by Kaye Umansky
‘How do I look?’ she asked Albert, who was busy sorting the till out.
‘Very nice,’ said Albert without really looking.
‘You don’t mind that I’m leaving you, do you, Mr Pickles?’
‘No,’ said Albert. ‘Not a bit, dear.’
‘Because when I’m Magenta’s assistant, you’ll get Elsie back. Can I do anything for you? Before I go?’
‘No, thank you, Sylphine. I’m fine.’
Sylphine went – then was back.
‘It’s not open.’
‘Ah. Yes, come to think of it, Elsie did mention she thought Witch Sharp might open up later today.’ Albert sounded a bit disapproving. The Emporium always opened on time. ‘She’ll lose a lot of trade that way. What are you doing with that key, dear?’
Sylphine had unhooked one of the keys that hung by the counter. It was the big red one for Sharp Spells that Magenta had given Elsie.
‘I’m going to open up for Miss Sharp,’ she said. ‘I’ll pull up the shutters and get everything ready. I know how to do it now I’ve watched you.’
‘I’m not sure—’
‘It’ll be a nice surprise, won’t it? Miss Sharp will turn up and see me doing it all, serving customers and being helpful and that, and hire me on the spot. See you later, Mr Pickles.’
‘I don’t think … you in a magic shop—’
Too late. Sylphine was gone.
Sylphine stood in the doorway of Sharp Spells, gazing at the goods on display. A number of items woke up as the daylight filtered in, sensing a new day and more opportunities to do their thing, whatever that happened to be. Fake snakes wiggled. Wands fizzed. The tailor’s dummies stretched and rolled their shoulders.
Sylphine felt encouraged. So far, so good. She had managed to walk down the alley without tripping over or stepping in something nasty. She had gasped in admiration and excitement at the first sight of the wonderful new magic shop where she would shortly be working. Although, on closer inspection the exterior didn’t look that great. Considering it was newly opened, it was looking a bit, well, tired. Not only had the four S’s stopped twinkling, they had fallen off the sign. Yet another tile had slid off the roof and fallen to the cobbles when she unlocked the door.
But inside wasn’t so bad. At least nothing had launched itself off a shelf and gone for her leg. There were stirrings and fizzles and the odd spark, but nothing too unsettling. Although you never knew what might happen around magic. She would be extra careful, just in case of mishap.
The shutters needed opening and the sign needed to be changed to OPEN – but first things first, Sylphine wanted to know what it felt like to stand behind the counter and be in charge. To be a real shop keeper.
She moved behind the counter and arranged herself in the sort of pose she had observed Albert adopt.
‘Good morning, modom,’ said Sylphine to the empty air. ‘Is modom looking for anything special today?’
The empty air said nothing in return.
‘Just arsk if you need any help, sir,’ said Sylphine in Albert’s very best, politest tones.
Stony silence.
Sylphine turned her attention to the till. It looked complicated – even more so than the one in the Emporium. The one that she’d got her hair caught up in. Perhaps she should leave it alone until she knew how to use it.
There was something under the till, though. A white envelope, addressed to Magenta. Sylphine frowned. Could this be an application for the shop assistant job? If so, she would dispose of it quickly.
Sylphine gave a shifty glance around, then tore open the envelope and quickly withdrew a single sheet of paper.
Dear Magenta,
I assume the Spellatron 3000 I ordered for you from the catalogue arrived safely. Knowing you, I wasn’t expecting thanks. I thought it would suit you, as it operates with minimum input from the user and I know how lazy you are. Plus it doesn’t smell or fizz or require the user to leap around a bonfire wearing riduculous red clothes. My hope was that as I can’t persuade you to give up magic entirely, at least you might try something a little more civilised.
