A Sprinkle of Sorcery

by Michelle Harrison

  From downstairs came a heavy dragging sound. Granny was opening the door.

  Moments later, the bedroom door creaked open, caught on a draught that weaselled its way through the Poacher’s Pocket like an unwanted guest. It carried the harsh sound of strangers’ voices.

  ‘The warders are here,’ whispered Betty, faint with dread.

  Chapter Four

  Deep, Deep Trouble

  ‘BETTY!’ FLISS SAID, SOUNDING CHOKED. She pointed a shaky finger. ‘That . . . the . . . thing!’

  The wisp! In her panic to hide Willow, Betty had almost forgotten the strange ball of light that was hovering near the corner where the girl was hidden.

  ‘We can’t hide it,’ she realised. It would be like trying to grab on to air. But they couldn’t get caught! Images of the prison pushed their way into Betty’s mind. The stink, the rats. The swinging noose on the gallows . . . No! She forced herself to focus, and stared round the room, looking for hiding places – the wardrobe? Trinket box? – before dismissing them all. Her eyes settled on an old oil lamp on the shelf and an idea flared. A daring idea, but one that might just work . . .

  ‘Willow,’ she whispered urgently, pointing to the lamp. ‘Can you make the wisp go in there?’

  ‘I-I’ll try, but . . .’

  ‘Good,’ said Betty. ‘Do it – now.’ She kicked off her boots and dived into bed, motioning for Fliss to do the same. Pulling up the blankets, she felt Charlie shivering next to her, and looked across at Fliss. Her older sister was white-faced, eyes fixed on the wisp, the only light in the dim room. Betty turned to watch it, too, catching faint, shaky breaths from Willow in the corner. Then thankfully it glided up and settled within the rounded glass, glowing gently, just like a flame.

  In the silence of the room, Betty could hear only the quick breathing of herself and her sisters. Then Granny’s voice rang out below, shrill and defiant.

  ‘I’m telling you, there’s no one here! Just me and my granddaughters asleep upstairs. Now, if you please—’

  A steely voice cut across her. ‘How many granddaughters?’

  ‘Three,’ Granny answered icily. ‘Why? We’ve nothing to hide, I tell you!’

  ‘Then you won’t mind us looking.’

  ‘Might I have your name?’ Granny enquired, the shrillness gone. Her voice was dangerously low. ‘So I know who to complain about?’

  ‘Warder Wild,’ came the sneering response. ‘This is Warder Goose. And you’ve nothing to complain about, lady. Let us do our job, then we’ll go.’

  ‘Since when has your job been to barge into innocent people’s homes in the dead of night?’ Granny demanded.

  ‘Our job is to keep order,’ Wild said coldly.

  ‘And keep people safe,’ another voice put in.

  That must be Goose, Betty thought. He sounded less sure of himself than Wild.

  ‘Fine,’ Granny growled. ‘But hurry up. I’m too old for this nonsense!’

  Under the bedsheets, Betty tensed, though a tiny part of her couldn’t help feeling proud of her fearless grandmother. Everyone on Crowstone was terrified of the warders – everyone except Granny, it seemed. But then most people were afraid of Granny, too, when she was in one of her tempers. If anyone could see those two off, it was her.

  ‘Search this place. I want every corner sniffed out, every cupboard and chimney looked in,’ Wild said. ‘But first I need everyone downstairs.’

  ‘What?’ Granny asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll ask the questions,’ Wild said curtly. ‘Everyone in the household here, now. Fetch them.’

  Betty looked at Fliss, afraid. The sisters knew all too well what the warders were capable of. Their own father had been on the wrong side of them once, and spent time in Crowstone Prison. And now warders were here, invading their home.

  There came the sound of movement at the foot of the stairs, then Granny called up. ‘Fliss? Betty? Ch—’

  ‘We’re coming,’ Fliss called out shakily. She slid out of bed, feet bare on the floorboards. Charlie followed, slipping her small hand into Fliss’s. Betty grabbed her dressing gown and slipped it on, glancing at the dark corner where Willow was hidden, and then to the shelf where the lamp was. To her horror, the wisp had begun drifting up, out of the glass neck.

  ‘Stay there!’ Betty hissed through gritted teeth. The shimmering orb bobbed back down.

