by James Nicol
‘Not really,’Arianwyn said as she clambered down from the car. She placed the moon hare into the soft grass and watched it scamper happily about for a few moments. ‘It’s about Gimma Alverston.’
‘Ah. I thought as much.’ Miss Delafield sighed. ‘Well, dear, what’s the bother?’
‘I can’t work with her, it’s not possible. I’m sorry, but I just can’t!’
Miss Delafield didn’t look surprised but still she asked, ‘Why?’
What could Arianwyn say? She hates me? She’s a bully? I don’t like her? It all sounded childish and silly in Arianwyn’s head. ‘We don’t . . . get on!’ she eventually muttered to the trees and the grass.
‘Speak up, dear. You know I can’t abide mumblers!’ Miss Delafield said. Then she suddenly wandered off to study a nearby tree.
‘We don’t get on very well!’Arianwyn said it all in a rush and loudly as she followed Miss Delafield across the clearing.
The moon hare had hopped off to the edge of the trees and was scraping in the earth, chewing on long blades of grass. It seemed entirely relaxed and at home.
‘Oh, of course you’ll get on,’ Miss Delafield said distractedly as she bent close to the tree. ‘And it’s not for ever . . . just a few weeks, a month at most.’
‘A month?’Arianwyn couldn’t contemplate having Gimma around for a month. ‘Can’t she go and work in Flaxsham?’ she asked desperately.
‘I’m sorry, Arianwyn,’ Miss Delafield said turning to look at her. ‘My hands are well and truly tied on this – not a jot I can do about it, dear. But don’t you worry: if she gives me any trouble she’ll be off faster than you can say broomstick! Now, this looks a bit nasty to me, what do you think?’
Miss Delafield’s gloved hand rested just below a loose curl of tree bark. As Arianwyn peered closer she could see that beneath the bark was a thick patch of hex. Miss Delafield pulled on the loose bark and revealed thick black ridges that enfolded the trunk.
‘Is this what was on the Myddletons’ house, dear?’
Arianwyn shook her head. She had never seen hex so dark or thick or spread over an area so large.
It was smothering the tree from within!
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ Miss Delafield sucked in air through her teeth and tutted. ‘Not good, my dear! I need to report this asap. Have a quick look and see if there are any other trees affected – but don’t touch any of it!’
Arianwyn ran from tree to tree, checking for any more signs of hex, but they all looked clear.
Miss Delafield was busy tying a strip of bright-coloured cloth around the trunk. ‘That should keep people from coming too close.’ She said, but Arianwyn wasn’t listening.
She glanced through the trees, looking for the moon hare, but it had vanished from sight. Off gambolling through the dappled shade of the Great Wood, no doubt, or busy finding itself a new den.
She felt more than a little sad at having to say goodbye, though she didn’t know why. It had been a comfort to have it in the store in the dead of night or when she felt lonely. She had chatted away happily to the little creature and it always seemed to have been listening to her. She sighed.
‘Chin up, old girl, you did a cracking job getting the little tyke back on its feet, you know! Better off for it to be out here in the wild, where it belongs!’ They both looked out across the clearing once more.
‘Will you pop and make sure the hex at the Myddletons’ hasn’t returned?’ Miss Delafield asked.
Arianwyn nodded, although she didn’t relish the prospect of a return visit to Mrs Myddleton’s house. She watched carefully as Miss Delafield pulled a glass tube from her bag. Next she took out a small pocket-knife and scraped some of the hex and tree bark away. There was a foul smell and Arianwyn felt the rough feeling of dark magic. ‘It’s best not to use any magic near this type of hex,’ Miss Delafield warned. ‘You know it can distort spells horribly – you can’t burn it away as you did at the Myddletons’.’
Arianwyn nodded and looked out across the clearing once more. But there was still no sign of the moon hare.
‘Right, let’s get you back to town. I need to report this to the C. W. A. and prepare for a parade meeting in Flaxsham – ghastly business,’ Miss Delafield said, heading back to the motorcar.
Just as Arianwyn pulled her door shut she saw a silver-white streak dart across the clearing, like a bolt of silvery sparkling moonlight. The next second the moon hare was sitting alert by the side of the car, looking up expectantly at Arianwyn.
‘How curious!’ Miss Delafield said. She started the engine.
