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‘Dear child,’ purred Grisana. ‘Calidorshall be humbled. That is the whole point of my plan! As soon as Calidor hears that his father has been captured and taken to Broomhurst— and we shall make quite sure that he hears at once — he will come racing to his rescue, straight into the trap I have prepared for him! We shall be waiting with a picked company, claws raised, to seize him! And then they can both be scrodged together! But come, there is a great deal to do. I must decide where sentries are to be posted tonight. Come, Melissa.’

The two cats hurried from the kitchen into the scullery, jumped up on to the draining board, smashing a dirty cup as they went, and leapt out of the window which swung backwards and forwards because the latch was broken. John and Rosemary watched them go.

‘Phew!’ said John. ‘What a wicked pair! Come on, we’ve got an awful lot to do too!’

‘Yes, but what?’ said Rosemary. ‘How can we stop this beastly plan?’

‘We must get word to Calidor about the moonrise business, somehow. But first we must search Tucket Towers until we find Carbonel. Now’s our chance while Mrs Witherspoon is in the garden. Come on!’

They hurried down the passage and through the baize door, and looked cautiously round the hall. There was no one there. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock. Small swirls of dusty motes danced in the early morning sunshine, which slanted through the windows on either side of the front door.

‘Let’s start with the first room on the right, and go through every one in turn,’ said John. ‘Shall we separate? You do downstairs, and I’ll go upstairs?’

‘No fear!’ said Rosemary. ‘I’m coming with you!’ She ducked to avoid a swinging spider as she followed him through the first door.

They tiptoed cautiously from one room to another. Some were quite empty. Only the less faded patches of wallpaper showed where pictures and furniture had once been. In others, what furniture there was was shrouded in dust sheets.

‘How creepy armchairs and sofas look, all muffled up in white!’ whispered Rosemary. ‘As though they’re … sort of crouching!’

‘Holding out their arms to pounce,’ said John, and they moved a little nearer to one another.

But uneasy though they were, they searched thoroughly, opening every door, and looking inside every cupboard, even examining the back stairs, and wherever they went they found moth-eaten carpets, and faded hangings… but no Carbonel.

‘We’d better try upstairs,’ said John when they had searched the last room.

Here the rooms all led off the gallery which ran round three sides of the hall… but they proved as empty and uninhabited as the others. The sun had gone in, and the silence seemed even heavier here than below, broken only by the occasional scutter of a mouse, or the faint buzz of an imprisoned fly as it bumbled against a window-pane.

One room showed signs of having been recently used. The bed was made, and a scatter of large hairpins lay on the dressing-table. In the wardrobe was a tall, pointed black hat.

‘Miss Dibdin’s bed-sitter!’ said John. ‘That’s one of the road-mender’s cones.’

Another large room, with an unmade four-post bed, they decided belonged to Mrs Witherspoon. They searched in bedrooms, bathrooms, airing cupboards and clothes closets.

‘Not a sign of Carbonel!’ said Rosemary sadly, when they had closed the door.

‘I can’t think of anywhere else to look,’ said John.

‘Wait a minute!’ said Rosemary. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to a narrow door in a dark corner of the gallery that they had not noticed.

‘Another airing cupboard by the size of it,’ said John. He lifted the latch and peered inside. ‘I bet it’s …’ He broke off. ‘Rosie! It’s a little spiral staircase! How super! It must lead to the top of the tower. Of course, that’s where Carbonel must be hidden! Come on!’

Stooping low they crept through the door. It closed behind them with a‘snick’ that made them jump uncomfortably, and made the stairs so dark that they had to feel their way. Up they went, till a glimmer of light from a small lancet window showed a landing at the top. This was cluttered with junk. There were bulging boxes and bags, and piles of cracked china. An old parrot’s cage was balanced on a broken chair. Through all this a narrow path led to a small door, heavily studded with nails.

‘I bet this is it!’ said John. He tried the wrought-iron handle, but of course it was locked.

‘Carbonel!’ called Rosemary cautiously through the keyhole. ‘Carbonel! Are you there?’

There was a moment’s tense silence, and then a faint but familiar voice answered: ‘Who calls my name? I hoped I should be spared the humiliation of being recognized.’

‘But it’s us! John and Rosemary! So you don’t have to be humiliated. I’m so glad we’ve found you at last!’

‘John and Rosemary? Is it really you?’

‘Can you come nearer the keyhole?’ said John. ‘We can scarcely hear you.’

‘Alas, no,’ sighed Carbonel. ‘Not content with locking me in, the Witch Woman has set a guard over me, here inside. I am ringed round with strange creatures that never take their eyes from me. I have never seen anything like them before.’

As he spoke John and Rosemary heard a twittering sound they seemed to recognize, a twittering that rose and fell.

‘What are they like?’ asked John through the keyhole.

‘Square,’ said Carbonel.

‘With a leg at each corner?’ said Rosemary.

‘And paws so hard and sharp they might be made of iron,’ added Carbonel.

‘And four eyes. Two at the back and two at the front?’

‘You describe them exactly,’ said Carbonel. ‘Have you seen such creatures before?’

‘It’s the Scrabbles!’ said John and Rosemary with one voice. And as though the creatures heard and recognized Rosemary, the twittering rose excitedly.

‘They squat round me in a circle day and night,’ went on Carbonel when the noise had died down again.

‘Listen,’ said John. ‘The door is locked and we haven’t got the key so we can’t let you out yet. You are safe until moonrise tonight. Grisana has hatched a plot with Mrs Witherspoon.’

‘Those two wicked creatures together? That is bad.’

‘But somehow we will get news through to Calidor.’

‘My son Calidor?’ said Carbonel with surprise.

‘As soon as he heard you had disappeared he went back to Fallowhithe to restore order …’

‘Dumpsie came to tell him,’ interrupted Rosemary. ‘She came all that long way with a hurt paw …’

‘Calidor has gone home? Then it is worth all this!’ said Carbonel.

‘What’s the matter?’ said John. Rosemary was tugging at his sleeve.

‘Voices in the hall. And I think they’re angry.’

‘We can’t stay any longer,’ said John through the keyhole. ‘But we are going to get help. So cheer up.’

‘And don’t give in!’ said Rosemary.

‘Give in!’ exclaimed Carbonel. ‘Never will I become slave to a common Witch Woman!’ At this the twittering of the Scrabbles grew so loud that his voice was drowned.

John and Rosemary turned and felt their way down the spiral staircase.

16. Middle Magic

WHEN JOHN and Rosemary reached the gallery they realized that, for the moment, escape was impossible. Mrs Witherspoon was standing in the hall at the foot of the stairs. There was no doubt that the voices they had heard were angry. In the open doorway stood Miss Dibdin: her sensible shoes planted squarely on the mat, a black cone on her head, and the broom trailing from one hand. There was nothing to do but wait and see what happened, and hope they would not be seen. They crouched down on the floor and peered through the carved rail that ran round the gallery.

Mrs Witherspoon, with Gullion on her shoulder, held a large china bowl in one hand, and in the other a bunch of leafy sprays, which they supposed she had just picked from the garden.

‘I thought I had made it quite clear, Dorothy, that I did not want you back at Tucket Towers!’ she said harshly.

‘I only came to fetch the toothbrush I left behind. I can hardly imagine that you want to keep it?’ replied Miss Dibdin coldly.

‘I suppose you came hopping along on your precious broomstick, like some monstrous great flea!’ said Mrs Witherspoon, laughing scornfully.

‘Well, that’s more than you can do!’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘I don’t believe you have even tried to make a Broom Magic.’

‘You have no idea what I can do,’ said Mrs Witherspoon, ‘or you’d be green with envy! So like you to imagine that a broomstick is the only way of flying. You’ve no imagination. And as for plain ignorance …! Why, I don’t believe you even know the Three Orders of Magic!’

‘Well, if you’re so clever you can tell me. What are they?’ said Miss Dibdin sulkily.

‘First there is Lower Magic,’ replied Mrs Witherspoon in an arrogant voice. ‘That means small, easy, conjuring tricks, such as the making of Flying Philtres, Disappearing Drops and so on. Then there is Middle Magic, more difficult by far, for it deals with Time and Space and Tides …’ Hereher voice faded. She stared at Miss Dibdin with a faraway gaze.

‘Well?’ said Miss Dibdin impatiently. ‘And the third …?’

Mrs Witherspoon shook herself, and gave a great sigh.‘The Supreme Magic? That is only for the wisest of the Sinister Sisterhood. Perhaps even I shall never know the beauty and the power of it. But with Gullion’s help I do my best. So full of ideas is my little toadlet! You remember the field I sold the other day? Well, the last thing I want is a sprawl of houses spoiling the view from my windows.’

‘Then why did you sell it for building?’ asked Miss Dibdin.

‘Because I wanted more money. But Gullion has told me exactly what to do. He whispered a deliciously wicked scheme to me on my pillow last night.’ Mrs Witherspoon laughed shrilly. ‘It is just a matter of dropping the right herbs in the cement mixer, dancing round it at midnight, chanting the right words… .’

‘And what good will that do?’ said Miss Dibdin scornfully.

‘You mean whatevil, dear?’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘Just this. What the builders build by day, will fall with a crash by night! Till at last they will become so discouraged they will give it up and go away.’

‘All this fine talk about that nasty toad! I don’t believeyou know any more about magic than I do,’ said Miss Dibdin.

‘Do I not?’ said Mrs Witherspoon sweetly. She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Then you shall see for yourself! Watch, and here and now I will make a Middle Magic! I told you how sad I was that Tucket Towers had lost its splendour, as I knew it first as a young bride, before its treasureswere sold and its buildings began to crumble?’

Miss Dibdin rolled her eyes, as much as to say she had heard it only too often, but Mrs Witherspoon took no notice. She raised her thin arms, and twirled round on her long thin feet, so that her black skirt flowed round her.‘Watch, my little Dibdin,’ she cried. ‘Watch, and you shall see a Middle Magic!’

In spite of herself Miss Dibdin stepped eagerly forward, her hands clasped. The broom lay forgotten on the floor. There was no need to tell John and Rosemary to watch. They clung to the posts of the carved rail with both hands, and craned their heads through the gap between till their ears hurt.

Mrs Witherspoon was moving about the hall below, muttering under her breath; and as she muttered the tick of the grandfather clock seemed to grow louder. First she pulled a little rickety table out from the wall until it stood in front of the clock.

In the middle of the table she placed Gullion, having first planted a kiss on his warty head; and beside Gullion she placed the china bowl. High up in the gallery, on the opposite side, John and Rosemary could see her every movement.

‘Front row of the dress circle!’ whispered John. Rosemary ignored him. The knuckles of both her hands were white with concentration. They could see that the china bowl was filled with a dark liquid which crinkled and dimpled as though it was boiling, although there was no flame underneath.

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‘Mutter … mutter!’ went Mrs Witherspoon. ‘Tick … Tock!’ went the grandfather clock, each stroke now echoing like stones falling down a well. Suddenly she pulled seven different leaves from the spray she held, and began dancing round the table from right to left. Seven times she swept round, pausing to curtsey to the clock as she completed each circle, and at the same time dropping a different leaf into the bowl, still muttering as she went. When six leaves were floating in the mixture, she stirred it with a bony finger. Then she flung up her arms and chanted in a solemn voice:

‘Whirling!

Swirling!

Twirling Time!

Listen to my magic rhyme.

Twixt the tick and the tock

Of the grandfather clock, Leave the present behind!

Fifty summers unwind.

That Tucket Towers

And I may be,

What once we were

For all to see!’

And suddenly the tick of the clock grew unbearably loud.‘TICK … TOCK … TICK … TOCK … TICK …’ But just before the third TOCK, whirling round for the seventh time, Mrs Witherspoon dropped the seventh leaf into the bowl. As she did so the dark liquid fizzed and bubbled and boiled over, and the grandfather clock went mad. The hands whizzed wildly backwards, with such a clamour of striking, and frantic beating of TICKS and TOCKS, that John and Rosemary let go the rails they had been clutching, and crouched down with their hands over their ears. When the racket subsided they opened their eyes again.

The only thing that seemed the same was Miss Dibdin. She stood, wide-eyed with wonder, looking rather forlorn in her shabby old mackintosh. The hall was brilliantly lit by a sudden burst of sunshine. It shone on a thick red carpet, on the gold frames of the massive pictures now hanging on the walls. It gleamed softly on the polish of the solid furniture which stood round the walls, and twinkled on the crystal chandelier which hung from the ceiling, and on silver candlesticks and salvers. There was not a cobweb to be seen.

In front of the grandfather clock, where old Mrs Witherspoon had stood in her rusty black skirt, was a slender young woman in a short pink dress. Her eyes were dark and lustrous, and her raven-black hair fell softly on either side of smooth cheeks, that were bright with excitement.

‘It has worked! It has really worked!’ cried the young woman, flinging her arms wide.

‘Excuse me,’ said Miss Dibdin in a puzzled voice. ‘But what has worked? And who are you?’

‘Why, who do you think, my poor old Dibdin? I’m Dulcie Witherspoon, as I used to be fifty years ago. It’s worked! It’s worked! I am young once more!’ She danced round the hall. ‘And everything is back again in its proper place. Just as it used to be! Who is the best witch now?’ she asked in a mocking voice.

Miss Dibdin stood with downcast head. Something shining trickled down her cheeks and fell with a plop on the toe of one of her sensible shoes.

‘You are the best witch, Dulcie,’ she said at last. But young Mrs Witherspoon was not listening. She was running round the hall on slender silk-clad legs, flinging open door after door and exclaiming with delight at what she saw inside each room. The grandfather clock was ticking lazily once more, as though nothing unusual had happened.

‘All the precious things I had to sell, back in their right places again! Even the crystal chandelier, and my darling piano! How I shall play and play! Gullion, my pet,’ she said, picking him up and whirling him round. ‘Now, you shall have your bath in a silver bowl every day!’

‘I see you did not have electric light fifty years ago. I suppose you’ll have to make do with candles,’ said Miss Dibdin with a sniff.

‘Oh don’t be such a spoil-sport, Dorothy!’

‘And it’s all very well whisking all these things back again, but what are the people who bought them going to say when they find they have disappeared? Stolen, they are!’ went on Miss Dibdin. ‘Why, you are no more than a common thief! And don’t forget, I only have your word for it that you really are Dulcie Witherspoon of Tucket Towers. Who else is going to believe you?’

‘Really, Dorothy! You only say that because you’re jealous,’ said young Mrs Witherspoon, stamping her slender foot in anger. ‘I wish you’d go back to your station. You’re just a source of irritation!’

There was a second’s pause, and then suddenly … Miss Dibdin was no longer there! Where she had been standing was nothing but a wisp of smoke, which quickly melted into the shadows of the rafters.

Mrs Witherspoon raised startled hands, fingers spread, palms outwards. There, twisted round to the inside of her left hand winked the crimson stone of the Golden Gew-Gaw.

‘Good gracious!’ she said, as she thought to the empty air. ‘I wonder how that happened?’

