11

Map Reading

It had seemed a brilliant idea at the time, but Gafferty quickly regretted her decision to hitch a ride with Robbie. He was clearly in a hurry to get home, and not in the mood to do any favours for Maureen. As a result, he cycled as fast as he could through the twisty lanes of the town, the bike rattling over every bump in the road and hurtling around street corners at such a sharp angle he was almost horizontal.

The Smidgens, hidden in the panniers on the back of the bicycle, were flung around like two socks in a tumble dryer. Gafferty’s stomach churned with every bounce but, surprisingly, Gobkin was having a whale of a time. She’d almost had to throw him on board, he was so terrified, but once they’d got going, he discovered he had a taste for speed. For most of the way he was able to hang on to the bag’s opening and peer out, watching the humans from under the shade cast by Robbie’s sweaty bottom above, as the bike whizzed past them on its journey. He laughed gleefully at the sensation of the air rushing past his face. He’d never experienced anything like this before and loved every second.

‘We should get bysickals of our own!’ he yelled, as they zoomed down Hill Street, chased by a small yapping dog. It had spotted the tiny child peering out of the bag and dragged its owner along the road in its excitement. ‘Do you think Mum and Dad could make them?’

‘Not if your driving is as bad as Robbie’s,’ Gafferty replied, her face going green as she hung on to the sides of the pannier for dear life.

The bike braked suddenly, and they were hurled forward, Gobkin landing on top of his sister with a yelp.

‘Get me out of here!’ said Gafferty, furiously shoving Gobkin aside. ‘I’ve had quite enough of Robbie the racer.’

They scrambled to the top of the bag and poked their heads out to find out where they were.

‘It’s Market Street,’ said Gafferty. ‘There’s the corner shop. Quick, let’s move whilst Robbie is delivering the sweets.’

There was a knot of anticipation in her stomach as they clambered out of the bag and ran across the pavement, hiding behind a drainpipe attached to the shop. The street was busy with shoppers. They’d have to be careful. Gafferty took the atlas out of her scavenger bag.

‘Where’s this moot thing, then?’ said Gobkin, staring at all the Big Folk walking by. ‘Why are you so interested in it? And why are you keeping it a secret from Mum and Dad?’

‘I’m looking for more Smidgens, Gob. Mum and Dad would worry that it might be dangerous. But wouldn’t you like to have some Smidgen friends, instead of hanging around with your boring big sister all the time?’

Gobkin nodded, a little too readily for Gafferty’s liking. She continued.

‘I think the Smidgenmoot is where, long ago, three clans of Smidgens used to meet to talk about … I don’t know, important Smidgen stuff. And perhaps some of them still do. It’s worth a quick peek. Then we can go back to the kaffay and get the cake crumbs and jam.’

Gafferty’s mind was alive with the idea of all those Smidgens meeting together in times past, all those voices – the discussions, the chatter, the laughter, the arguments! It must have been wonderful. She wished it could be like that again. She pictured herself walking into the moot, pictured the surprise on all the faces of the other Smidgens at seeing someone new! They would welcome her as one of their own, she was sure.

‘And they came here, did they?’ said Gobkin, looking around unsurely. ‘To the middle of Market Street?’

Next to him, Gafferty scrutinised the atlas whilst simultaneously trying to remember the pattern of the kitchen wallpaper.

‘No, of course not. If I’m reading this right, they met somewhere in –’ she grabbed his hand and dragged him along the street, turning into a narrow alley, and then further until they were hidden in the shadow of a set of steps, steps leading up to a shop doorway – ‘here!’

They looked up at the sign, high above the door. It said:

Clabbity’s Clockwork Curiosities, Puppetry & Toys.

‘The toy shop!’ gasped Gobkin. ‘This is the best detour ever!’

The room in the hotel was just like any other room in any other hotel. It had a double bed with a hard mattress and far too many cushions. A rail to hang clothes but with only one crooked wire coat hanger. A little bathroom with tiny beige bottles of shampoo and shower gel. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the outside door handle. But this hotel room had one extra item that would not feature in any brochure or review: a chalk circle drawn on the carpet, in which burned a mysterious purple fire. This last item was Claudia Slymark’s contribution.

The three ghost bottles stood on a table, next to the room service menu, so that the seekers could have a good view of the proceedings.

‘I believe the otherworldly inferno is nearly ready, Miss Slymark,’ said Totherbligh, observing the flames. There was no heat generated – in fact the fire burned cold, turning from purple to a frosted blue. ‘Are you prepared to perform the enchantment?’

Claudia cast a glance over the spell book. She was not a witch – there were schools for people who wanted to learn that kind of thing, and Claudia had never been fond of homework. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t perform a little bit of magic. Like any job, it was just a matter of having the right tools. In this case, it was a folio of basic enchantments she had stolen from a library in Addis Ababa. The client had haggled over the price, saying it wasn’t worth what he’d paid, so she’d kept it for herself. It had helped her out of a few sticky situations, but Claudia preferred to rely on her earthly skills for the most part. Especially when the spell asked for ingredients such as Deadman’s Shroud, a plant she had spent half the night scouring for in the local graveyard. Conjuring the fire had taken up all of the morning. This had better work.

‘I think all is in order,’ she said. She unfolded a map of the town, almost identical to the wallpaper of the Sprouts’ kitchen, and laid it on the bed. Then she produced the toothpick from her bag. Hinchsniff’s bottle trembled in anticipation. Soon the hunt for the wretched little people would be on again!

Claudia snapped the stick in half and threw it into the fire. The flames shuddered and swallowed up the tiny spear. In order to work, a finding spell needed an object owned by the individual who was to be found.

‘Egovenari!’ Claudia chanted. ‘Egovenari! Egovenari!’

There was a momentary pause. There was always a pause. Part of magic’s appeal was the drama, Claudia had decided. Then a blue sphere, the size of a marble, rose from the fire and spun in mid-air. It glowed with a cold, white light. Claudia pointed a long finger at the map (not her own finger but a wand made from the finger bones of an ancient druid that came with the spell book) and the sphere flew straight at it, hitting a spot almost exactly in its centre. It exploded on contact, leaving behind a blue dot on the paper.

‘Toads in custard!’ exclaimed Peggy Gums.

‘Oh, Miss Slymark!’ said Totherbligh, his ghostly hands applauding. ‘It worked – how marvellous!’

‘Couldn’t have done it without me,’ Hinchsniff sneered. ‘Do you know where to go?’

‘Yes,’ said Claudia with a satisfied smile. She reached for her coat. ‘And this time, we’re going to catch a Smidgen.’