by Lari Don
Innes shrugged. “If you’d rather stay a toad, we’ll try not to be offended…”
Beth opened the door for the toad, then said, “Let’s discuss plans for tomorrow over supper.”
Molly picked up her bag and followed the others across the farmyard to another old barn. “Aren’t we staying in the farmhouse?”
“Witches like their privacy,” said Beth. “She converted this barn into a bunkhouse for her residential courses.”
Innes shoved the door open, and Molly walked into a warm kitchen with a long wooden table heaped with plates, cutlery, scones, butter and a large jam jar. At the side of the room, wooden stairs led upwards, presumably to bedrooms.
Innes slumped on a chair and picked up a knife.
Atacama jumped onto the seat beside him. “The toad obviously doesn’t feel part of the team, so let’s split into pairs tomorrow.” The sphinx turned his golden eyes towards Beth.
“Ok, ok. I’ll take Molly.” Beth looked at Molly. “I’ll go with you to your neighbour, in case he tries to throw curses or dog dirt at you again. Then you come to my wood, while I interview… who do you think, Innes? Uncle Pete is the oldest, but Aunt Jean tells more family stories.”
“Speak to both. The more information the better, I suppose.” He stabbed the knife into the butter.
“Who will you speak to, Innes?” Beth asked.
He didn’t answer.
Beth frowned. “Atacama, will you have to find your curse-caster?”
The sphinx shrugged. “I’ve no idea where he is. But I already know that he’ll only lift my curse if I give him the answer to my riddle, which I will never do. I’ll dig up the answers Mrs Sharpe wants, but I already know my curse must be broken, not lifted.”
Molly said, “What’s the difference between breaking and lifting?”
“Here we go. Curses for beginners again,” muttered Beth.
Atacama smiled at Molly. “A curse is lifted if the conditions of the curse have been fulfilled or if the curse-caster relents and removes the curse. A curse is broken if you find a way round the curse or defeat the curse-caster. The first is what Mrs Sharpe teaches. The second is more difficult, more dangerous, and probably what I’ll have to do.”
“But everyone who comes here, every year, gets their curse lifted, don’t they?” said Beth.
“That’s what she advertises, so I’ll be interested to see what she does at the end of the week if we haven’t either found our curse-casters and apologised to their satisfaction, or fulfilled the conditions of the curse. Perhaps the witch is powerful enough to break our curses using her own magic.”
Molly picked up a scone. “The flyer said ‘Guaranteed result’. So perhaps we just have to try hard to lift the curses on our own, prove we deserve her help, then she’ll do it for us at the end of the week.”
The sphinx nodded.
Innes was digging the knife into the butter as if he was still digging up tatties.
“What’s wrong, Innes?” asked Molly. “Are you worried about going with Atacama? You obviously know Beth’s family, and they probably prefer kelpies to humans, so if you want to swap, I don’t mind.”
“It’s not asking about Atacama’s curse that’s worrying me. It’s asking about my own.”
“But don’t you just have to ask your dad?”
Innes put the butter knife down very carefully, as if he was concentrating on not doing something dangerous with it. “Yes. I have to ask my dad. And you know how you didn’t want to tell us about your curse because you were embarrassed? All you’d done was get dog dirt on your leg. My dad got the entire family cursed and my big brother killed, and he’s considerably more than embarrassed about that. If we even mention it he gets violently angry. He’s ignored me for weeks, ever since I registered for this workshop.
“I hoped I could lift my dad’s curse without discussing it with him. But now, to do Mrs Sharpe’s homework properly, I’ll have to force my father to tell me exactly what awful thing he did to get our family and rivers cursed. He won’t want to tell me. And I’m not sure I can bear to listen.”
Chapter 7
Molly and Beth, who had shared a bedroom at the top of the stairs, got up before anyone else. Atacama was still snoring when they were ready to leave, though Innes was sitting blearily at the table with the toad, eating toast.
