Witch Catcher (14 page)

The thane held up his paw, his face as stern as a mouse's face can be. "Halt," he commanded. "Explain yourselves."

Kieryn stepped forward. "It be as I told ye," she began, still struggling for breath. "
Him,
who be yer foe as well as ourn, put my brother in a witch trap in the tower." She put out a little pink paw and stroked Brynn's fur. "We came to save him, Jen and me. I used witch magic to make us mousies, small and quick, in and out, no harm to ye or yer kind."

The words "witch magic," flowed through the room, from mouse to frightened mouse. I don't think they even heard the part about no harm.

"No harm!" Kieryn cried again, louder this time. "No harm to ye. Good witch magic."

"Not like Ashbourne?" the thane asked. "Not like Moura?"

"No. They be wicked witches. We be fairy, enemies of their kind."

"They put poison in the tunnels," murmured the thane. "They set traps in the kitchen."

Short Tail whispered, "They have the..." He stopped, then went on, "The tunnel—"

The other mice covered their ears. "Don't say!" they cried. "Don't say its name! Bad thing, bad thing!"

Small mice sobbed and clung to their mothers. "Don't let it come, Mama," one sobbed.

Kieryn looked as puzzled as I felt, but Brynn crept closer to his sister and touched her paw, as fearful as the other mice. "They means the tunnel beast," he whispered. "
Him
sends it in to kid them."

"What do ye mean?" Kieryn asked. "What be a tunnel beast?"

"Wicked sharp teeth, furry, size of small cat but stretched out long and thin. Fierce."

"A ferret," I whispered. "Is that what you mean?"

Brynn glanced at me. "Tunnel beast," he repeated. "Very bad.
Him
keeps in cage."

The mice watched us, atwitch with fear and worry. I heard several mutter it was our fault. We'd shown Ashbourne the tunnel's opening. He'd send the, the—he'd send the un speakable thing in after them. They'd all die.

The thane nodded and turned to the others. "We must flee or face certain death. Take the escape routes now. Don't wait until we hear it coming."

The mice scattered at once, running this way and that into the dark labyrinth of tunnels branching off the meedng hall.

"Wait!" Kieryn called after them. "We don't know the way!"

No one answered, no one waited. And from above, we heard a new sound. Something was pushing and shoving its way into the tunnel, squeezing downward. We had no choice but to follow the scuffling, squeaking mouse sounds as best we could.

Closer and closer the tunnel beast came—the ferret, bred long and thin to wiggle into narrow places and kill mice and rats. Onward we fled into the darkness, our mouse hearts pounding. As a girl, I'd had no need to fear a ferret. Detestable as the creature was, the most it could do was bite me. I was much too big for it to kill me.

But as a mouse, I had plenty to fear from a ferret.

Kieryn stopped suddenly and turned to Brynn and me. "The tunnel beast be gaining on us. As mousies, we cannot escape it." She raised her paws as Brynn began squeaking in dismay. "Oh, don't be such a timmytim. Listen to me. We must change ourselves to small beasties. Ants, I reckon, be best."

By now we could hear the ferret growling as it burrowed after us. Its breath seemed to warm the air at my back. I smelled its stink.

Kieryn drew us close and began one of her chants. Brynn and I said it after her, all three of us trembling so hard we could barely speak. "Little, little, black and shiny, hide in the earth, ant, ant, ant. Fierce biter, soldier, little, little, little, dig in the dirt, ant, ant, ant."

Once more we shrank, squeezing ourselves painfully into tiny, hard bodies. Just behind us, I glimpsed the ferret's face, mouth wide, sharp teeth shining. He snarled, clearly baffled by his prey's disappearance.

Like Kieryn and Brynn, I scurried down the tunnel as fast as an ant can go, climbing over clods of dirt and rubble. At last we tumbled out into what we guessed was the cellar. We lay still and listened for sounds from the tunnel. All was silent. If we were lucky, the ferret had given up.

Brynn and I looked at Kieryn, waiting for her to tell us to return to our normal shapes. She shook her narrow, pointed head and led us across the door, close to the wall. It was hard work being an ant. The smallest distances seemed enormous. Finally, we came to a door. Its top stretched upward into darkness, but the crack at the bottom was more than tall enough for us to slip through—one advantage, I supposed, of being an ant.

