Carbonel and Calidor (14 page)

Together they walked into the kitchen and up to the hearth-rug and held out their hands to the small fire. ‘Beastly cold,' said John in a loud voice. ‘Isn't it, pussy?' he went on, dropping on his knees and stroking the nearest cat on the head. It happened to be Melissa.

‘You've got a nice warm place!' said Rosemary to the other cat, who of course was Grisana. Grisana looked up and gave them a conceited stare.

‘Shall I scratch them, mama?' said Melissa in a voice with a hiss behind it. ‘If there is anything I hate it is being addressed as “pussy”, as though I am a common or garden cat!'

‘They aren't worth scratching,' said Grisana languidly.

‘But suppose they are the two children Splodger told you about? The ones who guessed that the cat Mrs Witherspoon has imprisoned is Carbonel?' John and Rosemary exchanged glances.

‘It doesn't matter if they are,' said Grisana. ‘I have already looked at their hands, and they are neither of them wearing the ring that makes them understand us. Splodger explained about that too, so I can go on telling you about the arrangement I have made with Mrs Witherspoon, and they won't have any idea what we are talking about.' John and Rosemary suppressed their smiles, and redoubled their stroking.

‘Do go on, you clever mama!' said Melissa. ‘I must say this boy strokes rather well. I can't help purring.'

‘Mrs Witherspoon has been keeping Carbonel prisoner' because he refuses to be her witch's cat, and she grows impatient. She has promised me that if he will not do as she wishes by moonrise tonight, and of course he won't, she will let him go. She will turn him out of the front door of Tucket Towers, and then ...' Grisana's purring was loud and deep.

‘And then, mama?'

‘He is mine to do with as I please!'

‘And what will you please?' said Melissa in her sly voice.

‘When he thinks he is free, and steps out of the hall door of Tucket Towers, he shall be pounced upon by a picked troop of Broomhurst cats, who will take him prisoner in triumph back to Broomhurst, where he will be well and truly ...
scrodged
!' There was no trace of a purr about Grisana's voice now, and she kneaded the hearth-rug with rhythmic claws as she hissed the last word. ‘But you look sulky, daughter? Does this not please you?'

‘I don't care a sardine tail what happens to Carbonel. It is Calidor I want humbled,' growled Melissa.

‘Dear child,' purred Grisana. ‘Calidor
shall
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 hair-pins 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 key-hole?' 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 key-hole.

‘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.

W
HEN
J
OHN
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 ...' Here her 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 what
evil
, 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 believe
you
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 treasures were 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.