Molly had fallen asleep too fast to consider the most diplomatic way to interview Mr Crottel about the jobby-throwing incident, so she hoped to use the long walk to his house to come up with a plan. But when they left the bunkhouse, Beth strode towards a small shed with a faded sign on the door:
Bikes and broomsticks for use of students during residential courses only. Please clean your vehicle after use and fix any burst tyres or bent twigs.
Aggie Sharpe
Molly didn’t spot any broomsticks as she pulled out a couple of helmets and a purple bike, but she couldn’t see right to the back of the shed.
Beth chose a big green bike with a wicker basket, then cycled off fast along the farm track, well ahead of Molly.
At this speed, they’d be through Craigvenie and at Mr Crottel’s house on the northern edge of town in ten minutes. Molly had to come up with a plan quickly.
“What do we say to him?” she yelled at Beth, as they passed the tall castellated clock tower in the town centre.
“How about ‘sorry’?” Beth yelled back.
Molly sighed. She didn’t think she should have to apologise for shouting at a man who had thrown dog dirt at her. Surely Mr Crottel should apologise for the filthy pavement and the potentially fatal curse. But he was the one with the magical powers, and she was the one with the dangerous habit of turning into a small edible mammal.
So, even though Molly didn’t feel sorry, it probably would be wise to apologise anyway.
While they were pedalling down the main street of Craigvenie, Molly heard lots of people greet Beth by name. A man outside the bakers called, “Hello Beth, how’s your Auntie Jean?”
They all clearly knew her, but did they know she was a dryad?
Then a mum pushing a baby in a buggy shouted, “Hey Beth, the woods are looking lovely this autumn! Well done!”
Molly glanced back. The woman was wearing a trendy jacket and carrying a gold handbag. She didn’t look like someone who would believe in magic or spells or tree spirits. Maybe she just thought Beth liked the woods.
They reached Aunt Doreen’s cottage at the end of the row of houses opposite the distillery, with its warehouses and pagoda roofs, and the cooperage yard, with its piles of barrels.
The upstairs lights were on in the end cottage, and the hens were making a cheerful noise at the back, but the front door wasn’t open yet. Aunt Doreen was probably still in her dressing gown. Molly didn’t want to disturb her, or find out whether her aunt had deliberately enrolled her on a workshop run by a witch, so she kept following Beth.
Beth pedalled past the splattery piles of brown on the pavement, stopped a few houses further on and hid her bike behind a low wall. Molly lifted her bike over too.
As they walked back towards his house, Molly asked, “What do you know about Mr Crottel?”
“Same as you: he’s a witch, he’s grumpy and he’s lazy. He arrived here a few years ago, so no one knows who trained him. He doesn’t visit my wood for herbs, so I’ve never spoken to him. As far as I know he’s not a particularly powerful magic user, but he has a reputation for being snappy and vindictive.”
“If he’s not powerful, how did he change me into a hare?”
Beth shrugged. “Shapeshifting is complex magic, but everyone has a favourite spell, so perhaps that’s his. And your change never lasts long, so perhaps he didn’t have to put much power into the curse.”
Molly said, “You know almost as much about spells and curses as Atacama. Do you know how to get Mr Crottel to lift my curse?”
“No. You’ll have to work that out yourself.”
Molly stepped carefully across the disgusting
pavement outside Mr Crottel’s garden and looked through an iron gate set in a high hedge.
“He isn’t in the front garden. Maybe we should come back later…”
“Or you could knock on his door.”
“I don’t want to go into the garden. What if he throws more smelly things at me? What if his dogs are loose in the garden?”
Beth shrugged. “It’s your curse. You might have to do unpleasant things to lift it. If you don’t want to go in, we can head to the woods now and deal with my curse instead.”
Molly put her fingers through the black curls of metal, unhooked the latch and pushed the gate open. It made exactly the rusty creaky eerie noise that Mrs Sharpe’s red door didn’t make.
Molly stepped into the garden, which was filled with soggy cardboard boxes of dog food tins, broken furniture, weeds and outdoor lights stuck at odd angles along the path. But at least there was no dog dirt.
