Not Just a Witch

‘Stop! Stop!’ A wild-haired woman had burst through the door and was running between the leopards who, strangely, parted to let her pass. ‘Stop at once, Flitchbody! Those aren’t leopards, they’re people!’

‘And one of them is Cousin Alfred,’ yelled a second woman, small and dumpy, in a boiler suit.

Sid straightened up. He could knock off these two loonies along with the leopards, but killing people was more of a nuisance than killing animals. There were apt to be questions asked.

‘Get out of here!’ he shouted, his voice muffled by the mask. ‘Get out or you’re for it!’

Neither of the witches moved. Heckie couldn’t touch the assassin with her knuckle because there were no steps from the floor of the ballroom to the gallery. Dora couldn’t look at him out of her small round eyes because he wore a mask.

They were powerless.

Sid picked up the canister of gas. The women would just have to die too. Nat and Billy could throw them in the lake afterwards.

A large leopard, scenting danger, lifted its head and roared. And high in the rafters, a family of bats fluttered out and circled the room.

The witches had always understood each other without words. Heckie knew what Dora was going to do and it hurt her, but she knew it had to be done.

‘Ouch! Ow! Ooh!’

The shriek of pain came from Sid, hopping on one leg. Something as hard as a bullet had crashed down on his foot – a creepy, gargoyle thing with claws and wings made of stone. And now another one – a bat-shaped bullet hurtling down from the ceiling, missing him by inches. This wasn’t ordinary danger, this was something no one could endure!

Sid put down the canister and fled.

He didn’t get far. Almost at once he ran into someone who was very angry. Someone whose voice made both witches prick up their ears.

‘It’s Li-Li,’ cried Heckie. ‘It’s Li-Li telling off the horrible man who’s been trying to kill the leopards!’

‘It’s Lewis,’ cried Dora at the same time. ‘He’s come to save his Cousin Alfred!’

Mr Knacksap appeared on the gallery. He had snatched Sid’s gas-mask and was heaving with temper. No one could be trusted these days. He’d have to do the job himself.

‘Li-Li!’ shouted Heckie. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come!’

‘Lewis!’ cried Dora. ‘You’re just in time!’

The witches looked at each other.

‘What did you call him?’ asked Heckie.

‘Lewis. He’s my Lewis. The man I’m going to marry. What did you call him?’

‘Li-Li. He’s my Lionel. The man I’m going to marry.’

Then at last the scales dropped from the witches’ eyes and they understood that they had been tricked and double-crossed and cheated.

And in those moments, Knacksap fixed on Sid’s mask, lobbed the canister of gas high into the room – and ran.

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘Right? Is everybody ready?’ said Boris Chomsky. He climbed into the basket of the black air balloon, and Sumi and the garden witch moved over to make room for him.

‘Just checking the ammunition,’ said Mr Gurgle importantly, from the second balloon. His balloon was grey, but it only lacked a couple of hours till dawn so it wouldn’t show up too much. Joe sat beside him, and Madame Rosalia, whom no one would have recognized as Miss Witch 1965. She wore no make-up, her hair was tousled. For the past half hour she had crouched on the floor of Boris’s garage, muttering the spells she’d learnt at school and thought she had forgotten. Spells to raise the wind – and the right wind. A westerly, to take them as fast as they could go to Hankley Hall.

Daniel’s parents might not be able to show him much affection, but when their son was still not at home at one in the morning, the professors were frantic. They called the police, but they also went to Sumi’s house, and to Joe’s, to see if he was with his friends. And Sumi and Joe, running round to Heckie’s in case Daniel was with the witch, had met Mr Gurgle rallying the Wickedness Hunters.

‘Ammunition on board,’ called Mr Gurgle. ‘Ready for take-off!’

Boris put a tape of the Minister for Education saying schoolchildren needed more exams into the fuel adaptor – and the black balloon shot into the air.

Mr Gurgle inserted a cassette of the Minister for Trade saying that dumping nuclear waste was good for the fish – and the grey balloon shot upwards also.

Madame Rosalia had done her work well. The wind was keen and exactly where they wanted. Blowing them to the east and Hankley Hall!

Mr Knacksap was running, running . . . stumbling along gravel paths, blundering between trees. He’d thrown off the gas-mask and the branches stung his face.

Gas-proof witches! Who would have believed it? He’d been certain that the witches had died along with the leopards when he threw the canister – but just now he’d heard them calling to each other down by the lake.

Oh, Lord, don’t let them get me, prayed the furrier. Don’t let me become a louse. Don’t let me become a statue. And please, please don’t let me become the statue of a louse!