Pickles was simple: either they offered her the sofa, or she would be sleeping in the doorway with Nuisance.
