He looked at the professor angrily. Without a hug or a goodbye, he stomped out of the door into the garden. Within seconds he had turned into a falcon and was heading back to central London to speak to Charlie. She would be honest with him; she would tell him what was going on. And there was only one place you were guaranteed to find Charlie and that was the Greasy Witch Café.
5
A Witch's Death
Toby landed neatly behind an upturned dustbin in a skinny side road just off Oxford Street. It was deserted. The waste from the bin had spewed across the tarmac. Toby folded his wings close to his body, and in a blink of an eye he was human again.
Instead of answers he had been given a letter to deliver. If the letter hadn’t been for Charlie he would have ripped it up with his powerful beak and talons and let the wind carry the shreds across London. But as always the flying had helped to ease his anger and his tension. By the time he had landed he felt reasonably calm and slightly regretful of his anger. However, he did need answers and Charlie would help. He took in a deep breath and let out a big sigh.
Toby stood at a small grubby door flanked by two equally grubby windows. The window grime was so old it was probably Victorian, and so thick it was impossible to see inside. It was as inviting as the open jaws of a dragon with severe toothache. There was a sign hanging lopsided above the door. It was so worn out it was unreadable, but that didn’t matter to the regulars. The Greasy Witch Café was London’s safe haven for ghosts, cackling witches, and hissing black cats. The local council had tried to shut it down as a severe health hazard but the regulars were a persuasive lot, if a little scary, chasing off all of London’s health inspectors. In fact, no human would dare knock on the door, least of all investigate the place. And so it remained open for business. And for Toby, well, it was almost a second home.
‘Toby, my lovely, it’s great to see you!’ shouted Ash, a very pasty, wafer thin, West Country ghost witch. She ran over enthusiastically and gave Toby a big chilling hug. Toby began to grin. The last of the tension seeped away.
‘Let go of him, Ash. You’ll suck all the heat out of him,’ commanded Frosty, who grinned equally enthusiastically at Toby’s arrival. Ghosts never suffered from the cold but when they had the opportunity to hug a warm living person, it was like giving a dragon a pool of volcanic lava to bathe in – it would never be turned down. Frosty stood with her hands on her hips, her witch hat sitting high above her eyes revealing her ghostly silver forehead. Frosty was the boss, and the most charming of the ghost witches with an infectious smile and a large hooked nose, predictably decorated with a hairy mole on its end.
Ash let go of Toby reluctantly, clearly cherishing the heat she had absorbed from his body. Her cheeks looked quite flushed, even for a ghost.
‘You would think she’d had enough heat from her bonfire,’ said Frosty, reprimanding Ash with a stern look. Frosty was not one for too much seriousness and laughed in the slightly scary high-pitched voice that only witches seemed capable of.
‘You looking for Charlie?’ asked Witch Jenkins, a very attractive ghost who had a particular soft spot for young Toby. And Toby knew it.
‘Hello, Jenkins,’ said Toby, blushing. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘She just popped out. She said you might be calling in. Come and sit with us.’ She patted the stool by her side.
As Toby sat down next to Witch Jenkins he saw a light grey mist spiral towards the ceiling from someone’s head. It was a ghost witch he had not seen before. It was quite distracting. He stared at it, puzzled. The ghost witch chuckled.
‘Hello. I’m Smokey.’ She held out her hand. Toby returned a firm and hearty handshake. Smokey sighed. ‘Your hands are so warm. I haven’t felt that kind of warmth since—’
‘Since your burning?’ offered the other ghost witches at the table.
‘My hand’s going cold,’ complained Toby.
Smokey sighed and reluctantly released Toby’s hand. The warmth flooded back.
‘You’re curious about this?’ said Smokey, pointing towards her smoking grey head. Toby nodded. ‘Well, it has everything to do with, uhm . . .’ She thought for a moment. ‘Let me put it this way. What do the history books tell you about witches?’
‘Uhm, broomsticks?’
Smokey laughed. ‘I guess that’s the common image but it’s not what I’m looking for. We were all burnt at the stake,’ she said as if it was cause to celebrate. She went from chuckling to full-blown laughter in an instant. She carried on laughing until tears rolled down her cheeks. Toby was confused. He couldn’t understand why being burnt at the stake was so funny. He remembered reading about it in history at school and it seemed a terrible way to die.
