by Em Lynas
“Twink! There is no Marietta! Which means she can’t let us out. We could be trapped in here forever because the golem will not let us out because it is not his job and it’s not on his bit of paper. We’ll starve! We have to win to stay alive!”
She is correct. I act calm in the hope my thumb will believe I am calm and NOT STRESSED.
I take the bottle from her. The glass feels greasy. The label is grimy. There’s a picture of a tiny purple flower, but I can’t make out the name. There’s writing on the back too. The instruction.
“We should inspect each bottle,” I say. “Smell each cauldron and read each instruction. Solve each problem and GET OUT.”
The second bottle has a picture of a large green leaf on the label. The sort of leaf you rub on a nettle sting. The name is “Dose of Dock”. We have LOADS of those dock plants around Granny’s nettle fields. I am HOPEFUL! I am not IGNORANT. I have ac-chew-al knowledge!
I read the back.
“If prickly lumps be your complaint,
Skin red with sores and itches,
You must make this potion smooth,
To prove that you are witches.
Boil and simmer camomile,
Camphor and aloe,
Stir and whisk from thin to thick,
To make the unguent yellow.”
I smile. “Aha! Dock leaf is definitely for itchy lumps.”
I pick up the third bottle and read the label.
“Solution of Sage.”
The leaf is small and dark green. It looks slightly furry, but that might just be the dirt. I read the back.
“If belly belches and bottom burps,
Are disrupting thy digestion,
Add sage to clove and catnip,
To brew a green concoction.”
Jess is giggling. There’s a bead of sweat on her forehead. She wipes it off. I’m warming up too. The fires are getting hotter. “I know someone who needs a cure for bottom burps,” she says.
I don’t ask who. She tells me.
“My mam! Wouldn’t it be funny if sage cured bottom burps because Ms Sage is called sage?” The giggles turn hysterical. I think the threat of Terrors has mushed her brain.
I inspect the first one again. The one that has no name.
“Boiling coriander, caraway, dill,
Lavender and honeysuckle definitely will,
Brew the bluest formulation,
Creating a taste of infatuation.”
“Infatuation,” says Jess. She says it like this: in-fat-u-ation. There is an increase in giggling. “It’s a fat potion!”
I’m not sure she’s right. I’ve heard that word before somewhere. The contents of all four cauldrons are starting to boil already and steam is wafting upwards. The potions are green, purple, orange and brown.
I sniff the orange. Jess does too. She wrinkles her nose up. “This has to be a sort of medicine because, urgh, it smells disgusting, which means it will taste disgusting because medicine always tastes disgusting. It’s a medicine rule.”
The steam from all four cauldrons is now filling the room. A drip of sweat drips off the end of my nose. “Er, is it me or is it getting really hot in here?” I say.
“It is,” says Jess. “Uh-oh. Twink! Look!” She’s doing a look from The Book of Scared.
I immediately check out the ice walls. They are melting! Oh, warty boils! This is not good. This could lead to a STRESSFUL SITUATION!
“We’d better hurry up!” says Jess. “EEK!” She points at a black and hairy leg sticking out of the ice.
Oh dungpats!
It is TWITCHING!
Summary:
The potential possibility of DANGER and PERIL is now REAL DANGER AND REAL PERIL!
Jess is now doing a look from The Book of Terrified! I suspect I am too.
“It’s all going to melt and they’re all going to eat all of us,” she says. There is panic in her voice. There is panic in her actions. She grabs the bottle of dock and holds it over the first cauldron, the purple potion.
“Does this one go in this one?” she says. “Or this one?” She holds it over the orange. “Which one, Twink? Hurry up. Choose!”
“Why am I the one to choose?”
“Because I didn’t grow up with a witch who makes potions!” she says.
Good point. I try to think. I try to think of Granny’s medicine shelves. Pictures flash through my mind. Potions and lotions. Tonics and tinctures. Balms and liniments. Creams and ointments. There were so many! I have it!
“Jess, Granny’s nettle-sting ointment is bright yellow and it smells like mothballs. So if any of them smell like mothballs it might be the one that needs the Dose of Dock. Which one smells like mothballs?”
