Carbonel and Calidor (18 page)

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 High-down?' 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:

‘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.

T
HE
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. She
said
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 make
real
magic,' she said in a far-away 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:

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.'