Caution: Witch In Progress (3 page)

    Ma Grimthorpe pondered all this in the flickering of the fire in
the grate.

    ‘Yes, maybe you’re right, Granny. Gertie probably does need a
familiar. I’ll talk to her in the morning.’

    Granny nodded wisely, and carried on with her knitting.

The
next day, Ma Grimthorpe explained to Gertie that she and Gran believed it would
be best for her to have a familiar. ‘You’re growing up now, Gertie, and at nine
years of age you should have your first familiar.’

    ‘Does it matter what I choose?’ the little witch asked. Gertie
knew that most witches preferred a cat, but she had never liked them very much.
Nor had they ever liked her really. She was positively allergic to them. ‘I
only have to see a cat to set me off in a fit of sneezing,’ she continued by
way of explanation.

    Gertie’s nose gave a definite twitch if she even saw a picture
of a cat. No, a cat was definitely out.

    ‘Well no, it doesn’t matter,’ her mother agreed. ‘But it has to
be something you feel comfortable and happy with. Something you believe will be
able to help you with your spells.’

    Gertie considered Wart, and then remembered he had been the
result of a failed spell. Maybe it shouldn’t be him. He hadn’t exactly helped
Gertie with that one. He did seem an amazing toad however, as he didn’t look to
have aged at all in the time Gertie had known him. Gertie didn’t know much
about the life spans of toads, but she knew Wart should have at least appeared
older. She didn’t dwell on the subject. She was trying to find a familiar, and
Wart didn’t fit the bill.

    She went for a walk with her mother to think about it. Together,
they wandered the wood bordering their village. Gertie pondered, and Ma left
her to it while she picked herbs and weeds for her latest spell.

    ‘Don’t wander far,’ called Ma.

    ‘I won’t, Mummy. I’ll keep in sight of you,’ agreed Gertie. She
was then distracted by a loud, hollow, “thunk”. Looking up in surprise, the
little girl was just in time to see a feathered shape sliding limply down the
trunk of a nearby old oak tree. Being a kind soul, and also very curious, she
hurried over to see what it was. This was to be the beginning of a beautiful
friendship.

    ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ Gertie exclaimed, picking up the dazed
owl. She took him to her mother. ‘I’ve found a familiar, Mum,’ she called
excitedly, hurrying over.

    Ma Grimthorpe looked at the owl with its glazed expression. ‘Is
he alive, dear?’ she asked.

    The bird gave a feathery owlish groan as if to prove he was.
Just.

    ‘See Mummy, he’s so clever he even understands what you say!’

    Ma Grimthorpe seemed to doubt that very much, but clearly didn’t
want to hurt Gertie’s feelings.

    ‘Are you sure you think he will help with your spells?’ Ma
asked.

    ‘Oh yes, I’m very sure,’ replied Gertie. ‘I feel all magical
already.’

    ‘All right,’ agreed Ma, against her better judgement.

    On the way home, Gertie explained how she had found the owl. She
saw Ma begin to regret her agreement even more. What kind of owl would fly into
a tree? Before too long, they were to find out the answer to that question was,
a very short sighted one.

    Back home, Ma gave the owl a drink of water with a little powder
in it to ease his headache. He seemed to soon feel much better. He stared at Ma
Grimthorpe then at Gertie with his beak almost touching their faces. Gertie
thought he was deciding he liked them. Maybe his headaches usually lasted much
longer.

    The owl still ventured out to fly around, but rather more
carefully. He always returned to sleep on a log Ma had put in Gertie’s bedroom
for him. Gertie soon learned to leave the window well open for him to avoid any
further head injury. She had seen him flying full tilt at the closed window
once during his first few days with them. On that occasion, only a shrill
whistle from Gertie who was outside waving a sausage at him, saved both his
head and Gertie’s window pane. Even then, it was only the waving movement that
helped him to see it. The poor owl did have an awful problem with his sight.

