The Witch's Vacuum Cleaner: And Other Stories

by Terry Pratchett

There, leaning on the bar, was Big Dai, enjoying a glass of leek beer and a packet of crisps. People began to edge away and one or two scrambled through the door, suddenly remembering important business elsewhere. Jones the bottle-collector ducked down behind the till. Someone stopped playing the piano.

  ‘Is that your bike outside, sir?’ asked PC Bunyan. You could have heard a pin drop.

  ‘Yes,’ said Big Dai.

  ‘I must warn you, sir, that the brakes don’t work, and it has no lights. You cannot ride it after dark unless you get it repaired.’

  Everyone looked at Big Dai. No one had ever talked to him like that before, ever told him what to do.

  ‘Thank you, Officer,’ he said at last. ‘Then I won’t ride it home tonight.’

  Well! They were expecting a punch-up at least!

  Dai called his rascally bandits together after the policeman had left. ‘Don’t you see, look you,’ he hissed. ‘We don’t want any trouble with the police, not with the train robbery and all.’

  Then the gang crept out through the back door, to where the rails of the railway track gleamed under the rising moon.

  PC Bunyan went back to the warm police station. There was a large sheepdog in front of the stove, and from the sound of it, there were sheep in the cells. Gorsebush Jones had been making himself at home.fn4

  ‘Gorsebush!’

  ‘Yessir!’ said Gorsebush.

  ‘I’m not sure if I can do this, but I’m going to make you a temporary Special Constable. You better wear my spare helmet – it’s a bit big for a lad your size but it will keep your ears warm. Keep your knees warm too,’ he added with a chuckle. He handed Gorsebush a police helmet.

  ‘What about Blodwen?’ came the muffled voice from under the helmet. ‘She’d make a good police dog, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Very well. But she’ll have to do without a helmet. Now come on, we must get to the railway station. I aim to tidy up this town.’

  And so two men and a dog left Llandanffwnfafegettupagogo on one bicycle. In the distance, PC Bunyan heard a train whistle, and knew that it was the Cardiff train. What devilish scheme did Dai Evans have in mind for stopping it?

  Gorsebush jumped off the bike and examined the ground. ‘Some bikes went by here not two hours ago, boyo,’ he said.fn5

  ‘Riding without lights, eh?’ muttered PC Bunyan. ‘And I warned the scoundrel of that!’

  Swiftly they pedalled onwards. The Cardiff train would have to slow down as it passed Llandanff, and that’s where Big Dai would ambush it.

  ‘Look you, down in the valley,’ shouted Gorsebush above the rushing wind. ‘We’re too late, boyo!’

  There, shining in the moonlight, was a great heap of coal, right across the railway track. Big Dai was going to derail the Cardiff Express!

  Up on the hill PC Bunyan thumbed his three-speed gears into top gear and pedalled like mad! With a twang! both brake cables snapped . . .

  In the warm cabin of the engine, Driver Tommo Lloyd-George and Fireman Davies were enjoying a nice hot cup of cocoa, freshly brewed on the firebox.

  ‘Now there’s something you don’t often see,’ said Fireman Davies, looking out of the cab windows.

  Down the hill, waving and screaming, came a policeman, a young lad in a large helmet, and a barking sheepdog, all on one bicycle. With both axles glowing red hot in the darkness, the bike drew level with the cabin.

  ‘What are they saying?’ said the driver.

  ‘It sounded like “Stop the train!”, Tommo,’ said the fireman.

  Gorsebush and PC Bunyan were shouting themselves hoarse, and the bike was gradually losing speed. The train began to slip past them.

  ‘Gorsebush,’ shouted PC Bunyan. ‘Would you care to jump onto one of the carriages and pull the communication cord?’

  ‘I can’t afford the five-pound fine,’ moaned Gorsebush.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll overlook it. Hurry up!’

  Closing his eyes tightly and standing up on the swaying saddle, Gorsebush took a deep breath and launched himself into space. Clunk! He hit the side of the last carriage, and clung to a door handle.

  ‘Excuse me, lady, but I ain’t got time for no manners,’ he said as he reached in through a first-class compartment window, grabbed the cord and tugged it downwards.