Outside, the lawn lay before us, a dense, dark forest of towering grass. A brightness spread across it; whether from the moon or a porch light, I couldn't say. Such things were too far above my head to see.

Wearily, I followed Kieryn and Brynn into the grass, navigating my way over and around twigs and stones.

At last, Kieryn stopped and allowed us to rest. "This be stupid," Brynn said crossly. "Let's be us'n. I hates being an ant."

"Not us'n," Kieryn replied. "Not yet. We be in danger still."

"Mice, then," Brynn muttered. "I won't take one more step if I gots to be a dimbob ant."

Kieryn thought it over, her antennae twitching with concentration. "Squirrels," she said.

We huddled together and Kieryn led us once more in a chant. "Squirrels, squirrels, squirrels. Bushy tails, bright eyes, quick and clever. Runners, jumpers, climbers. Treetop nesters, acorn hiders, treetop travelers. Squirrels, squirrels, squirrels."

In another agonizing flash of pain, we burst out of our tiny ant bodies and exploded into squirrels. My heart beat quickly and blood surged through my body, warming me. I saw the moon, high in the sky, and the big house rearing up from the lawn. Light blazed from its windows. A door opened, framing Mr. Ashbourne and his servants. Simkins aimed a flashlight across the grass.

By the time the light reached the trees, we were hiding high in a dense oak, three gray squirrels like any others.

"Don't move," Kieryn whispered. "Squirrels be daylight creatures. They sleeps at night."

Frozen with fear, I watched Mr. Ashbourne take a cage from Rose. Slowly he opened its door. "Find them," he cried. "Whether they be things that crawl or creep or fly,
find tham!
"

An owl stepped from the cage and spread its wings. For a second, it clung to Mr. Ashbourne's wrist, its head turned toward him as if it understood what he was saying. Then it lifted itself into the air and dew low across the grass, its wings soundless as it searched.

"Quick." Kieryn darted into a hole in the tree trunk, and Brynn and I crowded in after her. "For now we be safe from yon wicked one."

Minutes passed. Every now and then we heard Mr. Ashbourne call to the owl. The owl called back, his hooting cry terrifying in the dark silence. He was close, too close, drawing nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, he alit on the branch right outside our hole and searched our hiding place with eyes the color of amber glass. His head swiveled away, and he hooted softly. Once more we changed—beetles this time, small enough to hide deeper in the tree.

"Go after them, Simkins!" Ashbourne shouted.

"But, sir," Simkins whined, "I don't know how to climb a tree. I might fall, I might hurt myself."

"
I'll
hurt you if you don't do as I say!"

Simkins mumbled and muttered, but we heard him begin to climb. Every now and then he slipped and groaned in fear, but at last he reached our hiding place. The owl moved aside and the man peered into the hole, probing the darkness with a flashlight.

"Have you got them?" Ashbourne cried.

"I don't see 'em anywhere, sir," Simkins answered. "They must've changed to something else, the clever monkeys." Simkins began to climb down slowly. The owl hovered a moment and then flew after him.

"Not clever enough," Mr. Ashbourne said. "I've called Moura. She's coming with the hound. Stay here and watch the tree until she arrives."

I heard Simkins mutter something to himself about staying out in the damp with his arthritis; it was bound to be bad for him, he'd ache all day tomorrow. I noticed he didn't speak loudly enough for his master to hear.

"We'd best move on," Kieryn whispered. "The pishy fool can sit there all night, but he'll never see us up here. Or where we go."

Brynn and I Mowed her out of the hole to a branch. From there, we made our slow beetle way from leaf to leaf, inch by inch. Tired and hungry, I surprised myself by nibbling leaves as if I really were an insect.

"Stop," Kieryn said. "This be too slow. I say we go back to squirrel shape, up high, running and jumping, quick, quick, quick, out of the hound's reach."

In a second, we were running along branches that swayed under our weight, leaping from one tree to the next. The ground was far below, but as a squirrel. I had no fear of falling.

At one point, we came to a road and saw headlights. We hid among the leaves and watched Moura's sports car pass beneath us. Cadoc leaned out of a window, sniffing the air. Suddenly, he barked sharply, and the car stopped so fast it rocked.

"Be still," Kieryn whispered. "That fusty hound can't climb up here. Nor can
her,
old witchy witch that she be."