‘Go on!’ Arianwyn said to the moon hare. ‘Off into the wood now. It’s where you belong.’ The moon hare hopped a few metres away from the car but turned again to stare at Arianwyn. Miss Delafield moved the car in a slow circle and the moon hare hopped alongside it, sparkling eyes fixed on Arianwyn.
‘It’s not going,’ she hissed.
‘It will!’ Miss Delafield said, shifting the car into another gear. It roared and jolted forwards over the rough ground of the Great Wood, back towards Lull. But the moon hare kept pace with the car.
It followed them through the wood.
It kept up with them across the meadow.
And as Miss Delafield’s car rattled over the bridge and through the South Gate the moon hare was leading the way. It darted ahead of the car, like a blur of brilliant light. Back through town and along Kettle Lane it weaved in and out of shoppers. And as Miss Delafield brought the car to a halt outside the store, the moon hare was waiting patiently on the steps. It looked at them both and its long ears twitched playfully.
As Arianwyn climbed out of the car it bounded towards her, leaping up and into her arms. Purring with happiness.
‘Well I never.’ Miss Delafield sighed. ‘You are a very odd witch, Miss Gribble. This creature seems to have taken more than a shine to you. Doesn’t look like it will be going anywhere soon.’ She seemed to be considering something for a moment. ‘Look – how’s about I assign Miss Alverston some work to do, keep you two separate for a bit? Think it would make things easier?’
Arianwyn felt a surge of relief wash over her. She smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said and, with the moon hare in her arms, she unlocked the door and went back inside the Spellorium.
Chapter 23
THE UNEXPECTED BOGGLIN
rianwyn’s return trip to Mrs Myddleton’s was not the most pleasant experience in her life. The woman, as harassed as before, had only grunted in response to Arianwyn’s request to look at where the patch of hex had been. There was now just a dirty smoky smudge against the wall. The hex hadn’t shown any signs of reforming, thankfully.
‘Thank you, Mrs Myddleton!’ Arianwyn had said brightly as she left the woman’s cottage. She sighed deeply in relief as the door swung shut behind her and as quickly as possible she headed back to the Spellorium.
Something made her walk back a different way. Perhaps it was the bright sunny day, the blue sky high above and the way the light flooded into the streets of Lull. She passed the tearooms on Blossom Terrace and decided to stop for some lunch. Mr Bandoli showed her to a seat outside and Arianwyn sat down and sipped her tea quietly for a few moments, thinking about nothing in particular except for the lovely feeling of warm spring sun on her face.
Her peace and quiet was suddenly broken by a loud scream from the doorway of a small cottage opposite the tearooms. The door stood wide open and various boxes, crates and pieces of furniture were stacked on the pavement. Arianwyn noticed that the ‘For Sale’ sign attached to the side of the house had a ‘Sold’ label plastered diagonally across it.
Something small and fast darted out of the open doorway, followed by another scream from inside. Arianwyn, thinking it was a pet, stood up to try and stop it running away but something about the creature’s movement told her it was neither a dog nor a cat. Then she noticed the grey skin, matted hair and the bulging yellow eyes.
It was a bogglin, she was sure of it. It gave a loud scr
eech and scuttled a little further down the street.
Arianwyn was stunned. She’d never seen a bogglin out in the open like this, and it was rare to see them in broad daylight. A young woman and man emerged from the house and watched in shock and relief as the creature scampered down the street, growling and lashing out at passers-by as it went.
Without thinking too much about it, Arianwyn summoned a stunning spell and sent it hurtling straight at the bogglin. There was a bright flash, followed by gasps from the watching bystanders, and then the sound of the bogglin sliding across the cobbles and coming to a crashing halt against some bins at the top of a narrow passageway.
‘Oh, thank heavens, Miss Gribble,’ the young woman sighed. ‘We didn’t know what to do. We found that thing in the basement and the other witch didn’t seem to be getting on very well at all, you see. We’ve only just moved in today . . .’
‘Other witch?’ Arianwyn asked the young woman, ‘Is Miss Delafield here?’ She peered into the darkness of the cottage doorway.
‘No it was the new young lady.’
‘Oh, Gimma,’ Arianwyn said. She had almost forgotten about Gimma, almost!
