by James Nicol
A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
We’re all a bit hopeless sometimes, aren’t we? But Arianwyn has worse luck than most! After she flunks her witch’s assessment, she’s declared a lowly apprentice and posted to an out-of-the-way town. Now, Arianwyn must rely on her talent and personality to pull her through. But what if it’s not just about the odd spell going wrong – what happens if there’s a really bad dark magic threat on its way? Arianwyn’s got some great new friends – despite the arrival of an old rival – and there’s this nice boy from the Civil Witchcraft Authority to help. It’s going to be all right . . . isn’t it? James Nicol, please write another brilliant story – NOW!
BARRY CUNNINGHAM
Publisher
Chicken House
Contents
Chapter 1 The Civil Witchcraft Authority
Chapter 2 The Evaluation Gauge
Chapter 3 Heading Home
Chapter 4 The Unwanted Gift
Chapter 5 The Bus Ride
Chapter 6 The Demon of Clover Hollow
Chapter 7 Welcome to Lull
Chapter 8 Mayor Belcher
Chapter 9 Bright and Early
Chapter 10 Kettle Lane
Chapter 11 The Spellorium
Chapter 12 The District Supervisor
Chapter 13 The Snotling Nest
Chapter 14 Splat!
Chapter 15 The Disagreement
Chapter 16 A Charm for Mr Turvy
Chapter 17 The Spirit Lantern
Chapter 18 The Moon Hare
Chapter 19 The Demon of Low Gate Farm
Chapter 20 Estar
Chapter 21 The Mayor’s Niece
Chapter 22 Return to the Great Wood
Chapter 23 The Unexpected Bogglin
Chapter 24 The Water Spirit
Chapter 25 The Rift
Chapter 26 The Exploding Kitchen
Chapter 27 Euphemia
Chapter 28 The Unknown Glyph
Chapter 29 Sisters
Chapter 30 There are Shadows Singing
Chapter 31 A Parade of Witches
Chapter 32 Unexpected Arrivals
Chapter 33 The Re-Evaluation
Chapter 34 Confession
Chapter 35 Black as a Hole at Midnight
Chapter 36 A Fine Old Mess
Chapter 37 Something Great Inside
Chapter 38 The Night Ghast
Chapter 39 Don’t Do It
Chapter 40 The Star
Glossary of Glyphs
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Grandmothers are the best but mine really is magic!
For Mollie Rose Serella – with love.
Witches have always used magical symbols known as glyphs to harness, control and utilize the magic around us. There are four cardinal glyphs and two secondary glyphs. Imagine that magic is like thread and glyphs like a needle. One without the other is of limited use. A witch will use one or more glyphs to pull magic towards her, and as the magic and glyphs connect, a spell is formed. Despite all witches using the same set of glyphs, the individual skill of the witch, and the natural deposits of magic used, makes every spell entirely unique to the caster.
THE APPRENTICE WITCH’S HANDBOOK
Chapter 1
THE CIVIL WITCHCRAFT AUTHORITY
itches of Hylund,’ the poster declared, ‘Your country needs you! Join up TODAY!’
Arianwyn stared up at the elegant woman gazing proudly from the poster. The woman’s hair was golden and flowing, her lips bright red. She wore the dark navy uniform and the silver star of a fully trained witch. Arianwyn glanced down at her coat and the space that her own star would soon occupy.
Far-off bells sounded the hour, cutting through the noise of busy morning traffic rushing past, horns screaming out across the bustling street. She would be late if she stood daydreaming much longer. Grabbing her bag, she skipped between the crush of passers-by through tall wrought-iron gates, following the signs for Registration. Steps led through an open doorway and into a long, gleaming corridor.
Other witches rushed past – some now proudly displaying bright new stars and broad grins – and administrative staff carrying stacks of files or clutching clipboards. The air was full of excited chatter and the tang of damp wool coats and antiseptic. Arianwyn’s wet shoes squeaked across the polished floor.
She joined one of several haphazard queues and suddenly wished she hadn’t. Gimma Alverston was handing over her identity card at the desk, surrounded as ever by a small group of other young witches.