John and Rosemary could have told her.‘She must have been wearing it all the time,’ whispered John.

‘But with the stone twisted round so that no one should see it,’ said Rosemary. ‘Did you see it wink after poor Miss Dibdin had been wished away?’

‘In the mocking way it does when it has tricked you,’ said John.

‘Well, off I go round the house!’ said Mrs Witherspoon, who, although she was fifty years younger, seemed not to have lost the habit of talking to herself.

‘So much to explore! So much to do! And my darling Gullion shall come too, so he shall,’ And scooping up the toad she went dancing away with a click of her high heels.

‘Quick, now’s our chance!’ said John as the dining-room door closed behind her.

They scurried down the stairs, the thick carpet muffling their footsteps, and ran towards the open front door.

‘Miss Dibdin has left her broom behind,’ said John. ‘I felt quite sorry for her when she saw she was beaten, and Mrs Witherspoon was crowing over her.’

‘So did I,’ said Rosemary. ‘Let’s take the broom back to her.’ She picked it up, and they ran out into the sunshine.

17. Up and Away!

‘WE shall have to stir our stumps if we’re going home by the station,’ said John.

‘I know,’ said Rosemary. ‘We promised we’d help Mother Boddles with the teas at the Sale this afternoon, and we mustn’t let her down.’

‘But how on earth are we going to get to Fallowhithe and back in time? Wemust tell Calidor about Carbonel, Grisana and Mrs Witherspoon. It’ll take hours to walk all that way, and we haven’t enough money for a bus.’

‘Let’s get rid of the broom first, anyway,’ said Rosemary. ‘Ow! It nearly tripped me up! Here, you can carry it.’ She passed the broom to John.

‘There must be a way to the field path somewhere round here at the side of the house.’

They ran under an archway, across what had once been a stable yard, and through a broken-down gate. On the other side, they could just see the ghost of a path which wound through the clump of trees they had seen from the road; beyond where the field began, it petered out.

‘Ow!’ said John, as he rubbed his shin in his turn. ‘The beastly broom nearly trippedme up! Almost as though it did it on purpose. I say, you don’t think it wants us to …’ They stood still and looked at one another.

‘To fly on it? Well, it does seem a bit to silly towalk,’ said Rosemary.

‘Come on, let’s try! After all, it only hops.’ John stood astride the broom as he spoke. ‘Get on behind, and hold on to my waist.’

Rosemary obeyed. Then she said:‘Well, go on! Tell it where to go to.’

‘Take us to the station!’ commanded John in a loud and lordly voice.

They waited, but nothing happened.

‘You may have to say it in rhyme, like the Gew-Gaw wishes, and Mrs Witherspoon’s Middle Magic,’ said Rosemary. ‘And I expect you’d better be polite. Wait a minute, I believe I can remember what Miss Dibdin said to it the day we saw her ride away from Tucket Towers. Something like this:

“To the Ladies’ Waiting Room”.’

She stopped, and thought for a minute, and then went on with a rush:

‘ “Kindly take us, noble broom”!’

At once, the handle of the broom began to quiver. The quiver grew to a rapid vibration, then it seemed to gather itself together and leapt into the air. Caught off her guard, Rosemary nearly fell off. She just had time to clutch John round the waist as the broom sailed six feet up into the air, and down again.

‘Stick your feet out in front!’ yelled John, as the broom hit the ground with a jolt, only to bounce once more into the air again. ‘Wheee!’ he shouted. ‘This is super!’

Up and down went the broom, gaining height and speed with every bound.

‘It’s like the merry-go-round at the fair, only it goes straight and much faster!’ shouted Rosemary. ‘We shall get to the station in no time.’

Up the gentle slope of the field bounced the broom and there was the station in front of them. It seemed to wobble towards them with surprising speed, and it looked increasingly solid and hard to land on as it came closer.

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‘Hold tight!’ shouted John. ‘We’re coming in to land!’

Rosemary squeezed her eyes shut, and with a jolt and a clatter they pan-caked on to the platform, just outside the Ladies’ Waiting Room. They rose rather shakily to their feet. The broom, apparently lifeless once more, lay between them on the ground.

‘Whew! That was quite a ride!’ said John. ‘Hallo, there’s Mattins.’

The grey cat was sitting with drooping head by the remains of the broken seat.

‘Whatever has happened to your poor whiskers?’ said Rosemary. ‘They’ve gone all crinkly.’ Mattins lifted his head with a jerk.

‘She plaited them,’ he snapped, with an angry toss of his head towards Tucket Towers.

‘But whatever for?’ asked Rosemary.

‘As a punishment, because without her permission, I told Grisana about the black cat she is keeping prisoner. When I managed to get my whiskers un-plaited, they were like this, and I can’t get them straight again.’

‘But didn’t Grisana stick up for you?’ asked John.

‘Not she! She laughed fit to burst when she saw my poor whiskers. I’ve done with both of them, Grisana and the Witch Woman. I’m really sorry I told tales about Crumpet. But I was angry with him when I heard him telling you about this business of being a royal animal, and he hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me too. I came to see if this one would take me on instead.’ He nodded towards the Waiting Room.

‘She’s not much of a witch, but I’m not much of a cat, not with whiskers like this. I knew she was catless now Crumpet has gone. But even that’s no good. She says she’s giving up witching. You can ask her for yourselves. She’s in there.’ He nodded once more to the open door behind him.

John picked up the broom and marched into the Ladies’ Waiting Room with Rosemary at his side. Miss Dibdin was sitting crouched on the floor by the empty fireplace, with her head in her hands. Rosemary tiptoed up to her.

‘Miss Dibdin,’ she said softly. ‘Do please cheer up.’

‘Go away!’ she replied, without looking up. ‘Whoever you are.’

‘It’s us, John and Rosemary. We’ve brought your broom back for you. You left it behind at Tucket Towers.’

‘Well, I don’t want it,’ said Miss Dibdin sourly. She looked up miserably at the two children. ‘You don’t mean to say yousaw it happen?Me being bundled off like that by Dulcie Witherspoon’s magic! Sohumbling.’

They nodded, unwilling to say anything that might increase her unhappiness.‘It’s no good,’ she went on. ‘I’m giving it all up. Some people are good at one thing and some at another. Well, I’m no good at witching, and Dulcie is.’

‘Like me being no good at football,’ said John. ‘And Tony Wilkins is, although he doesn’t try nearly so hard.’ Miss Dibdin nodded understandingly.

‘And just look at my furniture!’ she went on with a wave of her hand. ‘I bought one or two things to make it a bit more comfortable. I had to do something about it when Dulcie turned me out of Tucket Towers.’

John and Rosemary looked round. As well as the packing case and the station bench, there was an armchair with the stuffing coming out, propped up with what looked like a telephone directory. In a corner on the floor there was a mattress covered with a rug.

‘But whatever’s happened to them?’ said Rosemary. ‘They are all … shadowy!’

‘You can see right through them!’ said John.

‘I know that!’ said Miss Dibdin irritably. ‘I thought if someone came and found out I had settled in here, I might get into trouble for trespassing on the station; but if no one couldsee my furniture they would never know, so I planned to make everything invisible, except to me. But I couldn’t even get a simple spell like that right! I looked it up in my notes — but I must have done something wrong, as usual. Turned over two pages by mistake, probably — and they came out onlyhalf invisible. I don’t feel really comfortable somehow, sitting on a chair you can see through.’

‘Is that why you’re sitting on the floor?’ asked John. Miss Dibdin nodded. ‘But the broom,’ he went on. ‘What shall we do with it?’

‘Whatever you like,’ Miss Dibdin replied impatiently.

‘Then can we keep it?’ asked Rosemary eagerly.

‘If you want to,’ said Miss Dibdin with a shrug. She turned and patted the broom where it lay beside her on the floor. ‘The nearest thing I got to a bit of real magic was riding it, even if it did only hop. If I could only fly, just once, high in the air, with the clouds trying to keep up beneath me, and fields and houses slipping away miles below! What witty things I should say to the birds when they cheeked me. If I could do it just once, I could give up the rest quite cheerfully!’ She broke off with a sigh. ‘It isn’t much to ask, but it’s no good. If I hadn’t left my reading glasses behind at Fairfax Market and could see my notes properly, it might all have been different,’ she mumbled.

‘Whereare your notes?’ asked Rosemary. ‘I can read without spectacles!’

‘Miss Dibdin pointed with a fat finger to an untidy pile of loose sheets of paper lying in a corner. Rosemary picked them up and thumbed them through. Her eyes were very bright, and her cheeks were flushed.

‘What are you doing?’ asked John. But she motioned him not to interrupt. ‘Here we are,’ she said at last. ‘ “To make a besom fly where it shall be commanded.” ’ With a frowning face, she read the instructions through to herself, looking at the broom from time to time, as though checking various points.

‘Did you brew the mixture at the full moon?’ she asked Miss Dibdin.

‘Of course. A beautiful green steam it gave off.’

‘We know, John saw it,’ said Rosemary crisply. ‘And did you boil the tape in the liquid while the wind was nor’-nor’-east, so that it rose three times?’

‘Miss Dibdin nodded. ‘And picked the twigs just before the church clock struck midnight,’ she added. ‘It’s the twigs that hold the magic.’

Rosemary peered at the untidy bundle at the end of the broom handle. She could still read‘Nostradamus Ltd. Fancy Goods’ printed on the tape which secured it to the handle. She looked at the notes again.

‘But you’ve tied it with the wrong knot!’ she said. ‘You’ve made it the ordinary granny kind. ‘There’s a diagram here showing how it should be done.’

Miss Dibdin looked where Rosemary’s finger pointed at the closely written page.

‘That?’ she said. ‘Oh dear! I hadn’t realized it was a diagram. I thought it was just an idle bit of doodling! Oh silly me!’

Rosemary began to untie the knot.

‘What are you doing now?’ asked John again. Rosemary ignored him. Without looking up from the diagram she said briskly: ‘While I re-tie the string, properly this time, I have to say the magic words. When I come to the last twist but one, John, I shall nod, then you must put your thumb on the knot so that I can make it really firm.’

‘I must, must I?’ he said with a grin. ‘Who’s being bossy now?’

Rosemary looked up.‘Don’t you see? If it really flies high this time, the broom can take us to Fallowhithe twice as quickly as any other way! Are you ready? Then I’m going to begin the spell.’

Her fingers took the two ends of the ribbon, and twisted and twined them exactly according to the diagram, and at the same time she chanted in a singsong voice:

‘Fly-by-night,

And fly-by-day.

What I command,

You must obey.

Whither or thither,

Hither and yon,

Whoever bestraddles you,

Carry them on,

Up and over, wherever they will.

Do as you’re bid. Their wishes fulfil.’

And as she said‘fulfil’, she nodded, and John placed his thumb squarely on the knot, and she gave a final twist and tug to the ribbon.

Even through the ball of his thumb John felt the quiver of the broom’s response, even more strongly than when they had flown across the field. For a moment, there was a restless stirring among the twigs, and then they lay still.

‘I say!’ said John, gazing at Rosemary with respect.

‘My dear, you did it beautifully!’ breathed Miss Dibdin, who had watched the proceedings with her hands clasped under her chin to control her rising excitement. But Rosemary did not seem to hear either of them. She was standing with the broom in her hands, wrapped in her own thoughts.

‘Rosie!’ said John. ‘I say, Rosie!’ he repeated, and as she still took no notice he gave her shoulder a pat. ‘Wake up! What’s the matter with you?’ Rosemary gave herself a little shake, and turned to John with rather a wobbly smile.

‘Come on. Let’s see if it will fly with us to Fallowhithe!’

‘To Fallowhithe?’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘Oh, please, may I come too?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Rosemary doubtfully.

‘Is the broom strong enough to take all of us?’ said John.

‘The magic is young, and should be powerful,’ said Miss Dibdin eagerly.

‘You said if you could fly high, just once, on the broomstick, you’d stop this witching business for good. If we say you can come, will you promise to be sensible and give it all up?’ said John.

‘By the witch of Endor, and Solomon’s Ring,’ said Miss Dibdin, making a curious flickering movement with her hands, ‘I promise to burn my notes and return to Fairfax Market! That is a very solemn oath.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Being sensible is so dull! But never mind that. Come, come, what are we waiting for? Have you thought what to say when you tell the broom what you want it to do? She turned to Rosemary, who nodded.

‘Then let us mount!’ said Miss Dibdin, adding, ‘Mattins! Guard the Waiting Room while we are gone.’

They all three stood astride the broom, first Rosemary, then John, and Miss Dibdin at the back.

‘Go on, say it!’ said John, as Rosemary paused. She lifted her head high, and in a loud, clear voice said:

‘To Fallowhithe please will you fly.

Not hopping, but high in the sky,

To land where Calidor is standing,

And please to make a careful landing!’

‘So efficient! She thinks of everything,’ breathed Miss Dibdin.

‘Up!’ cried Rosemary. ‘Up and away!’

The broom rose gently in the air.

‘Look out! Duck!’ yelled John, as without warning it shot through the doorway of the Ladies’ Waiting Room, out into the daylight, circling up and up into the air, until Highdown Station looked no bigger than a toy below them.

18. The Duel

‘WONDERFUL! Wonderful!’ sang Miss Dibdin, as the broom, sloping steeply, circled higher and higher. Up and up it went, the wind singing in its twigs and whipping Rosemary’s hair out behind her. After a dozen turns she called breathlessly:

‘Don’t you think we’re high enough, John? You’re hanging on to my waist, and Miss Dibdin is hanging on to your waist, and if I stop hanging on to the broom handle, we shall all three slither off the end! I can’t … hold … on … much longer!’

‘Then tell the broom what you want it to do!’ shouted Miss Dibdin. ‘Showing off, that’s what it’s doing. You have to be firm with young flying besoms, and let ’em know who’s master.’

‘Down broom! Down a little!’ commanded Rosemary desperately. ‘And then straight on to Fallowhithe, and hurry!’

At once the broom tipped the other way, so suddenly that John and Miss Dibdin nearly catapulted over Rosemary’s head, then it straightened out, settling down to a steady forward flight.

‘I say, I think I can steer it a little by pressing one knee or the other against the handle!’ said Rosemary.

‘The station is right behind us!’ joined in Miss Dibdin. ‘And we’re coming up to Tucket Towers. How thrilling. And I do believe that’s Dulcie Witherspoon in the garden. I can see her pink frock. Oh, I do hope she sees us! Dulcie! Dulcie!’ she shouted. ‘Coo-ee! Look at meflying up here!’

‘Don’t call her,’ said John curtly, turning so abruptly to frown at Miss Dibdin that the broom rocked perilously.

‘Do sit still!’ said Rosemary crossly.

‘Well, we don’t want Mrs Witherspoon knowing where we’re going. She might find out and start interfering,’ said John, facing squarely front once more.

‘Oh, very well,’ said Miss Dibdin in a resigned voice.