  They filed downstairs in silence, entering the bar area. Passing the back door, Betty glanced out into the swirling fog. She could see nothing, but there were the sounds of barrels scraping across cobbles, and glass bottles rattling as Goose went about his search. She headed for the fireplace, where Granny and her sisters had gathered under Wild’s watchful gaze.

  He was a tall, heavy man, the type who made a room feel much smaller. Badger-like, shaggy hair reached his shoulders, and his face was mostly obscured by a thick beard. His narrowed eyes slithered over each of them, and Betty held her breath, waiting for them to linger on Fliss. Her older sister’s beauty often attracted attention, even sleep-rumpled as she was now. But Wild’s hard gaze settled on Charlie, and it was then Betty realised their mistake.

  ‘You,’ he said sharply. ‘Why aren’t you in your nightclothes?’

  Granny opened her mouth to object, then snapped it closed again as she got a proper look at Charlie. For the first time, Granny looked not just annoyed but unsettled as she realised something wasn’t quite right. The mood in the room shifted, tension crackling.

  When a warder comes sniffing, Granny always said, you make sure nothing stinks.

  Well, Wild certainly looked like there was a rat under his nose now – and not just an invisible one.

  Betty watched helplessly as Charlie glanced from her to Granny, and then to Wild.

  ‘I wet the bed,’ Charlie lied, without an ounce of shame. She shot an accusing look at Wild. ‘All the loud banging made me scared. So I got changed.’

  Wild raised an eyebrow. ‘That quickly?’

  Charlie crossed her arms. ‘Yep.’

  Wild took a step towards the stairs. Charlie, realising he was about to call her bluff, darted in front of him.

  ‘Fine! I didn’t wet the bed.’

  ‘You lied.’ Wild’s eyes gleamed, like a shark scenting blood. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I-I . . .’ Charlie glanced at Granny awkwardly. ‘I was burying something outside.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie!’ Granny said, with a groan. ‘Not again!’

  Charlie reached into her pocket and produced the small bundle of feathers Betty had seen earlier. Wild’s lip curled in disgust.

  ‘Only a fledgling, too,’ Charlie said mournfully.

  ‘Enough!’ Wild snapped. ‘Why did the three of you remain upstairs until you were called?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Betty asked, although she suddenly had a good idea of what Wild was getting at and was starting to wonder if this was mistake number two.

  ‘I mean if my children had been woken up by someone banging at the door in the dead of night, they’d have been out of their beds and wanting to know what was going on.’ His cold eyes flashed, darting over Betty and her sisters. ‘But not you three.’

  Nerves fluttered in Betty’s tummy. Wild was right: ordinarily, the girls wouldn’t have kept to their beds. Well, perhaps Fliss might, but Betty and Charlie would have been straight downstairs with Granny, trying to find out what was happening.

  ‘What exactly are you getting at, young man?’ Granny asked.

  Wild slammed a fist down on the bar, startling them all. ‘We’re looking for a child,’ he hissed. ‘A girl of nine years, small for her age, brown hair. A child – ’ he pointed at Charlie – ‘just like her.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know who you’re looking for?’ Granny asked, incredulous.

  ‘We have a description,’ Wild answered. ‘We can’t be expected to know every felon on that cursed island.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ Fliss blurted out, finding her voice at last. ‘This is our sister
! Not some . . . some runaway!’

  Granny looked flabbergasted. ‘You’re not suggesting that Charlie . . . ?’ She shook herself. ‘We have birth papers proving exactly who she is!’

  ‘Get them.’ Wild snapped his fingers. ‘Now!’

  Granny’s face began turning an angry shade of red. With a low growl, she went over to the stairs, stamping even harder than usual. Hot on her heels was Goose, who’d now finished searching the yard. Betty’s stomach did an unpleasant squiggle as she thought about Willow – and the wisp – hidden in the girls’ bedroom. She was beginning to wish very hard that she had never let Willow into the Poacher’s Pocket, or laid eyes on her in the first place.

  A shout from Goose made her blood curdle. ‘Up here!’

  Betty’s chest was tight with fear. Please, please don’t let him have found Willow . . .

  ‘Move,’ Wild commanded, eyes flashing triumphantly. ‘All of you, where I can see you.’