“How should I know?” says Jess. “I don’t know what mothballs smell like. I don’t even know what mothballs are.”
“They smell like a smell that moths don’t like,” I say. I sniff the cauldrons. “They smell like this one.” I point to the green cauldron. The liquid’s bubbling, the colour reminds me of Granny’s spinach soup, dark green and lumpy. “I am one hundred per cent almost certain that we should add this,” I hold up the Dose of Dock, “to that.”
I act certainty in the hope that my certainty is correct.
“Go on then,” says Jess. “What are you waiting for?”
I drip in a drop of dock. Nothing happens. I dribble in more drips. More and more. I empty the bottle. The cauldron hisses and the liquid bubbles and the flames underneath flare up. We step back.
“Maybe I was wrong?”
“I hope not,” says Jess. “Maybe we haven’t followed all of the instructions.”
I check the back of the bottle. “Stir and whisk from thin to thick.”
“I can do that,” she says. She stirs the liquid with her spoon. It thickens. She stops and says, “Witchwood, witchwood, do the deed. Change to be what I now need.”
Her spoon turns into a large metal whisk. She whisks fast and the lumps disappear. The spinach-green turns to grass-green and tiny bubbles form and collect into one big bubble that goes POP and suddenly the green turns sunshine-yellow. The fire goes out and the liquid stops boiling.
“Hurrah! Success!” cries Jess. “One down, two to—” There’s a funny noise, like an out-of-tune guitar string being plucked. “Uh-oh. Twink! Look!”
I look.
The ice is melting faster, dripping, pooling on the floor, and hundreds of spider legs are wiggling. Thousands of spider eyes are blinking! My heart races. My thumb prickles. I quickly say the rhyme and it stops.
“They’re ALL alive!” says Jess.
“They can’t be,” I say.
“They ARE!” Jess screams. A Toadspit Terror falls to the floor. Hanging from a thread. It plucks it. A vibration plays along the silk. It sounds like the lowest of low notes on a piano. Thruuuuuumb. It dies away. The spider drops to the floor. It creeps towards us and things have just turned NASTY.
“No wonder Greats-Grandma Ursula blocked the East Wing. Marietta was mad to create this trial by torture!” I aim my spoon. “Witchwood, witchwood, do the deed. Change to be what I now need!” It changes into a rolled-up newspaper.
“That’s not going to help,” says Jess. She changes her spoon to a large net with a very long handle.
She scoops up the Toadspit Terror. It struggles. Its legs stick through the net. “We have to put the other fires out before they all defrost.”
She points to where a huge, hand-sized spider is struggling to free itself from the ice. It has ten long legs and one shiny black eye.
“Hurry up and do the next one. I’ll take care of the spiders.” She turns the net over and over to stop the first spider escaping.
I pick up both bottles. Which one can I do? The purple flower with no name or the Solution of Sage? I fear guessing will be involved. I fear there will be the possibility of failure.
I inspect the purple flower. It looks familiar. Is it one of Granny’s? From the garden? From the greenhouse? From the
window boxes? I don’t know!
“Twink!” The one-eyed spider has escaped. It plucks its thread too. The noise is louder, deeper. Thruuuuuummmmbb. The vibration upsets my heart.
I rub the label, to see if I can clean it and read the name and then suddenly, as I rub the flower, I remember.
“Jess! This might be Oberon’s love potion purple pansy flower! From my book. I think. Maybe. Possibly.”
Jess yells, “That’s fantastic. Stop talking and add it to the right cauldron.” She chases the one-eyed spider with the net.
“But even if it is Oberon’s flower how do I know which cauldron contains a love potion? How do I know which one is the right cauldron? What if I get it wrong?!”
“You’re panicking,” says Jess, frantically looking from wall to wall, ready for the next terror. “Stop panicking!”
I act calm. Again. I read the instructions.
“Boiling coriander, caraway, dill,
Lavender and honeysuckle definitely will,
Brew the bluest formulation,
Creating a taste of infatuation.”
I sniff the cauldron on the left, orange. I’m smelling cloves. Granny’s cure for toothache.