    As time passed, Gertie pondered and pondered over a suitable
name for her new familiar. She absentmindedly scratched behind his ear as she
tried out different names on him, in an attempt to sense his reaction to them. ‘Oscar?
No. Oswald? No, I don’t like that. Orson? Definitely not Orville. Too soppy.’

    Finally, after days of mind searching, Gertie settled on the
ideal name. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before?’ she asked the owl, who came
nearer with his ‘do I know you?’ expression. ‘It’s perfect, I shall call
you…Owl!’

    Owl he was, and Owl he remained. Gertie had never been very inventive.

    Gertie knew she would have to keep Wart out of the way. She
didn’t want Owl to be jealous, or more to the point, to try to eat the toad.

    If Owl ever did see Wart, he didn’t let on. He more than likely
just wondered why Gertie sometimes carried a shiny green stone in her pocket.
Even more so, why she took it out and talked to it. He wouldn’t wonder for too
long, however. He probably never understood humans anyway.

    Though Gertie didn’t admit it to her Mum, Owl didn’t help much
with her spells. In fact he was usually more of a hindrance. He had an
unfortunate habit of flying in and landing on her mother’s carefully prepared
herbs and ingredients, scattering them in all directions. He had even almost
ended up in the cauldron more than once. On the odd occasion when Gertie
decided to try something new with his help, she couldn’t find Owl at all.
During the search, she lost interest in the spell anyway. If Owl was about when
Gertie felt a magical mood on her, he would watch Gertie so closely, so as not
to miss anything, that his beak got in the way. Or worse still, he ate the
ingredients. Owl was an owl very fond of his tummy.

    ‘NO!’ Gertie would shriek. ‘That’s the last…that was the last,’
she corrected watching it disappear down Owl’s beak, ‘piece of dead frog’s
liver we had.’

    If owls can pale, Owl paled. Gertie knew he didn’t mind frogs,
but dead frogs, yuck!

    Gertie decided the power of her familiar would work better at a
distance. The farther the better. Gertie could never stay angry with Owl for long
though.

    ‘I do love you, Owl,’ she said quietly, scratching his ear. ‘It’s
just that you haven’t learned how to be a familiar yet. It’s like I haven’t
learned how to be a real witch. We’ll both learn soon. Won’t we?’

    Owl gave his ‘Do I know you?’ squint, then settled down for a
nice prolonged scratch. Gertie believed that no one knew how to scratch behind
his ear quite like she did.

    On another day, with Owl at a safe distance, Gertie decided to
try something easy. Searching through her mother’s ‘Spells For Beginners’ book,
she came across a spell said to be at every witch’s fingertips. The Levitation
Spell. Gertie smiled. That was it. She would make something rise up in the air.
It sounded easy enough.

    Being a sensible girl, Gertie chose a crystal ball to levitate.
It was only a small one, and she decided that crystal was supposed to be
powerful anyway. It might even lend her a helping hand.

    ‘I’m sure you could make yourself rise up in the air without any
help from me,’ Gertie encouraged the crystal, hopefully. She stared at the ball
with intensity, waved her little arms madly over it, and spoke the suggested
magic words.

    ‘Crystal ball, disobey if you dare,

    Rise right up, into the air.’

    For a moment, nothing happened, so Gertie gave the crystal her
very meanest look. Which wasn’t very mean. It wasn’t easy without the
Grimthorpe wart and hooked nose.

    At last, something did begin to happen. Much to Gertie’s
surprise, she saw a definite tremble.

    ‘Yes! You are moving!’ Gertie exclaimed with excitement.

    What happened next however was not what the little girl had
planned. The table on which the crystal ball was balanced gave a grudging,
half-hearted, little jump. It barely left the ground, but it was enough to send
the crystal crashing noisily to the dusty stone floor.

    ‘Oh dear,’ was all Gertie could think of to say.

She then heard a strange hoot outside and went to investigate.

