Carbonel and Calidor (21 page)

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 cater-wauling 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 the
house
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.

‘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!'

‘A
common
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 treat him 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? And it 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 the spiral 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 is
my
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.

‘W
HY
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.'