I sniff the brown. Toffee? Like toffee-apple toffee. I love toffee-apple toffee but would that be in a love potion?
I sniff the purple. I sniff again. I’m getting hints of Granny’s lavender patch, sniffles of the honeysuckle around the cottage door. “This one!”
Jess dashes around to the other side of the cauldrons. “There’s another terror on the loose!” she screams. “Hurry up!”
I drip Oberon’s flower into the purple potion.
“Jess, do I stir? It didn’t say stir. Should I stir?” I don’t stir. The liquid changes. Bubblier. It turns clearer. Thinner. Bluer. The fire goes out. More success! Jess skids past me, sliding on the icy water. I grab her. I steady her.
“Two down, one to go,” I say. A spider scuttles my way. “Eeek!” I jump on to the table. “Jess! There!”
Jess swishes the net under the table. She catches the new spider but loses two others. She swipes again and gains two and loses one. It backs away towards a dripping ice wall. There’s another wriggling above it. It plucks a thread with its free legs. The thread leads up to the top corner and disappears through the wall. The room fills with thrumming. Thruuuuuummmmmmbbbb.
“I think he’s calling for reinforcements,” says Jess. “Uh-oh. He’s staring at me!” she cries. “I don’t like it when they stare at me. Hurry up!”
I have one bottle and two cauldrons. I ignore the peril and focus on the bottle. Which cauldron should I choose?
“I have sage left and I have no idea which cauldron to add it to!” I say.
“Read it,” says Jess.
“If belly belches and bottom burps,
Are disrupting thy digestion,
Add sage to clove and catnip,
To brew a green concoction.”
AHA!
“It’s clove, Jess! Clove!”
I pull the cork out and, after a quick sniff at the orange cauldron, to make sure I did ac-chewally smell cloves in there earlier, I tip in the entire contents.
The orange turns dark blue! I was wrong! This is a DISASTER! I have NO SAGE LEFT to add to the other cauldron! I cannot FIX THIS! Suddenly the potion pops with tiny bubbles. As each bubble pops it releases yellow liquid that swirls into the blue and soon the blue is green and the last two fires flare up then the flames die down and down and all four fires are out.
“We’ve done it!” I shout. I shout it again in the hope the golem will hear and let us out. “We’ve done it, Clump!”
“Uh-oh,” says Jess. More spiders are spilling from the melting ice. They’re landing on skinny legs, blinking huge eyes in our direction. They’re plucking and scuttling and scaring and thrumming more thrumbs and I wish they would stop it because it really does sound like they are calling for every spider in the school to join them.
We back towards the door as the thrumming gets louder. Every thread is shaking. It’s so loud it’s making my heart beat faster.
“Why isn’t the door open?” cries Jess.
“We won! LET US OUT!”
Summary:
We are screaming. The Terrors are advancing. We scream some more.
“YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR FIRST TRIAL,” dooms Clump. I feel a jingle on my wrist; the first charm changes into a potion bottle as the door swings open and we fall out backwards. It slams shut. We are on one side. The Terrors are on the other.
We can’t stop screaming but then Jess’s screams turn to giggles and she splutters, “It’s like Mam says, ‘If you’re not dead, you’ve learned something.’ I will never ever forget the smell of moth balls!”
Now my screams turn to laughs. They won’t stop. I believe I am hysterical.
We’re back in the Room of Choosing. We are alone then suddenly the purple door flies open making us jump. Arwen stumbles out holding a giant pencil. She leans against the wall and slides down on to the floor. She is not neat and tidy. She is a mess.
We run over. The rhyme on the door is Draw and sketch to win the test. Survive and you might be the best.
“D-drawing,” stutters Arwen. “So much d-drawing. Faster and faster and faster and faster and faster before they eat you.”
“Before what eats you?” says Jess.
“S-s-scarabites,” says Arwen.
“Scarabites!” Jess does a Shalini squeak of fear. “Twink, Marietta has set up a Dungeon of Death!”
“This is your fault,” says Arwen. She is, of course, meaning me.
