Castle Hangnail

by Ursula Vernon

  The roost had been cleaned two days ago, which meant that it didn’t smell too bad at the moment. Molly lit her candle, set it on the floor, and scoured the ground for a stray bat hair.

  It wasn’t difficult. Bats also shed. Molly, like most Witches, had no compunctions about handling icky things, but she made a mental note to wash her hands afterward.

  She wrapped the bat hair in the flat green dock leaf, tied it off with one of her own hairs, then held the whole works over the candle.

  With the Little Gray Book in one hand, she read off the magic words as clearly as she could. “Avack . . . Auilriuan . . . Arwiggle . . .”

  The dock leaf burned slowly, being green. Molly held it as long as she could, then dropped it. There was a brief, acrid scent of burnt hair.

  Molly held her breath.

  Slowly, like someone tuning in a station on an old radio, sounds began to fill the air. They were high-pitched at first, but they gradually descended, growing deeper and louder, until the air was full of voices.

  At first Molly could only make out one or two words. Then the words strung together and made sentences, and the sentences made a conversation.

  “Is it the Witch?”

  “Quit shoving, I can’t see!”

  “It sounds like the Witch.”

  “Get your wing out of my ear.”

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s not going to enchant us, is she?”

  “She’s a Witch. The Witches are always kind to us bats. I wouldn’t mind if she enchanted me.”

  “The Mad Scientist experimented on Great-Uncle Humphrey.”

  “Yeah, and Humphrey could breathe fire after that. He ate all his bugs cooked.”

  “I wonder why she’s here.”

  Molly was thrilled. She could understand the bats!

  She cleared her throat. “Can you hear me, bats?” she asked.

  The whole roost began to twitter and flutter.

  “Can we hear her?”

  “We can hear a mosquito in a drain pipe.”

  “We can hear moths talking a mile away on a windy night.”

  “Can we hear her?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Molly hurriedly. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just want to make sure the spell is working.”

  There was a great twittering and rustling, and then a very old bat swung her way from the back of the roost, pushing past the other, younger bats. Her wrinkled face was even more wrinkled than is usual for bats, and her fur was streaked with gray.

  “We hear you . . . Witch . . .” said the old bat. She stretched both her wings down over her head, then swept them up and crossed her claws over her chest. This is the formal greeting of bats. “I am the Eldest . . . of this Roost.”

  Molly bowed to the Eldest, because she knew that many beasts are easily offended, and it is important to return courtesy with courtesy. “It is an honor to meet you, Eldest.”

  “It has been a long time since anyone came . . . and spoke to us,” said the Eldest. “How may we serve you?”

  “I was hoping that you might help me,” said Molly. “I can do magic—well, a little—but it’s not very impressive-looking magic.” (It seemed safe to admit this to the bats, since Majordomo clearly didn’t know how to speak to them. In fact, on the tour he had simply opened the door to the belfry, said “The bats live here,” and then closed it again.)

  The Eldest cocked her head. “Go on . . .”

  “I need to do something so that Majordomo—the guardian—believes I’m really a Witch.”

  She bit her lip. She hoped that admitting this to the bats wouldn’t get her in trouble.

  The Eldest nodded her head slowly, upside down, and rubbed her claws over her ears thoughtfully. “Go into the garden tonight . . . at moonrise. The Roost will see to it . . . that no one doubts you.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Molly. She bowed again. “Is there anything I can do for you? Now that I’m the Mistress of the castle?”

  The Eldest laughed, a high-pitched chittering. The other bats laughed as well, and the sound spread out like ghostly wings around her. “It is very simple . . . to be a bat . . .” said the Eldest. “We do not desire . . . things . . .” She turned and began to swing back into the mass of bats.

  She paused, though, and turned her head, meeting Molly’s eyes with her own tiny black ones. “You might . . . come and speak to us . . . sometime. It has been . . . a long time . . .”