As they flew over the clump of trees growing beside the house, the rooks rose in a protesting cloud, and then settled down again. Through the overhanging boughs, here and there, they could see the drive leading up to Tucket Towers, the crumpled humps that were the roofs and the tower itself which stood up like a warning finger, where Carbonel sat patiently waiting. When they flew over the pink blob which was Mrs Witherspoon, Miss Dibdin gave a sudden chuckle.

‘What are you laughing at?’ called Rosemary over her shoulder.

‘Oh, I was … just thinking how surprised Dulcie would be if shedid see us. But of course there is no reason why she should look up, is there?’ She chuckled again.

‘Bags I sit in front and steer coming back!’ said John. ‘It’s simply super! You can see the fields and woods and houses down below, like your bed-cover, Rosie. You know, the patchwork one.’

‘And the roads like white ribbons!’ said Rosemary.

‘There’s the motorway to Fallowhithe with streams of cars and lorries, looking like beetles! That greyish, pinkish smudge must be the town,’ said John.

‘But surely you can tell me why it’s so important that Dulcie shouldn’t know why you are going to Fallowhithe?’ said Miss Dibdin.

John told her about Carbonel and Calidor, and Grisana’s wicked scheme. But he made no mention of the purple cracker, although he began to feel uncomfortable about it.

‘Do you mean to tell me that my dear pussididdlums is aroyal cat? I always thought there was something special about him! And poor Carbonel! Imagine being a prisoner of Dulcie’s! Of course I forgive Crum … I mean Prince Calidor for running away. If there is anything I can do to help … Oh dear, I do wish I hadn’t …’ she stopped.

‘Hadn’t what?’ asked John. But before Miss Dibdin could answer, Rosemary, who had been looking anxiously forwards, said: ‘There’s a great bank of cloud in front. It would take ages to go round it.’

‘Then we’d better go straight through if it will save time,’ said John.

The swirling cloud swallowed them up and the broom ploughed on and on; but, no longer able to see anything but the surrounding mist, they could not tell at what speed they were flying. The silence was complete. There was not so much as the beat of a bird’s wing.

‘It’s like being wrapped in cotton-wool,’ said John.

‘I shall be jolly glad when we’re out in the sunshine again. Nothing but grey swirling cloud everywhere. It’s creepy,’ went on Rosemary.

‘Hush!’ said Miss Dibdin suddenly. ‘Quiet, I can hear something!’

They all three listened. Far away, but coming nearer and nearer was the unmistakable sound of a bicycle bell.‘There it is again, much nearer!’ said Rosemary.

‘But it can’t be a bicycle bell! Not up here!’ cried John incredulously.

‘Oh dear, I’m afraid it is,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘It’s Dulcie Witherspoon on her tricycle!’

‘But tricycles can’t fly!’ said Rosemary.

‘Hers could,’ said Miss Dibdin sourly. ‘If she made the right magic, and she might. She said I had no imagination because I thought only brooms could fly. And now she is following us, and it’s all my fault. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known about Carbonel and Calidor. But you didn’t tell me till I’d done it.’

‘Done what?’ asked Rosemary.

‘You wouldn’t let me call to Dulcie when we were flying over Tucket Towers,’ went on Miss Dibdin sadly. ‘I did so want her to see me really flying, so I pulled a button off my coat and dropped it on top of her as we passed.’ (The buttons on her coat were very large and black.)

‘Help!’ said John. ‘Well, we shall just have to hope we can go faster than she can, and escape her that way.’

The bicycle bell rang again, and it sounded much nearer. Rosemary clapped the handle of the broom with her knees, and made encouraging noises with her tongue, and for a short time it increased its pace, only to sink back again to the original speed.

‘We must be a pretty heavy load for it,’ said John. ‘I suppose it’s only meant to carry one person really.’

‘The noise of the bell is getting louder and louder,’ said Rosemary. ‘It must be quite near!’

‘There’s a dark shape coming towards us through the mist!’ said John, who was looking over his shoulder. And as he spoke, through the cloud behind them came a strange sight: young Mrs Witherspoon on her tricycle, crouched low over the handlebars and pedalling fast. Her black hair was down andstreaming behind her. She was not aware of the flying broom and its three passengers, until she was nearly on top of them; then she braked so sharply that the tricycle reared and she had to stand up on the pedals. Then, adjusting her pace to theirs, as it righted itself, she drew alongside. Gullion,immovable as ever, was sitting in the basket in front.

‘Well! Well! Well!’ she said, laughing heartily as she shook back her long hair. ‘If it isn’t Dorothy Dibdin, actuallyflying on her broom! Though I see someone else is in control. You there in front! Why, if it isn’t one of those deceitful children! And bless me, you are the other!’ shewent on, turning to John. ‘Collecting for Orphan Children indeed! Well, you won’t get your two pennies from me, that’s certain! So the rooks were right. They warned me that something strange was flying overhead. So did Gullion, and something hard hit me on the forehead.’ (Miss Dibdin beamedat this.) ‘And so I came up to see what it was, and it’s only you! And where are you off to?’

‘That’s our affair,’ said John shortly.

‘We have no intention of telling you!’ said Miss Dibdin haughtily.

‘As if I care,’ said Mrs Witherspoon, with a toss of her head. ‘But wherever it is, I think … yes, I think, I shall stop you from going there!’

‘Whatever for?’ asked Rosemary. ‘We simply must get to Fallowhithe!’ John’s warning ‘Shut up, Rosie!’ was too late.

‘So that’s where you want to go!’ the young witch replied, with a mocking laugh. ‘What a pity you will never get there! I shall stop you, just to show the power of my magic!’

‘You can’t stop us,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘The besom is our servant, not yours!’

‘But I can muddle and confuse it, so that it doesn’t know north from south, or up from down! And I can bewitch your young friend in front who seems to be in control; she is twice the witch that you are, Dorothy Dibdin. I can see that with half an eye.’

‘Don’t you dare touch Rosie!’ shouted John. But Mrs Witherspoon only laughed.

‘Look out and hold tight,’ whispered Miss Dibdin. ‘I don’t know what she’s up to, but be ready for anything!’

As she spoke the young witch bent over her handlebars. Pedalling hard and fast, with twinkling knees, she dived under the broom, came up the other side and circled over them, so low that they had to duck to avoid a blow from her high-heeled shoes. They barely had time to look up again before she skimmed under and over once more, this time from head to tail. Over and under she went again and again, and as she circled round and round, she chanted something, the words of which were blown away by the speed of her going.

‘Something is happening!’ said Rosemary anxiously. ‘It feels as though she is twisting an invisible thread round my arms and legs … Help! It’s binding me to the broom … I can scarcely move! And the broom won’t do as it’s told any longer! What shall I do!’ she cried desperately.

The broom, which had been flying as straight as an arrow, was faltering uncertainly now, as though it had lost its bearings. Under cover of Mrs Witherspoon’s mocking laughter, Miss Dibdin said: ‘Keep your heads down and listen to me. I’ve got an idea. You remember I told you, it is the bundle of twigs at the end of a broom that give it its power to fly?’

‘There’s a bundle of twigs tied on to the back of the tricycle, where the saddle bag usually is, I noticed,’ said John. ‘It’s sticking out like a turkey’s tail-feathers.’

‘Exactly,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘Every time the tricycle swoops under the broom, John, do your best to pull out a few twigs. When it comes up the other side, I shall to the same. Cheer up, Rosemary, I think it’s going to work.Now, John!’

With a‘whoosh’ Mrs Witherspoon dived beneath them once more, and as she went, John bent over and snatched a couple of twigs. As it came up the other side, Miss Dibdin pulled out a few more. The broom had now lost all sense of direction, heading first in one direction, then in another. Round went the tricycle again. This time John managed to pull out several twigs and Miss Dibdin, in her turn, a considerable handful.

‘That’s loosened them nicely. It’s beginning to work!’ said Miss Dibdin with a chuckle. Mrs Witherspoon stopped chanting. The tricycle had begun to slow down. Loosened from the band that held them by the removal of the first twigs, the others began to slip away of their own accord, and as they fell out of sight into the mist below, the tricycle went slower and slower, although Mrs Witherspoon pedalled faster and faster.

‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ she said to the tricycle, as it began to flounder, like a bather in deep water who can’t swim. The more it faltered, the more the broom began to pick up speed and purpose.

‘Matter?’ called Miss Dibdin triumphantly. ‘Look behind you, Dulcie dear! Look at your twigs! It was as easy as plucking a chicken!’ Mrs Witherspoon looked.

‘No! No! Not that!’ she screamed. ‘My power is ebbing away!’ And as the last twig fell, and disappeared into the greyness below, she threw up her hands, and the tricycle plummeted down and down out of sight into the thick blanket of mist.

‘Who is the winner now?’ Miss Dibdin shouted after her, with a triumphant laugh. From far away, as though in defiance, came the faint ringing of the bicycle bell … and then … silence.

‘Rosie! Are you all right?’ asked John anxiously. Rosemary nodded.

‘The minute Mrs Witherspoon stopped that chanting, my arms and legs seemed to become unbound again. But poor thing, do you think she’s hurt?’

‘Witches, like cats, have nine lives. That’s why they work together. She will survive, no doubt,’ said Miss Dibdin coldly.

‘Oughtn’t we to go down and see?’ asked John.

‘You can’t,’ she replied. ‘You commanded the broom to go to Fallowhithe, and to Fallowhithe it will go. Nothing will stop it, except more powerful magic.’

As she spoke, the mist round them began to dissolve. It became thinner and thinner, until at last they sailed out into radiant sunshine.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Rosemary. She looked down. ‘Why we’re right over the motorway to Fallowhithe and flying lower!’

‘I say,’ went on John. ‘Look at the roundabout down there!’

Just below them was a circle of green grass. Round it flowed what looked like an unending stream of traffic. In the middle of the roundabout, they could just see a pink blob, and the crumpled shape of what might once have been a tricycle. As they flew over, it looked as though the pink blob shook its fist at them.

‘But however will she get away from there, with traffic swirling round all the time?’ asked John.

‘It will do her no harm to cool her heels for a little,’ said Miss Dibdin drily. ‘Besides, it might keep her out of mischief.’

19. The Dump

‘I say, we’re nearly over Fallowhithe,’ said Rosemary, when once more she looked ahead. ‘We must have gone at a terrific pace through that cloud after all.’

Instead of the patchwork of fields and trees over which they had been flying, there was a scatter of houses, with the green spaces dividing them growing narrower the further they flew, until at last the buildings closed their ranks, and the greyness of the rooftops was only broken here and there by a small back garden.

‘How in the world can the broom find Calidor?’ said John, as he looked down on the sea of buildings below.

‘It will,’ said Miss Dibdin calmly. ‘I think it is searching already.’

They had began to lose height and speed, at the same time making a wide circle. Suddenly, without warning, the broom dropped, so quickly that its three passengers felt as though their insides were not quite keeping pace with their outsides.‘Like going down in a lift,’ as John said later. They just had time to see that there was an open space of some sort beneath them, then they landed, with a deafening clanking and clonking, on a knobbly, uneven surface. They all sat up, a little shakily, and looked anxiously around. They were inthe middle of a hollow, in a great mound of rusty old tin cans.

‘No wonder we made such a racket when we landed!’ said John. ‘Wherever are we?’

At once, a voice John and Rosemary both recognized answered:‘Fallowhithe Rubbish Dump!’

‘Calidor!’ shouted John and Rosemary.

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‘John and Rosemary!’ cried Calidor, with just as much pleasure. ‘What in the world brings you here? And Miss Dibdin too!’

He stepped delicately down from the pile of tins on which he had been sitting, and joined them in their hollow, purring loudly.

‘Oh, well done, broom!’ whispered Rosemary. ‘Well done, and thank you!’ And as she gave it a pat the stick gave a little wriggle, as though in acknowledgement, and then lay still. Miss Dibdin had risen to her feet, with some difficulty, and a clatter of tins.

‘First, I should like to pay my respects to Prince Calidor, and to apologize for any lack of respect I may have shown in the past, before I was aware …’ She held out the skirts of her coat, and was in the middle of a rather wobbly curtsey as she spoke, when the tins gave way beneath her and she sat down abruptly. ‘And if I can be of any assistance to your Highness, I shall be only too honoured!’ she went on breathlessly.

Calidor bowed his head graciously in reply, but he gave John and Rosemary an inquiring glance, which Miss Dibdin noticed. She added drily:‘Oh, it’s all right. I have not the pleasure of hearing cats talk, so you can say what you like to John and Rosemary. Don’t mind me.’

‘Then she knows who I am?’ inquired Calidor. John nodded.

‘But you have given up witchery, haven’t you?’ said Rosemary.

‘Totally and absolutely,’ replied Miss Dibdin firmly. ‘I merely came for the ride. I have given these children my broom.’

‘I got it to fly properly,’ said Rosemary. ‘And we flew here to tell you we’ve found Carbonel!’

‘Found my father?’ exclaimed Calidor. ‘Wonderful news! Where is he?’

‘At Tucket Towers,’ said John. ‘Mrs Witherspoon wants him to be her witch’s cat!’ and of course he won’t.’

‘Myfather a witch’s cat!’ said Calidor in an outraged voice.

‘So she has shut him up in the little room at the top of the tower until he changes his mind …’ said Rosemary.

‘With the Scrabbles to keep guard,’ interrupted John.

‘Scrabbles?’ queried Calidor.

‘Queer creatures with eyes back and front, and iron paws,’ said Rosemary. ‘They sit in a ring round him day and night, in case he should try to escape.’

‘But that’s not all,’ went on John. ‘Mrs Witherspoon is getting fed up with waiting for Carbonel to change his mind, and she has told Grisana and Melissa …’

‘That wicked pair!’ interrupted Calidor with a hiss. His back was bristling and his tail twitched angrily.

‘She has told Grisana that if Carbonel has not consented to be her witch’s cat by moonrise tonight, she can have him, to do with him what she likes!’ said Rosemary. ‘And we heard Grisana tell Melissa that she would take Carbonel captive back to Broomhurst. And thenyou would come to rescue him, and they would be lying in wait, all ready to scrodge the two of you.’

Calidor’s tail was no longer just twitching, it was lashing angrily, while he made curious growling, cat noises in his throat: ‘How dare they! How dare they!’ he hissed.

‘Melissa pretends she doesn’t mind that you won’t marry her, but she is furious really,’ said Rosemary.

‘If only Mattins had held his tongue!’ went on Calidor.

‘He did it because when Mrs Witherspoon found Carbonel, she didn’t want him for her witch’s cat any more,’ said Rosemary.

‘And because you didn’t trust him enough to tell him who you really were,’ said John. ‘But he’s sorry now. Mrs Witherspoon punished him because he told Grisana about Carbonel, without her permission. She plaited his whiskers. And once she said she would plait Carbonel’s, if he wouldn’t do what she wanted.’