    Owl was in the process of flying into Gertie’s room upstairs,
but she saw him quickly fold his wings over his head instead. Did he think the
window had shattered when the crystal ball dropped? He had paused in mid air at
the open window. His two very round confused eyes staring, very closely, at it.
Possibly looking for broken glass? The tip of Owl’s wing tested the air where
the window would have been had it been closed. Gertie knew it was definitely
open. She heard Owl sigh, then realised he had stopped flapping his wings and
saw him begin to plummet to the ground. Gertie heaved a sigh of relief when he
caught himself just in time as he was passing the downstairs window.

    Gertie remembered the mess inside, so returned to the shattered
crystal ball. ‘I thought you were supposed to be powerful,’ she accused the
crystal. ‘What did you have to go and fall off for? You can’t have been much of
a crystal ball,’ she added, wondering what Ma Grimthorpe would say. ‘Hm, maybe
I should have tried something not so heavy,’ she pondered, finger in her mouth.

    Nothing sprang to mind, so her spells were over for another day.

    Ma Grimthorpe despaired. ‘She’s not a bad girl,’ she moaned to
Gran, when Gertie was safely tucked up in bed that night.

    ‘That’s the problem,’ muttered Gran through her whiskery upper
lip.

    ‘Oh Mother! You know what I mean,’ continued Ma, wringing her
wizened hands. ‘If she can’t even do a levitation spell at her age, she is
almost ten you know, then what hope has she of ever becoming a real witch?’

    ‘None whatsoever as far as I can see,’ reassured Gran.

    ‘Mother! I thought you said I would feel better when we had
talked alone. Don’t say things like that about my Gertie!’

    ‘You didn’t let me finish,’ Gran continued, fixing Ma with her
best spell casting eye. It was the one that didn’t allow for any looking away.

    Ma didn’t look away.

    ‘What I was about to say was this,’ continued the old witch. ‘I
think we should send her to the Academy.’

    Ma stared long and hard at Gran’s bloodshot eye. The other one
wasn’t too bad. That was another reason Gran used the bloodshot one to lead her
spell casting. It helped to keep her victim’s attention, wondering why it was
so horrible.

    ‘The Academy, Mother?’ Ma Grimthorpe finally managed to say. ‘But,
is that possible? Only those who show great promise in the Evil Ways go to the
Academy. Like Fang. You only have to look at Fang to see what potential he has.’

    ‘I’m sick of hearing about Fang,’ interrupted Gran. ‘The whole
village is talking about the devil. Just because he looks the part and our
Gertie doesn’t shouldn’t make any difference.’

    ‘But, you know it does,’ replied Ma with a look of anguish on
her yellowed face. ‘Our Gertie will never be offered a place.’

    ‘Maybe not offered,’ Gran said with a wink. ‘But haven’t you
read “Witches World” this week?’

    ‘Witches World? No, I haven’t had the time. Why do you ask,
Mother?’

    ‘Money problems, that’s why,’ replied Gran with a knowing nod
she seemed to think explained everything.

    ‘Who, Witches World?’ asked Ma, when no further explanation was
offered.

    ‘No, Cloth-Ears, listen to your mother,’ Gran said in
exasperation, putting down her knitting. ‘It says in the paper that the Academy
is having money problems. It doesn’t say it in so many words, mind, but that’s
what it means. They say they want to open their doors to help more young
hopefuls. At a charge. Like I said, they’re having money trouble. It’s nearly
time for this term’s intake, and they obviously haven’t got enough applications
of the gifted variety. So, they’re planning to make a bit on the side.’

    ‘But, can we afford it?’ asked Ma, a slight glimmer of hope on
her bony face.

    ‘Don’t you worry none about that,’ said Gran, placing a warty
finger on the side of her equally warty nose. ‘I’ve a bit put away for a stormy
day. I reckon our Gertie needs it. She’ll probably only need to go for one term’

    ‘Oh, Mother,’ Ma almost cried, coming over to hug the old witch.
‘Could it really be? Our Gertie, going to the Academy? What can I say?’