Gimma looked just like the witch on the poster outside, all flowing golden hair and bright smile. Arianwyn patted nervously at her own messy curls and tried to shrink back into the line. But she was too late – and too tall. One of the other girls – a smart-looking witch who Arianwyn recognized as Polly Walden – nudged Gimma and pointed in her direction. Gimma glanced over, offered a mean, tight smile and whispered something to the others. The corridor rang with cruel giggling and Arianwyn went red. This is all I need, she thought. What did I ever do to her?
Gimma was cruel and a snob, and you were either with her or against her. She’d been like this since they first met at school five years ago. As they had been the only witches in their year, everyone had assumed they would get on, but Gimma had made it quite clear she didn’t want to be friends with Arianwyn, and that was that.
‘Oh look, it’s Arianwyn “Dribble”!’ Gimma called out, as she retrieved her card from the young man at the desk and tucked it away in the silly tiny beaded bag that she always carried with her. ‘Ready for your evaluation?’ More laughter. Gimma moved slowly down the queue until she reached Arianwyn. ‘I’ve already been offered a position as a private witch for a family in Highbridge, you know,’ she said smugly. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead dealing with some old dear’s brownie infestation, or making charms for a bunch of country bumpkins. What do you reckon you’ll be doing, Dribble, if you pass?’
The other girls crowded around Arianwyn, smirking. Gimma flicked her mane of shiny hair. ‘I do hope they find you something you can cope with, nothing too taxing! Not everyone has the luxury of the training my family provided for me. Who trained you, Arianwyn?’ she asked, even though everybody already knew.
Arianwyn didn’t reply, her cheeks burning.
‘I heard it was her grandmother,’ Polly whispered, nastily.
She wished more than anything that she had the nerve to do something, say something. But she looked away, as she had so many times before, finding a spot on the wall to focus on even as tears pricked at her eyes. This was the usual way she dealt with Gimma’s taunts.
Ignore her and she’ll get bored.
‘Er . . . name please? Miss? Hello?’
Arianwyn had reached the front of the queue and hadn’t noticed. Gimma and her group had wandered off. A harassed young man, about her age, smiled politely at her as he fumbled with piles of folders, a typewriter and various notes. His dark hair flopped across his face and he tried to blow it out of his eyes.
‘Sorry. I’m Arianwyn Gribble,’ she smiled.
‘And do you have your identity card, please, Miss . . . Gribble? Oh, here you are!’ He yanked a brown card folder from the bottom of a precarious pile, which wobbled threateningly. He blushed as Arianwyn handed over her witch’s identity card, clearly stamped with a large blue ‘UA’ for Unevaluated Apprentice. As the young man reached forward the column of paperwork shifted, quivered and slowly started to slide towards the floor. As quick as a blink, Arianwyn leant forward and with her index finger sketched a tiny symbol on to the desk.
Briå, the air glyph.
It glowed with a soft blue light that only a witch could see. The papers and folders not only righted themselves but al
so started to slide into the correct order on the desk.
The boy smiled again. ‘Thank you!’
‘What is going on here?’
A voice, raspy and indignant, cut through the hubbub of the room. A shrivelled, spidery woman in a severe grey suit that didn’t fit entirely well stood glaring at them both over the top of some very thick spectacles.
‘Oh, Miss Newam, sorry! I was just about to fetch you. This is Miss Gribble, here for the eleven o’clock evaluation ceremony.’
Miss Newam continued to stare, as if waiting for further explanation.
‘Well, you see,’ the boy continued hopelessly. ‘There are so many files, and they were all getting in a muddle with so many witches coming and going and suddenly – whoosh! They’re all falling on the floor. And Miss Gribble here was amazing! She just tapped something on the desk and they all zipped back into place. Look – good as new!’ He gestured to the orderly pile of folders.
The woman’s eyes narrowed to two tiny slits. ‘Colin, I am neither interested nor concerned with what Miss Gribble did or did not do with your folders. It is your job simply to ensure the apprentice witches are put through for their evaluations as soon as possible, not to engage them in performing little . . . tricks!’