HOW? I am about to argue and point out that this is all DOMINIQUE’S fault but the yellow door opens and Shalini and Dominique run out. They’re covered in shredded leaves and grey dust. Shalini’s hat is lopsided and her plait is twisted round her neck. Dominique is also a mess. Her normally neat black curls are bushy with bits of plant and her tie is missing.
Shalini is ac-chew-ally glaring at Dominique. Her glares are improving. This one is very impressive. “You are not the boss of me, Dominique Laffitte!” she says. “I do not have to go into every room with you. And I do not want to be part of a Best and Brightest group. Even if I do get a badge.”
“Your decision is flawed,” says Dominique. “The Best and Brightest must stick together.” She’s scratching her hand. It’s bumpy and red as if she’s been stung. There’s another lump on her neck. She needs some of the ointment from the potions room.
“I don’t care,” says Shalini.
Jess looks at me and I look at Jess. We have never heard Shalini sound so cross. Ac-chew-ally, that is not true. She was very cross with us after we broke the Gellica Charm and Doomed the School a few weeks ago. But we have never heard her be so cross with Dominique.
Arwen pulls herself up and runs over to Dominique. “Don’t go in the drawing room, Dominique. There are scarabites!”
“And there are Toadspit Terrors in the potions room,” Jess tells Shalini.
“Toadspit Terrors!” says Shalini. “Scarabites!” Dominique is forgotten.
“There could be anything behind those other doors,” continues Jess. “A vicious veraptor or a swarm of buzzers or a…”
I stop Jess because Shalini’s eyes are growing bigger and bigger. “We’re all going to DIE!” she says.
Dominique tsks. Tsk. “That would not be allowed,” she says.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “If this place isn’t deadly dangerous then why did Greats-Grandma Ursula close it? Answer me that.”
Dominique does one of her superior looks. “You are being overly dramatic as usual,” she says.
How rude. I am merely stating the obvious. Then, as if to confirm the need for even more drama than the drama she is accusing me of, there’s a grumble from behind each door and the floor vibrates.
“THE ROOMS ARE BEING RESET. YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO CHOOSE THE NEXT TRIAL. TEN.”
The timer turns over in the mirror.
�
�We should share our knowledge,” says Shalini. “That way we can all get out of here safely.”
“NINE.”
“I have no wish to share my knowledge,” says Dominique. “I shall succeed and win the charm. It will be proof to all that the Best and Brightest witch at Toadspit Towers is definitely I.”
“EIGHT.”
“Dominique. You’re a twit,” says Jess. “This is not about winning. It’s about surviving. Your B&B obsession is going to get you into bother.”
“SEVEN.”
“What if we find a way to turn off the golem?” says Shalini. “He has to be behind one of these doors. She pushes on the black and white doors. They don’t budge.
I have a thought. It could be helpful.
“Clump is ignorant! He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know I am a Toadspit. Maybe he’ll obey me if he knows that?”
I face the hulk of clay in the glass.
“SIX.”
“Heed me, golem. I am Twinkle Toadspit, wearer of the Rainbow Hat of Awesomeness and bearer of The Witchwood Tree Charm.” I shake my bracelet at him, showing the silver tree charm.
“FIVE.”
“I am the great-great-great-granddaughter of Marietta Toadspit, creator of the Trials of Torture. I have inherited you. I OWN YOU!”
“FOUR.”
“I OWN the instruction in your mouth. I order you to STAND DOWN.”
“I don’t think he cares,” says Jess.
“THREE.”
The doors fly open.
“I order you to DESIST!” This is a hands-on-hips moment so I put them there.
“Give up, Twink,” says Shalini. “It’s not working.”
“TWO.”
“You are foolish,” says Dominique. She sends me a sneer as she steps through the red door.
“Typical Twig-twit Toadspit,” says Arwen. “It’s all about the drama.” She follows Dominique, copying the sneer.
“ONE.”
Shalini grabs my left elbow. Jess grabs the right.
“Come on,” says Jess. Let’s do the blue door.”
I do not move. I am experiencing annoyance. I do feel as owner, technically, of the school I should be obeyed a bit more by the school’s minions. This conforming and complying malarkey seems to all be one way.
