by Kaye Umansky
Clover waited while his footsteps crunched around the side of the house and down the path. Would he?
“Aaargh!”
“Oh, sir! Sir! How did you manage to do that, sir …”
Yes. He had trapped his fingers in the gate.
Clover firmly shut the door.
Chapter Nine
I’m Good If I Do Say So Myself
Time for a second visit to Castle Coldiron, where events are continuing apace.
This time, we are in a boudoir—a room full of purple drapes, scarlet cushions, and scattered shoes. Mesmeranza, clad in a green velvet robe, is seated at her dressing table in front of a large oval mirror with an ornate gilt frame. The mirror is very flattering. It gives out a candlelit glow, irons out wrinkles, reduces noses, and generally doesn’t so much reflect as improve.
Miss Fly is perched on a hard chair by the door. It is late afternoon, and she has been up since dawn, woken by a posse of cats demanding breakfast, closely followed by a large chunk of her bedroom ceiling falling down.
Let’s listen in.
“So,” said Miss Fly, dabbing her poor sore nose, which if anything was even redder than before. She could no longer pronounce her T’s or her M’s. “Did id go well last nide? With the boy?”
“It went very well, Fly” said Mesmeranza. “Though if I do say so myself, I’m good.” She picked up a lipstick, leaned closer to the mirror, and began to paint her lips.
“Perfect,” murmured the flattering mirror, the voice coming from somewhere deep within the glass. “Red is soooo good on you. If I may suggest, perhaps a touch more rouge?”
“Did you find oud everything you—achoo!—need do know?” inquired Miss Fly.
“Not quite everything. He couldn’t tell me anything about the girl. But I was right about one thing. He adores cake. I told you, didn’t I? Root vegetables indeed. I don’t know why I bother listening to you; I’m always right. Tell Mrs. Chunk this one must be simply irresistible. White sugar icing with a cherry on top. Write it down.”
Miss Fly took out her little black book and noted it down.
“He didund recognize you, then?”
“Of course not! How could he? I am the mistress of disguise, you know that. Anyway, I wiped his memory with the Hypnospecs. I must say, they worked brilliantly well. Grandmother’s inventions were built to last. She was a very good Witch, you know.”
“Don’d you bean bad?”
“Don’t tell me what I mean. I mean she was good at being bad. Bad, devious, and clever. Like me.”
Mesmeranza picked up a silver-backed hair brush and began to brush her long black locks.
“Ooh, yes,” whispered the mirror. “That’s it … the hair now, the beautiful hair …”
“So the boy’s definitely looking after the coddage again this year? You found that oud?”
“Actually, he didn’t seem too sure.”
“So you didund find out whad you wanded to know, then.”
Crash! Miss Fly jumped as Mesmeranza slammed down her hairbrush.
“Typical! This is so typical of you, Fly! Casting doubts, picking holes! Just stop your whittering and concentrate on your own side of things. Did you find the Umbrella? And the Wand?”
“Nod yed,” confessed Miss Fly. “Id really is a derrible mess up there. Id’s all dark. I cand see a thing. You should ged a ban with a card in do sord id oud.”
“A what?”
“A ban. With a card.”
“Oh, a man with a cart! Do speak properly. It’s like having a conversation with a drain.”
“Bud I’b jusd saying. All those old boxes and chests. They’re baking the floor sag. If you god id a ban with a card …”
“Stop telling me what to do! The Plan, Fly! That’s what I must concentrate on. I can’t get a man in now. The Fayre is nearly upon us. Demelza will be out of the way, and that’s when I strike.”
“But the castle’s cubbing down around our ears! By bedroob’s under the attic, and the ceiling’s falling down in chunks …”
“Don’t bother me with trivia! I let you live here rent free, lovely apartment, fabulous views. I even let you keep your wretched cat posse, getting their filthy hairs everywhere. And in return, I require some light secretarial duties. Is that too much to ask?”
Mesmeranza snatched up a silver compact and began furiously powdering her nose.
“That’s it,” murmured the mirror, breathlessly. “A little touch of powder … ooh … gorgeous …”
“I suppose nod,” sighed Miss Fly. Her nose dripped onto her little black book.
“I should think not. I take it you haven’t found the Poncho?”
“No.”