  One by one they stumbled up the stairs. Betty forced one foot in front of the other, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. This was it. They were caught. Done for. Fliss took her hand and squeezed it, hard. But, when they reached the top, it was the kitchen Goose was in, rifling through the cupboard next to the sink. Betty glanced at Fliss in confusion, then her eyes went to Granny who’d appeared at the door with an old biscuit tin under her arm.

  ‘Meddling magpies! Is this really necessary?’ Granny blustered, but a quavering note had crept into her voice.

  Betty’s heart sank. Why did Granny seem so shifty all of a sudden?

  Goose had swept aside tins of boot polish and a couple of cleaning rags, and a familiar smell wafted out of the cupboard.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Wild, reaching past them. ‘What have we here?’

  Betty stared at the small tin in Wild’s hand . . . and the dozens of identical tins piled neatly in the furthest corner of the cupboard. Now she knew what that distinctive smell was.

  ‘Granny!’ Fliss gasped. ‘Where did all this tobacco come from? And why is it here?’

  ‘Er,’ said Granny, flustered now. ‘See, well . . . it was going cheap, and—’

  ‘I’ve reason to believe these are smuggled goods,’ said Wild.

  ‘Granny!’ Charlie said reproachfully.

  Smuggled? Betty stared at Granny in disbelief. Surely not! But the guilty look on Bunny Widdershins’ face said it all.

  ‘Are we . . . are we in trouble?’ Fliss asked nervously.

  Wild didn’t answer, but continued to search the kitchen. Betty’s uneasiness grew. Contraband! The penalties for handling smuggled goods in Crowstone were harsh, but perhaps the warders might turn a blind eye if they were more concerned about the missing girl.

  A distinct thud sounded from one of the bedrooms. Wild stopped his rummaging, head tilting like a hound.

  ‘Wait here,’ he ordered, then left the room. A moment later came the familiar creak of Granny’s bedroom door, the groan of floorboards being trodden on, walls being rapped for secret hiding places. Betty’s knees shook. The girls’ room would be next. What if Wild reached into the corner where Willow was? He would feel something there even if he couldn’t see her – and then the game would be up.

  Betty looked at each of her family in turn. Granny’s face was pale with shock. Fliss was also looking anxious, nibbling her lower lip. No one spoke, and the only thing Betty could hear above her own rapid breathing was the crackle of paper as Charlie’s hand delved into a bag of raisins, occasionally sneaking her hand down to her pocket to feed a couple to Hoppit. She appeared surprisingly calm, but Betty knew she was tense from the speed at which she was chewing.

  Wild strode back along the landing to the girls’ room, sending Betty’s pulse racing even faster. She heard the click of the wardrobe door, clothes being swept aside. She thought of Willow, trying not to move or even breathe in case she gave herself away. Could Wild sense that he wasn’t alone in the room? Agonising seconds crawled by, in which Betty tried to think of some kind of distraction. Was there a way she could draw him back into the kitchen without rousing his suspicion? And then he cried out as a yowl cut through the air. Claws scratched over wood, and Oi shot past the kitchen door, fur on end.

  ‘Nothing but a mangy cat.’ Wild reappeared, his lips pressed into a sour line as he nursed a bleeding hand. He hadn’t found any trace of Willow, Betty realised, as her knees began to stop wobbling, and Charlie’s chewing slowed.

  ‘Come on,’ he spat to Goose, turning to leave. ‘We’ve wasted enough time here.’

  Betty released a shaky, relieved breath, feeling her heart beginning to slow.

  And then a small, glowing circle of light trailed into the kitchen after Wild like a ball of yarn. All eyes fixed on it in stunned silence. The wisp skittered curiously over the kitchen floor, weaving this way and that, before finally settling next to Charlie.

  Betty knew then that they were in deep, deep trouble.

  Chapter Five

  Arrest!

  GRANNY WAS THE FIRST TO react. The biscuit tin fell from her hand and landed with a resounding clang on the kitchen tiles, startling them all. Wide-eyed, she muttered under her breath and hastily made the sign of the crow. Piles of letters and papers scattered at her feet, but no one attempted to pick them up. Betty, realising that they needed to act as though this was the first time they’d seen the wisp, caught her sisters’ attention, and the three of them made the crow sign, too.