  Screech!

  The train braked suddenly, and slid to a halt just a few metres from the ambush.

  A few seconds later PC Bunyan and Blodwen whizzed up on the bike, crashing right into the bushes where Dai Evans and his gang were hiding.

  Gorsebush leaped off the side of the train and ran over too. He began tackling everyone as a shrill police whistle split the air. Over the hill galloped a squad of mounted policemen, summoned earlier by PC Bunyan.

  It was all up now for Big Dai Evans. Blodwen the sheepdog herded the bandits together and they were marched off for a long spell in jail.

  And that’s about the end of it. PC Bunyan was promoted to Police Sergeant Bunyan for his part in foiling the train robbers. And his assistant in the village was – you’ve guessed it – PC Gorsebush Jones, who got into the Force by standing on tiptoe and lying about his age. He still went poaching, only now whenever he caught himself, he arrested himself, charged himself, and let himself go after a stern warning.

  Blodwen became Police Dog Blodwen, and soon had the most law-abiding flock in South Wales.

  Oh, and Gorsebush’s granny arrived safe and well. Only to tell Gorsebush off about the language she had heard him using. And to make him shave off the wisps of ‘beard’ on his chin.

  And that was how the town of Llandanffwnfafegettupagogo was cleaned up, due to the fastest truncheon in the West – PC Bryn Bunyan . . . and Gorsebush Jones, of course.

  THE TRULY TERRIBLE TOOTHACHE

  It happened on a sunny afternoon in Blackbury. Mr Arnold Suttle, the borough librarian, was sorting out the old books stored in the attic. There were all sorts – a lot of them came to the library from old houses, or jumble sales, and most of them found their way onto the shelves. But there were always one or two which, for one reason or another, were stored in the attic.

  ‘Every Criminal’s Guide to Picking Pockets,’ said Mr Suttle to himself. ‘Hm, that’ll never do. What’s this? Poaching and Sheep-Stealing for Beginners. Quite unsuitable. Hello, it’s the first time I’ve seen this one.’

  He lifted a very dusty volume out of a box. It was bound in leather, with big brass hinges. He wiped the dust off the title which said, in faded gold letters,

  ‘How interesting,’ said Mr Suttle. He opened it, and on the title page was written in faded brown writing:

  He turned over some more heavy pages, which were covered with writing and pictures of an extremely magical nature.

  ‘I wonder what this means,’ he said out loud. ‘It looks very magical: “Igni passage inferni ehthonical gil per—”’

  A cloud passed over the sun, and there was a roll of thunder. There was also a puff of smoke and a flash of light, which lost its effect because the electric light was on anyway, and a tall black shape appeared from nowhere.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Mr Suttle. ‘Who are you?’

  The man standing before him appeared to be almost completely black because he was wearing a long black coat, a flat black hat, and sported a long black beard.

  The man – who looked rather puzzled – said something that Mr Suttle didn’t understand. But then he saw the book and his face lit up. He grabbed it and pointed to the name on the cover.

  ‘Black William de Blackbury?’ said Mr Suttle. ‘With a magic book? I say,’ he said, stepping back a bit, ‘are you some sort of wizard or something? Not that I believe in them, of course.’

  The man didn’t answer, but with a wave of his hand he produced an egg, a three-legged stool and a bundle of silk handkerchiefs.

  ‘That’s magic,’ said Mr Suttle, who knew it when he saw it, all right.

  Black William looked interestedly around the attic, and then looked closely at Mr Suttle
. He obviously didn’t like what he saw, because he raised one bony arm, said a few words, and something went bang!

  There was a cloud of green smoke and Black William disappeared.

  Mr Suttle looked down. He had been wearing an ordinary grey suit. Now he was wearing bright red stockings, baggy pantaloon trousers, a bright green jacket with lots of gold decorations, a belt with a sword on it and – he reached up to his head – a black velvet cap with a feather in it.

  ‘I feel a right silly,’ he said,fn1 and sat down.

  A few minutes later he crept down from the attic to the main library, hoping to slip into his office before anyone noticed him.

