Wand of the Witch (3 page)

Scruff nodded. "Let Quill talk about ravens eating crops, kickball teams, and cats giving birth to dogs." He chewed a walnut, shell and all, and patted his belly. "So long as he's not talking about us, I'm happy. Let
him
be the center of attention."

But soon, it seemed, Quill ran out of ideas.

On October 22,
The Burrfield Gazette
was just a copy of last week's issue. On October 23, the
Gazette
devoted an entire issue to comparing the respective merits of Golden Delicious apples and Granny Smiths. On October 24, three pages talked about a cat stuck in a tree, and circulation dropped from 4,124 to 1,007.

The October 25 issue—reporting about a couple beetles caught shamelessly mating outside the church—sold only twenty-three copies.

"Good," Jamie muttered to Scruff that morning. "The fad is over."

On the morning of October 26, strange sounds came from inside the printshop. The machine was creaking, hammering, and pounding louder than ever. Quill could be heard yelling at his assistants to print
more
copies—a full 5,127, one for every citizen of Burrfield. Blue smoke wafted from the chimneys, and the smell of ink spun heads. The townfolk gathered around. What could be going on in there? Was Quill mad, printing thousands of papers?

Finally, around noon, Quill emerged from his shop, carrying a bundle of newspapers. He did look quite mad. His hair was wild and ashy. Ink covered his face and hands. His clothes were tattered, and blue smoke rose from him. And yet he was grinning, eyes wild. He tossed the newspapers toward the people.

One landed at Scruff's feet, and he gaped at the headline.

"EVIL BULLIES FOR BUCKS WORSHIP THE DEVIL!"

Scruff gasped and lifted the newspaper. He started to read the article.

"'Bullies for Bucks,'" he read out loud, "'the thugs who live on Friar Hill, have long been known as a dissolute menace.'"

Scruff did not know what "dissolute" meant, and he was only half-sure he understood the word "menace", but he kept reading.

"'Now, it seems, they also worship the devil. One devil in particular—a fell beast named Romy, a demon of Hell. The Bullies were seen lighting candles around the creature and singing strange spells of devilry.'"

Scruff frowned. "Hey... that was only her birthday party. We lit candles on her cake and sang her Happy Birthday!"

Nobody seemed to hear him, and Scruff read on, becoming angrier and angrier. The article continued to claim that Romy was an evil creature, intent on eating the town children, and that the Bullies worshipped her as their mistress.
It's not fair!
Scruff thought. Romy had only bitten a baby once, and it was because he was covered in ice cream.

People were staring at him. A few muttered. Others fled. One set up a booth selling pitchforks and torches. Scruff decided to go home. Clutching his copy of the
Gazette
, he stomped down the street and headed to Friar Hill.

Grass and dry leaves covered the hill, rustling under Scruff's boots. The place still held strong memories for him. On this hill, years ago, he'd play with his siblings with wooden swords. On this hill, he'd watched Dry Bones murder his father. On this hill, he'd built the house he shared with his fellow Bullies. It was a place of warm feelings, haunting nightmares, and off key singing.

"Off key singing?" he muttered, raising an eyebrow.

That singing came from his house, which crowned the hill. It was a two story building, built of wooden beams and clay, its roof covered with thatch. A garden sprawled outside the house, full of flowers and vegetables growing over old wagon wheels. The singing was so loud, the birds who normally crowded the roof had fled, and the flowers were wilting.

"Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to meeeee!"

The singing continued, so loudly and discordantly that a window shattered.

Romy!

Scruff sighed. His brother Neev, a young wizard, had summoned the demon last year. Since then, Romy had raised hell on earth: eating everything in their garden (vegetables, stalks, roots, and several mouthfulls of dirt), painting hearts over the walls when they slept, setting the roof on fire twice, and once sawing a hole between the second and first floor ("Who needs stairs when you can jump?" she had explained).

Scruff supposed that some off key singing was relatively benign.

He walked the cobblestone path to his house, opened the door, and stepped inside. His eyes widened. His heart sank.

"Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeee!"