The car door opened and Moura stepped out, her face pale in the moonlight. Cadoc slid out beside her, long and lean and agile.

Moura looked up into the trees. "I know you're there," she said. "If you come down now, I will spare you."

Cadoc growled and bared his teeth. Maybe he'd spare us. Most likely, he wouldn't.

"
C
OME DOWN,
I
SAY,
"
Moura called. "I've had enough of your defiance."

But we were already gone—three bats winging our way through the night, heading for home, the wind in our faces, high above fields and woods. Flying. Flying.

At last, we came to rest on the tower's roof and perched there, surveying the scene. Lights blazed from the windows of the house, but all was silent inside. Deserted. Moura was gone, we knew that, but where was Dad?

"There he be." Kieryn fluttered a wing toward the woods. Dad stepped out of the trees, swinging a flashlight from side to side. "Jen," he called. "Jen!"

He was looking for me, searching the woods, frantic. "Jen!" he called again. "Jen, where are you?"

"Come." Kieryn led Brynn and me to a chimney on the roof of the house. Down we went, through the grime and soot, until we tumbled out on the dining room hearth.

We dew silently to my room and huddled on my bed, three bedraggled bats, black with soot.

"Be Jen again," Kieryn squeaked.

I'd gotten faster at transforming myself from one thing to another. By the time I heard Dad downstairs, I was myself, dressed, face washed, butstill trying to think of an explanation for my disappearance—and reappearance.

Kieryn and Brynn dove under the bed with Tink, who seemed totally unperturbed to see two gray kittens instead of one. Like me, I supposed nothing could surprise him now.

I stepped into the hair and leaned over the railing. Dad was pacing up and down right beneath me.

"What's going on?" I called.

Dad jumped at the sound of my voice and stared at me in amazement. He ran up the stairs and grasped my shoulders. "I've looked
everywhere
for you. Moura's searching the roads right now. I was about to call the police."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to worry you. but I took a long walk in the woods," I lied. "When I came home, no one was here. I thought you'd gone somewhere without me. So I went up to my room, and I guess I fell asleep."

It was a feeble story but certainly more believable than the truth. Hoping to add credibility, I yawned and rubbed my eyes.

Dad hugged me. "You must have come in while Moura and I were outside looking for you. We never thought to check your room again."

He held me at arm's length, his face serious. "I should be angry with you," he said, "but all I feel right now is relief. Moura was sure something dreadful had happened to you."

I remembered Moura standing in the road, staring into the treetops. If she'd caught us, something dreadful
would
have happened to me. And to Kieryn and Brynn as well.

"But here you are," Dad went on, "safe and sound."

At that moment, a car pulled into the driveway and braked sharply to a stop. Dad and I went to the head of the stairs to sec who it was, although I was pretty sure I knew. Seconds later, Moura opened the front door and stared up at me, shocked, I supposed, to see me standing there. Cadoc stood beside her, his eerie eyes on me, and growled.

Dad smiled at Moura. "Look who's here," he said. "It seems Jen came home while we were searching the woods for her and fell asleep in her room. Isn't that something?"

Moura forced a smile in return. "We were so worried about you, Jen."

While Dad watched happily, she ran up the steps and gave me a hug. "Such a naughty girl to frighten your father," she said with a laugh. In a lower voice, she added, "You and I will talk later, my dear."

I backed away, chilled to the bone. "There's nothing to talk about," I said as lightly as I could.

"It's very late," Dad said, "but let's go downstairs and sit for a while. I'm too keyed up to go to sleep."

We followed him to the living room. Moura sank down onto the sofa, and Cadoc settled himself at her feet, his eyes following me as I took a seat in the armchair opposite her.

"I'd love a cup of peppermint tea," I told Dad. "And something to eat—cheese and crackers maybe?"

"A glass of red wine for me," Moura said, "if you don't mind."

"Of course."

As soon as Dad left the room, she leaned toward me, giving me the full power of her witchy eyes. "What silly game are you playing? The creatures you're protecting are wicked. Dangerous. They were kept in those traps for a good reason."

Her perfume wafted toward me, fuzzing everything. Frightened, I pressed myself against the back of the chair. "It's not a silly game," I whispered. "I know what you are."

"You have no idea what I am—or what I can do." Moura leaned closer to me, dizzying me with her musky scent. "If you have any sense, you'll ted me where those creatures are."