However, you’ve probably found out for yourself by now, the bad news is that the Spellatron 3000 is faulty. It seems the new magic doesn’t work properly and the manufacturer is calling them back in. Loads of terrible reviews. They start off all right, then run out of steam. They look boring, you can’t turn them off, things start to crumble and go wrong, all kinds of criticism. Unfortunately, when I ordered you one, I put your name down to pay for it. It wasn’t cheap either. Well, maybe it will teach you that magic is a terrible thing and that you really should settle down and live a normal life.
Your loving sister
Gosh, thought Sylphine. That’s harsh. She and Granny would get on well.
She stuffed the letter into her pocket. It was then that she suddenly became aware of a strange sound. A sort of weird, wheezy buzzing noise, coming from somewhere around her knees.
Sylphine bent down, reached into the darkness under the counter and carefully felt around. When she straightened, in her hands was a smooth, shiny, weird-looking thing the size and shape of a brick with a row of holes in the side. Three small, fierce red lights were pulsing on and off behind all the holes. Wonky-sounding buzzing came from somewhere deep inside.
This must be the The Spellatron 3000, thought Sylphine. Miss Sharp’s sister was right, the device clearly wasn’t at all well.
There came creaking and groaning sounds. Sylphine looked up. All around, horrible things were happening to the shop. The walls were bulging. The shelves were springing off the walls. The floor looked like it was moving up and down.
Sylphine was determined to treat the Spellatron 3000 very, very carefully. She would lower it - very slowly, little by little, onto the counter . . .
‘WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, SYLPHINE GREENMANTLE?!’ barked a voice.
Sylphine gave a squeal, jumped and … dropped it! There was a sharp crack as the device bounced off the edge of the counter and fell to the floor with a nasty crunch.
There came an almighty explosion of multi-coloured lights! Sparkles and twinkles and flashings like an accident in a firework factory but without the noise. This was a silent explosion.
Then, quietly and with no fuss, the shop disappeared. Simply vanished, along with everything in it.
Sylphine and Magenta found themselves standing knee-deep in nettles in Smallbridge’s town dump. Alongside two old, abandoned armchairs and a broken spinning wheel. A short distance away, a small goat tethered to a post looked up and gave a mild bleat.
‘Oops,’ said Sylphine. At her feet lay the Spellatron 3000. It was silent. No lights, red or green, shone from the holes. She nudged it with her shoe. No response.
‘You silly girl!’ hissed Magenta. ‘You dropped it!’
‘Yes,’ said Sylphine. ‘Yes. I did. Accidentally.’
‘And now it’s broken and my shop is gone! Think I’ve got time to waste rebuilding up a business from scratch?’
‘Sorry. But it was playing up before I dropped it, Miss Sharp. I just sort of put it out of its misery. Um - I think you should read this.’
She reached into her pocket and handed over the crumpled letter.
‘Well,’ said Magenta, after reading it. ‘That’s nice. Typical of my sister, sending me something faulty. and expecting me to pay for it. What are you doing in my shop anyway?’
‘I was going to apply for the shop-assistant job. But I don’t suppose you’ll need one now there’s no shop to assist in. Granny’s going to be furious.’ Sylphine gave a sniffle. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Sharp.’
‘Oh, stop looking so droopy!’ Magenta gave a sigh and plumped down in an old armchair, which puffed out ancient dust. ‘You’ve probably done both of us a favour. You’d make a terrible assistant and I’ve had more than enough of shop keeping. No customers on the first day, three annoying ones on the second, and mobbed on the third. It’s either boring, irritating or ex
hausting. I don’t know how Elsie and her dad stand it. No, best that I pack it in and go back home to Crookfinger. What’s that down in the grass by your horrible shoe?’
It was a single small, gold pot with a red jewel on the lid.
‘It seems the shop left one thing behind,’ said Magenta, picking up the pot. ‘Tickle Dust. I was wondering what it was like, actually. It was very popular. Shall we give it a try?’
Epilogue
BACK TO NORMAL
‘I’ve never seen her actually laugh before,’ said Sylphine. ‘That Tickle Dust is really something. I wish I’d bought loads.’