‘What!’ said Calidor, rising to his four paws. ‘Plait my father’s whiskers? Never! Now listen to me! Grisana thinks that I shall go to his rescue … and she is right. But not when she expects it! I shan’t wait till he has been taken prisoner to Broomhurst. You say we have till moonrise tonight before Mrs Witherspoon plans to hand Carbonel over to Grisana?’

John nodded.‘Tucket Towers will be surrounded by a troop of crack Broomhurst cats well before moonrise, ready to pounce as soon as Mrs Witherspoon sets him free.’

‘Then most of their attention will be fixed on Tucket Towers,’ went on Calidor. ‘They will expect no opposition. In the meantime, with an army of Fallowhithe faithfuls, I shall advance secretly and attack them from behind. Grisana must be routed once and for all.’

‘Yes, but what about Carbonel?’ asked Rosemary.

‘That is where you come in,’ said Calidor coolly. ‘While we fight to the death outside and distract attention, you will somehow get hold of the key.’

‘Yes, but I say …’ began John. Calidor took no notice. ‘Release my father,’ he went on, ‘and then, of course, you will take your orders from him.’

‘We’ll do anything we can to help,’ said Rosemary hurriedly. (She was afraid from John’s red face that he was going to explode at what he called Calidor’s bossiness.) ‘We shall be there, a bit before moonrise.’ Luckily at this point they were interrupted by Miss Dibdin.

‘I thought you two were in a hurry to get back to Highdown?’ They turned to her with surprise, having almost forgotten she was there. ‘I’ve just heard the Town Hall clock strike two.’

‘Two o’clock? Heavens! The Sale begins at half past. Come on, Rosie,’ said John, getting to his feet with a clatter.

‘One question before you go,’ said Calidor. ‘How is my dear little Dumpsie?’

‘Dumpsie? Her paw is much better …’ began Rosemary, when she was interrupted by a loud cat voice behind her.

‘And who is it as talks so free about my daughter, Wellingtonia?’

They turned to see the tousled head of an old cat, peering down at them over the top of the tin-can mountain. Her pepper-and-salt-coloured fur stuck out in all directions, but her whiskers curved bravely, and her moth-eaten tail rose at a jaunty angle.‘Oh, it’s you, young Calidor!’ she said.

‘It is I,’ said Calidor graciously. ‘And these are John and Rosemary, the young Hearing Humans I told you of, who have taken Dumpsie in, and bound up her wounded paw.’

‘For which I gives a mother’s heartfelt thanks,’ replied the cat. ‘A good kitten, my Dumpsie, though I sez it myself. I heard a clatter of cans just now, enough to waken the Great Puss Himself, and I sez to myself “Strangers!” I sez. “Best see if it’s friend or enemy.” Only those as learns to walk soft-footed lasts long in the Dump, my dears. Now, would you be going back to Wellingtonia?’

‘As soon as we jolly well can!’ said John.

‘Then would you take a little something as a present for her? There was me just saying to myself as I was taking home my supper, how Dumpsie would have licked her chops at the smell of it!’

As she spoke, she stooped, and picked up something from between her front paws. Then, stepping carefully from tin to tin, testing her weight on each one before trusting herself to it, she joined them in the hollow with hardly a sound.

‘Of course we’ll take it …’ began Rosemary, then she hesitated. ‘It’s a bit smelly, isn’t it?’ she went on, as she picked up the unsavoury morsel between a reluctant finger and thumb.

‘Ripe, dear, just how she likes her haddocks’ heads,’ said the old cat.

‘Oh, come on, Rosie!’ said John. ‘We must go! Put the pongy thing in a tin or something, there are plenty to choose from, and get on the broom. This time I’m going in front. I’ve made up my rhyme. I know I’m not much good at poetry,’ he added, going rather pink. ‘I hope it will do.’

‘Remember, we meet tonight at moonrise!’ said Calidor, as John and Rosemary and Miss Dibdin mounted the broom. ‘Give my love to my one and only Dumpsie!’

‘And tell her to mind her manners!’ added the old cat. ‘A bit quick on her answers she is.’

‘All aboard?’ cried John. ‘Then let’s go!’ He paused a moment, then he said in a loud voice:

‘To Uncle Zack

Please take us back!’

‘Brief but businesslike,’ remarked Miss Dibdin.

There was a slight pause, while Rosemary wondered if the broom would obey such a bald command, but the handle began to vibrate again, and it rose steeply into the air.

‘Farewell, and a thousand thanks go with you!’ called Calidor after them, as the broom straightened out and made for Highdown.

20. The Motto

THE return flight to Highdown passed off without further adventure. As they flew over the roundabout, they all three peered down in search of Mrs Witherspoon.

‘I can’t see anything pink there now,’ shouted Rosemary.

‘Nor can I, but I think I saw the remains of the tricycle,’ called John. ‘Wherever can she be? — I say,’ he said, as they sped on, ‘more clouds ahead and it’s beginning to rain. We shall get simply soaked!’

‘Not if you tell the broom to fly above the rain clouds,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘It won’t like its twigs getting wet.’

‘Up! Up!’ cried John, clapping the broomstick with his knees, and it responded gallantly. Soon they were flying in brilliant sunshine, the tumbling clouds, so dark and grey on their underside, glistened white and bright as sugar icing from above. The country below was completely hidden, and it was not till some time later, when the broom began to lose height, that they guessed they were nearing home. Soon they were surrounded by the damp grey mist of the rain cloud once more.

‘I wish you’d told the broom to land us at the bottom of the garden,’ said Rosemary. ‘You simply said “Take us to Uncle Zack”, and he may be anywhere; having a bath, or crossing the road …’

‘Not now, you owl,’ said John. ‘The Sale will have started, I should think, so he’s sure to be in one of the showrooms.’

‘Which may be even more awkward,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘It may be full of customers.’

‘They’ll have a fit if they see us come swooping in on the broom,’ said Rosemary.

‘So undignified for an elderly school teacher!’ complained Miss Dibdin.

‘Well, it can’t be helped now,’ said John. ‘I did wonder about the garden, but I couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with it except “pardon”, and I was blowed if I was going to apologize to any old besom!’ The broom bucked uncomfortably at this. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,’ he went on hurriedly.

They had dropped below the clouds now, and were being well and truly rained upon. The roof of Roundels was racing up to meet them.

‘Hold tight! And keep your heads down!’ yelled John, as the broom dived suddenly. It swooped through the open front door, turned sharply to the left, overturning the umbrella-stand as the twigs swished round, and landed with a clatter, exactly as it had been commanded, at the feet of Uncle Zack. It so happened that he was standing by Mr Sprules, with his back to the room, studying some papers on a table which had been pushed against the wall. Neither of them saw the broom’s arrival; they only heard it, and turned quickly to see Miss Dibdin struggling to her feet.

‘My dear madam!’ said Uncle Zack, hurrying to give her a helping hand. ‘I trust you are not hurt?’

‘No, no,’ she replied rather breathlessly. ‘Only a little shaken.’

‘And as for you two children! What are you doing sitting on the floor? And where on earth have you been all this time? We finished lunch ages ago.’

‘Now, I beg you, don’t be cross with them,’ said Miss Dibdin. ‘We are old friends from Fallowhithe, we met just … just outside the village, and they both insisted that I should come with them to … to …’

‘To the Sale?’ said Uncle Zack.

‘To the Sale, of course,’ said Miss Dibdin, hurriedly, as she dusted down her skirt. ‘Antiques … so interesting! I only hope this dreadful weather will not keep your customers away.’ The rain was beating steadily on the window.

‘I’m afraid it is only too likely,’ said Uncle Zack ruefully. ‘There are only a few people here so far. But let me show you round, madam, while these two graceless children go down to the kitchen and get something to eat!’

‘And face the music,’ said Mr Sprules. ‘I don’t think Mrs Bodkin is very pleased with you! Good luck!’

He was right. With the help of her married cousin, she was setting out cups and saucers on a number of trays on the kitchen table. When she saw John and Rosemary, she paused in her work for a moment, and rolled her eyes. Shesaid nothing, but they recognized the cloud of crossness that Uncle Zack had described, in which she seemed to wrap herself. It was her married cousin who did the scolding. As they could not explain why they were so late, all they could do was to say they were very sorry, and put up with the reproaches. It was Mrs Bodkin who came to their rescue in the end.

‘Oh, give over, Daisy, do,’ she said. ‘At least they’re back now and no harm done. There’s some cold meat and salad on a couple of plates in the larder. You’d better go and eat it, somewhere out of the way.’

‘And then we’ll come and help with the teas won’t we, John?’ said Rosemary.

‘Raining cats and dogs, it is. Just your poor uncle’s luck!’ went on Mrs Bodkin. Oh, I nearly forgot. A parcel came for you when you were out, Rosie. I put it on your bed.’

‘I expect it’s my other coat,’ said Rosemary. ‘I asked Mum to send it.’

The most‘out-of-the-way’ place they could think of was Rosemary’s bedroom, at the top of the house. Dumpsie was already curled up, fast asleep, on the patchwork quilt, with the parcel beside her.

‘It seems a shame to disturb her,’ said Rosemary. ‘I’ll put the smelly old fish where she can see it when she wakes.’ She had been clasping the rusty tin wrapped in her handkerchief ever since they left Fallowhithe.

As she expected, the parcel proved to be her old coat.

‘Isn’t it funny how friendly old clothes feel?’ she said as she slipped it on.

‘Just look at Dumpsie,’ said John.

The smell of the fish was so strong, that even in her sleep her whiskers began to quiver, and her small black nose to twitch. Suddenly she was wide awake.

‘Oh, it’s you!’ she said, lifting her muzzle into the air, and moving it from side to side, with eyes half-closed, while she savoured to the full the richness of the smell. ‘Whatever is this delicious …?’

‘It’s a present from your mother,’ said John. ‘We’ve just been to Fallowhithe Rubbish Dump, and … for goodness’ sake eat it pretty quickly!’ he added, holding his hand over his nose.

‘But not on my bed!’ said Rosemary, and she hurriedly tipped the fish head on to a piece of paper in the hearth. ‘We’ll tell you all about everything while we eat our dinner,’ said John. ‘I’m rattling inside I’m so empty.’

They climbed on to the patchwork quilt, and in between mouthfuls of cold meat and salad, they told Dumpsie all their adventures. The little cat actually paused in astonishment several times while polishing off her banquet.

‘And to think as you’ve been to the dear old Dump and talked to my ma!’ she said, when at last she had finished the haddock head and was washing her paws. ‘And did he really say “Give my undying love to my one and only Dumpsie”? Prince Calidor, I mean,’ she went on, purring rapturously. Rosemary nodded. ‘And tonight at moonrise, when you go to Tucket Towers, you’ll let me come too?’ she pleaded. ‘There’s no knowing but even the likes of me might come in useful. My paw hardly hurts at all now.’

John and Rosemary looked at one another and nodded.

‘You’ll have to fly with us on the broom,’ said John. ‘I say, we left it downstairs! I’d better go and fetch it.’

When he returned, Rosemary had tidied herself up and brushed her hair. She was standing in front of the long mirror, waving her arms about in a strange way.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ said John.

‘Trying to see if I could do funny floppy sort of movements; like Mrs Witherspoon, when she was making the Middle Magic.’

‘Like a Meccano model when it hasn’t been screwed up properly,’ said John. ‘You’ll never do it. You’re not scrawny enough.’

Rosemary turned suddenly from the mirror, and stood, hands plunged in the pockets of her coat, staring out of the small latticed window at the rain-soaked view.

‘It must be exciting to be able to makereal magic,’ she said in a faraway voice. ‘Not just flying on broomsticks. What did Mrs Witherspoon mean when she said I was twice the witch that Miss Dibdin was?’

‘Search me!’ said John. ‘Have you noticed how different Miss Dibdin is since she packed in the witch business? She’s nice now, and quite sensible.’

Rosemary did not answer. Instead, she turned suddenly from the window and said:‘If I was a witch I’d wish you good at football. Would you like that?’ John shook his head.

‘It wouldn’t be any use. I should know it was only the magic, not me being good at it.’ Then he laughed. ‘A corny old witch you’d make, Rosie! Why, what’s the matter?’

Rosemary had taken off her coat and was feeling the hem.‘I’ve just found a hole in one of the pockets, and I think something has slipped through into the lining.’

After a few minutes’ poking, she produced a small screw of paper.

‘Bet it’s only an old shopping list,’ said John, as she smoothed it out; but it wasn’t a shopping list.

‘It’s a sort of poem,’ said Rosemary, and began to read:

‘Choose your wishes carefully:

Seven steps to gramarye.’

She broke off.‘I think grammar’s boring. Whoever …’

‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted John. ‘Isn’t “gramarye” an old word for magic? Nothing to do with grammar — verbs and nouns and things. Read it again. All of it.’

‘Choose your wishes carefully:

Seven steps to gramarye.

Build them one upon another,

Each wish built upon another.

Seven stages then you’ll be

On the road to witchery.

Learn your lesson:

Learn it fast:

The seventh wish will be your last.’

Rosemary’s voice faded into silence, and they stood and looked at one another. ‘What double-dyed idiots we’ve been,’ said John at last. ‘It’s the instructions that came in the purple cracker, about how to use the Golden Gew-Gaw.’

‘And we thought it was just a stupid cracker motto. I must have shoved it in my pocket, and it went through the hole, and it’s been there all the time!’ said Rosemary.

‘Only seven wishes,’ went on John. ‘How many have we had already?’ He began to count them on his fingers. ‘There was the first one at the bus stop when you wished you could fly …’

‘Only the ring fell off, but I suppose that counts,’ said Rosemary. ‘And then I wished the Scrabbles would come alive. That’s two.’

‘And that lighter-than-air business. That makes three.’

‘And Mother Boddles and the washing, makes four.’

‘And Mrs Witherspoon wishing Miss Dibdin away to the Ladies’ Waiting Room makes five,’ said John. ‘So there are only two more wishes left! And Mrs Witherspoon has got the ring. She may even have used up the other two by now!’

‘And all our wishes have been so silly,’ said Rosemary. ‘We haven’t done any of this “build-them-one-upon-another” business. What a waste!’

‘Let’s hope Mrs Witherspoon still doesn’t know the Gew-Gaw is a wishing ring,’ said John. ‘She couldn’t have been more surprised when she magicked Miss Dibdin away with it. We’vegot to get it back somehow, before she wishes something frightful.’

‘But we don’t even know where she is now!’ said Rosemary. ‘What a mess! What can we do?’

‘Go and help Mother Boddles for a start,’ said John. ‘Come on …’

‘There’s still only a handful of people come to the Sale,’ he said a few minutes later. They were standing by the Cromwellian table, which had been moved to one of the showrooms, on which the cups and saucers had been arranged.

‘Poor Uncle Zack!’ said Rosemary. ‘He’s looking so worried. I wish there was something we could do to help.’

‘Well, there’s one thing you can do, and that’s take a cup of tea and some biscuits to the young lady over there,’ said Mrs Bodkin drily. ‘The one in pink.’ John and Rosemary turned to look in the direction of her nod. Standing talking to an elderly man with a drooping moustache was young Mrs Witherspoon. She was wearing a flowery hat and white lacy gloves.