Gimma appeared in the shadows of the empty hallway. Her hair, usually so perfect, was wild and tangled. Her face was flushed and her clothes rumpled and dusty. She carried a broom, just an ordinary and rather cobwebby broom, which she clutched like a weapon. Her eyes swam with tears. She reached out, and her hands were shaking. ‘Oh, Arianwyn! I’m so pleased you’re here.’ She fell against Arianwyn and sobbed, very loudly.
‘What on earth happened?’ Arianwyn stood rigid for a few moments before patting Gimma tentatively on the shoulder.
‘The bogglin . . .’ Gimma began, then stepped away a little, cheeks red with embarrassment. ‘I couldn’t, um, get my spell to work properly. Think I might be a bit rusty.’ She looked quickly at the cottage owners and then back at Arianwyn.
‘It’s OK,’ Arianwyn said, unsure exactly what to do or say. She reached out a gentle hand again and rested it on Gimma’s back. ‘I’m sure it was fine . . . really.’ She glanced at the young couple. The woman still looked bemused.
‘I don’t think she knew what she was doing.’ Arianwyn heard the young man grunt.
‘Ssshh!’ the young woman replied, bundling him back inside the house.
‘What happened?’ Arianwyn asked once the fuss had died down.
Gimma looked at Arianwyn. Her mouth opened slightly as though she was about to speak but at the last second she looked away and burst into tears again. Arianwyn watched in puzzled silence, patting Gimma’s shoulder again once, twice and saying ‘It’s all right!’ as Gimma howled louder and louder. Arianwyn recalled her own fiasco with the crawler in Clover Hollow. She couldn’t quite believe she actually felt sorry – for Gimma Alverston! She rubbed her shoulder more gently and made soothing noises.
‘It’s really not going according to plan!’ Gimma said through hiccups and slowly subsiding sobs. ‘You won’t . . . tell . . . Uncle, will you?’
‘Erm—’
‘Please, Arianwyn? He won’t understand.’ She reached into her little beaded bag and pulled out a clean handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes very delicately.
Arianwyn couldn’t imagine Mayor Belcher ever being angry with Gimma. But she thought back to the mayor’s little notebook and found herself agreeing. ‘OK. You know, I didn’t get off to the best start either when I arrived,’ she admitted.
Gimma peeked from behind her curtain of tangled hair. ‘Really?’ she croaked.
Arianwyn nodded and sat on the kerb, Gimma sat beside her and Arianwyn found herself telling Gimma all about the snotling incident. Gimma listened, her mouth open wide, she even gave a small laugh as Arianwyn reached the part where the snotling exploded. After she finished her own catalogue of disasters they sat silently for a few minutes, thoughts churning through Arianwyn’s mind. Then out of nowhere she found herself saying, ‘Look, perhaps it’s best if you come to the Spellorium and we work together, while you’re here.’
Gimma stared at her in wonder, her eyes red and watery. Arianwyn thought she looked quite unlike her normal self: she looked a little bit fragile, real and human. Perhaps she had been wrong about Gimma, perhaps she wasn’t so bad any more.
‘If you’re sure I won’t be in the way? It was Uncle who insisted. I didn’t want to bother you, honestly, Arianwyn. I know . . . I know I’ve not always been the nicest person.’ She sniffed again.
Unsure she wanted a teary apology from Gimma in the middle of the street, Arianwyn stood. ‘Well, just come to the store—’
‘In a few days? When I’ve recovered,’ Gimma added theatrically, more like her old self at last.
Arianwyn smiled. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you in a few days, Gimma.’ And she wandered down the street to deal with the stunned bogglin. She’d only gone a few steps when she heard Gimma call, ‘Wait. I’ll give you a hand . . .’
Chapter 24
THE WATER SPIRIT
t was nearly a week later when Gimma appeared at the door of the Spellorium for the first time. Her uniform was pristine, her star badge glinted in the morning light. She stifled a yawn as Arianwyn opened the door and let her in. They watched each other carefully and quietly for a few moments. Arianwyn felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach; she hoped this was going to be OK. She had never imagined – not in a million years – that she and Gimma would be spending a day working together.