‘Did you use all of it?’ asked Elsie.
‘No. But I dropped the pot on the way home. Have you ever seen laughing rabbits? I have.’
‘You should have been at the market,’ said Joey. ‘Everyone was splitting their sides. I actually hurt I laughed so much. Bill got all his wires in a twist. It was just one gigantic laugh-in.’
‘That’s the thing about laughter,’ said Elsie. ‘Everyone likes it, so it spreads.’
It was one week after the market incident and the disappearance of the Sharp Spells shop. The three friends, plus Nuisance and Bill, had arranged to meet on the common and were standing looking at the space where the tower now wasn’t.
‘I felt really bad about her shop,’ said Sylphine, who was back to her old self – wafty green gown and tangled hair with flowers in. Her granny had finally given up on her. ‘She didn’t seem too cross, though. Even after the Tickle Dust stopped working.’
‘Don’t feel bad,’ said Elsie. ‘Magenta’s not suited to shop keeping. Or to town life. She’ll be much happier back in the forest. So will Corbett. And the tower will stop being on strike and start giving them cake again.’
‘What about the town?’ asked Joey. ‘It’s had a bit of a shake-up. Will Smallbridge go back to normal?’
‘It’s back to normal already,’ said Elsie. ‘The mayor’s come out of hiding and pretends not to know what people are talking about when they ask him about the toad. All the Emporium’s regulars are back and Mr Sourman wrote a note apologising for his behaviour. It seems the Tickle Dust did him a lot of good. He lives on his own and he’s a bit lonely. He needed a good laugh. I expect Dad’ll forgive him, if he pays for the stuff he stole. Talking of Dad, I must get back. It’s nearly opening time.’
‘Are you taking a shortcut?’ asked Joey.
‘No. I’m going to be cutting back on those for now. The problems with the Spellatron 3000 shows that shortcuts really aren’t always the best idea. Much better to do things properly and take your time.’
‘Fair enough. Bill and I had better make a start on the round.’
‘And I must get back home to fill the bird feeders and wash my hair,’ said Sylphine.
Nuisance gave a little yap. He was planning to go to the shop with Elsie. Maybe get an extra sausage.
So Joey and Sylphine went on their way and Elsie and Nuisance went home to Smallbridge – which, despite what Elsie said, wasn’t quite the same.
There were now three sturdy benches in the square, a small, sparkling lemonade fountain, and a slightly scorched sheep statue that was crowned with a small pointy hat.
Also, Smallbridge was no longer so witchist. Even though Sharp Spells The Shop was closed, witches were still visiting the village, having become fans of the Emporium and the other shops on offer. Now the people of Smallbridge nodded at them in a friendly way, and some even waved and stopped for a quick chat.
Sometimes, Shirley appeared at the market and sold readings, buns and cups of tea. Several easily-persuaded people had given a home to a moonflower, and now read, knitted, or kissed their toddler’s nipped fingers better every night by the moonlight of the flowers.
The children eked out their precious little pots of Tickle Dust, which meant there were often outbursts of unexpected laughter. In fact, the laughter bursts continued to happen, even after the Tickle Dust ran out.
And that, as Elsie said to Nuisance, could only be a good thing.
Acknowledgements
The terrific team at Simon and Schuster, especially my lovely editor, Jane. Ashley, my talented illustrator who has brought Elsie’s world to life. My good friend and fantastic literary agent, Caroline Sheldon. My always supportive husband Mo and daughter Ella. All my loyal readers, young and not so young. All the bookshops and libraries who buy this book. The cats who let me cuddle them whenever I get stuck.
First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
A CBS COMPANY
Text Copyright © 2019 Kaye Umansky
Cover and interior illustrations Copyright © 2019 Ashley King
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.
The right of Kaye Umansky and Ashley King to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
PB ISBN: 978-1-4711-7560-2
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-7561-9
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