‘Well don’t just stand there with your mouths open,’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘Go on! And mind you get the right change.’

Rosemary took the cup of tea and John the plate of biscuits. Very slowly they walked towards Mrs Witherspoon.

21. The Sale

‘I’M scared!’ whispered Rosemary anxiously out of the side of her mouth as they crossed the room.

‘Me too,’ John whispered back. ‘But I shouldn’t think she’d want to make a scene here; not in public.’

‘You never know with witches.’

The‘lady in pink’ didn’t notice the two children at first. She seemed to be listening with great interest to her companion, who appeared to be telling her about a burglary.

‘The grand piano I bought from old Mrs Witherspoon some years ago. You say you are her niece? What a curious coincidence!’ (John and Rosemary exchanged glances at this. Pretending she’s her own niece! they thought.) ‘A very fine instrument, that piano,’ went on the man. ‘Perhaps you knew it?’

‘Very well indeed!’ said young Mrs Witherspoon.

‘Stolen in broad daylight, this very morning!’

‘Good gracious!’ Mrs Witherspoon said, pretending great surprise.

‘I don’t know what things are coming to. I understand there have been a number of similar burglaries today,’ he went on. ‘The police can’t discover how the thieves got in; and, what is really surprising, how they got the grand piano out without anyone noticing. My wife was writing lettersin the next room and did not hear a sound. I have to admit it was very cleverly done.’

‘You might almost say brilliantly clever,’ said Mrs Witherspoon, with so much energy that the man looked a little surprised.

‘Well, I must go and look round all these beautiful things!’ He waved his hand at the furniture ranged for sale in the showroom. ‘And I mustn’t keep you from your tea. Please give my regards to your aunt. Skeffington is my name. Major Skeffington.’ He bowed politely, and wandered off to examine an old Welsh dresser at the end of the room. Mrs Witherspoon shook with silent laughter, but she stopped laughing abruptly when she turned and saw John and Rosemary standing behind her. Her dark eyes widened.

‘You!’ she said. ‘You twoagain! What are you doing here, you tiresome little busybodies?’

‘We live here,’ said John shortly. ‘However did you get away from the roundabout?’

‘Small thanks to you, and that foolish Dibdin!’ she replied, and her eyes flashed with anger. ‘My tricycle was a complete wreck. I thumbed a lift from a lorry. I had no difficulty, I assure you.’ She put up her hand and patted her hair. ‘But poor Gullion had to walk. I will thank you to keep your inquisitive noses out of my affairs in future.’

‘But it wasyour nose inour affairs when you tried to stop us flying to Fallowhithe on the broom,’ said Rosemary indignantly. Mrs Witherspoon looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘was it really you or was it Dorothy Dibdin who worked the Flying Magic then?’

‘Well, I helped her to get it right,’ said Rosemary, and added, ‘because of not wearing spectacles.’

‘I thought as much,’ said Mrs Witherspoon, looking at her curiously. ‘You have the makings of …’

‘Yes, but look here —’ broke in John.

‘Do not interrupt, you silly little boy!’ said Mrs Witherspoon sharply.

‘I’m not silly, and I’m not little!’ said John angrily, and his anger gave him courage. ‘And we want our ring back,now. So there!’

‘What ring? I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

‘The one you stole from the kitchen window-sill. You were the only person who went to the back door that afternoon. Mrs Bodkin said so.’

‘Oh, that wasn’t me. It was …’ She paused, and went on roguishly. ‘It was my aunt!’

‘It wasn’t your aunt,’ went on John, now thoroughly roused. ‘I don’t believe you’ve got an aunt! It was you, before you magicked yourself young! We saw it happen, because we watched you make the Middle Magic. And after that you wished Miss Dibdin away, and then we saw the ring on your finger!’

‘And you couldn’t have sent Miss Dibdin off like that without the wishing ring!’ added Rosemary. As soon as she had spoken she clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

‘That’s torn it!’ said John reproachfully.

‘It’s awishing ring? Thank you for telling me, child,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘Then I shall certainly not give it back to you. I thought there was a strange fire smouldering in that crimson stone.’

‘Then you admit you’ve got it?’ demanded John. ‘If you don’t give it back, we shall tell you stole it, and about the grand piano, and all the other things you sold and magicked back again!’

‘And about you being your own aunt!’ added Rosemary, though she was not sure if she made herself clear.

‘And who do you think would believe a single word of it?’ said Mrs Witherspoon coolly. ‘So let’s say no more about it.’

Both John and Rosemary had to admit to themselves that nobody would believe their story.

‘And now I should like that cup of tea,’ said Mrs Witherspoon.

‘Tea and biscuits costs ten pence,’ growled John.

‘Then you may hold my gloves, boy, while I get the money from my purse,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. As she pulled them off, something red and sparkling flashed for a fleeting second through the white lace. John took the gloves from her while she felt inside her handbag. He held them at arm’s length at first, just in case they had some unexpected magic power. One of them felt slightly heavier than the other. Just as Mrs Witherspoon took out her purse, Major Skeffington came back again.

‘There’s a charming old tea-set on the Welsh dresser,’ he said, ‘I don’t know if such things interest you?’

Under cover of the conversation that followed, Rosemary whispered:

‘What’s the matter? Why are you looking pop-eyed?’

‘There’s something hard in the finger of one of the gloves. Here, hold these biscuits while I see what it is.’

Rosemary took the plate from him. John held the heavier glove by the tips of the fingers, and shook it into the palm of the other hand. Out fell the Golden Gew-Gaw! For a second they stood and stared at it.

‘What gorgeous good luck!’ breathed John. Only just in time he closed his fist round the ring.

Major Skeffington had drifted away, and Mrs Witherspoon turned and held out the money for the tea. As she did so, she saw the bare finger which the ring should have circled. One look at John’s triumphantly grinning face told her what had happened.

‘You sly deceitful boy! Or is this some magic of yours?’ she said, turning to Rosemary.

‘Good gracious, no. I can’t do magic,’ said Rosemary. ‘I expect it’s because, now your finger isn’t old and knobbly any more, the ring slipped off into your glove.’

‘Give me back the ring!’ Mrs Witherspoon hissed, turning furiously on John.

‘No!’ said John. ‘I won’t. It isn’t yours!’

Then Mrs Witherspoon pounced, but he was too quick for her. He turned and fled, and with a clatter of high heels she ran after him. When Rosemary had found somewhere to put the biscuits and the tea, now largely slopped in the saucer, she followed as fast as she could, with Dumpsie, a small dark shadow at her heels. The few customers strolling about looked up with surprise as John dodged round them. Once he nearly collided with Uncle Zack, who was so wrapped up in his worried thoughts that he hardly noticed.

Down the stairs raced John, and out into the garden, with Mrs Witherspoon close behind. Indoors they had been fairly evenly matched, but outside she was handicapped by her high heels on the soft rain-sodden ground. On they ran, dodging and doubling behind shrubs and bushes, and as he panted on John said to himself:‘I’ve got the Golden Gew-Gaw … now I can wish something … really useful! I can’t bear … Uncle Zack looking so miserable. If only … I was better at rhymes,’ he went on. ‘Uncle, carbuncle … that won’t do! Wish, fish, bish … no good either. I hope it won’t … be me that makes a bish!’

Now, anyone who has tried to make up a rhyming Wishing Magic in the rain, while dodging an angry young witch round dripping rhododendron bushes, will realize what a difficult job John had set himself; but he was determined to do it. He thought and thought as he darted from bush to bush. Rosemary and Dumpsie, who were doing their best to catch up, suddenly saw him disappear behind a particularly shadowy shrub.

Mrs Witherspoon stood crouched, knees bent, fingers spread, ready for him to reappear, which he did, unexpectedly, several bushes away. As she turned to face him she lost one of her high-heeled shoes in Uncle Zack’s favourite rose-bed. While she stooped to rescue it, John threw up his arms with the crimson stone of the ring glowing on his finger, and sang out in a loud, clear voice:

‘I wish at once that everyone

For miles and miles and miles,

Shall come on foot or bus or car…’

Here he paused, frowning hard.

‘By road and over stiles,’ he went on.

‘And buy and buy from Uncle’s shop …’

At this point he dried up completely, standing white-faced, with screwed-up eyes.

‘Till all is sold, then they can stop!’ yelled Rosemary, from the shadow of the toolshed.

‘Till all is sold, then they can stop!’ repeated John gratefully.

Then he turned, and clutching the ring in his fist once more dashed for the house. Mrs Witherspoon, who had kicked off her other shoe, was gaining on him now. John’s breath was coming in gasps.

‘Rosie! Rosie! … Stop her if you can …’ he panted. ‘For the sake of the Golden Gew-Gaw!’ But Rosemary was too far behind to do anything. It was Dumpsie who came to the rescue. Just as Mrs Witherspoon stretched out her hand to grip John by the shoulder, the little cat dashed between her feet so that she stumbled and fell on her knees on the wet grass.

‘Oh well done, Dumpsie!’ said Rosemary. All three dashed into the house, and slammed and bolted the door behind them.

At the top of the stairs they met Uncle Zack. Now he was smiling from ear to ear.

‘Go and help Mrs Bodkin, you two! Customers suddenly started pouring in only a few minutes ago. The drive is black with people! Extraordinary!’

‘You go and help, Rosie,’ said John, ‘and I’ll join you in a minute. I’m going to hide this blessed ring in my bedroom, then even if Mrs Witherspoon comes and searches me she won’t find it.’ He raced upstairs, and pushed the Golden Gew-Gaw under his pillow.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in such a flurry of handing round cups of tea, such a running backwards and forwards with cups to be washed and refilled, that there was no time to think of anything else. Realizing that they were rushed off their feet, Miss Dibdin offered to help. With sleeves rolled up, she stood at the sink in a cloud of steam, washing up a stream of teacups, while Mrs Bodkin’s married cousin dried, and Mrs Bodkin poured out.

Presently the drive was filled with customers going the other way, carrying copper kettles, candlesticks, footstools and china; staggering under the weight of chairs and tables; helping one another to take away beds and cupboards and chests of drawers. In ten minutes, the collection of china ornaments with the label‘All In This Tray Six Pence’ had been cleared by the children, of whom there were dozens. No one went away empty-handed. Uncle Zack made out bills in a happy trance, and Mr Sprules took the money and gave change.

‘I never saw anything like it,’ said Mrs Bodkin when the rush was over. ‘The whole village was here, as well as crowds I’ve never set eyes on, and all buying as if they’d gone mad!’

‘Incredible!’ said Uncle Zack.

‘Remarkable!’ said Mr Sprules.

‘There was Mrs Bucket from the bakery, says she’s bought a four-post bed, and her with a house as big as a matchbox! And old Mr Grimes, who’s not left his bed for nine months, here in his pyjamas! Said he didn’t know why but he suddenly felt he’dgot to come. Bought a grandfather clock andcarried it off over his shoulder. Said he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for years!’

‘And the road-man,’ said Rosemary. ‘When I took him his biscuits, he showed me a funny sort of cup he’d bought, with a ledge to rest his moustache on when he drinks his tea, so that he shan’t get it wet … his moustache, I mean. He’s as pleased as Punch with it!’

‘He told me some chaps are coming tomorrow to replace the cat’s eyes by the railway bridge,’ said John.

‘There isn’t a thing left in the shop,’ said Uncle Zack. ‘I’m sorry they had to go, all my treasures, but it had to be. I think we can say it’s been a thoroughly successful day! Thanks to all my gallant helpers!’ He turned to Miss Dibdin. ‘It was so kind of you to give a hand with the washing-up.’

‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘It has done me a very good turn. I have arranged to go into lodgings with Mrs Bodkin’s married cousin while I am house-hunting, which is really what I came to Highdown to do. I shall move in tomorrow morning.’

‘You know,’ said John later that evening, ‘I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable about Miss Dibdin not being told that her parcel really did come. We’ve been behaving as though it was our property, and it’s really hers. Do you think we ought to tell her about the purple cracker and all the rest of it, now she’s so much more sensible?’

They had gone to look at the empty showrooms, and their footsteps echoed eerily on the bare boards.

‘As a matter of fact, I did begin to tell her,’ said Rosemary, going rather red. ‘It just sort of … slipped out, while she was washing up this afternoon.’ She went on quickly, interrupting John’s exclamation of dismay. ‘Oh it’s all right! She wouldn’t listen. Said that now she hadgiven the whole thing up she didn’t want to hear about the parcel. I’m sorry. I know I’m always saying things when I ought to shut up, but they sort of slip out. I can’t help it somehow. We’re so different, you and me. I think you were super brave when you tackled Mrs Witherspoon about thering. I couldn’t have done that. I was scared stiff.’

‘Well, it wasn’t as brave as you were when you made me pour that purple stuff down your ear, and we weren’t sure what it would do to you,’ said John.

‘The Hearing Mixture?’ said Rosemary. John nodded, and shuffled his feet in an embarrassed way. ‘I was too scared to do it, but I let you. I’ve felt uncomfortable about it ever since,’ he mumbled.

‘And Dumpsie was as brave as a lion when she tripped up Mrs Witherspoon, so that we could escape,’ went on Rosemary.

‘It runs in the family,’ said Dumpsie airily. ‘Lions is second cousins to cats. Oh well, I suppose there’s different ways of being brave.’

‘Well, I bet we shall need them all tonight when we go to Tucket Towers,’ said John.

22. Councils of War

‘THERE hasn’t been a single second, since we left the Dump, to plan what we’re going to do tonight when we get to Tucket Towers,’ said John. ‘It’s half past nine already, and moonrise is at half past ten, I looked it up in my School Boy’s Diary.’

They were sitting on Rosemary’s bed, with Dumpsie washing her already spotless shirt front as she sat between them on the patchwork quilt. Supper had been late, after the clearing up and excitements of the day. Pleading tiredness, they had gone upstairs soon after.

‘I met Mrs Witherspoon again this evening,’ said Rosemary uneasily. John looked at her in surprise. ‘I wanted to tell you, but there hasn’t been a chance. It was in the drive when the Sale was over, and you were helping Mrs Bodkin collect the dirty tea things. I’d been helping a woman load up her pram with a dinner service. There wasn’t much room for the baby as well. It was queer. She seemed much more worried about the dinner service.’

‘I expect that was the magic,’ said John. ‘It seems to make people quite different somehow. I don’t think it really cares what happens to them. Like making a fool of me up against the station roof, and Mrs Bodkin having to do all that ironing. And imagine bringing poor old Mr Grimes to the Sale in his pyjamas! But what did Mrs Witherspoon say?’

‘She must have been hanging about in the bushes by the gate because she pounced on me as I was coming back,’ said Rosemary. ‘She said she couldn’t come inside without her shoes — she’d lost them in the flower-bed — and her pink frock was all muddy. She asked me to give you a message. She said: “Tell that boy I shall be even with him yet, in the way he will mind most and least expect!” And then she laughed, but it was a queer sort of laugh. I didn’t like it. And then she said …’ Rosemary stopped, and shuffled uncomfortably on the patchwork quilt.