    ‘Just say you’ll send the little blighter,’ replied Gran, not
unkindly. ‘I can’t afford to keep replacing crystal balls,’ she added, looking
at the empty space on the table.

Ma
didn’t sleep much that night. She was so excited; she wanted to tell Gertie
about the plans immediately. At the same time, she had a nagging doubt in her
mind that Gertie might not want to go. After all, she had never been away from
home before.

    She needn’t have worried.

    ‘The Academy!’ the little girl shrieked. ‘I can go to the
Academy!’ She did a little dance that would have made any pixie proud. Not a
witch though unfortunately. Ma wondered again, not for the first or last time,
about whether sending Gertie away to school was really the right thing to do.

    ‘What is the Academy?’ asked Gertie, as an afterthought.

    Everything happened so quickly Ma knew that Gertie had little
time to wonder about the Academy. She told Gertie it was a school where the
best witches were taught to be even better. ‘And Warlocks too,’ she added,
looking worriedly at her little girl. ‘Fang will be there as well, so at least
you will know someone. You won’t be lonely, will you?’

    ‘Lonely?’ Gertie asked as if she didn’t understand the word. ‘Of
course not, Mummy. I’ll make lots of new friends, and I’ll take Owl, Wart, and
Bat with me. Well, maybe not Bat,’ she pondered, as if remembering the
umbrella’s new vocabulary.

    ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ asked Ma. She was already worried
enough about Gertie without the extra concern she might be laughed at because
of her familiar and friend. Not to mention her umbrella. Which no one did
again.

    ‘Oh but, Mummy, I can’t go anywhere without Wart and Owl!’
Gertie cried, a look of abject horror on her face at the thought.

    ‘All right,’ Ma finally agreed. ‘But we must make sure we take
Owl’s log for him to sleep on in your room. We also need to find a nice murky
pond nearby for Wart.’

    The day to leave for the Academy dawned dismal and grey, and all
too soon for Ma Grimthorpe.

    ‘It’s a perfect day for new ventures,’ she said to Gran as she
stared out at the gathering storm clouds. ‘But I’m so worried about my little
Gertie.’

    ‘No need to be,’ replied Granny sharply. ‘It’s what she needs.
She has to mix with witches of her own age and pick up all their bad habits.
You know what they say about getting in with the wrong crowd. It always does
you a world of good.’

    ‘I know,’ replied Ma sadly. ‘But I still worry.’

    It seemed like the whole village had come out to see Gertie and
Fang off. Ma knew there had been much talk behind grimy curtains about how
Gertie had got in to the Academy.

    ‘Well, didn’t you see the article in’t paper ?’ she had heard
Grothilde say.

    Some probably had, and some hadn’t, but soon they all knew.
Still, however Gertie had got in, Ma knew they wished her well. For witches,
their hearts were all in the right places.

    ‘Now remember what I told you about th’animation spell, lass,’
reminded Grothilde. ‘It’ll stand you in good stead wit’ teachers that you know
a clever spell already.’

    ‘Yes, thank you,’ Gertie replied politely with a smile, thinking
of Bat muttering away to himself in the back of her wardrobe. He had made
packing a real chore because every time she opened the wardrobe door he had
something else to say, usually insulting. Gertie had been very pleased and
relieved when she had packed her last black dress and closed the door on him
with a ‘Bye, Bat.’

    ‘Eh?’ she heard him mutter through the door. ‘Where do you think
you’re going without me? By the Blessed Bat Spit, come back so I can insult you
again. It’s going to RAAAAAIN!’ she heard him shout as she shut her bedroom
door with a bang.

    ‘I’ll remember the spell,’ Gertie added, giving Grothilde a hug.
But I won’t use it again, she thought with a shudder.