  But he needn’t have worried. Miss Blenkinsop, who usually stamped the books behind the counter, was far too preoccupied. She was wearing a long Elizabethan dress and a wide ruff, studded with pearls and amethysts, and a little cap covered with diamonds.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Mr Suttle. ‘A tall man in a black cloak has just been through.’

  ‘That’s right, he— Gosh, Mr Suttle, you do look strange in those clothes! Just like Sir Walter Raleigh! What’s that book you’re holding?’

  ‘I think I may have done something a bit stupid,’ the librarian said. ‘First of all, I’m going home to change, and then I think I’d better find out something about Black William de Blackbyry.’

  He walked to the door of the library and gasped. The street was full of stopped cars. There wasn’t a single engine running. And their drivers stood around in Elizabethan costume, which can be very hampering when you’re trying to repair a car.fn2 Some of the houses on the street had changed too, from respectable red brick to half-timbered Tudor.

  ‘By my halberd!’ he swore. ‘Good heavens! What did I say that for?’

  Pretty soon Blackbury began to look very odd. Within the first few hours things started to disappear.

  TVs were the first to go, then electricity wires and traffic lights. They just vanished in little flashes of green light.

  Meanwhile Mr Suttle and Miss Blenkinsop hurried across to the town hall. The Mayor was there, but instead of his usual dark grey suit he was wearing a very heavy costume which was all gold, purple and furs. Chief Inspector Jethwa was there too. He was dressed as a Tower of London Beefeater and looked rather good as one too.

  ‘No funny remarks,’ he said. ‘My uniform just turned into this. I keep breaking light bulbs with this spear thing,’ he said, flourishing the iron-tipped pike which the ceremonial Beefeaters still carried at the Tower of London. ‘Still, there’s no electricity so it doesn’t really matter.’

  ‘Everything’s going old-fashioned,’ said the Mayor. ‘Up at the army camp – well, they’re very bothered. The tanks have turned into brass cannons and the soldiers are having to wear armour and leather breeches. And that isn’t the worst.’

  Mr Suttle bit his lip. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘I bet that when you try to get out of Blackbury, you can’t!’

  ‘Zounds! That’s right!’ said the Mayor. ‘My Lord Chief Inspector Jethwa here was only just saying that a heavy mist hath settled around the town, and all who try enter it find themselves walking back to Blackbyry, by my troth!’

  ‘And thou art talking Elizabethan,’ said Mr Suttle, and he sat down suddenly. ‘And so am I.’ He pushed a pile of books onto the table. ‘I hath a sort of idea,’ he said. ‘Hast thou heard of Black William de Blackbyry?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘I’ve just been reading about him. He was a famous enchanter who dwelt here in Queen Elizabeth the First’s time. I found his book of spells in the library, and when I read it he appeared.

  ‘He’s still somewhere in Blackbyry – I meaneth Blackbury – I mean “mean” – oh dear, I’m finding it hard to concentrate. I think he’s trying to turn the town back to how he remembers it. The only things that will, by my troth, be left will be the sort of things that were here four hundred and fifty years ago, or as near as he can get to them.’

  ‘That’s a likely story!’ said the Mayor. ‘Still, I canst not think of a better one.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ said Mr Suttle. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling that if we don’t concentrate on remembering what’s happened, we really will think we’re Elizabethans. That goeth for talking like them too. Black William is trying to get us to do that, methinks.’

  Just then there was a horrible CRASH above them.

  They raced upstairs and found a man sitting on a pile of rubbish in the town-hall attic.

  Half a helicopter was sticking through the roof.

  The man looked up at them. ‘What are you lot dressed up like that for?’ he cried in astonishment.

  ‘You don’t look all that ordinary yourself,’ said Mr Suttle, since the man was wearing leather armour. He climbed up a rafter to look more closely at the helicopter.

  ‘I was wearing a respectable RAF uniform five minutes ago!’ said the pilot. ‘What’s going on? I was sent to fly over to see why people couldn’t get into Blackbury. There’s a mist all around the town.’

  They told him, but he didn’t believe them.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Mr Suttle. ‘I bet your helicopter just stopped suddenly, did it not? Nothing seemed to work.’

  ‘By God, you speaketh true! Not even the radio!’

