by Sally Rippin
‘Are you sure your mother will be all right with us turning up this late at night?’ she asks. She looks back at Buster, still lying on the grass, and lowers her voice. ‘And with a … you know … monster?’
Miss Spinnaker stops and turns to face Polly, a wry smile on her face. ‘Don’t worry. My mother has so few guests she’d welcome anyone I bring into this home. Witch or monster.’ She calls out to Buster, who is clutching his stomach and groaning. ‘Come along now, Buster. Stop making a fuss. We won’t wait out in the cold for you all evening.’
Miss Spinnaker walks up to the heavy wooden door and reaches for the solid brass knocker, moulded into the shape of a monster’s fist. But before she has the chance to grasp it, the door swings open and the front porch is flooded with warm light.
‘Iris!’ comes a husky little voice.
Polly stares at Miss Spinnaker’s mother, who is not at all what she expected. Her teacher has proven to be no end of surprises over the past twenty-four hours, but somehow Polly had imagined Miss Spinnaker, Head of Spells and powerful Black Witch, to have a rather grand and imposing mother, a little like the headmistress at Miss Madden’s Academy.
Instead, the witch at the front door is squat and round. She has frizzy dyed hair that puffs out from her scalp like a pink cloud, and a big stain down the front of her baggy floral nightdress. When she sees who is hiding behind her daughter, she smiles, and Polly notices she has several teeth missing.
‘Ooh, how delightful!’
she coos. ‘You’ve brought me some visitors!’
‘We’re not staying long,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘Just for a night or two, that’s all. Polly and her friend are … er … in a little bit of trouble with the Committee.’
‘Well, come in! Come in!’ Miss Spinnaker’s mother says. ‘Plenty of room in here. Mortimer!’ she yells. ‘We’ve got guests. You’ll have to make up the beds in the spare room.’
Polly follows Miss Spinnaker into the little stone house. ‘Mortimer?’ she asks. ‘Is he your dad?’ She wonders why her teacher hasn’t mentioned him before.
Miss Spinnaker shakes her head. ‘No. Kind of. It’s complicated. Hurry up, Buster,’ she calls out, and marches ahead of Polly down the corridor.
Polly feels a little giggle of excitement bubble up through her. Even in her wildest dreams, she never would have imagined doing all the things she’s done tonight. A dangerous broomstick chase, a Fire Illusion spell in the woods, and even meeting her teacher’s parents. Polly is beginning to like this adventure already.
‘Come on, Buster,’ she calls out, walking back to help her best friend to his feet. ‘You’ll be OK in a little while.’
Polly grabs Buster’s paw and manages to pull him into a wobbly upright position. He is still as small as Polly and a sickly shade of grey.
Suddenly his eyes grow wide. His cheeks puff out and he claps his paw over his mouth. But it’s no use. Half-eaten ju-ju berries spray through his fingers, narrowly missing Polly’s feet.
‘Ew, Buster!’ she squeals, jumping backwards in disgust.
‘Oh,’ Buster groans, wiping the sticky juice off his fur. The colour begins to return to his face and he puffs out to his normal size again. ‘That’s better. That’s much better.’ He wipes a paw across his mouth, then starts to walk towards the door. ‘Come on then!’ he says.
Polly laughs, skipping away from the puddle of mushed-up ju-ju fruits.
‘You know what?’ Buster says, putting on his very serious voice. ‘I think I may have learned something tonight.’
Polly rolls her eyes at him. ‘What’s that?’ she giggles.
Buster grins. He puts a paw on Polly’s shoulder and bends down towards her. Polly jerks back a little, her nose wrinkling at the smell of fermented fruit on his breath.
Buster shakes his head and strokes his big hairy stomach. ‘Ju-ju fruits and broomstick rides. Just. Don’t. Mix.’
Miss Spinnaker’s mother leads them into a round kitchen with a huge fireplace that yawns like a big sooty mouth along one wall. Something that smells like soup is simmering in the blackened iron cauldron, and there is a lump of spickleseed bread wrapped in cloth in a basket on the worn wooden table.
‘You poor popkins must be hungry,’ she says in her high, raspy voice. She ties a grubby apron around her waist and unhooks a big ladle from near the fireplace.