“Well then, I suggest you go and put your oldest, horridest clothes on and head back up to the attic. Oh, wait a minute! I’ve just noticed, you’re wearing them already. By the way, I take it you mentioned the dungeon inspection to Chunk?”
“No,” said Miss Fly. Nervously, her hand went to her cardigan pocket. Down there, amongst all the screwed up hankies, was yet another note. It had been slipped under her door at some point during the night.
“Well, do so. Tell him I shall be down later today.”
“All ride,” said Miss Fly, sounding like she wanted to weep.
“And do stop sounding so moany. I do believe your continual carping is giving me wrinkles. See? There’s a new one, right here. Your fault.”
Crossly, Mesmeranza leaned towards the mirror. Carefully, she lifted her hand and placed a red, sharp-ended finger over the small furrow between her eyebrows.
“Hold still …” purred the mirror. “Won’t take a moment …”
Mesmeranza kept still, with her finger on the crease. She kept it there for a long moment, staring hard at her reflection.
“There,” whispered the mirror. “All done.”
Mesmeranza took the finger away. The furrow had vanished. Her brow was perfectly smooth.
That’s magic mirrors for you.
Chapter Ten
A Cozy Place to Be
“Dumplin’s,” said Mrs. Eckles, her mouth full of them. “I loves ‘em, I do. Know what my grandmother said once? You can beat an egg, but you can’t beat a dumplin’. ‘Ow we laughed. Well, we ’ad to make the most of ‘er jokes, she didn’t make ’em often.”
They were sitting at the kitchen table eating supper. The curtains were drawn, a fire burned merrily in the hearth, and the lamps were lit. The kettle sang on the stove. Outside, in the forest, night was falling, and the owls were out. Neville was asleep in his basket, sides heaving and claws flexing as he murdered dream mice. The kitchen was a cozy place to be.
“What was she like?” asked Clover. “Was she strict?”
“Who, Grandmother? Oooh, not much of a child lover. Spent most of ‘er time workin’ on ‘er inventions behind closed doors. You wouldn’t want to cross her, ’specially when she’d been messin’ about with ’er poisons. She didn’t always wash her ‘ands. We ’ad to be careful at tea time.”
“She’d poison her own grandchildren?”
“Oh, not badly. Just enough to give us a belly ache. We was s‘posed to spot it. You never knew where she put it. Could be in the parsnips or the trifle. We always ran a safety spell to be on the safe side. If it glowed orange, you didn’t ask fer second ’elpin’s.” Mrs. Eckles chuckled and stared at Clover. “Don’t look so shocked. It were all part o’ the trainin’. She said you never know who’s out to get yer, and she was right.”
“But she was your grandmother!”
“Sometimes relatives is the worst. And she was a Witch. It’s all fair game to a Witch. They experiments on anybody around.”
“They do?” Clover quickly put down her fork.
Mrs. Eckles gave another little chuckle and speared another dumpling.
“Well, some of ‘em do. Ah, don’t worry, I ain’t like that. You’ll notice I always washes me ’ands when I been out pickin’.”
“Did you get everything you wante
d?” asked Clover, nodding at the battered old basket by the door. It was filled to the brim with toadstools and bunches of strange herbs she didn’t recognize.
“Pretty much. Nice patch o’ Funglewart by the stream. I was lucky to spot it. Couldn’t find any Slipweasel, but I’m hopin’ there’s some left in the cupboard. If it ain’t slipped out through a crack. Sneaky stuff, Slipweasel.”
“Oh—speaking of that, I think this might be the key,” said Clover, suddenly remembering and taking it from her apron pocket.
“It is!” cried Mrs. Eckles, snatching it. “Clever girl! Where’d you flnd it?”
“I didn’t. Wilf did. It was by the gate, he said.”
“Well, there’s an omen. It’s been a day o’ good luck fer me. Neville, the Funglewart, and now the key. Three things. Bodes well for the Fayre. Reckon I’ll rake it in this year. Need to an’ all. Lot o’ repairs need doin’ to the cottage.”
Mrs. Eckles tucked the key into her pocket, speared yet another dumpling, and set to with renewed energy.
“Mrs. Eckles?” said Clover. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mmm?”
“If you’re a Witch, why don’t you just magic yourself some money? Or say a—I don’t know—thatch repairing spell? Or something?”