‘Well, go on! What did she say?’

‘She said,’ went on Rosemary slowly, ‘ “Have you ever thought of being a witch yourself? If you come to Tucket Towers, Gullion and I will teach you. You’d make a very pretty witchling”!’

‘She never said that!’ said John incredulously, and burst out laughing. Rosemary did not laugh. She sat with her chin in her hands, staring at the toes of her shoes. ‘A crumby old witch you’d make, Rosie! But what infernal cheek! What did she say when you turned her down?’

‘She just laughed that queer laugh again, and then she said: “Stranger things have happened”, and not to forget her message to you.’

‘ “Get even with me in the way I least expect”?’ repeated John more soberly.

In the thoughtful silence that followed, faint and far away they heard the church clock strike.

‘Gosh! Ten o’clock!’ said John. ‘And here we are talking nonsense, instead of making plans to rescue Carbonel. I’d better take my torch.’

‘There’s one more wish left in the Golden Gew-Gaw,’ said Rosemary. ‘Why don’t we use magic to clear the whole business up?’

John shook his head.‘It’s too complicated. What should we actually wish for? We should only make a mess of it. Besides, I’m quite certain Carbonel and Calidor would want to win this battle by themselves, not because of any old wishing ring. Like me and football.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Rosemary doubtfully. At the mention of Calidor, Dumpsie had stopped washing herself. She sat up very straight, and pricked her ears.

‘Well how on earth do we get inside Tucket Towers for a start?’ went on Rosemary.

‘That bit’s easy,’ said John. ‘The latch of the scullery window is broken, you remember. We’re lucky that there isn’t any electric light any more. I suppose Mrs Witherspoon has to use candles instead.’

‘In all those grand silver candlesticks,’ added Rosemary.

‘It’ll make it easier to get to the tower without being spotted, said John.

‘But twice as creepy!’ added Rosemary. ‘And with Mrs Witherspoon keeping the key of Carbonel’s prison on a string round her neck, how on earth do we unlock the door? Calidor didn’t know what he was asking.’

‘If Calidor tells us to do something, we does it,’ said Dumpsie shortly. ‘What a pother you’m making over this business! If you want the turret door opened, why don’t you let this Witch-Woman do it for you? Is there anywhere you can hide by the door?’

‘I suppose we could squat behind some of that junk on the landing, outside,’ said John. ‘But how would that help us?’

‘See here,’ said Dumpsie in a patient voice. ‘The Witch-Woman comes up them twirly stairs you told me about, holding her candle. She’ll have to put it down somewheres while she hauls up the key, hand over hand. Then she puts the key in the lock, and as soon as you hear it turning you ups and blows out the light so as she can’t see what’s going on.’

‘But what about all those Scrabbles on guard in a ring round Carbonel? They will be able to see, each one with its four great eyes shining back and front,’ said Rosemary.

‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted John. ‘Mrs Witherspoon thinks the Scrabbles can see in the dark because they’re called cat’s eyes, but I don’t believe they can. When they are just cat’s eyes in the road, they only glow when the headlights of a car shine full on them. They justreflect light. Don’t you remember, Rosie, we saw it happen?’

‘Of course! Then if the candle is blown out and there is no light, their eyes aren’t any good and they won’t be able to see!’

‘Cat’s eyes!’ said Dumpsie scornfully. ‘Cats is cats, and Scrabbles is Scrabbles.’

‘But even if the Scrabbles can’t see in the dark, neither can we,’ said Rosemary obstinately.

‘Nor the Witch-Woman neither,’ said Dumpsie. ‘So humans start even. Only King Carbonel and me, true cats, will see near as plain as day without much light. It’ll all be easy as falling off a dustbin lid!’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said John soberly. ‘But at least we’ve got some sort of plan to start off with. We must be going. Come on, Rosie! You’re better at these magic rhymes than I am. Think one up quickly while I fish the broom out from under your bed. You’d better tell it to takeus to the little wood. We’re less likely to be spotted landing there, and the rooks will be asleep.’

In no time at all they were sailing through Rosemary’s bedroom window, with John in the middle and Dumpsie up behind. The night was dark. Here and there, different coloured squares of light glowed where the inhabitants of Highdown sat behind their window curtains. Over the church they flew, so low that John gave the weather-cock on the steeple a flick with his toe and sent it twirling; over the fields, and the dark ribbon that was the railway cutting, with the station a dim shadow crouching away to their left, until they dived down into the gently-swaying black mass which was the wood, landing so neatly that not a twig or a leaf was disturbed.

‘Well done, broom!’ whispered Rosemary, ‘and thank you.’ She propped it up against a tree.

‘Come on,’ said John. ‘We’d better hurry. The sky is getting lighter. It must be nearly moonrise. Here, Dumpsie,’ he went on. ‘I don’t suppose the Broomhurst sentries will bother about humans, but they will be on the lookout for strange cats. You’d better sit inside my jacket untilwe get inside the house.’ (He was still wearing the best suit he had worn for the Sale.) He picked her up and tucked her inside, where she continued to purr her thanks. When they reached the gate into the yard, Rosemary, who was in front, stopped suddenly, and lifted a warning hand.

‘Cats, talking!’ she whispered.

‘You’d better repeat instructions, Growser,’ said a solemn cat-voice. ‘I wouldn’t be in your paws if you make a mistake.’

‘Ofcourse I know the instructions, Splodger,’ said a second voice.

‘Mr Sprules’s cat!’ mouthed Rosemary.

‘One shrill miaow if I see so much as a whisker of a Fallowhithe animal,’ went on Growser. ‘But what’s it all about, I should like to know?’

‘You will be told, all in good time,’ said Splodger. ‘Her Majesty Queen Grisana will be here any minute now to explain. Wait a minute: there she is, I do believe, on the other side of the yard! Come on, let’s hurry!’

The two animals ran off together, and as John and Rosemary peered round the gatepost in the thinning darkness, one after another, shadowy cat shapes ran on silent paws in the same direction.

‘There must be dozens of them!’ whispered John, and then from the far side of the yard came the voice of Grisana. It rose harsh and shrill, like the squeal of a slate pencil that sets your teeth on edge. To an ordinary person it would have sounded like any cat singing to the rising moon, but toJohn and Rosemary, and of course to the animals in the yard, she was making the same sort of speech as Queen Elizabeth I before the battle of the Armada.

‘Cats of Broomhurst!’ she called. ‘Now is the chance to pour shame and scorn on your hated rivals, the cats of Fallowhithe!’ She paused, and there was a stir and a murmur among the animals assembled in the yard. ‘Carbonel, their king, is held prisoner in this very house behind me. When the moon rises he will be set free — or so he thinks. I have commanded you to make a ring round the house, so that, from whichever door or window he leaps, you will be ready to catch and hold him fast!’ There was a yowl of excitement from the cats. ‘We shall take him captive back to Broomhurst!’

‘Yowl! Yowl!’ yelled the cats.

‘But that is not all,’ cried Grisana. ‘When Calidor, his son, hears what has happened, he will come at once to the rescue of his father. Hiding behind every corner and every chimney pot of the town, we shall watch him walk into our trap; and when I give the sign it will be the work of a moment to scrodge the pair of them!’

The vicious way in which Grisana spat out the word‘scrodge’ made Dumpsie poke an indignant head from John’s jacket.

‘Don’t you dare …’ she began.

John pushed her hurriedly back again. Luckily the Broomhurst cats were making such a chorus of triumphant miaows and miaowks that they had not heard her.

‘Come on,’ whispered John. ‘Now’s our chance to creep round to the scullery window while they’re making this shindy, before the sentries go back to their posts.’

23. The Full Moon

SILENTLY, John and Rosemary crept round the front of the house, Dumpsie still making indignant cat noises inside John’s jacket.

‘Look, there’s a light in one of the windows, and someone is playing the piano,’ said Rosemary.

They tiptoed up to the front of the house, and, standing on the weedy flower-bed underneath, peered cautiously through the window. Mrs Witherspoon, swooping and swaying, was playing a strange wild tune, the two flickering candles in their holders on either side making her shadow dance even more wildly. The only thing in the darkened room that was perfectly still was Gullion the toad, who sat motionless on top of the piano.

‘What with the piano pounding in front, and cats caterwauling at the back, nobody would hear us however much noise we made!’ said John. ‘Come on, let’s hurry.’

And hurry they did: across the drive, and through the jungle of what was once the kitchen garden.

‘Of course,’ said Rosemary, ‘the Middle Magic only made thehouse as it was fifty years ago, not the outside. But John, won’t the latch of the scullery window be mended? That’s part of the house.’

John looked at her in alarm.‘I hadn’t thought of that. Come on!’ They broke into a run.

‘Thank goodness!’ he said, when they reached the window. Rosemary had been right. It was no longer broken, but it was neatly pegged open a few inches. The door was locked, as they expected, so John lifted the metal arm from its peg and swung the casement wide. Dumpsie poked her head out of his jacket once more.

‘Better let me get in first, then I can see if it’s all right.’

John lifted her up, and she jumped on to the draining board the other side.

‘All clear!’ she called back.

‘Now you, Rosie,’ said John. ‘I’ll give you a heave.’

Unfortunately, he heaved with rather too much enthusiasm, and there was a crash of falling saucepans, as Rosemary disappeared through the window. They all three froze, but the distant piano-playing never faltered.

‘There’s an even bigger pile of dirty washing-up than before,’ said Rosemary. ‘So look out!’

When John, too, was safely inside, they crept down the passage and through the green baize door, which made a ghostly‘whooshing’ as it swung to behind them. Across the hall they tiptoed, avoiding the shaft of light which shone through the half-open door of the music room, through which the sound of the piano still surged, and up the thickly carpeted stairs to the gallery.

The wavering circle of light from John’s torch steadied on the door leading to the turret. It was propped open, and on the bottom step was a bedroom candlestick with a box of matches in the saucer. As they climbed the spiral staircase, the sound of the piano grew fainter. When they reached the little landing at the top, they no longer found a jumble of junk, but an orderly pile of trunks and suitcases, with a dressmaker’s dummy seeming to stand guard beside the doorway to Carbonel’s prison. Rosemary ran across, and fell on her knees.

‘Carbonel! Are you there? It’s us, John and Rosemary!’ she called through the keyhole.

‘I am here,’ said a faint voice inside. ‘Where else should I be?’ it added bitterly.

‘But not for long. You’ll soon be free,’ said John. At this there was a chorus of squeaks from the Scrabbles. ‘Listen,’ went on John. ‘There isn’t much time. It’s nearly moonrise. This is important. When Mrs Witherspoon opens the door to let you go, slip out of the prison room as quickly as you can, but come to us. We shall be hiding behind the suitcases. It will be dark, so she won’t see you. Whatever you do, don’t go down the stairs till we give the signal.’

‘But the Cat’s Eye creatures?’ said Carbonel.

‘They can’t see in the dark either, whatever Mrs Witherspoon thinks,’ said John.

‘I knew that from the beginning,’ said Carbonel scornfully. ‘But their iron paws are sharp, and they can run, as I know to my cost.’ The Scrabbles burst into another bout of squeaking at this, and from the tapping of their claws on the wooden floor John and Rosemary could imagine them jumping excitedly up and down.

‘Whatever you do …’ began John. ‘What’s the matter?’ he went on. Rosemary was pulling his sleeve.

‘The piano has stopped,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Witherspoon must be coming. Quickly, hide!’

They both ducked down behind the suitcases. There was complete silence except for the beating of their hearts. Even the Scrabbles were still. In the dim light that heralded the rising of the moon, they could just make out the darker shape that was the opening at the top of the spiral staircase. Suddenly, very faintly, they heard the striking of a match, and as the sound of mounting footsteps grew nearer, the opening became lighter, until Mrs Witherspoon stepped out on to the landing, holding the lighted candle above her head. For a moment, she stood there, framed against the darkness, the flickering candle-light glinting on her long crimson dress, on the braids of her black hair, and on Gullion, who sat perched upon her shoulder.

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‘Wait, my little warty one!’ she croodled, at the same time stroking his head with one finger. ‘When we have dealt with this obstinate animal, you shall have your bath in a silver bowl, with a scent of your very own choosing. Patience!’

With a whispering of silken skirts she strode across to the locked door.

‘Cat!’ she cried. ‘This is your last chance. Do you promise to be my servant, to do my bidding in all things? Answer, once and for all!’

‘And once and for all,’ replied Carbonel, and his voice was strong and clear, ‘as I have answered a hundred times before, NEVER!’

‘Think well, cat! Think well. Such magic wonders you would witness! Such wild, wicked adventures you would share, mounted on the swiftest broom, and you so black and handsome up behind!’ Her voice softened and became almost wheedling. ‘Obedience is not much to pay for all this glory! What do you say, cat?’

‘What do I say? Just this,’ cried Carbonel. ‘I want no share in your wicked triumphs, and your magic conjuring tricks! Never, never,never will I become slave to a common witch!’

‘Acommon witch?’ repeated Mrs Witherspoon, and her voice trembled with anger. ‘How dare you! For that insult, I would not keep you in my house one moment longer, for all of Solomon’s gold. Out! Out with you! And not a finger will I stir for the fate that may be waiting you outside these walls!’

As she spoke, Mrs Witherspoon lifted Gullion from her shoulder. John and Rosemary shrank back while she placed him carefully on the floor beside her.

‘Wait there, my pet, my gorgeous Gullion,’ she crooned, ‘while I unlock the door and send this foolish animal to his doom!’

She put the candlestick down beside him, and as she pulled up the key from the front of her crimson gown, John put out a careful hand and removed the box of matches. Still muttering angrily under her breath, she put the key in the lock. It turned with a grating sound, and the door began to move.‘Now!’ whispered John. Both of them blew, and the candle went out. There was an exclamation of annoyance from Mrs Witherspoon.

‘Bother, the matches have gone!’ she said, and then she laughed.

‘What does it matter if I am in the dark? The rest lies with my little Cat’s Eye creatures.’ The Scrabbles were already squeaking and squealing with excitement. ‘Chase this rude ungrateful animal out! See him to the door of the hall, where Grisana will be waiting, and do not bother to treathim gently!’

Now, the moment the door was unlocked, unnoticed by the Scrabbles, Carbonel had slipped silently from his prison to join John and Rosemary in their hiding place; and while the Scrabbles searched for him in the dark, with renewed squeakings, Dumpsie slipped from the safety of John’s jacket, and heading for the staircase let out a mocking challenge. ‘Miaowk!’

‘After him! After him, my little Cat’s Eyes!’ called Mrs Witherspoon, laughing wildly. Unable to tell one cat from another in the gloom, the Scrabbles streamed towards the sound of Dumpsie’s challenge.

Under his restraining hand, John could feel the tightening of Carbonel’s muscles, and guessed his reluctance to let someone else attract the danger directed to himself.