Buster opens his mouth to speak, but Polly cuts him off. ‘No, just tired, Mrs … um … Spinnaker?’
‘Call me Flora, dear,’ Miss Spinnaker’s mother says, smiling her toothless smile and stroking Polly’s head with her big, rough hand.
‘Er … Flora,’ Polly tries out. It feels very weird to call her teacher’s mother by her first name.
‘Yes, bed for these two,’ Miss Spinnaker says firmly. She gestures to the shiny brass clock on the mantlepiece, shaped like a bortal, and Polly sees it is already well past midnight. Suddenly every bone in her body aches from tiredness and she misses her mother more than ever. It’s been a very long day.
‘Beds are ready,’ comes a deep, rolling voice from the hall, and Polly turns to the doorway to catch a glimpse of Miss Spinnaker’s father.
But when he steps into the kitchen, she gasps.
Polly looks at Miss Spinnaker, then at Buster. His mouth has dropped open, too.
‘Polly, Buster,’ Miss Spinnaker says, in a strange voice Polly hasn’t heard her use before, ‘this is Mortimer. My stepfather.’
Mortimer crosses the kitchen in three enormous paces and scoops Polly up into his big hairy arms. Then he kisses her loudly on both cheeks.
Polly feels her body grow stiff as a board. Miss Spinnaker’s stepfather is a monster.
‘Wonderful to meet you!’ he says grandly, a huge smile stretching out his big rubbery lips. Then he wraps his arms around Miss Spinnaker and Buster and gives them both a monster-sized hug, too.
Polly can’t speak. All her words are caught up in a knot in the back of her throat and all she can do is smile awkwardly.
‘All right, bedtime now,’ Miss Spinnaker says, noticing Polly’s discomfort. She untangles herself from Mortimer’s enthusiastic embrace. ‘There will be plenty of time for everyone to get to know each other tomorrow.’
She takes Polly and Buster’s hands and leads them out of the kitchen to a little room just off the hallway. Inside are two single beds, side by side, with a rickety wooden table in between. A pretty, tasselled lamp gives out a soft golden glow.
Buster climbs into one narrow bed, and Polly climbs into the other. Miss Spinnaker pulls the patchwork blanket up to Polly’s chin, then perches on the end of her bed.
Even though Polly can barely keep her eyes open, her mind is racing.
‘Your stepfather is a monster? But that’s … that’s impossible!’
Miss Spinnaker leans over and smoothes Polly’s knotty hair off her forehead. Polly can smell the midnight air in her robes.
‘Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says, in her gentlest voice. ‘You should know, more than anyone, it doesn’t matter who you love. Just as long as you love.’
She smiles, but there is a trace of sadness in her eyes that Polly doesn’t understand. ‘Now, off to sleep,’ she says, and leans over to switch off the lamp. ‘We have lots to do tomorrow.’
‘Can we please let my mum know I’m OK?’ Polly asks in a little voice. The hall light spills into the room and Polly can still make out her teacher’s kind face in the shadows.
‘Of course,’ Miss Spinnaker reassures her. ‘I’ll send her a message on a nighthawk tonight and she’ll get it as soon as she wakes.’
Miss Spinnaker turns to check on Buster but he is already fast asleep. She pulls his blanket up a little higher so that it covers his shoulders, then turns to head out of the room. ‘Goodnight, my lovelies,’ she says from the doorway.
‘Wait!’ says Polly.
Miss Spinnaker sighs. ‘Polly, it’s late,’ she says, ‘and I’m very tired.’
‘Sorry,’ Polly mumbles. ‘But
my mum always kisses me goodnight and says the Gorvan Spell. Do you think you could …?’
Miss Spinnaker wanders back over to Polly. She plants a gentle kiss on her forehead, then whispers,
Then she touches the three points of Polly’s face – her forehead, her nose and her chin – with her two middle fingers. ‘You know the gorvan’s not real, don’t you?’ she says.
‘I know,’ says Polly, shrugging. ‘I just like my mum to say it to me. It reminds me of my dad. He used to say it every night when he tucked me in to bed.’
‘Mine too,’ says Miss Spinnaker, smiling. ‘Now, it really is time for you to sleep. Your friend over here obviously has no trouble in that department.’ She gestures towards Buster, who is snoring loudly.