Romy sat on the floor in the corner, legs splayed out before her. Though her skin was blood red, her fangs and claws sharp, and her wings black as night, Scruff couldn't imagine a less frightening demon. She wore a conical party hat atop her head of flaming hair. Whipped cream covered her face. Honey covered her fingers. Empty baking pans surrounded her, covered in crumbs. Hundreds of extinguished birthday candles littered the floor around her; some had bite marks in them.

"Oh hai, Scruff," she said. She tried to get up, but fell back down. "I'd stand up to greet you, but... I can't... seem to... move of my own volition right now." She patted her belly.

"Romy!" he said. "Your birthday was yesterday. How many more cakes did you eat today?"

She counted on honey-covered fingers. When she reached ten, she moved to her toes. Then to her teeth.

"Um... a few," she finally said. "I asked for poodle cakes, but Neev said I'm not allowed to eat those. Honey cakes are good too." She hiccupped.

Scruff sighed and left the living room. He found the other Bullies in the kitchen, ears plugged with cotton. They were standing on chairs, busy untangling chandeliers of cutlery that hung from the rafters.

"Romy decorations?" he asked. He had to repeat the question after they removed the cotton from their ears.

"It's better than her last attempt at interior decor," his brother Neev said.

Scruff nodded sympathetically, remembering Romy's gallery of paintings entitled, "Nostrils of Terror: a study of Scruff's nose hairs magnified a thousand times."

He clutched the
Gazette
in his hands, hesitant to show the others.
This is my family; I don't want to hurt them.
He looked at them, one by one.

Neev, his younger brother, was wearing his green wizard robes. Seventeen years old, he was a wiry youth with sharp eyes, a narrow nose, and a hint of stubble on his chin. As always, a glower twisted his face. Last year at Wizard School, he had summoned a demon for his final exam. The demon turned out to be Romy, the least frightening, most confused creature in Hell. Neev flunked his exam, and Romy had been driving him mad since—decorating his spellbooks with hearts, showering him with kisses as he squirmed, and twice turning his robes pink in the laundry.

His sister Jamie stood nearby, wrestling with a bundle of bent, entwined spoons. Always a tomboy, she wore her armor and sword even indoors. Last year, she had cut her hair short, feigning boyhood to learn swordplay at Fort Rosethorn. Her hair had grown into a long, black mane since then, though her body remained small. She stood shorter than five feet, and was thin as a sapling, but behind her breastplate beat the heart of a towering knight.

Behind those two stood Scruff's wife—the love of his life, Cobweb. To this day, whenever Scruff saw her, his heart leaped. Cobweb was a spiderling, an enchanted spirit of the forest. Her skin was purple, her hair was white and smooth, and her ears were pointy. She wore a dress woven of gossamer, and a spiderweb tattoo glowed on her shoulder. She looked at Scruff with her soft eyes, and his knees felt weak. He walked toward her and kissed her.

"Hewwo, Scwuff," she said softly and smiled. "Wewcome home, m-m-my wovewy, handsome hewo."

Her clan had banished her because of her voice, but to Scruff, she sounded as beautiful as she looked. He touched her nose. "Thank you, sweety honey bunny."

Neev rolled his eyes, and Jamie looked queasy.

"Barf bag please," they said together.

Luckily, Romy had fallen asleep; Scruff heard her snores from the other room.
It's as good a time as ever to show them the newspaper,
Scruff figured. He tossed it onto the table.

"Look," he said.

Neev cursed. Jamie shouted and grabbed her sword from the wall. Cobweb gasped, covered her mouth, and tears budded in her eyes.

"D-d-dey say we'we eviw!" she said and sniffed.

"I'll turn that Quill into a toad!" Neev said, face red, and reached for his spellbook.

Jamie drew her sword, a beautiful family heirloom named Moonclaw. "No need for magic. This steel will do the job."

Scruff raised his hands and shouted over the commotion. "Hang on, hang on! Nobody is turning anybody into anything, or slicing anyone into pieces." He glared at his siblings. "We are Bullies for Bucks. We fight monsters, not fellow Burrfieldians."

Neev grumbled and shook his head in disgust. "We've saved this town from Dry Bones and his monsters. And now Quill is calling us devil worshippers. The day I worship Romy is the day you can lock me up in the loony bin."

Jamie marched to the door, sword in hand. Scruff grabbed her shoulders.