  The Eldest swung away into darkness. Molly picked up her candle, feeling very honored and very grown-up, and let herself out of the belfry.

  Chapter 9

  Dinner was held in the Long Hall. Molly would have preferred to eat in the kitchen, honestly—the Long Hall was cold, and her feet didn’t touch the floor when she sat in the great dragon-footed chair at the head of the table—but Majordomo insisted.

  Well, he didn’t exactly insist. He said, “Dinner is served in the Long Hall, Mistress.”

  “Not in the kitchen?”

  His scar-lines deepened, and he said, “The Master of the castle always eats dinner in the Long Hall.”

  So Molly climbed into the great chair and had dinner. Her solitary place setting looked very small on that vast expanse of table. The sea of candles glowed and rippled behind her.

  There was a bowl of skulls instead of fruit on the table for a centerpiece. Molly approved of that. They were all grinning rakishly, as if they quite liked being skulls.

  Cook clomped in, set dinner down on the table, and clomped back toward the kitchen.

  “You’re supposed to put it on the sideboard!” hissed Majordomo. “Then I serve her.”

  “Is stupid,” said Cook. “Is one person, one dinner. Is getting cold on sideboard.”

  “I’d rather have it here,” said Molly hurriedly.

  “The last Sorceress would never have approved,” said Majordomo. “Or the Warlock.”

  “Maybe they liked cold food,” said Molly.

  Majordomo sniffed.

  Dinner was meatloaf. There was nothing particularly Wicked about meatloaf, but Molly loved it anyway. She liked the crusty red sauce, which Cook made with brown sugar and Worcestershire sauce. (There is actually something quite agreeably Wicked about Worcestershire sauce.)

  She even ate all the green beans, partly because Cook’s green beans were very good and had bits of bacon on them, and partly because refusing to eat your vegetables is not Wicked, but merely tiresome.

  It would probably not help Majordomo’s opinion of her if he had to lecture her about eating her vegetables.

  Hopefully the bats would be able to do . . . something.

  Hopefully whatever they did would be impressive to people, and not just bats. What if they started reciting poetry in Bat? Nobody would be able to understand it but her.

  She pushed the last green bean around her plate with her fork.

  Surely the Eldest would know that. The Eldest had seemed smart. Maybe smarter than Molly herself, which is an unsettling quality in a creature the size of a dried prune.

  “We are all looking forward to your display after dinner,” said Majordomo. “Or would you prefer dessert first?”

  “Dessert first,” said Molly, with an airiness she didn’t feel. “And I’ll be doing my magic at moonrise.”

  Majordomo bowed. Moonrise was apparently acceptable. He went into the kitchen.

  Molly pushed the green bean around some more.

  If all else fails, I can do the shadow spell. It won’t look like much in a dark garden, but maybe the moon will be bright.

  She hoped the bats came through. Detaching her shadow made her heels itch terribly, and she always felt weirdly hollow for a few minutes afterward, as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  Majordomo emerged from the kitchen bearing a plate with a s
ingle slice of pie on it. “With Cook’s compliments,” he said, setting it down in front of Molly.

  Molly popped the last green bean in her mouth, wiped her lips with the napkin, and tackled the pie. It was berry, with whipped cream oozing over the crust. “What’re the compliments?” she asked.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “You said there were compliments. Like, uh—‘Your hair looks good’ or ‘I hear you did very well in geometry’ or something?”

  “They’re just . . . generally complimentary,” said Majordomo, nonplussed.

  Molly grinned around a mouthful of pie.

  • • •

  A few minutes before moonrise, she walked into the herb garden. Cook’s garden might have worked too, but the overgrown jungle of herbs seemed better somehow. More Witchy.

  Molly stood at the center of the garden, where the paths converged, and made a show of gazing up at the moon.

  Please show up, please show up, please show up . . .