  ‘I think I’m beginning to understand Black William,’ said Mr Suttle, rubbing his hands together. ‘You see, helicopters and radios and such would sound absolutely impossible to a man from four hundred and fifty years ago, so as far as he is concerned they don’t exist. They just stop working.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m not sure I wouldn’t mind living in Elizabethan times. They were pretty exciting,’ said the Mayor. He looked down at his outfit. ‘And I do rather like this costume.’

  ‘But we’re not back in Elizabethan times really,’ said Mr Suttle. ‘We’re – well, inside a magic spell.’

  ‘Let’s find this Black William and make him see reason,’ said Chief Inspector Jethwa, and Mr Suttle hurried off with him while the other two helped the pilot.

  Blackbury had changed even more, but most of the people in the streets didn’t seem to realize it. A fair had appeared, with jugglers and dancing bears, and some men were holding an archery competition outside what had been the Blackbury Co-op.

  ‘It’s rather jolly,’ said Chief Inspector Jethwa grudgingly.

  ‘I dunno,’ murmured Mr Suttle. ‘No proper doctors, no clean drinking water . . . pretty chancy, if you ask me.’

  They hired a pair of horses at a stable which had appeared on the site of the Blackbury Whizzo Garage.

  ‘According to the Blackbury history books, Black William used to live in a castle on Even Moor,’ said Mr Suttle. ‘But we’d better watch our step! He probably believed in all sorts of things – witches and giants, and demons. We’d better be prepared for them to be about.’

  ‘But they never really existed,’ protested Chief Inspector Jethwa.

  ‘I know, but if he thought they did, they do now – so watch out!’

  They rode towards Even Moor in search of Black William. It was a rather odd ride. The country had suddenly become very wild, but here and there were bits of the twenty-first century that Black William had left untouched by mistake – a letter box, several hundred metres of railway track, and a piece of road, complete with white lines, on a bumpy cart track.

  Mr Suttle was reading Black William’s big magical book as he rode, while Chief Inspector Jethwa glanced nervously around.

  ‘As far as I can make out, Black William magicked himself into nothingness until someone came along to read the spell,’ the librarian said.

  ‘By my troth, I wishe I was out of thys playce—’ began Chief Inspector Jethwa.

  ‘Careful! You’re speaking Elizabethan!’ said Mr Suttle. ‘Concentrate! You don’t want to fall under the spell, or we’ll never get out!’

  At that moment a fire-breathing demon, four metres high, jumped out of the bushes and roare
d at them.

  Chief Inspector Jethwa fell off his horse. ‘But I don’t believe in them! They don’t exist!’ he cried.

  ‘Black William thinks they do, and that’s all that matters,’ said Mr Suttle. He had a quick think, and then pointed a finger at the demon, which seemed to be trying to spread Chief Inspector Jethwa with mustard. There was a fizz, and fierce blue flames surrounded the demon like a cage. It ran away, screaming.

  ‘I used magic!’ said Mr Suttle, helping the other man back onto his horse. ‘Black William thinks it exists, so it does. And I can do it too.’

  Ten minutes later they found the wizard’s house. It was a big Tudor mansion on the edge of a wood, and it appeared to be glowing. There seemed to be a lot more magic in the air. Mr Suttle had to concentrate very hard to stop thinking in Elizabethan.

  ‘I hope you’re ready,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Chief Inspector Jethwa. ‘I mean, yes.’

  Mr Suttle knocked on the big oak door.

  It swung open. Mr Suttle and Chief Inspector Jethwa crept in rather nervously, but the big hall inside was quite ordinary. It was lined with oak panels and there were several suits of armour standing about.

  ‘Now to find Black William,’ said Mr Suttle. They decided to climb the ornate staircase. It was a little difficult, because Inspector Jethwa was trying to keep as close as possible to Mr Suttle. Shadows loomed in the dark corners.

  ‘Half a mo’,’ said Mr Suttle, opening the magic book. ‘There’s a spell in here about light. Ah yes, um:

  “MARAZDA

  IGNIFEROUS! WHIZA

  TUNGSTUNFILMANTLE”!’

  A bright green glow appeared in the air, and followed them up the stairs. At the top they found another door, and pushed it open. A pungent pong came from within.