Colin glanced at Arianwyn and shrugged.
Miss Newam hadn’t quite finished. ‘If it’s not too inconvenient, perhaps you could go and fetch the files I need from my office. I’ll deal with Miss Gribble.’
Colin gave Arianwyn a gentle smile, his cheeks flushed, and jogged off down the corridor, dodging the tide of oncoming apprentices.
‘Miss Newam, it’s really not his fault . . .’ Arianwyn attempted to explain but fell silent as Miss Newam’s full attention turned on her.
‘Miss Gribble, we don’t want to keep everyone waiting. I have two more evaluation ceremonies to get through today. What with war work claiming some of our most experienced witches and the recent increase in dark spirits, every village and hamlet from Goldham to Vellingstone has suddenly decided it needs a witch. We simply can’t keep up with the demand.’
‘Yes, I see,’Arianwyn said.
‘Do you have any family with you?’
‘No, I’m on my own,’ she replied, feeling guilty about slipping out of the apartment so early and hiding the letter with the details of the evaluation from her grandmother. Miss Newam shot her a suspicious glance and opened the brown file on the desk, flicking through some of the papers.
‘Just turned fifteen? You’ve been an apprentice for only two years?’
‘Yes,’Arianwyn replied. ‘But I wanted to—’
‘And you were trained by?’
‘Maria Stronelli . . . my grandmother.’
Miss Newam gazed over the top of her spectacles again. ‘I see. And now you are apprenticed to?’
Arianwyn blushed, recalling Polly’s taunts. ‘My grandmother.’
‘Well, that’s rather . . . old-fashioned.’ Miss Newam stared hard at her, then back at the paperwork, as if she were trying to figure something out. Then, her face lit up. ‘Oh, Madam Stronelli is on the Council of Elders.’ She peered closer at Arianwyn through the jam-jar-bottom spectacles and smiled. But it was bitter and tight, not really a smile at all.
A knot of anxiety twisted in Arianwyn’s stomach. She could see Miss Newam was about to say more when a tinny voice crackled out from a speaker fixed high up on the wall.
‘Could all apprentices for the eleven o’clock evaluation ceremony please proceed to the central courtyard. That’s the central courtyard for the eleven o’clock evaluation. Thank you.’
Chapter 2
THE EVALUATION GAUGE
small group of other apprentices waited in the freezing, rain-drenched courtyard, surrounded by well-wishers. Gimma was there with her parents. Her mother wore an expensive fur-collared jacket and an elegant skirt, and fussed over her daughter’s uniform. Her father chatted jovially with several men who were dressed in the robes of the Royal Senate. Gimma glanced coolly at Arianwyn.
‘Quickly now!’ Miss Newam barked, ushering the fifteen young witches on to the platform. All wore navy dresses and smart navy coats, their shoes polished and their hair sleek, but all identically damp. Arianwyn caught sight of her reflection in a window: a head taller than all the other girls, hair already frizzing in the rain.
She sighed. Whoever thought it was a good idea to hold a ceremony outside on a wet and cold January morning was mad or sadistic. It was probably Miss Newam.
The air buzzed with excitement but Arianwyn just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm; a sense of dread had been creeping over her all morning. She couldn’t shake it off.
A peal of giggles from further along the line drew her attention and she quickly glanced at Gimma. How did she manage to look so perfect even in this downpour, when Arianwyn looked so messy? Gimma turned just in time to catch Arianwyn staring at her again.
Jinxing-jiggery!
‘Eyes front, Miss Gribble!’ Miss Newam prowled the line of apprentices, adjusting collars and snatching hands from pockets.
Arianwyn felt uneasy. Something was wrong, off-balance. She ought to be excited, she thought. Soon, she would realize her dream: all she had wanted since she could first remember was to serve the Kingdom, just like her mother and grandmother had, and like her brave father still did . . . and yet that sense of dread lurked.