  She could feel the eyes of all the residents of Castle Hangnail on her. Serenissima steamed in the cool air. Lord Edward the knight had, with many creaks and groans, clanked as far as the kitchen. Pins had even brought his goldfish down. She was bundled up against the cold and carefully cradled in the arms of Angus the Minotaur.

  Molly glanced behind her. She could hear them talking, but not loudly enough to make out the words. Cook gave her a thumbs-up with one hoof-like hand. Majordomo was expressionless.

  He’s waiting for me to fail . . . I have to do something or he’ll figure out I’m barely a Wicked Witch at all . . . maybe even that I’m not really Eudaimonia . . .

  She looked up, her heart in her mouth—and a bat flew across the face of the moon.

  Majordomo watched glumly as Molly stood in the center of the ruined herb garden.

  He didn’t dislike Molly, but she was a little girl and nothing he’d seen her do had convinced him that she could rule Castle Hangnail. Or at least be a Master that the Board of Magic would find acceptable.

  She was the only person who answered the invitation. No one else wanted to rule a castle with a leaking roof in the middle of a pleasant little farming community.

  He pushed the thought away. That didn’t matter. If Molly couldn’t prove that she was truly a Wicked Witch, she’d have to go. The Board had very strong opinions about non-magical folk trying to run a magical castle.

  “Is the magic happening yet?” asked Edward. “I can’t see!”

  “She’s not doing anything,” said Pins worriedly. “Not yet.”

  “Magic takes time,” said Serenissima.

  “But—”

  “Serenissima is right,” said Majordomo, determined to be fair. “Magic doesn’t have to be fast to be magic.”

  Molly threw both her arms in the air.

  Suddenly the night sky was alive with bats!

  They spiraled out of the air like falling leaves, they circled and swooped and skittered, they flew low over the heads of the onlookers.

  It was an impressive display—but bats alone weren’t really magic. Majordomo knotted his hands together.

  A point of light appeared over the wall of the courtyard, then another. It moved like a bat, but it glowed like a shooting star. Another joined it, and another, and soon a dozen brilliant lights danced over the garden, performing sarabands and arabesques, leaving long glowing trails behind them.

  “Ooooh . . .” said Serenissima and the goldfish.

  “Ahhhh . . .” said Pins and Lord Edward.

  “Hmph,” said Majordomo. Dancing lights were all very well, but was it magic enough?

  The lights came together and formed pictures. Dragons danced over the courtyard, skulls chattered their teeth, and the name MOLLY was written in elaborate cursive letters.

  Cook began to applaud. So did Angus (carefully, so as not to upset the goldfish) and Serenissima and Pins. Lord Edward clanked. The goldfish blew excited bubbles.

  The lights went out. The garden was bathed in the glow of the moon. Molly stood in it, five feet tall, round face, impressive boots.

  The bats swooped inward. She was suddenly hung with bats like a Christmas tree is hung with ornaments or a beehive is hung with bees. Hundreds of tiny furry bodies clung to her cloak and her hair and her shoes.

  The Eldest landed directly on her nose and spread grizzled white wings across her face, like a carnival mask.

  A second passed . . . then two . . . then three . . .

  The bats exploded outward, shrieking and chattering. The cloud dispersed into the sky.

  Moonlight streamed through the garden and into the space where Molly had stood.

  The Witch had vanished.

  The servants gasped.

  Where had she gone? Had she actually turned into a flock of bats?

  “Pretty good, huh?” said Molly, behind them.

  All the residents of the castle spun around, except for Edward, who could only clank in a circle. The goldfish sloshed in her bowl.

  Molly grinned at them, with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.

  Would it be enough?

  Then—

  “Bravo!” cried Pins.

  “Huzzah!” cried Edward.

  They all began applauding wildly. Cook and Angus stomped their hooves and Serenissima whistled. Edward whistled too, and clattered all his armor until it rang like bells.

  Majordomo let out a long, long breath and said, “Well, then.”