“It’s all on the pavement,” muttered Molly.
She walked up the path towards the flaking green front door.
She knocked, gently and politely. There was no answer.
Then, just as she raised her hand to bang harder, the door opened slowly. Mr Crottel stood in the doorway, dressed in a stained greeny-grey three-piece suit, with a squint red-and-green-striped tie. “What do you want?”
“You might not remember, Mr Crottel, but I’m Molly Drummond, Doreen Drummond’s great-niece, and earlier this week we had a bit of a… discussion about the… em… pavement, and we both shouted at each other, and I might have been a bit rude, then you waved your hands at me and… em… I wondered if you might have accidentally cursed me, so that I turn into a hare…?”
Mr Crottel stared at her, no expression on his grey stubbly face, as she stumbled through her badly prepared explanation. When she stopped talking, he smiled. “Ah, yes. You’re the loud annoying child. No, I didn’t accidentally curse you.”
“Are you sure? Because since then, whenever I hear a dog bark or growl, I change…”
“How dare you doubt my word? I didn’t accidentally curse you. The curse was entirely deliberate and I’m delighted to hear it’s working. Do you regret being rude about my dogs yet?”
Molly sighed. “Yes, I completely regret everything I said about you, your dogs, your garden and anything brown that might have landed on my shoe. Now I’d like to apologise. I’m sorry. I really am very sorry. So…”
She paused, hopefully.
Mr Crottel raised his hairy eyebrows. “So what?”
“So could you please lift the curse?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s done its job. I’m really sorry now.”
“No. If I lifted my own curse, it would make me look weak and indecisive, then other dark-magic users would lose respect for me. Also, I hear that those who feed off curses are angered by curse-casters who lift their curses fast or frivolously. So, no, I’ll leave the curse as it is.”
“But…” Molly glanced round at Beth, who was standing on the path halfway between the doorstep and the closed gate.
Beth shrugged.
Molly turned back to Mr Crottel. “But I’ve said I’m sorry, and if you don’t lift the curse I might get killed by a dog or eaten by a fox or run over or shot…”
“And wouldn’t that be a perfect way to end your story?” He started to close the door.
She thought frantically. What other questions was she meant to ask? “Em… are there limits to the curse? Is there a quest or a task I can do to lift it?”
He shook his head. “No limits. The curse will stay with you until you die. And I won’t accept any tasks either.”
“Not even if…” Molly wrinkled her nose, “not even if I clean up the pavement?”
“Not my pavement, not my problem. Clean it up if you like, I’ll make a mess of it again tomorrow.”
Molly knew shouting wouldn’t help, so with her fists clenched to keep her voice calm, she said, “But that’s not fair. Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Avoid dogs or run fast!” He grinned, showing his stained brown teeth. “I wonder how fast you can run?” He raised his voice. “Mash, come here and bark!”
Molly backed away, as a small black terrier trotted to Mr Crottel’s ankle and stared at her. But the dog didn’t make a sound.
Mr Crottel shouted, “Banger, come here. Bark for me.”
Molly yelled, “Open the gate, Beth!”
But Mr Crottel jerked his fist and the gate made a grinding noise.
Beth called, “I can’t, he’s locked it!”
A tall grey wolfhound appeared at the door and stared at Molly silently.
“Come on, doggies, sing with me.” Mr Crottel started to sing in a whiny voice: “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run…”
Both dogs joined in, whining, barking and howling.
And Molly shifted.
She was getting more used to this hare body and was recovering more quickly from the hot sensation in her bones, so she whirled round instantly and ran for the gate, where Beth was tugging unsuccessfully on the latch. Molly tried to find a hare-sized space to squeeze through, but the gaps in the gate’s tightly wound spirals of metal were too small.
Mr Crottel stopped singing and shouted, “Chase the rude nasty child! Chase her!”
Suddenly Molly felt fangs digging into her fur and lifting her into the air.
She wriggled and jerked, desperate to escape.
Then she heard, “Calm down, I’ve got you.”
They weren’t fangs she could feel: they were Beth’s fingers clutching her tight.
