18

Dinner for Four

Claudia swept into the hotel restaurant. A young, keen waiter tried to guide her to a table for one in a badly lit corner, but she brushed past him and seated herself at a larger, roomier table near the window. With a look that could freeze concrete, Claudia sent the waiter scurrying away.

‘You’re being very tolerant of the young Smidgen, Miss Slymark,’ said Totherbligh, now back in his bottle. ‘He was very rude to you.’

‘Yes,’ muttered Hinchsniff, from the neighbouring bottle. ‘We should have squeezed him like a grape until he screamed for mercy.’

‘A glass of Smidgen-juice,’ agreed Peggy Gums. ‘With a little umbrella in it.’

‘I’m not a fan of violence,’ Claudia said, reading the dinner menu. ‘At least not yet. Little Gobkin Sprout is all I’ve got, so far. I don’t want to damage him.’

‘And might we enquire what the Mirror does, Miss Slymark?’ said Totherbligh. ‘You’ve never really told us.’

Claudia had deliberately kept the ghosts in the dark during her dealings with her mysterious client. When she had responded to the original letter she had pressed for more details, particularly about her fee. If the client was only offering her vague promises, she wanted to know what the Mirror was worth. If they couldn’t be trusted, she might need to hold it back, like the spell book, or find a different buyer.

YOU WILL KNOW THE MIRROR BY ITS RADIANCE, the client had replied in their odd way. A CRYSTAL THE SIZE OF A HUMAN HAND AND THE COLOUR OF THE DAWN SKY. FILLED WITH LIFE FORCE. IT CAN TRANSPORT YOU ANYWHERE YOU WISH JUST BY A THOUGHT. THERE ARE THREE PIECES TO FIND. FIND OUT WHAT THE SMIDGENS KNOW.

Claudia had been even more intrigued. A way of entering any place she chose, any room, anywhere in the world? Locked doors would no longer be a problem. If this were genuine, the Mirror could potentially offer her a more useful alternative to her ghosts. And she wouldn’t have to put up with their quirks, their moods, their unreliability. In short, she could do without them. She decided it was best to keep this information to herself. She was confident she had her seekers under her control but didn’t see any reason to put that control to the test.

‘I’m not even sure myself what it does,’ she said dismissively, arranging her napkin on her lap. ‘You know I’m not interested in magic.’

‘Yes, Miss Slymark,’ Totherbligh said. If he had any other thoughts, he kept them to himself.

‘That’s her!’ said Gafferty from underneath the dessert trolley. She and Willoughby had followed Claudia into the restaurant. ‘Didn’t you see her come into the toy shop?’

‘I only turned up at the shop a few minutes before I met you,’ said Willoughby. ‘You’re sure she’s a witch? Do witches stay in hotels?’

‘How would I know? If what you said is true, she’s not from here. She must be from … some other town. But don’t you see? If she’s in the hotel, that means Gobkin is too.’

‘Not if she’s eaten him – that’s what Big Folk do when they catch Smidgens. Ouch! That hurt!’

‘Say that again and broken wings will be the least of your worries. And anyway, she’s having dinner so she can’t have eaten already.’

‘If your brother isn’t with her, he must be in her room. We need to find out her room number.’

‘Yes! We can rescue Gobkin whilst she’s having dinner and be gone before she knows it.’ Gafferty was trying to keep confident but it was getting harder. What did she think she was doing? She was lurching from one disaster to another! This vast, bustling restaurant was as alien a landscape to her as the moon, with its pristine table linen, gilded furniture and prim waiters rushing around doing goodness knows what. Why were the Big Folk making such a huge fuss over a silly meal? She realised she understood almost nothing about the world she lived in. Even clumsy Willoughby knew more than she did.

‘The waiter makes a note of the room number when a guest sits down at a table,’ he was saying, ‘so they know which room to send the dinner bill to. Look – there’s the list, on that table next to us.’

Gafferty could just see the piece of paper sticking out from a clipboard sitting on top of a table high over their heads.

‘If you keep watch, I can climb up the tablecloth and have a peek,’ she said.