‘Not yet,’ whispered John. ‘Dumpsie can look after herself.’

As the tapping of the iron paws of pursuing Scrabbles faded into silence, a shaft of brilliant moonlight shone through the narrow window of the landing. By its light, they saw Mrs Witherspoon lift Gullion from the floor and place him on her shoulder once more.

‘The moon has risen. I have kept my word! Was that not well done, my treasure, my Gullion?’ she crooned. For a moment she stood perfectly still, while the toad lifted his warty head to her ear. Then she let out a cry. ‘What? You mean to say it is not Carbonel they are chasing to the door? Andit is those children again! It was they who blew out the candle? Why didn’t you warn me?’ She paused again as though listening to the toad’s reply. ‘But I couldn’t help it. I had to put you down while I unlocked the door. I can’t see the children now,’ she went on, looking around the landing in the moonlight. ‘Are you sure Carbonel is not still here? He may be lurking inside.’ She took a few paces into the prison room and looked round.

‘Quick,’ whispered Carbonel. ‘Close the door!’

John leapt out from his hiding place, closed the door with a clang, and turned the key.

‘Open the door!’ shouted Mrs Witherspoon from inside. ‘Let me out!’ She beat upon the unyielding wood with her fists.

‘Not yet!’ answered John. ‘Not until Carbonel is safely on his way back to Fallowhithe.’

‘You … you odious boy, thwarting my plans yet again! But I shall be revenged, as I warned you, never fear; and beware! It will be in a way you least expect!’ She laughed again, and it was not a pleasant sound, but her laughter was cut short by the voice of Grisana calling from the foot of thespiral stairs.

‘Carbonel!’ she yowled. ‘Come out! I know quite well you are up there!’

All this time he had been standing very straight and still, waiting for John to give him the signal that it was time for him to leave.

‘Not yet!’ replied John to his inquiring look. ‘Whatever you do, don’t go outside the house. It is surrounded by Broomhurst cats waiting to pounce and take you prisoner back to Broomhurst. We must play for time, until Calidor comes with a faithful army from Fallowhithe. He promised to be here by moonrise.’

(I wonder why he isn’t here already, thought Rosemary uneasily.)

‘What, wait, and be branded as a coward? Not I!’ said Carbonel. ‘My thanks must wait till this matter is settled, and believe me I am grateful to you, and the noble animal who led the Cat’s Eye creatures away. But from now on, you must leave me to fight my own battle. Cat against cat, claw against claw. This ismy war!’

As he spoke Grisana yowled again:‘Carbonel! Come out, I say! Or are you afraid? Must I come and fetch you?’

‘I am afraid of no one!’ called Carbonel. ‘But I come in my own time, not at your summons. You may do your wicked worst, Grisana!’

And with that he ran lightly down the stairs.

‘Open the door at once, and let me go!’ shouted Mrs Witherspoon. ‘I have an important appointment to keep at midnight.’ John and Rosemary looked at one another.

‘Who with?’ shouted John through the door.

‘With …’ began Mrs Witherspoon. ‘As a matter of fact, with a cement mixer. But you children wouldn’t understand.’

‘We understand all right!’ cried John. ‘To stop the builders building. All the more reason not to unlock the door yet! Come on, Rosie. Let’s go.’

The voice of Mrs Witherspoon followed them as they ran down the spiral stairs:‘I shall have my revenge, never fear!’ But they had other things to think about.

24. The Battle of Tucket Towers

‘WHY in the world doesn’t Calidor come?’ whispered Rosemary anxiously. ‘It’s after moonrise. But even if Carbonel won’t let us help, at least we can try to rescue Dumpsie from the Scrabbles. Come on.’

Together they hurried down to the gallery, pausing at the bottom of the spiral staircase just long enough to take in that Carbonel stood alone at the top of the stairs leading down to the hall, and that Grisana crouched a few steps below, staring up at him through half-closed eyes with bristling back and flattened ears. The hall below was a shifting, jostling mass of Broomhurst cats.

‘There’s only one door open on the landing,’ whispered John, peering cautiously out. ‘Dumpsie must have dashed in there. Come on, quickly, while they are all staring at Carbonel. Keep in the shadow.’

They slipped unnoticed out on to the gallery, and keeping close to the wall crept round to the open door. It led into a bedroom. By the light of the moon which flooded through the wide window, they saw the Scrabbles, massed in a semicircle at the foot of a four-post bed, gazing upwards. Peering down from the safety of the roof of the bed was a pair of shining green eyes.

‘Dumpsie?’ cried John. ‘Is that you?’

‘Are you all right?’ asked Rosemary anxiously.

‘Give or take a handful of fur, as good as ever I were,’ replied Dumpsie. ‘I told you as Scrabbles can’t climb. But I don’t think I’ll come down till you’ve got rid of ’em.’

‘That’s all very well, but how?’ asked John.

‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure,’ said Dumpsie, in an off-hand way. ‘I’ve done my share.’

‘And super bravely too!’ said Rosemary.

‘If I got a chair I could lift you down,’ said John.

The Scrabbles, twittering and squeaking among themselves, watched him suspiciously with their back eyes, while never ceasing to stare up at Dumpsie with their front eyes. As he turned to fetch a chair, with surprising speed a number of them detached themselves from the main body and quickly enclosed him in a circle, muttering angrily, and bouncing up and down on their bandy legs. When he tried to move, one of them nipped him sharply on his ankle.

‘Ow!’ said John. Not to be outdone, he tried to jump over the ring of Scrabbles. But even this did not work. Because they couldsee both ways, andmove both ways with surprising speed, they had already judged exactly where he would land, and he came down in a circle of the creatures, already formed to receive him. They were squeaking now in a lighter key. Could it be with laughter, wondered Rosemary? But John was very far from laughing.

‘Now I suppose I’m as stuck here as Dumpsie is up there,’ he said. ‘You’re the only one left, Rosie. It was you tinkering about with magic that brought the things alive. Can’t you do something about them now?’ He knew this was unfair as he said it.

‘I might be able to,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘Not with magic though.’ She turned to the creatures, who watched her with unwinking shining eyes. ‘Scrabbles, do you remember it was me who wished you out of your holes in the road?’ A chorus of squeaks greeted this. ‘Well, so far, the holes you came from are still empty, but tomorrow a man is coming to fill them up with new studs. If that happens, you will be homeless, with nowhere to go to when all this is over!’

At this the Scrabbles forgot both their prisoners, and joined together in one agitated twittering, squeaking crowd. Shriller and shriller they grew, then, as though they had come to some agreement, suddenly fell silent, and without a sound, save the pattering of their paws, turned, and streamed out of the room. When John and Rosemary reached the door to peer after them, they had already disappeared.

‘Down the back stairs, I suppose,’ said John. ‘Phew! I’m glad that’s over. I’m sorry if I was beastly.’

When they turned back into the bedroom, Dumpsie had already jumped down from the four-post bed.

‘Them Scrabbles!’ she said. ‘Useful it must be, having no backwards.’

‘Look out, Rosie!’ said John suddenly. A cloud had drifted over the moon, and in the momentary darkness she had nearly stepped backwards into a large bowl filled with water, carefully arranged on a towel in the middle of the floor.

‘What a dotty place to leave it!’ said John.

‘I believe it’s Gullion’s bath, it’s a silver bowl!’ said Rosemary. ‘Just look at all those scent bottles lined up behind! Lavender, Musk, Violet …’ With a spurt of laughter she read the labels, picking up each bottle in turn.

‘What? No Toad of Cologne?’ said John, and they both began to giggle, but a bloodcurdling ‘Miaowk!’ outside cut their giggling short. They dashed to the door again. Carbonel still stood at the top of the stairs, but Grisana, slinking low, had crept up another step.

‘My ancient enemy Carbonel!’ she hissed. ‘The Witch-Woman lied to me. She promised that when the moon rose, is she set you free, you would walk unsuspecting into my trap!’

‘It is no fault of hers I did not,’ said Carbonel, looking down at her disdainfully. ‘But we have changed places.She is now the prisoner, andI am free!’

‘Free?’ repeated Grisana, and she laughed an ugly, bubbling cat-laugh.

‘You are on enemy ground and alone, have you forgotten? With the fiercest of Broomhurst fighters surrounding Tucket Towers to cut off your escape.’

‘I challenge the fiercest fighter of them all to single combat!’ cried Carbonel. There was a stirring and a muttering among the cats below.

‘Splodger! Splodger!’ yowked Grisana. ‘Do your duty!’ And the animal with black and orange patches they had seen at the bookshop, came loping up the stairs. She drew back and he paused for a moment on the step below Carbonel, his powerful body wriggling low as he prepared to leap. Then he hurled himself on his enemy. Locked together, spitting and struggling, they rolled and tumbled about the gallery, fur flying everywhere; Grisana urging Splodger on, and the Broomhurst cats streaming up the stairs with wild cries of encouragement.

‘At him!’

‘Pull him down!’

‘Roll him over!’ they cried. The two fighting animals separated and closed again and again, but at last, with a swinging blow, Carbonel sent Splodger rolling, vanquished, down the stairs. There was a howl of fury from the Broomhurst cats.

‘Avenge your comrade!’ called Grisana. ‘Defend your Queen!’ And the crowd of cats, who needed no encouragement, surged up the stairs and hurled themselves on Carbonel. He disappeared under an avalanche of cats, who clawed and tore each other in their eagerness to get at their fallen enemy.

‘You cowards!’ yelled John. ‘He’s one against the lot of you! Carbonel won his single combat in fair fight!’

‘Oh, why doesn’t Calidor come?’ cried Rosemary desperately.

‘Hark!’ said Dumpsie, whose cat’s ears, so much sharper than those of humans, heard something in the distance.

‘Cease your fighting!’ yelled Grisana, who had heard it too. ‘Stop, I say!’

And stop fighting they did, one by one, until Carbonel flung off the remaining half-dozen cats and rose to his feet, battered and torn, but with his old dignity undimmed.

‘Be quiet when I command, and listen!’ called Grisana.

Complete silence fell on Tucket Towers, but far away, nearer and nearer, came the sound of what most humans would have thought nothing but the moonlight caterwauling of idle cats.

‘What is that?’ said Grisana uneasily.

Carbonel stood alone, shaking each paw in turn to see they were all still in working order. Then he said lightly:‘That? It is the Marching Song of the Fallowhithe Alley Cats.’

‘With Calidor at their head!’ added Dumpsie. And this is the song they sang:

Who so quick with the unsheathed paw?

With a miew and miawk and a yowl!

With wits as sharp as each curving claw,

With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

Who but the Alley Cats? Who but we?

Wandering far and scavenging free,

With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

Who so silent on padded feet?

With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

Who so invisible, who so fleet?

With a miew and miawk and a yowl!

Lords of the dustbin and messy back-yard,

A fig for the hearthrug cat’s snooty regard!

With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

And the last‘yowl’ of the refrain of each verse was sung with a bloodcurdling yell, that struck fear into the very whiskers of their enemies.

‘Fallowhithe animals?’ hissed Grisana. ‘My hand-picked warriors are a match for any common alley cats! Off with you, my brave Broomhurst Brigade, and fight them to the death!’

Without a sound, the swarming animals turned and streamed down the stairs and out into the moonlight, followed at a suitably safe distance by their Queen.

‘Are you hurt, Carbonel?’ cried Rosemary.

‘Not so badly that I cannot greet Calidor and my brave army, and lead them into battle!’ he said, as he limped down the stairs.

‘If only we could help!’ said Rosemary. John shook his head.

‘I know. I’d give anything to do something, but don’t forget what Carbonel said: “This must bemy war. Cat against cat, and claw against claw.” We shall just have to watch what happens from the window here. You never know. There may be something we can still do.’

They were just in time to see the two armies join battle. They met with such force that they seemed to merge in one heaving, spitting mass.

‘However can they tell which cats are which?’ said Rosemary.

‘Easy. They smells different,’ explained Dumpsie shortly.

‘And now there’s such a blur of drifting fur that we can’t see anything properly,’ went on John.

When it cleared, the Alley Cats had disengaged, and were racing round and round the ring of Broomhurst animals who in turn encircled Tucket Towers. At a sudden word of command from Calidor, they charged once more. Over and over again they repeated this manoeuvre, with the Broomhurst cats growing more and more bemused as the attacking force raced round them faster and faster, giving no warning of where or when they would make their next assault. Gradually, one by one, the Broomhurst cats dropped out of the fight.

‘Look!’ whispered Rosemary suddenly. ‘Grisana has come inside again. What is she coming upstairs for?’

‘Melissa is following. Shut up and listen.’

‘Mama, where are you going?’ asked Melissa anxiously. ‘Surely you aren’t running away too?’

‘Running away? Never! But our army can’t hold out much longer. We shall be surrounded by our enemies and put to shame. There is only one chance, the Witch-Woman and the creature Gullion. So unfortunate that I have made it clear that I dislike toads, but perhaps they could be persuaded to do something to help by their magic arts …’

She began to walk wearily towards the spiral staircase.

‘How on earth can we stop her?’ said John desperately, turning to Rosemary. But she was not there. ‘Rosie, where on earth are you?’

As he spoke she burst out of the bedroom behind him, staggering under the weight of the large silver bowl. Just as Grisana reached the bottom of the turret stairs, with all her force Rosemary flung the water over the hurrying cat.

For a moment the sodden animal stood looking up at her, water streaming from every hair and whisker; then with a screech, she turned and raced down the stairs, through the hall and out of the door, followed by Melissa.

John and Rosemary leapt down the stairs after them, two at a time, out into the moonlight, just as the ring of Broomhurst animals finally broke. Seeing their dripping queen streaking for home, with a forlorn wail, they streamed after her, followed by the mocking laughter of the Alley Cats.

‘Shall we go after them?’ asked Calidor.

‘No,’ said Carbonel. ‘Let them go. They fought well, and our quarrel is not with them, but their queen. She will give no more trouble after this.’

25. The Last Wish

THEY were standing on the top of the steps leading up to the front door, John, Rosemary and Carbonel, with Calidor and Dumpsie purring softly to one another on the step below. The victorious Alley Cats were licking their wounds and tidying their whiskers on the carriage sweep beneath them.

‘But how did you manage to escape being spotted by Grisana’s sentries?’ asked John.

‘We came through the railway tunnel, and then the cutting. Not till then did we burst out singing,’ said Calidor. ‘We sing almost as well as we fight!’

‘Well done, my faithful Army!’ said Carbonel. He looked down with pride on the sea of cats below. A hundred pairs of glowing eyes looked up at him as a wisp of cloud drifted across the moon. ‘Well, done, my son,’ went on Carbonel. ‘And my undying gratitude to John and Rosemary, without whose help I should never have been saved from Grisana’s wicked schemes. Give them the cheers that they deserve. Salute to John and Rosemary!’ he cried.

The assembled cats let out an ear-splitting‘Mewrah! Mewrah! Mewrah!’