Gimma flashed one of her familiar smiles, charming and winning. Then she turned slowly, taking in the Spellorium. ‘I suppose it might not be too bad a place . . . once you’ve given it a good clean!’ She ran her gloved fingers over one of the shelves and examined its tip carefully. Her nose wrinkled.
Arianwyn turned back to the desk, determined not to let Gimma annoy her. She pulled open the ledger and idly scanned across the list of jobs that required her attention.
Suspected bogglin at Belldon’s Warehouses, Percy Lane. Probably not a good idea! She wasn’t sure Gimma would want to be faced with another bogglin just yet!
Pisky nest in chimney, 12 Drury Street. Boring!
Three charms for Farmer Devott (new tractor). Arianwyn couldn’t imagine Gimma wanting to stay in the store all day making charms.
And then, scrawled in Jucasta’s bold handwriting and underlined was:
Calvaria (water spirit) spawning, Torr River – asap! Surely that was just asking for trouble!
‘So!’ Gimma said, leaning across the desk and peering at the ledger, ‘what have we got to keep us busy then?’
Arianwyn sighed a little and turned the ledger round so that Gimma could see it. She carefully kept her hand over the entry about the water spirit, though.
Gimma looked up slowly and considered what she saw in front of her.
‘Oh, that all looks rather dull, don’t you think? Isn’t there something more interesting to be doing?’ Gimma peered closer at the ledger. ‘Oh, look, what about this?’ she pointed at the entry half hidden under Arianwyn’s hand.
‘No, I really think we should go and deal with—’ Arianwyn began but Gimma started to talk over her at once.
‘Well, you know best, I’m sure. But I thought it might be fun if we went together . . . and just think how pleased my uncle and Miss Delafield would be if we got that sorted before she comes back on her next visit . . .’
Arianwyn stared hard at Gimma, searching for a twinkle of familiar malice or scorn in her face. But there was nothing at all. Perhaps she was starting to mellow at long last. Maybe without the audience she wasn’t going to be the way she had been back in Kingsport: sneaky and cruel, calling Arianwyn names as she walked along the street or putting drawing pins on her chair. Arianwyn shook her thoughts away and remembered her grandmother’s words: ‘Cruelty is a sign of weakness, Arianwyn. And you are neither weak nor cruel!’ Perhaps it was time to put all of that firmly behind them, once and for all.
‘Well, I suppose it would be easier to sort it with two of u
s—’ she started.
‘Oh, it really will, I promise! But what exactly do we have to do?’
How did she not remember about Calvaria? They’d spent nearly a month learning about them last year! ‘Calvaria only spawn once every few hundred years, and there’s no record of the spirit in the Torr River having spawned ever before. We need to see if it really has spawned this time, check the eggs are safe and make sure there are no other spirits nearby that might interfere when the eggs hatch. We should probably try and get it captured with the spirit lantern as well.’
‘Well, that doesn’t sound too hard, does it?’ Gimma clapped her hands together and jumped up and down on the spot.
‘OK, OK. Let’s go, then,’Arianwyn replied slowly. Still, something niggled at the back of her mind. ‘But don’t start whining if you get wet or muddy. Have you got some wellington boots?’
Gimma smiled broadly at Arianwyn, clapped her hands together and gave a high-pitched shriek of delight.
The Torr River twisted sleepily along the edge of the Great Wood, twinkling and shimmering in the light. The trees reflected in the wavering water. Spring flowers lined the bank with patches of bright blue or buttery yellow.
Gimma was trailing along behind, taking in the sights. Her wellingtons were bright red and looked as though they had never been worn. ‘They’re from Leighton & Dennison’s, on Queen’s Parade in Kingsport – have you been?’ Gimma had asked when Arianwyn mentioned them. Arianwyn had quietly shaken her head and looked down at her own wellies: old, slightly too large and covered in mud. She wasn’t even sure they were a matching pair.
‘So it says in your book that the water spirits spawn in the shallows of the river, most likely in a patch of water grass or river weed . . .’ Gimma was reading from The Apprentice Witch’s Handbook. ‘Oh look – there!’ she cried excitedly, pointing just ahead of them.
A little further along, the river broadened to twice its width and the grassy bank gave way to a deep shoreline of pebbles, stones and small round rocks. A thick patch of river weed grew at the water’s edge. The perfect spot for calvaria spawning, Arianwyn thought.