"Don't go anywhere, Jamie. If you attack him, what would happen? The
Gazette
would only print another story, calling us thugs. Haven't you ever heard that the quill is mightier than the sword?"

Jamie glared and swung her blade. "Not this sword. And not that Quill."

She kicked him, and he grunted but held her fast. "Calm down, Jamie. You too, Neev. So he printed some rubbish, so what? Nobody will believe it, and tomorrow, he'll find something else to talk about."

They grumbled, muttered, glowered... and stayed indoors.

Next day,
The Burrfield Gazette
printed the headline:

"BULLIES FOR BUCKS, TOWN THUGS, EAT PUPPY FOR DINNER."

When Romy saw the headline, her eyes widened in delight.

"Ooh, a puppy!" she said. "Is it a poodle? Can we eat it tonight again?" The demon licked her lips and rubbed her belly.

Neev's face turned red, and smoke all but rose from his ears. "Quill's done it again!" he said and tossed the paper across the room.

Scruff retrieved it from the corner of their living room, dusted it off, and read the article. Quill wrote that a lovely puppy had been living in the Bullies' yard, clucking and scratching the dust and enjoying life despite tragically looking like a chicken. The Bullies, who hate puppies, cooked it for dinner... and they're after
your
puppy next.

When Scruff went into town that day, hoping to buy milk and eggs, people glowered. A few pelted him with rotten fruit (why they were carrying around rotten fruit, he could not guess). Others yelled at him: "Puppy eater!"

"It was a chicken!" he shouted.

"Well, how brave would you be, if somebody tried to cook
you
?"

Scruff groaned and returned home, empty-handed.

The next morning, the
Gazette
printed the following headline:

"SCRUFF THISTLE, BULLY, STEALS FRUIT FROM TOWNFOLK."

Romy shook her head reproachfully. "Scruff, how could you?"

He glared at her. "Romy! They were throwing the fruit at me."

"Did they throw any poodles too?" She pointed into her mouth. "Me hungreee."

They were all hungry. Their pantry was nearly empty, and Romy had already eaten everything in their garden, including the rocks and gnomes. Sooner or later, Scruff knew, they'd have to go shopping in town. He didn't relish anything else tossed his way; he had a feeling that next time, people might throw stones along with old apples.

"Something must be done about John Quill," he finally conceded. "It's time for the Bullies to pay him a visit."

Chapter Three

Hear All About It!

They walked through the forest, dry leaves crunching under their boots. More leaves fell around them, and the air smelled of earth, rain, and trees.

"Remind me," Jamie said, "why are we walking in the forest instead of on Burrfield's nice, cobbled streets?"

Scruff groaned. "I told you, Jamie. Those streets are so nice, they're full of people—people who hate us and would pelt us with things. The print shop is across town. We'll just walk around Burrfield instead of through it."

Jamie sighed. She was a warrior, the daughter of a knight. She carried Moonclaw, her father's fabled sword, and she wore armor of steel. Why was she slinking through the forest?

"I'm not afraid of a few stupid townfolk," she said.

"Because you hadn't seen them," Scruff said. "They had torches and pitchforks."

"I have a pitchfork!" Romy piped up.

Scruff glowered at the demon. "They don't decorate theirs with pink ribbons and hearts."

Romy pouted, hid her frilly pitchfork behind her back, and began to suck her thumb.

Jamie drew her sword and raised it. It caught the light and glimmered. "Look at this sword, Scruff. Look at that oversized, spiked mace you carry. Look at Cobweb's bow, at Neev's spellbook, and at Romy's, well..."

Romy stared at her expectantly, wagging her tail. "My claws of steel? My fangs that bite? My pitchfork of dread?"

"...singing voice," Jamie finished. "With these weapons, we defeated Dry Bones, the greatest warlock in the world. We don't have to fear townfolk angry over a few nonsensical articles. I—"

A roar interrupted her.

Jamie spun toward Scruff, frowning. "Scruff, did your belly just rumble again?"

Scruff looked around the forest, eyes narrowed. He raised Norman, his spiny mace. "Wasn't me this time."

The roar rose again. Two more roars answered it. They seemed to come from the eastern trees.

Grobblers,
was Jamie's first thought. The creatures had attacked Burrfield years ago and killed her mother. But how could grobblers still live? Their master, Dry Bones, was dead.