“I’ve got you,” said Beth. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Molly relaxed. Then she saw the dogs tearing down the path towards them. Beth held Molly to her chest and the two dogs skidded to a halt at her feet.
Mr Crottel screeched, “Don’t stop, boys. Catch her! Bite her!”
The small dog leapt at Beth’s legs, the large dog leapt at Beth’s face, and Beth fell back against the gate with a clatter.
Molly realised that if she stayed in Beth’s arms, the dogs would attack them both.
So she jumped free, right over the head of the huge dog, and ran across the thin grass. She leapt over ripped chair cushions and bent cardboard boxes. The dogs turned their backs on Beth and chased Molly again.
She ran to the wall of the house, then turned in mid-leap and ran in the other direction. The dogs howled in frustration. She ran to the hedge, searching for a way through.
But the hedge was made of harsh boxy bushes, almost solid with intertwined branches and twigs. There were no gaps anywhere. And it was much higher than the wall she’d jumped yesterday.
Molly could see the small dog bouncing up and down, barking beside Mr Crottel’s feet, and the big dog stalking towards her.
She ran along the side of the hedge, but the wall of leaves was tightly packed the whole way round the house. There was no escape.
And she was an obvious target, running in a straight line along the edge of the garden. Both dogs were chasing her again now.
“Look out!” yelled Beth.
Molly could see the danger. The two dogs were coming at her from different directions…
Mr Crottel laughed. “Run all you like, you won’t get out of here.”
“She’ll shift back eventually,” shouted Beth. “She never stays a hare for long.”
“She won’t shift back unless she crosses the boundary of my land, but I’ve left her no exit. She’ll have to keep running until I call my dogs off. And I’m not sure I’ll ever do that.”
Molly ran away from the impenetrable hedge and straight at the terrier hurtling towards her. She leapt over the small dog and ran to the other side of the garden, dodging thorny roses and jumping over weed-filled flowerbeds.
She saw Beth crouching by the hedge near the gate and hoped the dryad hadn’t been injured when the dogs leapt at her.
Molly ran in crazy loops and at acute angles round the messy garden, outp
acing and evading the dogs again and again. But there were two of them and they were working together, and eventually one final foolish change of direction led her right into a corner.
She turned round. Both dogs, dripping drool and growling, were pushing their heads at her, snapping their teeth. Behind her, two unbroken lengths of hedge met at a right angle. Molly had nowhere to go. She was trapped.
Chapter 8
Molly was cornered. There was no space between the two dogs, there was no space either side or behind her. They could enjoy ripping her apart in their own time.
Beth shouted, “Molly, over here!”
Molly saw a small hole opening up in the hedge. The bush beside Beth was twisting its branches apart to make a gap near the gate.
But it was too far away. There were two slavering dogs between Molly and this sudden, surprising exit.
Then she realised that two dogs might be easier to escape from than one dog.
Molly feinted to the left, so the big dog took a step that way. She feinted to the right, so the little dog skipped that way. Then she dived between them, leaping past their ears and ribs and tails. She heard them snarl in shock as they both turned at the same time to snap at her, and snapped at each other instead – because she had already landed and bounced and run away.
Molly sprinted towards the hedge, leaving the two dogs fighting behind her. She leapt through the tunnel of skinny branches and hard leaves.
And Molly hit the pavement.
She was so relieved to be out of the garden and back in her human form, she didn’t even mind that her elbow had landed in a soft pile of Banger or Mash’s dog dirt.
She stood up and unzipped her filthy fleece.
Then she remembered Beth.
Beth was still stuck in the garden with two dogs, an angry witch, a locked gate and a hole in the hedge big enough for a hare, but not for a girl.
Molly ran to the gate.
Beth was standing with her hand on the latch, looking at the witch on his doorstep. Beth said calmly, “Mr Crottel, I’m impressed with the strength and wit of your curse on the human girl. But I know you don’t want the trees or your own hedge turning against you. So please open your gate and I will ask your hedge to return to its shorn shape.”