There was a quiet commotion as elegant doors were flung open and August Coot, the Director of Thaumaturgy and head of the Civil Witchcraft Authority, appeared. A gramophone burbled into life, the slow stirring sounds of the national anthem echoed around the courtyard and everyone immediately stood a little straighter.
‘Honour the magic. Serve the Kingdom. Honour the King. Serve the magic.’
The apprentices spoke as one as the music faded and the director stepped up to the lectern and began his speech.
‘Good morning everyone, and thank you for attending this evaluation ceremony. The evaluation today will be carried out by Miss Hortensia Newam, in full consideration of the Civil Witchcraft Authority’s policies and procedures.’ He shuffled his papers and cleared his throat.
‘These young witches are about to embark on wonderful careers serving their country. They will hold positions of honour amongst their new communities at this difficult time of war on the continent. As you will be aware, numbers of spirit creatures and, indeed, dark spirits have increased by more than ten per cent in the last five years alone, and the Royal Senate has requested action. Our new witches will play a vital role as the Civil Witchcraft Authority embarks on our first ever mission to catalogue the various types of spirit creature present in the Four Kingdoms!’
There were a few murmurs of interest from the crowd, but clearly not the response Director Coot had been hoping for. He coughed and glanced quickly at the speech laid out before him before continuing.
But through the pouring rain and the chattering of her teeth, Arianwyn could barely concentrate. She was thankful when the speech eventually came to its groaning end and there was a small clatter of applause. The director moved to one side as Miss Newam approached the first apprentice, a cheery-looking girl in glasses. The young man, Colin, appeared on the stage. He carried what seemed to be a moderately sized dark wooden box with a large electric light bulb on the top and several switches, buttons and recording dials on one side. The evaluation gauge!
Miss Newam set about unravelling the twisted cream wire that was attached to a slender metal wand ending in a perfect shiny sphere.
Next, she unrolled a small chart which displayed the cardinal glyphs. ‘Focus on all four glyphs at once,’ she said to the waiting apprentices curtly. ‘We wouldn’t want any actual spells forming, would we?’
She flicked the switch on the evaluation gauge and it hummed into life. The first girl offered her palm to Miss Newam and the silver wand was lowered.
The assembled crowd held its breath as the seconds ticked past. After a long minute the evaluation gauge sputtered to lif
e, the light pulsed and a thin curl of paper spewed from its side. Miss Newam pulled the readout free.
‘Pass!’ she called after a moment.
There was a ripple of applause from the other witches and well-wishers. Miss Newam tucked the reading into a folder and moved on. The cheery girl blushed with excitement and waved happily to someone in the crowd.
Arianwyn shuffled impatiently as one witch after the other was tested, the gauge whirring and churning out its thin ribbon of paper. It took a different amount of time for each witch. Polly’s evaluation was over within a matter of seconds, but then Gimma’s took an agonizing five minutes, which Arianwyn was secretly pleased about. Still, each time Miss Newam announced ‘Pass!’ and the courtyard echoed with the same applause and loving calls of support.
And then eventually, Director Coot, Miss Newam and Colin were standing right in front of her, the last witch in the line.
Miss Newam arched an eyebrow, reached back for the evaluation gauge and flipped the switch. It hummed slightly. She stretched towards Arianwyn with the silver probe wand and Arianwyn took a deep but shaky breath.
‘Please focus on the glyphs,’ Miss Newam commanded. She held up the poster with the cardinal glyphs printed on it.
Arianwyn closed her eyes, breathing deeply and steadily and pictured the glyphs all together.
There was a very faint pull of magic from somewhere nearby. It flowed towards her and she felt the softest tingle as magic brushed against her skin.
The cool metal of the wand pressed into her palm.
She could hear Miss Newam breathing in and out through her nose with the tiniest whistling sound.
She kept the glyphs focused in her mind.
Briå: air, flight, transformation.
A small surge of power zipped through Arianwyn as the flow of energy connected with her.
Ḁluna: water, healing, divination.
The sensation was like cold pins and needles. She felt dizzy.
Erṯe: earth, strength, protection, life.
The glyphs formed and died in the darkness like rare flowers.