‘That must have been horrible,’ he said in surprise.
‘Girls, do you think it hurt?’ shouted Smokey through guffaws of laughter.
‘I’d stake my life on it,’ said one, laughing at her own joke.
‘I don’t recall. I think my head is full of ashes,’ said another. She banged the side of her skull with palm of her hand. A small shower of ash streamed out of her ear onto the floor.
‘Witchcraft! Can you believe it?’ she continued. ‘I haven’t got a magical bone in my body. I was a herbalist. That’s all.’ Smokey’s expression went from laughter to tears in an instant. ‘I had a baby girl, six months old.’ She wept.
Another witch comforted her with a ghostly hug whilst Toby cringed at the tears. He looked away briefly hoping she would stop crying.
‘Did it hurt you too?’ Toby asked Witch Jenkins clumsily.
‘No, I’m a true witch. It was like standing in a warm bath. But for the others . . . well, if you’re not a true witch . . .’ she shrugged, failing to finish the sentence.
Smokey had stopped crying. She pointed to each witch in turn.
‘Herbalist, bone setter, she loved cats and she loved pumpkin pie, that’s all – she grew pumpkins. Yet they trussed her up like a pig for the barbeque,’ said Smokey angrily. Witch Jenkins winked at Smokey in empathy. Smokey sighed and the anger filtered away as quick as it had arrived. ‘Most of the time we can laugh at it.’
‘I am sorry.’ Toby wished he hadn’t asked the question.
‘That’s okay. Most of us went by fire,’ said Smokey, wiping the last of the tears away. Just like the rise of the morning sun Smokey’s mischievous smile reappeared. ‘There’s a few of us here. You’ve met most of us except Ember. There’s Sooty and that’s Hot-stuff – they’re identical twins you know, another reason to call them witches, at least back in the bad old days.’ She went on naming ghost witches, ‘Chalky, Over-easy. And she was one of the last witches to be burnt – Lucky.’ They all waved back in turn with big ghostly grins on their faces.
Toby was pleased to see the smiles again. ‘Why is she called Lucky when she was burnt at the stake?’
Smokey started to laugh again. ‘Good question. Well, they tried to drown her at first, which was normal then. That didn’t work. Had she drowned they would have declared her a non-witch and just buried her,’ she tutted, ‘but, because she survived they decided, in their wisdom, that she was a witch so they burnt her instead. Special treatment, that is!’
‘Teacher’s pet,’ shouted someone else, and they all started to laugh again much to the relief of Toby, although he still didn’t understand why it was so funny.
‘Who’s that over there?’ asked Toby, pointing at an old witch with a very miserable look on her face.
‘Oh, that’s Misty. Misty as in miserable,’ said Ash, chuckling. ‘Unlike everyone else she wanted to be burnt at the stake . . . real witch, you see. But her townsfolk couldn’t do that ’cause burning witches had just been outlawed. So they banished her from the village instead.’
‘She died of old age. Been miserable ever since,’ said Sooty with a big grin. ‘As for dear old Doris . . .’
‘Ahh,’ chorused the witches in a sympathetic tone.
Toby looked into dark corner of the café. Lying on a table surrounded by wilte
d flowers was a barely visible body of a ghost. The image shimmered a little as if it was fading away and then returning.
‘Who is she?’
‘She’s our resident deader-than-dead ghost. We all go that way in the end,’ said Witch Jenkins to Toby. ‘Not even ghosts last forever. When it’s our time we kind of fall asleep and our bodies fade to nothing but air . . . lovely! I reckon it’s because we had such a tough passage from life to death.’
‘There is another way though,’ reminded Ember morosely. She shivered. Toby felt a mixture of curiosity and confusion. ‘Ghosts can be killed and it’s the worse death possible . . . zombie ghost!’ she finished, pulling a face of total disgust.
‘Shhh, Ember! Toby doesn’t need to know about that do you, my lovely?’ piped up Ash defensively. The very mention of zombie ghost seemed to turn the air foul with tension and fear. It was clearly a ghost’s worst nightmare; the very mention of it could turn a ghost party in full swing to a funeral dirge in a second. The room had gone deathly silent. The witch ghosts stared into their mugs.