Polly giggles. ‘I know. He doesn’t seem to worry about stuff as much as I do.’
‘That’s OK. That just means you have a good imagination,’ Miss Spinnaker tells her. ‘Now, how about you listen to Buster’s snores and imagine you’re on a boat on a rumbling sea, rocking you to sleep. Can you try that?’
‘I’ll try,’ says Polly, and she closes her eyes.
She listens to Miss Spinnaker leave the room and does her best to bring the image of a rumbling sea into her mind.
But it is no use. Sleep just won’t come.
Polly lies awake in the dark for what feels like hours listening to Buster’s snores. She tosses this way and that, but the magic stones in her pocket seem to be getting hotter, as if they are trying to tell her something.
She sits up in bed, pulls out the little silk pouch and tips them into her palm. They gleam gently in the dark: one pink, one blue and one amber.
The amber one glows the brightest and when Polly peers at the little eye-shape inside the stone, it seems to be watching her.
What do you want? she wonders.
She is not sure if she is brave enough to ask them. The first time was so frightening – and that was with Miss Spinnaker by her side! Does she dare do it again? And on her own? But the stones are burning so brightly now Polly knows she doesn’t have a choice.
Polly closes her fingers over the stones and shuts her eyes. Immediately her mind fills with a vision. She sees a shadowy place: a long, cold tunnel, dark and spooky. It pulls her towards it, but the closer she gets, the heavier she feels, until her whole body seems as heavy as boulders. A thick purple fog oozes its way out of the tunnel towards her, curling around her feet.
Suddenly, the stones become too hot to hold and Polly tips them onto the bedding. But just as she opens her eyes, one last image flashes into her mind. It’s a face she knows, hazy but familiar. Terribly, heart-achingly familiar. A sob bursts from her chest.
‘Papa!’ she breathes softly into the night.
She understands where that place is now, that long, spooky tunnel burrowing deep into the ground. It’s the Hollow Valley Mines. The place where her father is buried. That’s where the stones want her to go.
Polly tips the stones back into the pouch, cool again now they have passed on their message, and tucks them back into her pocket. She feels too shaken to try to sleep now, and this dark house full of strangers does little to comfort her. So she swings her bare feet down onto the cold stone floor and pads out into the hallway to look for Miss Spinnaker. She hopes her teacher might still be awake.
‘Miss Spinnaker?’ Polly calls into the dark.
Noisy snoring comes from a bedroom at the end of the corridor. One snore is deep, low and rumbling, the other high and squeaky.
Polly sees a yellow glow coming from underneath a door on her left. ‘Miss Spinnaker?’ she calls again, a little more loudly this time, inching towards the door. It swings open and light spills out into the hallway.
‘Polly?’ says Miss Spinnaker, her wild red hair all a-tumble, lit up by the fireplace in the room behind her. She is wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown that Polly immediately guesses to be Flora’s, as the sleeves are way too short for her, and Miss Spinnaker really doesn’t seem to be the fluffy pink dressing gown type.
‘What are you doing out of bed?’ Her teacher’s voice sounds cross at first, but when she sees Polly’s bottom lip tremble, she takes her hand, closes the door behind them, and leads her into the lounge room to sit by the fire.
‘Oh sweetie. Did you have a bad dream?’ she says, stroking Polly’s tangled hair. ‘Here, why don’t you sit with me for a while?’
Polly leans into the warmth of her favourite teacher, who smells of brindlewood and thyme. There is a pillow on the sofa, along with a rumpled blanket. Polly realises this is where Miss Spinnaker has set herself up to sleep.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Polly says quietly.
‘That’s all right,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘I was actually just doing a bit of reading.’ She points to the chunky wooden coffee table in front of them, where there is a pile of books and magazines and a half-drunk cup of tea. ‘I don’t sleep that well either.’
Polly leans over to pick up a heavy book. The black leather cover is cracked and worn, and the gold lettering across the front has almost rubbed off with use.
‘My old university spell book,’ Miss Spinnaker says, gently taking it from Polly and placing it back on the table. ‘You’re not ready for that one.’ She pushes a couple of other heavy books to one side and pulls out a slim exercise book, similar to the ones Polly uses at school. ‘You can look at this one,’ she says, smiling. ‘Though it might be a bit embarrassing.’