Mrs. Eckles appeared to give this some thought. She set down her fork and sat chewing. Then she said, “T‘wouldn’t be right. That’d just be benefitin’ meself, see. That’s not what it’s all about. A Witch is there for others. Although there are those I could mention who don’t see it that way.”
“So magic’s not an option,” said Clover.
“Oh, it’s an option. I could do it. But I prefers not to. You shouldn’t waste yer energies on run o’ the mill stuff. That’d be Misuse O’ Power. One o’ the first rules in the book. Course there’s someone I could mention who skips that chapter.”
She gave Clover a hopeful little glance. It was very clear that she was dying to tell who the someone was.
“Like who?” asked Clover.
“Mesmeranza,” spat Mrs. Eckles, through tight lips. “Me rotten sister. She’s never stuck with the rules, that one.”
At that point, Neville’s yellow eyes snapped open, and he made an odd noise that was a sort of cross between a growl and a whimper. His fur stood up first—then the rest of him. He arose from his basket and slunk across to the door, where he sat, pointedly glaring.
“He wants to go out,” said Mrs. Eckles. “Let him.”
Clover opened the door. Outside, there was a cold wind blowing up. It sneaked through the door, causing the candles to flicker. Neville vanished into the dark. Clover stood there for a moment, peering into the shadows. Nobody there, but for some reason, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched. Hastily, she retreated inside and shut the door.
“He don’t like Mez,” said Mrs. Eckles. “One mention of ‘er name an’ he’s off. Cats always know who don’t like ’em. Well, they do when they’re on the end of a boot.”
“She’s not a cat lover, then?”
“Nah. She used to dangle ‘im over wells by ’is tail, just to taunt me. We’re opposites, we are. Never got on as kids. Ain’t spoken fer many a year. Not since the business with the cottage.”
“What business would that be?”
“Well, Grandmother left it to me, see. She knew it was all I wanted. That an’ Neville. Never ’ad much ambition, me. Not like Mez. She wants it all. Well, not Neville, she don’t want him. But everything else. She’s that jealous. Can’t bear the thought o’ me livin’ here. Even though she got the castle.”
“Castle? What castle?”
“Castle Coldiron. We lived there with Grandmother when we was kids. Away in the mountains. You didn’t think we all lived ‘ere, did you? Grandmother weren’t the type to live in a cottage. It weren’t her style. She ’ardly ever used it. Me and Mez did, though. Spent hours playing in it. Days, sometimes. She didn’t care. Kept us out of her hair.”
“What—you mean you lived here in the forest all alone? She built it for you, as a—sort of play house?”
“Oh no. This place is old, Clover. Been in the family for generations. Anyway, it kept us amused. When Grandmother was busy inventin’ things, we ’ardly ever saw ‘er. ’Cept at mealtimes. Very particular about us havin’ three square meals a day. Got in terrible trouble if we wasn’t punctual.”
“But if the cottage was here and the castle was far away in the mountains, how did you get back three timesad … oh, wait a minute. You’re Witches. You used broomsticks, I suppose.”
“Somethin’ like that. You’re learnin’. Yes, we spent a lot o’ time ’ere in the cottage. But Coldiron was our ‘ome. Mez got everything in it. The furnishin’s an’ fittin’s, the staff, everythin’. All Grandmother’s old stuff. ’Er magical inventions and whatnot.”
“Like what?” asked Clover, interested.
“Well now, let me see.” Mrs. Eckles began ticking things off on her fingers. “The Wand. The Mirror of Eternal Youth. The Poncho of Imperceptability. The Hat O’ Shadows, the Hypnospecs, the Bad Weather Umbrella, the Crystal Ball, the Cabinet of Poisons. Booboo, o’ course. Oh, and the Seven League Boots which she chucked out. Said she wouldn’t been seen dead in ’em. Wrong sorta heels.” Mrs. Eckles gave a disgusted little sniff.
“Sounds like she got a lot more than her fair share,” said Clover.
“She did. But I don’t care. Not a great one for gadgets, me. Mirrors, Crystals, Hypnospecs, all that malarkey. You can keep it. Don’t even bother with the broom much these days. A few basic skills, a clear brain, a cat, and a cottage, that’s all a Witch needs if she’s any good. The rest is all show.”
“What’s that word you said. Hippo something?”