    After all the goodbyes; some tearful, the handful of broomsticks
set off in the direction of the blackest cloud overhead. Gertie rode with Owl
on her mother’s broomstick. Gran came along behind with Gertie’s suitcase, and
Owl’s log. Fang pulled a face (which wasn’t difficult with the face he started
off with) at Gertie as he rode past with his mother. Gertie once again pondered
about her supposed good fortune at having someone she knew at the Academy. She
wasn’t entirely sure that Fang liked her very much.

    She hugged Owl more closely, and reached into her pocket to
stroke Wart’s smooth back. ‘At least you’ll be my friends,’ she whispered. Her
words were carried away by the rushing wind as the brooms sped through the air,
and Gertie said no more.

    Despite the speed of the brooms, it felt like an awfully long
journey, but Gertie settled to it. She enjoyed the thrill of passing over land
she had never seen before. Her first sight of the Academy was as exciting as
she had been led to believe.

    The Academy was set on Dark Moor, in the middle of nowhere. This
was on purpose. ‘Witches can get quite a bad name,’ Gran had explained to
Gertie. ‘Whether they deserve it or not.’ She failed to add that most did
deserve it, and were proud of the fact. ‘So, it wouldn’t have been very wise to
build the Academy in, or near, a busy town.’

    ‘Mortals can be strange about these kinds of things,’ Ma had
added. ‘They don’t appreciate learner witches heading through their streets on
low flying broomsticks, though badness knows why not. They even disapprove of
cauldrons bubbling away sending black smoke and sparks belching into the air,
can you imagine that?’ she shrugged in disbelief. ‘Would you believe they don’t
even like the midnight chanting and dancing naked around huge bonfires?’ She
didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Like I said, people can be very peculiar.’

    For this reason, and the fact that the Ancient Guild of
Professional Witches and Warlocks couldn’t get planning permission anywhere
else, the Academy was built on a blasted heath.

    Everyone who saw it was impressed. Gertie and her family were no
exception.

    ‘Look, Mummy, look!’ Gertie pointed as they went in to land.

    ‘Yes, dear. Do sit still until we touch down,’ warned Ma to the
squirming girl. ‘You don’t want to drop in too suddenly, do you?’

    The building itself was made of large dark stones that looked
like they were held together by the sprawling cobwebs that covered it from top
to bottom, and side to side. It was huge, bordered on all sides by an evil
smelling, murky moat. Ma and Gran circled the Academy twice before coming in to
land. They didn’t want to miss the full impact of the wonderful sight from
above. The bleak, uninviting scene below them brought a tear to Gertie’s eye.
The walls of the Academy were tall, and topped by little low parapets like on a
castle. Just below the top of the building, on a ledge that ran all around the
walls, were huge gargoyles. They were by far the ugliest Gertie had ever seen,
with oversized ears, googly eyes and long floppy tongues. Their bulbous eyes
seemed to be staring off into the distance in all four directions across the
blasted heath. The four corners of the Academy were rounded into huge turrets
obviously large enough to have strange circular rooms inside.

    ‘You’ll be so happy here,’ said Gran as they landed and made
their way along the stone bridge that crossed the moat. She was obviously
impressed too.

    Gertie smiled, too much in awe to speak.

    Gargoyles also lined the sides of the bridge, staring inwards
menacingly at the ones crossing it. Gertie nearly jumped out of her skin when
the largest gargoyle on the left, half way across, yelled ‘STOP!’

    Ma stopped. In fact, she stopped so fast that Gran bumped right
into her and dropped Owl’s log. She managed to catch it before it bounced up
and hit Fang’s mother who was following along closely behind. Ma was still
staring at the gargoyle as if wondering if it really had spoken at all.

    Fang hurried past them all with a look of smug satisfaction on
his face. His expression seemed to say, I know something that you don’t know.

    ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know about the Stone Guardian?’ he
asked.

    ‘Course we do,’ replied Gran, with her bloodshot eye daring Fang
to contradict her.

    ‘Oh,’ he replied, just as smugly. ‘Go on then.’