  Molly felt weak and slightly damp with relief. (And also because of the bats. As we have said before, it is not possible to housebreak bats. At least two of them had been rather nervous, and she urgently needed to change her socks.)

  She also didn’t want to stick around, in case somebody asked for an encore.

  “If I may see the list of Tasks?” said Majordomo.

  Molly pulled the list from her pocket and handed it to Majordomo.

  He held it up for the other minions, and they let out a cheer.

  A long red line ran through the first Task on the list. It was the same bright red as the seal from the Board of Magic itself, and it twinkled faintly in the starlight.

  Majordomo gave the list back to Molly and she tucked it away again.

  “I expect that tomorrow I’ll want to get started with the Smiting,” she said. “Or perhaps the Blighting. So I’d prefer to be well-rested.” She feigned a yawn, waved, and turned away.

  An Evil Sorceress would have swept out of the room, and a Cursed Beastlord would have prowled. Loathsome Hags slink and Vampire Lords prefer to turn into a mist and flow under doors.

  The Wicked Witch of Castle Hangnail skipped.

  She skipped out of the garden, reached the hallway, and took the stairs up three at a time.

  When she got to her room, she made two separate discoveries.

  The first was that Serenissima had already turned down the bed and slipped a hot pad near the foot, so that it was delightfully warm and snuggly.

  The second was that there was a small, sleepy bat still hanging from her silver vulture necklace.

  “Bugbane,” he said. “That’s my name. The Eldest said to stay with you. She said it’d be better. She said—oh—” He clutched his head between his wing-tips. “I’ll remember in a minute—in just a minute—oh dear . . .”

  “Take your time,” said Molly, peeling off her socks. They were quite ruined. Nervous bats are hard on clothing. “May I hang you on the bedpost? There we go.”

  “Sorry . . .” He shook his head. “Nights make me so confused. I get so sleepy.”

  “You’re a bat,” said Molly. “I thought you got sleepy during the day.”

  Bugbane snapped his claws. “Daytime! That’s it. I like being awake during the day. The Eldest said maybe you’d have some use for me.” He yawned, showing a tiny pink tongue
. “I don’t like the night very much. I mean, I can do nights”—he yawned again—“but they’re so tiring. I’d rather be awake during the day. But then there’s no one to talk to.” He drooped tragically on the bedpost.

  Molly nudged the chamber pot under him with her toe. “Well, if the Eldest sent you . . .”

  “She did—she did! She’s my great-grandmother. Great-great-grandmother. Maybe more greats—oh, I don’t remember. A lot of greatssss . . . sss . . . zzzz . . .”

  Molly cocked her head to one side and waited, but it was clear that Bugbane had fallen asleep on the bedpost.

  “In mid-sentence?” she asked.

  “Zzzz . . .”

  “. . . well, all right, then.”

  She blew out the last candle and climbed into bed.

  It was silent in the castle, except for the snoring of the bat. Nobody at the window. Nobody at the door. Nobody in hearing distance, except Bugbane.

  Molly put her head under the blankets and shouted into her pillow: “WOOOHOOO!”

  She and the Eldest had done it. Better than she had dared to hope.

  • • •

  Now, you have probably already figured out how Molly had vanished, but just in case, we must go back to the moment when the bats landed on her.

  Molly had not had any idea what to expect from the Eldest’s performance. She had been surprised and dazzled by the lights, and it wasn’t until a bat swept past her nose, holding a firefly carefully in its mouth, that she had realized how they were doing it.

  When all the bats had landed on her, she had been startled. She wasn’t frightened—she was enough of a Witch that bats didn’t bother her, and she trusted the Eldest—but being covered in bats is a rather shocking experience at the best of times, particularly when one of them pees on your sock.

  The Eldest had landed directly on her nose. Molly’s eyes had crossed trying to meet the gaze of the ancient bat. She held her breath.

  “That should give them something to think about,” said the Eldest, chuckling. “Call on us again if you have need. We go to the hunt—now, children!”