“Hypnospecs. Glasses that you stick on when you needs to put someone under the influence. Never look directly into a pair of Hypnospecs, Clover. Trick is to look away before the little green lights start whizzin’.”
“I’ll remember that. And what about the poncho?”
“Makes you invisible. Scratchy bloomin’ thing. Not one of Grandmother’s better efforts. Funny to watch ’er knittin’ it, though. Clickin’ away with empty needles, feelin’ the air to see ’ow long it was getting.”
“Hat of Shadows?”
“Wear it and no one can see yer face properly. Good for disguises.”
“Bad Weather Umbrella?”
“You puts it up fer bad weather.”
“Just an ordinary umbrella, then.”
“Nah. With an ordinary umbrella, you waits for bad weather to happen. A Bad Weather Umbrella causes it. Grandmother’s ‘ad little lightnin’ bolts engraved on the handle, as I recall.”
“I see,” said Clover, thoughtfully. She stood and began collecting up the dishes. “Um—Booboo?”
“The ‘orse. Mez is welcome to ’im, ‘e’s quite moody, and he bites, given half a chance. Got to watch ’im when ‘e’s standing behind you wearin’ his special Vanishing Saddle. Another o’ Grandmother’s brainstorms. Makes ’im invisible. Can’t see ‘is teeth comin’. He’s fast, though, ’specially in the air.”
“Air?” said Clover, startled.
“Course, you gotta watch he don’t smack you round the ’ead with a wing.”
“Wing?”
“‘E can fly, didn’t I say? I ’ave to admit ‘e’s good at findin’ his own way ‘ome, like pigeons. Always best to send ’im ’ome once you’ve arrived where you’re goin’. Wouldn’t want ‘im standin’ around behind you, that’s fer sure. Ain’t my idea of a pet. Don’t hold a candle to my Neville.”
“Of course not,” said Clover. She meant it, too. Neville smelled bad and had some horrible habits, but she would choose him any time over an invisible flying horse that bit you. Even if it did find its own way home.
“I loves my Nev, I do,” said Mrs. Eckles, fondly. “What I likes about ‘im is ’is intelligence. He takes it all in, you know. Everything you say.”
“Hmm, OK. A
nd what’s the Mirror of Eternal Youth?” asked Clover, pouring hot water into the sink.
“Look in it every morning and it stops yer face crumblin’. Keeps Mez lookin’ young enough to be me granddaughter. ’Ow she rubs that in.”
“I thought you never spoke?”
“She sent me a picture once with a note sayin’ ‘Bet you wish you looked like this.’ Know what I did? To get me own back? I sent ’er a picture o’ the cottage an’ wrote MINE in big black letters.” Mrs. Eckles guffawed loudly, then added, “What you lookin’ at me funny for? It’s all true. I ain’t a batty old woman makin’ all this up.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” said Clover, sprinkling soap flakes. “But I was just thinking. If your sister’s got a whole castle to herself, why would she care about an old cottage? I mean, I know it’s—er—cozy. But it hardly seems …”
“It’s special,” said Mrs. Eckles. “Oh yes. Don’t look like much, but it’s very special, this cottage.”
“Memories of happy times?” Clover stifled a little yawn as she frothed up the washing up water. Fascinating though Mrs. Eckles ramblings were, it had been a long day. Tiredness was coming over her in waves.
“Dunno about ‘appy,” said Mrs. Eckles. “I’d say—interestin’. Days in this cottage could just fly by.”
“Oh well,” said Clover. “You got what you wanted. It’s yours.”
“Mmm. Mez still ‘ain’t given up tryin’ to get ‘er ’ands on it, mind. Course, she don’t dare try anythin’ while I’m around. I’m wise to all her little tricks. But sometimes when I’m out in the garden I can feel ’er watchin’ through the Crystal. Hopin’ I’ll let me guard down. Go off somewhere an’ forget to renew the protection spells. She’s probably watchin’ now.”
“Really?” Clover glanced at the door.
“Ah, don’t worry, you’re safe. She can’t see inside. And she can’t come in either, unless she’s invited over the threshold.” Mrs. Eckles reached forward and threw another log on the fire. “Tell you what, girl, why don’t you leave that ‘til the mornin’? Looks like you could do with a bit o’ shut eye. Besides, I got a long night ahead. Only room fer one of us workin’.”