‘Don’t be daft! It’s far too risky!’

‘I can do it. I can.’ Gafferty felt sick with fear, but what choice was there?

They ran from the dessert trolley to the table. The tablecloth covered it right down to the floor, so it was quite easy for Gafferty to pull herself up the starched pleats using a pair of pin hooks, though her arms ached by the time she reached the top and she was painfully aware that her grey spider suit must stick out like a sore thumb against the pure white cloth. She peeped over the edge of the table to see if anyone was looking. Fortunately, the waiters were busy attending to diners, so she dragged herself up and scurried across to the clipboard. On the paper was a map of dinner tables with numbers on them, then a list of the table numbers with a room number beside each one.

‘Window table,’ Gafferty said to herself as she walked down the list, ‘which means she’s in room number—’

‘SPIDER!’

Gafferty was almost deafened by the scream. There was a lady standing over her, eyes filled with revulsion and a sharp claw of a finger pointing straight at her.

‘SPIDER! HUGE, HORRIBLE THING. IT’S PROBABLY POISONOUS. SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!’

By now, the whole restaurant was staring. Some diners had frozen with horror, spoons and forks halfway to their open mouths. Gafferty couldn’t hang about. There was only one thing for it: she sprang to the edge of the table and slid down the cloth as quickly as she could.

‘IT’S JUMPED OFF THE TABLE! IT’S ON THE LOOSE! ALL THOSE LEGS! HOW PERFECTLY GHASTLY!’

Some diners stood up and began scanning the floor nervously. One man looked like he was about to jump on his chair. Others were just enjoying the show.

Gafferty landed with a bump in the thick carpet and rolled sideways, dodging the stomping shoe of a waiter, before diving under the cloth to reunite with Willoughby, who stood quaking next to a table leg.

‘You were supposed to keep watch!’ she hissed, as he pulled her to her feet. ‘We’ll get caught, you bumble-bonce!’

‘I’m sorry,’ wailed Willoughby miserably. ‘I didn’t see her until it was too late. I told you I’m useless.’

The restaurant was in uproar. The waiter, sweat appearing on his forehead, was trying to soothe the woman, but she wasn’t going quietly.

‘IT’S POISONOUS, I TELL YOU! IF THERE ARE POISONOUS SPIDERS AT LIBERTY IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT, I WILL BE ALERTING THE MEDIA!’

Suddenly everyone was searching the floor for the infamous spider. The two Smidgens cowered in their hiding place.

‘We need a distraction so we can escape!’ said Gafferty. ‘You’re meant to be a bird – can’t you flap about or drop worms on them or something?’

Willoughby’s face brightened.

‘I’ll fix it,’ he said. ‘Birds and worms – that’s given me an idea.’

The waiter was standing by the table, trying to persuade the irate woman that there was nothing to fear from spiders, and definitely nothing to alert the media about. Willoughby darted out from under the tablecloth and grabbed one of the man’s shoelaces, loosening the knot as he dragged the lace over to the dessert trolley. He quickly tied it around the wheel axle before tying the other end of the lace to the leg of the table they were hiding under.

‘NOW THERE’S A BIRD IN HERE!’ boomed the woman, pointing at the creature at the waiter’s feet. ‘A RAVENOUS HAWK IS ATTACKING THE STAFF! IS THIS A RESTAURANT OR A SAFARI?’

The waiter jumped at the sight of Willoughby apparently pecking at his feet and backed sharply away. Unfortunately for him, the dessert trolley and the table followed, surprising the waiter so much he fell backwards, upending the trolley with a crash and sending the table flying. Brandy snaps soared into the air, custard poured over the carpet and profiteroles scattered themselves amongst the astonished diners.

‘I HAVE BEEN ASSAULTED BY A RASPBERRY TRIFLE! CALL THE POLICE IMMEDIATELY!’

At her table, Claudia had calmly watched the drama unfold. Her sharp eyes had missed nothing.

‘I think,’ she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin as a meringue rolled past, ‘I shall skip dessert. I wouldn’t want to keep little Gobkin waiting …’