‘Thank you very much!’ said John. ‘But it’s Dumpsie who was really brave and clever.’

‘She limped all the way from Fallowhithe to Highdown with a wounded paw, to tell Calidor that Carbonel had disappeared.’

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‘And she tricked the Scrabbles into chasingher instead ofhim,’ said John.

Carbonel turned to Dumpsie and bowed his head.

‘You are as wise and brave as you are beautiful!’ he said. ‘I was wrong to forbid your friendship with my son.’

‘Then I can marry Dumpsie with your consent?’ asked Calidor eagerly.

‘Certainly. With my warmest approval,’ said Carbonel.

‘What do you say to that, Dumpsie, my dear?’ said Calidor. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘What do I say?’ replied Dumpsie with shining eyes. ‘Why yes, with all my heart. Dumpsie of the Dump I may be for ordinary, but Wellingtonia for best. There never will be a bester day than this. From now on, always, I shall be Wellingtonia!’

Salute to Prince Calidor and Princess Wellingtonia!’ cried Carbonel. ‘Give them three times three!’

Once more the silence was shattered by the Alley Cats’ deafening ‘Mewrahs!’

‘And now,’ said Carbonel, ‘we must return to Fallowhithe, to tell Queen Blandamour the good news!’

‘But Carbonel, shan’t we see you again?’ said Rosemary, and her eyes filled with tears.

‘Most certainly you will, Rosemary. Queen Blandamour and I are growing old. I have decided, that when the time comes, and it is not far distant, for us to leave the throne of my fathers, and for Calidor and Wellingtonia to take our place, it will be toyour hearthrug we shall retire.’

‘Yes, but I say …’ began John. But Rosemary burst out: ‘That would be simply gorgeous!’

‘Farewell!’ said Carbonel. ‘But not for very long.’

And so the procession set off for Fallowhithe: the Alley Cats in front, singing their Marching Song, then Carbonel, with head held high, and finally Calidor and Wellingtonia, side by side, their tails entwined at the tip, and their purring adding an undercurrent of sound to the Alley Cats’ singing, as the hum of the drone does to the music of the bag-pipes. John and Rosemary stood and watched them go. They did not move until the sound died away into silence. John gave a great sigh.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s that! But isn’t it just like Carbonel to say he is coming to live in your house without even asking if you want him?’

‘But I do!’ said Rosemary. ‘Oh, I do!’

‘Will your mother mind?’

‘I’m sure she won’t when she sees him,’ replied Rosemary, and sensing that John was feeling rather left out of this arrangement, she went on: ‘I expect he chose my hearthrug because it is in Fallowhithe, his own kingdom. So that he can still keep an eye on things.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said John more cheerfully. ‘And of course, I shall see them both, Carbonel and Blandamour, whenever I come to stay with you. Well, now I suppose we must go and let Mrs Witherspoon out,’ he went on uneasily.

‘Oh, must we?’ said Rosemary.

‘Well, we can’t leave her locked up; besides, we promised!’

‘Couldn’t we get someone else to do it? Someone she isn’t so angry with?’

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said John. ‘What about Miss Dibdin? She doesn’t move out till tomorrow — or today, I suppose it is. We can go by broom, and if there’s a light in the station we shall know she hasn’t gone to bed yet.’

Before the broom had wafted them halfway across the field, they spotted a primrose-coloured glow in the window of the Ladies’ Waiting Room.

Miss Dibdin heard the familiar clatter of the broom’s landing on the platform, and came out to greet them.

‘My dear children!’ she said. ‘You ought to be in bed. It’s past one o’clock!’

‘I know,’ said John, stifling a yawn. ‘We’ve come to ask if you will help us.’

‘Oh, please, please do!’ said Rosemary.

‘You see, Grisana is defeated, and Carbonel is on his way home to Fallowhithe. But we locked Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon in the tower room instead of Carbonel, and we wondered if … if …’

‘If I would go and let her out?’ Miss Dibdin’s eyes twinkled.

‘She’s very angry with us indeed. Would you mind awfully?’

‘Mind?’ said Miss Dibdin drily. ‘On the contrary, I should enjoy it! I will go just as soon as I have finished sweeping this floor. I must leave the station quite tidy before I move on to Mrs Bodkin’s married cousin’s. I’ve put the cones back at the crossroads, and stacked the half-invisible furniture in the old ticket office, and burned my notes. So off with you, before you fall fast asleep on the broom! That would never do.’

Quite how John and Rosemary managed to keep awake until the broom landed them on the patchwork quilt in Rosemary’s bedroom they never knew. They came down on its many-coloured surface with an unusually big bump and a series of diminishing bounces.

‘No wonder,’ said Rosemary when she picked up the broom. ‘The tape that keeps the twigs on has bust. It must have happened when it scraped along the window-sill as we came in.’ She gave an enormous yawn. ‘Do you think we shall be able to mend it?’ John gave an even bigger yawn. ‘And another funny thing,’ said Rosemary. ‘You remember the witch’s hat made of paper? Well, I stuck it on the shelf in my clothes cupboard, and when I looked at it this morning, it wasn’t paper any longer. It was stiff and furry!’

‘Let’s talk about it … in the morning,’ said John.

Safe at last in bed, he lay sleepily listening to the faint whispering of the tree outside his window. It reminded him of something.‘I know,’ he said to himself. ‘The rustle of Mrs Witherspoon’s long red skirt. What did she say? “I will have my revenge on you in the way you will mind most and least expect”?’ He burrowed deeper into the bedclothes. ‘I don’t see what she can do, now Carbonel is safe …’ And then he was fast asleep.

It was the smallest of sounds that began to wake him from a deep sleep; the turning of the handle of the bedroom door. Through drooping lids, he became aware that it was opening, very slowly, and Rosemary glided into the room. Her feet were bare and she was wearing her nightdress, but on her head she wore the tall black witch’s hat that once had been made of paper. She walked with a curious gliding motion towards the chair on which John had flung his clothes when he undressed.

‘I must be dreaming,’ he thought.

Rosemary picked up his trousers from the untidy heap, and after feeling in both the pockets drew out the tin box of Special Things. The lid made the little‘pop’ he knew so well when it was opened. She fumbled for something inside and, apparently unable to find it, made an exclamation of annoyance, and tipped the box upside down, so that all the Special Things were scattered on the floor. Then she flung the box away. John was wide awake now, and sitting bolt upright in bed.

‘Rosie!’ he said sharply. ‘Rosie! What on earth are you doing?’ She made no answer, but turned and glided from the room as silently as she had come. It was then that he noticed that she left behind that strange smell of stale flower water.

John jumped out of bed and began picking up his treasures from the floor. Whatever was she up to? What had she been looking for? Suddenly his heart gave an uncomfortable thump. He raced back to his bed and felt under his pillow. The Golden Gew-Gaw was still there.

‘That’s what she must have been looking for! There’s one wish left. I never told her where I had hidden it after the chase with Mrs Witherspoon. She must have thought it was still in the box.’ But whatever did she want it for? And why all this secrecy? It was all so unlike Rosemary.

‘If she’s walking in her sleep, I’d better go after her,’ said John to himself. As he crossed the room, he glanced out of the window. In the dim light of early dawn he was astonished to see her going rapidly down the drive, with the same strange gliding motion. Now thoroughly alarmed, John rushed downstairs. The front door was wide open. There was no sign of Rosemary in the drive. When he reached the gate, he saw her moving swiftly in the direction of the village.

‘Rosie! Rosie!’ he shouted. ‘Come back!’ But she took no notice. John pelted after her, but it was not until he had followed her through the village across the Market Square and halfway down Sheepshank Lane that he caught her up.

‘Rosie!’ he panted. ‘Where are you going?’

This time she did answer, but in a strange singsong, faraway voice, without turning her head as she hurried on.

‘To Tucket Towers. To Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon.’

‘But whatever for?’

‘To join them in their witchery! To be a partner in their magic power!’

‘Don’t do it! Don’t do it, Rosie!’ begged John.

‘I must,’ she answered. ‘Something draws me to them.’ She passed her hand over her eyes as though to clear them, but she did not slacken her speed.

‘What on earth has come over you?’ said John desperately.

‘I don’t know. But I must go. Gullion and Mrs Witherspoon are calling! Calling!’

Mrs Witherspoon and Gullion? Suddenly it all became clear!

‘Sothat’s what she meant by getting her revenge “in the way I shall mind most and least expect”,’ he said to himself. ‘Through Rosemary. Rosie to be a witch!’ That evil mixture of foolishness and twisted wisdom; of greed for power and riches, no matter what the consequences might be for others. ‘And all because she wants to be revenged onme! What can I do? Whatever can I do to stop her?’ he said to himself in desperation. Rosemary had turned into the drive of Tucket Towers. She seemed unaware of the rough surface, which cut into John’s bare feet. Desperately he ran to keepup with the increasing speed of her rapid onward glide.

Suddenly, even more painful than the stony drive, he felt something sharp as a needle prick into the palm of his clenched hand. He looked down and opened his fingers. It was the stone of the Golden Gew-Gaw, which he was still clutching.‘Of course! The seventh wish!’ he said to himself, as he slipped the ring on to his finger. The crimson stone glowed in the gloom of the drive like a live coal.

Then he began to think as he had never thought before. This must be the perfect wish. It must cover all the dangers threatening Rosemary, without any of the usual mocking twists of magic the ring seemed to delight in. They had reached the end of the drive before he could begin to get the shape of a wishing rhyme.

‘It’s coming, I think it’s coming,’ he said to himself. ‘What rhymes with “magic powers”? Bowers … showers …? That won’t do.’ Now, Rosemary had reached the steps leading to the front door. ‘Of course!’ said John. ‘Tucket Towers!’ Rosemary hurried up the steps, and as she put her hand on the iron bell-pull, John shouted at the top of his voice:

‘I’m not much good at making rhymes

Although I’ve tried to many times.

One last wish I beg you do,

Send Gullion to Timbuktu!

Undo all the spells he’s made

With Mrs Witherspoonses’ aid

End once for all the magic powers

Of all who live at Tucket Towers.’

For a moment Rosemary paused, then her hand slackened on the bell-pull. As it clanged in the distance, she slumped down upon the step. John rushed up and fell on his knees beside her.

‘Rosie! Rosie! Are you all right? Please, please answer me!’

Slowly she raised her head and opened her eyes.‘Where ever am I?’ she said, and looked about her.

‘At Tucket Towers,’ said John. ‘Sort of … sleep-walking!’

‘I had a horrid dream,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I’m so glad I’ve woken up.’

‘So am I!’ said John, grinning from ear to ear.

‘But whatever made me come to Tucket Towers?’

‘Listen,’ John began. ‘I had to use the Golden Gew-Gaw’s last wish to undo Mrs Witherspoon’s magic …’ He looked at the ring on his finger, expecting to see the smouldering red stone set in the shining band. ‘Hallo!’ he said in surprise. ‘It isn’t the Golden Gew-Gaw any longer.It’s just a dull old cracker ring made of plastic, with a bit of glass for a stone!’

Rosemary turned to pick up the witch’s hat which had fallen on the step beside her. ‘It isn’t hard and furry any more,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s just a crumpled old paper cap. The sort of thing you might get in a cracker at any party.’

‘I suppose, after its last wish …’ began John. He stopped as a key grated in the lock and the door swung open. There stood Mrs Witherspoon. But not the young woman they had left locked up in the tower. This was the old Mrs Witherspoon, with a pale wrinkled face and wild white hair. She was wearing a shabby woollen dressing-gown. Her eyes widened when she saw them.

‘Good gracious, children! Whatever are you doing here? And in your night clothes!’

‘I think I’ve been walking in my sleep,’ said Rosemary.

‘And I followed her,’ said John. ‘But I didn’t catch her up until she’d got here.’

‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘The grandfather clock suddenly seemed to go mad, a few minutes ago. It clanged and twangled, and made such a din it woke me up. If I hadn’t come down to see what was the matter I should never have heard you, you poor little things! But you mustbe simply frozen with no shoes. Now come along in and get warm, and tell me all about it.’ She seemed so different from the Mrs Witherspoon they had known, that they followed her without further thought. The grand furniture, the silver candlesticks and the twinkling chandelier had gone, together with the pictures in their golden frames. Were they the same spiders as before, wondered John, busily weaving their webs on the antlers over each door? He nearly tripped over the worn carpet as he gazed about him.

Mrs Witherspoon stirred the smouldering embers of the kitchen fire and, warmed by the leaping flames, and mugs of steaming cocoa, but most of all by her kindly smile, John told her who they were, and where they came from.

‘But your poor uncle! Whatever will he think about you being out so late?’

Rosemary wriggled uncomfortably.‘Well, we’d rather he didn’t find out,’ she said, and looked at Mrs Witherspoon appealingly.

‘And even if he does,’ said John. ‘We are out very early, not very late, which doesn’t sound so bad somehow.’ Mrs Witherspoon’s eyes twinkled.

‘I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘But surely he should be told about the sleep-walking?’

‘Oh,please no!’ said John. ‘We’d much rather not. You see, it’s so difficult to explain.’

‘Then there is something else besides the sleep-walking behind all this?’ Mrs Witherspoon asked, her eyebrows raised. John and Rosemary both nodded. Somehow they felt they could trust her. ‘And it’s a secret?’ They nodded again even more vigorously. After a minute’s frowning thought shewent on: ‘Well, whatever it is, I think you must promise me never to do it again, and I won’t tell.’

‘We promise!’ they said. ‘Never again.’

‘Good,’ said Mrs Witherspoon briskly. ‘Now then, if you will wait while I put on some clothes I will take you home. I should not feel easy in my mind if I did not see you safely to the door of Roundels. You can’t possibly walk with bare feet. I’m afraid I have no car, so you will have to make do with standing on the bar at the back of my new tricycle.’

So that was how they went home. Their progress was slow but very stately. The birds, which were twittering sleepily when they started, were in full-throated song when they reached the gate, and said good-bye to Mrs Witherspoon.

‘It’s going to be a beautiful day!’ she said. ‘Come and see me sometime when you come to stay at Highdown.’

‘We should love to!’ said John and Rosemary, and they really meant it.

Miss Dibdin did find just the right house to retire to in Highdown with her friend Mrs Cantrip. They are settled there very happily, and are devoted to their cat, who is called Mattins. (His whiskers straightened in time.) Miss Dibdin has taken a part-time job helping Mr Sprules in his second-hand book shop, and is firm friends with his cat Splodger. Sometimes she wonders how one of his ears got so badly torn, but of course he can’t tell her. Mrs Cantrip is a busy member of the Women’s Institute. They both of them often call on their friend Mrs Witherspoon, the owner of that flourishing private hotel, Tucket Towers.

And Gullion? As no one bothers to listen to his wicked whisperings in Timbuktu, it is to be hoped his power is ended.

Mrs Featherstone sometimes wonders why Rosemary brushes the hearthrug in the sitting-room with such care every day, as she does not seem interested in any other kind of housework. Even more surprising is that John always helps her when he comes to stay.