‘A toast.’ Sooty raised her steaming mug of ghostly tea. ‘To our dear Doris: a beautiful death!’
With relief everyone raised their mugs. Spontaneously all the witches (well, nearly all of them apart from Misty) broke out in song:
‘Pink and blue and green ’n’ white flashes,
With a lick of fire you can delay time
It’s enough to choke old Hopkins
If you’re in doubt . . .’
‘This is terrible,’ laughed Witch Jenkins. ‘Who wrote this?’
‘Smokey,’ they all jeered in good humour. Even a ghost can get embarrassed and that was demonstrated perfectly as Smokey’s grey cheeks lit up with a sort of deeper greyish tinge that would probably be bright pink if she was alive.
‘Oh, thanks for the solidarity, girls,’ she mumbled, shuffling her feet in embarrassment.
‘You’re never going to win the Witches’ Coven Chorus,’ spat Misty cruelly, as if she was trying to demonstrate how miserable she truly was.
‘So, who can write?’ shouted Witch Jenkins ignoring Misty’s belittling words.
‘Not Smokey,’ chimed the twins.
‘Can you write, Toby? We desperately need someone to write a song,’ asked Witch Jenkins.
‘Enough, enough, it sounds like Halloween after a day’s worth of pumpkin juice,’ said Bloody Mary, the owner of the café. ‘The poor lad hasn’t had a drink yet and you’re hounding him for warmth and words. Toby, what will you like to drink now?’ she asked in a flowing Caribbean accent. Bloody Mary was neither a ghost nor a witch. She was a tall and muscular woman. Her upper arms were emblazoned with tattoos: a ship’s anchor, a mer-lady and dark, swirling shapes. Bloody Mary wore clothes that would have been fashionable in the seventeen hundreds. There was a rumour that she had married a Royal Navy sailor and settled in England for love, but all the ghost witches were too scared to ask. No one messed with Bloody Mary.
‘Hello, Mary,’ said Toby.
‘Why can’t you call me by my real name, Toby?’
‘Because it’s a little rude,’ said Toby sheepishly.
‘Ah!’ chorused the witches in a motherly tone. ‘Bless him!’ they clucked.
Ash put her ghostly arm around him and drew him in close. ‘You leave him alone. I’ll look after you,’ she said with a charming smile. Toby blushed redder than a very ripe tomato – again.
‘I think he fancies you,’ said Sooty mischievously.
6
The Stinky Coat
Much to Toby’s relief, Charlie arrived with a whoosh and a crack as she ran through the solid front door. She looked harassed.
‘I’m glad I’ve caught up with you, Toby. Afternoon, ladies,’ she said, looking at the witches suspiciously. They made a show of drinking from their generous mugs of tea, giggling far too loudly. Ash instantly let go of Toby and fumbled with her drink, knocking the contents over the table.
‘Hooray,’ they all shouted.
‘What have you lot got to be so happy about? This is not a solstice convention, you know.’ Charlie seemed grumpy. Her smile at seeing Toby slid from her face quicker than a drunken witch falling off her broomstick. Toby took the opportunity to move away from the table before Ash could cuddle him even more.
‘Bye bye, Toby,’ they all shouted. Toby blushed.
Charlie led Toby to the old worn-out bar. ‘Bloody Mary,’ said Charlie.
‘Is that a request for a drink or are you addressing me?’ asked Bloody Mary impishly. A few brave sniggers filtered over from the ghost witches. Charlie glared at Bloody Mary and said nothing.
‘Please yourself. One Bloody Mary drink coming up,’ she said haughtily. She turned to Toby and leant on the counter. The mer-lady tattoo on her shoulder moved as the muscle flexed. In a provocative tone Bloody Mary spoke to Toby but with one eye on Charlie. ‘Your usual, my dear?’ Charlie rolled her eyes and chewed on her lip. It looked painful – or it would have been if she was alive. Instead her lip turned a kind of shadowy black colour where the teeth had clamped down.
‘I’d better stick with a dandelion and burdock,’ said Toby, disappointed. Bloody Mary raised an eye brow in surprise. ‘I’m flying today,’ he said for clarity.
‘Right you are. I’ll bring them over. Go sit, sit, sit,’ she said, waving a dismissive hand at Charlie.