‘What is it?’ asks Polly, peering down at the cover. She gasps. ‘Was this from when you were at Miss Madden’s?’
Miss Spinnaker nods. ‘My mother keeps everything. That’s my grade five spell book. Look at my marks. I was doing a lot worse than you when I was your age!’
Polly flicks through the pages. They are covered in scrawly writing in different-coloured pens, and there are notes and diagrams and drawings, too. And Miss Spinnaker is not exaggerating. Her marks were terrible!
‘How did you get to be Head of Spells at Miss Madden’s when you did so badly at school?’ Polly asks, amazed.
Miss Spinnaker points to the small, neat handwriting that appears at the bottom of each page. ‘Mrs Blackfeather. Somehow she believed in me when no one else did. Even though my marks were bad, she always wrote encouraging comments for me. I would have dropped out of the Academy if it hadn’t been for her. You see? It only took one person to believe in me.’ She pauses and takes Polly’s bandaged hand in hers. ‘And even though I know you are scared and you are really not sure if you can do this, you have lots of people who believe in you, Polly. Many more than I ever did.’
‘Really?’ says Polly, sticking out her bottom lip. ‘Who?’ she insists, but only because she wants to hear Miss Spinnaker tell her.
‘Oh, Polly!’ Miss Spinnaker chuckles. ‘Me! Buster! Even your dad, in a way. He wouldn’t have given you those stones if he didn’t believe in you, Polly.’
At the mention of her dad, Polly shrinks back into the couch and chews at her thumbnail.
‘What is it, Polly? Is that what woke you?’ Did you have a dream about your dad?’
‘Not really,’ Polly mumbles. She feels her cheeks burn. She’s scared Miss Spinnaker will be angry if she admits she used the stones without her, but her teacher always seems to know when Polly isn’t being completely honest.
‘Tell me, Polly,’ she says kindly, her red hair gleaming in the firelight. ‘You’ve already learnt the hard way that it’s much simpler just to tell the truth from the beginning, before it becomes bigger and harder to control. I promise I won’t get cross with you.’
Polly breathes in deeply. Despite the roaring fire beside them, she shivers. ‘I used the stones,’ she mumbles, looking up at Miss Spinnaker. ‘I’m sorry! But it’s like they were calling me.’ She looks down and fiddles with the cover of Miss Spinnaker’s old spell book in her lap. ‘I think they want to me to go to the Hollow Valley Mines,’ she whispers. ‘To find my dad.’
‘Oh, Polly!
’ Miss Spinnaker says, hugging Polly tightly. ‘That must have been very scary for you. But you must have misunderstood the stones. I know you wish you could see your dad again, but he’s gone, Polly. It’s been five years since the mine collapsed. Lots of witches and monsters lost loved ones that day, but nothing will bring them back again. Not even the most powerful magic can reverse death.’ She looks at Polly seriously. ‘You must promise me that you will never go near those mines, OK? They are too dangerous for a young witch like you. Even the Mayor has declared them out of bounds. You know that, Polly.’
Polly nods, but she feels confused. She slips her fingers into her pocket to touch the pouch of stones. ‘But you told me to trust the stones …’
‘Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says firmly. ‘Until I can get you back to your families safely, you and Buster are my responsibility, stones or no stones. Look, I am going to head out early tomorrow morning to try to sort some things out and I want you to wait here for me until I return, all right? You’ll be safe here. I won’t be long, I promise. Mum and Mortimer will look after you. Then we’ll work out how to get you home. Meanwhile, you and I need to get some sleep. We both have a long day ahead of us. Come along.’
She stands up and takes Polly’s hand, then leads her back along the dark hallway towards the bedroom.
‘Here,’ Miss Spinnaker says. She opens up a small cupboard by the door and pulls out a brinket. She twists the top until it cracks and it lets out a gentle pink glow. Then she places it on the bedside table next to the lamp and pulls the blankets up to Polly’s chin again. ‘Now, I want you asleep before that brinket has burnt out, OK?’
Polly nods. ‘OK.’
‘I’ll be back right after breakfast. No more using those stones while I’m not around. You may well be a Silver Witch, but you’re still only nine. And your mother would never forgive me if she knew I was responsible for putting any dangerous ideas into your head.’