  Wild’s grip on his baton tightened so much that his knuckles turned white. A peculiar look crossed his face, leaving Betty to wonder whether he was excited or afraid. It was one thing seeing wisps floating around on the marshes, but quite another to find them inside a home. It made everything seem a little less certain. A little less safe.

  ‘Aha!’ Wild said hoarsely. But he made no move to approach Charlie, or the wisp, which was now buzzing round her pocket . . . the pocket holding an invisible rat. Goose backed away, pressing himself against the kitchen table and uttering silent words that might have been a prayer.

  ‘Charlie?’ Granny croaked. ‘Move away from it!’ Bravely, she grabbed a wooden spoon and approached Charlie, trying to wave the wisp away. It flitted out of reach like a marsh midge, before returning to pester at Charlie’s pocket.

  Betty’s heart was drumming now; Wild was already suspicious, and the wisp was making them all look guiltier than ever.

  ‘We were right,’ Wild purred, his eyes gleaming happily. The same way Charlie’s did, Betty thought, when she was taken to Hubbards’ sweetshop across the green.

  ‘Right about what, exactly?’ Fliss asked. ‘We’ve nothing to do with this . . . this thing! Whatever you’re thinking, you’ve got it all wrong!’

  Wild’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t think so. You see, the child we’re searching for has . . . a certain way with wisps. And this is proof that she’s the one we’re looking for: the runaway from Torment.’

  ‘I ain’t from Torment!’ Charlie spluttered.

  ‘Now just you hang on,’ Granny interjected. ‘That there is my granddaughter, and I’ll prove it!’ She bent down, knees clicking, and began to rifle through the papers scattered on the floor. Quickly, Fliss knelt, too, and began to help.

  Betty watched, uneasiness squatting in the pit of her stomach. It’ll be all right, she told herself. We can prove who Charlie is . . .

  ‘Here!’ Fliss pounced, brandishing a piece of paper under Wild’s nose. ‘Charlie’s birth papers. These prove she was born here. She’s never been to Torment!’

  ‘So there!’ Charlie crowed. ‘Hah!’

  But Wild’s gloating expression remained as he cast his eyes dismissively over the paper. ‘This proves nothing. It’s just words.’

  ‘What?’ Granny spluttered. ‘But it’s her birth paper! How can it not prove—?’

  ‘All it proves is the birth of a child,’ Wild continued. ‘Not who that child is. This, on the other hand – ’ he gestured to the wisp – ‘speaks volumes. For now, it’s all the
proof we need.’

  ‘For what?’ Granny thundered.

  ‘For taking her back to Torment,’ Wild finished.

  Charlie’s head snapped up, eyes full of questions. And, if Betty wasn’t mistaken, a hint of excitement. ‘You’re taking me to Torment?’

  ‘You can’t!’ Fliss gasped. ‘It’s full of . . . full of crooks!’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Wild. He nodded at the stash of tobacco. ‘You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? You took the stolen goods in exchange for hiding her, didn’t you?’

  ‘No!’ Granny said, horrified. ‘We’ve nothing to do with missing people from Torment!’

  But Wild wasn’t the only warder here, and Betty wasn’t about to hand Charlie over easily. ‘Sir,’ she said to Goose. ‘Please listen. My sister’s not who you’re looking for. If you don’t believe us, ask anyone in Crowstone! And we have photographs,’ she said, her voice gathering strength. ‘I mean, not that many, because we’ve never had much money, but if we could just show you . . .’

  Goose regarded her, his expression a mixture of pity and uncertainty. He ran his tongue over dry lips. ‘Perhaps we should listen,’ he offered feebly. ‘Perhaps it’s not her . . .’

  Wild shook his head. ‘If we’re wrong, we’ll return her. But somehow I don’t think we are.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Fliss. ‘The black feather! If she was from Torment, she’d be marked.’ She swooped on Charlie, pushing her sleeve up. ‘And she isn’t!’

  Wild’s eyes flickered to Charlie’s arm, but his expression didn’t change. ‘Proving only that she hasn’t been branded yet,’ he said evenly. ‘All the more reason to do it as quickly as possible upon her return.’

  Betty shared a horrified look with Fliss. Their little sister, branded with a black feather? It was too terrible to think of.

  She glanced helplessly at Goose, but already she knew he was too weak to sway Wild. Don’t panic, she told herself. It’s all just a big mix-up, and soon they’ll realise that.