Charlie nodded at Toby and they headed for an empty table. Bloody Mary delivered the drinks and returned to the bar, and Charlie launched into a whole load of questions.
‘What happened? You just disappeared. Why didn’t you stay? The professor said you got caught by someone. What did he look like? Did he hurt you? The professor said you had a sore on your back. Toby, you’re not saying anything—’
‘Try listening and not talking,’ said miserable Misty, who was sitting quietly at a nearby table.
Charlie took a deep breath. ‘Tell me what you saw last night . . . take your time,’ she said to Toby.
Toby began.
‘I arrived at the window ledge shortly after you. I saw you talking to some other ghosts. And then I saw this big fat ghost. He wore medals on his chest and he was staring back at me. He chased after me.’
‘Is that why you fled?’
‘As fast as I could. Didn’t you see him?’ said Toby desperately. Charlie shook her head again.
‘I believe you, Toby, I really do. Look, I think it’s about time you knew something about the professor. Nobody knows about this, Toby, its top secret. It’s about where he came from.’
Toby listened eagerly. He knew so little of his uncle.
‘He is a very old man . . . centuries old.’ Charlie looked nervous. This seemed a difficult subject for her.
‘I know,’ said Toby, as if it were yesteryear’s news. ‘I saw a very fancy letter in his desk drawer. It was from Queen Elizabeth . . . and I think I saw him in the Arc Light with the queen.’
‘Oh, okay. Well, I think he is a lot older than that but it’s a good start,’ she finished, sounding relieved but uncertain. ‘I suppose I should have realised you would have some idea. The professor has met this ghost before, a long time ago. He’s called the General.’
‘They were friends?’
‘No – definitely not. They’ve been deadly enemies for centuries but it all came to a head about four hundred years ago.’ Charlie stopped briefly and looked at Toby. This was not an everyday conversation topic, at least not for a thirteen-year-old boy. But Toby was listening avidly.
‘The general by then was a very bad man. He hunted witches and killed them,’ she said, nodding over her shoulder. ‘He used to burn them. One day the professor caught him and put him on trial. People from hundreds of miles came to see . . . it wasn’t good though. The professor knew the evidence against him was just not strong enough.’
‘He wasn’t guilty?’
‘Oh, he was guilty all right. There was no one more deserving of punishment than the general. But the professor knew th
ey would lose the case unless he did something that was against every belief he had. Hundreds of people wanted to see the general get what he deserved – it was not a case they could lose. So someone made the evidence up,’ said Charlie, with an unexpected hint of pride and looking a little uncomfortable.
‘Was it you?’
‘Me? No, I wasn’t around then,’ whispered Charlie as she leant forward so only Toby could hear. ‘It was Smokey.’ Toby’s eyes shot wide open as he tried to look over Charlie’s shoulder at the witches at the corner table. ‘She was already dead by then, thanks to the general, but that didn’t stop her. She presented the evidence to the court by painting her face with mud and wearing a very stinky coat. The court believed her. They wanted to. The general had a reputation for bullying authorities too. Also Smokey smelt so bad they wanted her out of the court as soon as possible. Simply put, everyone wanted him gone.’ Charlie seemed to relax as Toby started to laugh.
‘Smokey?’
Charlie nodded.
‘That’s so naughty,’ he said between chuckles of laughter.
‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’ Charlie smiled in relief. ‘The professor had the general executed and, naturally, the general blames his own death on the professor.’
‘But he came after me!’
‘Err, I think it’s time for another drink,’ stuttered Charlie uncomfortably. She turned away from Toby. ‘Two more drinks, Bloody Mary,’ shouted Charlie.
Bloody Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise. The witches stopped laughing. They appeared to sense something was amiss. They started to whisper far too loudly.
‘Ah, the drinks, thanks,’ said Charlie pointedly. She stared at Bloody Mary with wide pleading eyes as the drinks landed heavily on the table.
‘Enjoy,’ said Bloody Mary flatly, returning to the bar without a second glance.
‘Well, it’s kind of complicated. You see . . . when . . . the professor . . .’ Charlie strung out her words desperately as if she was trying to think of the right phrase. But it was no use. ‘It’s adult stuff,’ she said lamely. She had never withheld anything from Toby before.
Toby Fisher and the Arc Light Page 4