    Gran looked like she had the urge to turn him into a bat, but
held her temper. After all, his mother was a friend. Sort of. She got a cunning
look on her face instead.

    ‘No, you go first,’ she replied. ‘So we can see if you know
about the stone garden.’

    ‘Guardian,’ corrected Fang.

    Gertie saw Gran’s casting finger begin to quiver.

    ‘Go along then, Fang,’ his proud mum urged. ‘The little imp. He’s
so excited,’ she said as she passed Ma and Gran.

    Gertie stared around herself, not believing all this was real.

    Fang proudly stopped in front of the gargoyle and loudly
announced ‘Fang Malign, reporting for my accepted place at the Academy.’

    The stone guardian was the only thing Gertie had not seen flinch
from the spit that flew from Fang’s mouth every time he spoke.

    A moment passed, and then the deep rumbling voice boomed, ‘YOU
MAY PASS.’ It sounded like the beginning of a rockslide. Fang and his mother
walked on proudly to approach the huge wooden doors bound with iron hinges that
were now swinging open.

    ‘Hm,’ muttered Gran, watching the pair vanishing into the dark
mouth of the building. ‘Nowt clever about that. Gertie’s here,’ she shouted at
the gargoyle, as the doors swung shut with a dull echoing thud behind Fang’s
mother.

    A moment or two passed, but there was no reply from the
gargoyle.

    ‘Are you deaf?’ called Gran, obviously wound up by Fang. ‘GERTIE’S
HERE.’

    ‘I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME,’ the gargoyle boomed. ‘GERTIE WHO?’

    ‘GERTIE GRIMTHORPE,’ yelled Gran, leaning closer to the gargoyle
so it could get the full impact of her bloodshot eye. It was now very
bloodshot.

    ‘NOT ON MY LIST,’ replied the guardian. ‘GO AWAY.’

    ‘There must be some mistake,’ Ma said, seeming to be in fear of
Gran doing something she might regret. Not that Gertie had ever known Gran to
regret anything she had done. When Gran turned that bright shade of purple
however, something usually died.

    ‘I DON’T MAKE MISTAKES,’ replied the gargoyle.

    ‘WELL YOU HAVE DONE THIS TIME, BUSTER,’ threatened Gran, waving
Owl’s log about. ‘CHECK AGAIN.’

    ‘I DON’T NEED TO CHECK AGAIN,’ said the stone guardian in a
bored voice. ‘I ONLY HAVE ONE LIST…OH…I HAVE TWO LISTS THIS TIME DON’T I? THERE’S
AN EXTRA ONE FOR THOSE WHO HAVE TO…’

    ‘Yes, we know,’ interrupted Ma before the gargoyle could say another
word. Gertie wondered what her Ma didn’t want him to say.

    ‘YOU’RE JUST THE FIRST TO ARRIVE WHO HAS TO…’

    ‘OKAY!’ yelled Gran. ‘We get the picture. Just check your OTHER
list.’

    A few more moments passed.

    ‘UHM. I DO HAVE A GERTIE HERE. I SUPPOSE YOU CAN GO IN,’ replied
the gargoyle, rather grudgingly.

    ‘Thank you,’ replied Ma, before she set off after Gran who was
already stomping up to the double doors.

    If they didn’t open, Gertie knew Gran was ready to batter them
open with Owl’s log. She hurried along holding her Ma’s hand; Owl encircled by Ma’s
other arm. Owl looked like he was trying to keep sight of his log, but wasn’t
succeeding very well because Gran kept swinging it this way and that.

    ‘Is everything alright, mummy?’ asked Gertie.

    ‘Of course!’ Ma replied. ‘Just a mix up with the silly list,
that’s all.’

    Before Gran got to do any battering, the huge doors creaked
open. She still gave the one nearest to her a knock with the log for good
measure. She entered through the doors still muttering to herself. ‘You would
think a place like the Academy would make sure their animation spells worked
properly’

    Ma and Gertie followed quietly behind.