The next morning, Polly’s mother brings her breakfast in bed. She and her sister are never allowed to eat in bed because of the crumbs, so Polly knows her mum must be really worried about her to give this kind of attention.

‘Hmmmmmm,’ her mother says as she places her palm on Polly’s forehead. ‘You still have a bit of a fever. If you haven’t started to pick up by this afternoon, I’ll call Doctor Firestone.’

Polly shudders. Usually the prospect of seeing Doctor Firestone is enough to cure any illness. Last time Polly had to see Doctor Firestone, it took days for the leech marks on her skin to disappear, and the house stunk of boiled herbs for weeks.

Polly looks down at the tray on her lap. ‘Chicken eggs,’ she says. ‘And toast! From wheat bread. Thanks, Mum!’

Polly’s mum shrugs and smiles. ‘I thought you might like a treat. But only because you’re sick, OK? Once you’re better, it’s back to my home-made muesli.’

Winifred appears at the door. ‘How come Polly gets chicken eggs?’

‘Your sister is still recovering,’ their mother says. ‘So I made her favourite breakfast. If you were unwell I’d do the same for you. Besides, you always say you love my muesli.’

Polly has to cover her mouth to hide her smirk.

Winifred scowls. ‘I do,’ she mumbles. ‘It’s just that we have it every day.’

‘Well, when you’re a working mother with two children, let’s hope they’re a little more grateful than you lot are!’ their mother huffs, as she stands up and brushes off her skirt. ‘Don’t spill crumbs now, Polly,’ she says as she leaves. ‘Your sheets are already messy from Gumpy.’

‘I won’t,’ says Polly.

Winifred sticks her tongue out at Polly when their mother’s back is turned, but Polly doesn’t care. She has a day at home in bed, and chicken eggs on toast for breakfast!

Polly tries to read Little Witches, the book they are studying at school, but the words swim about on the page even more than usual so she puts it on her bedside table and drifts in and out of sleep.

She is surprised at how tired she feels. Occasionally her mum comes in to take her temperature. Polly wills it to go down each time so she doesn’t have to see Doctor Firestone, but when she is still burning up after lunch, her mother makes the call.

‘Doctor Firestone is on her way,’ she says gently, poking her head in through the doorway.

‘Oh, Mum!’ whimpers Polly. ‘Did you have to?’

But her mum just rolls her eyes and closes the door again.

Polly drifts back to sleep. She wakes to the sound of whispering, and when she opens her eyes, there is Doctor Firestone in all her feathered glory.

Polly sighs.

Doctor Firestone notices Polly is awake and smiles. Her white teeth gleam against her skin.

‘Polly!’ she booms. ‘You are sick?’

‘Yes,’ says Polly weakly.

‘No matter! Doctor Firestone will make you better!’

Polly closes her eyes and hopes it will all be over soon.

Firstly, the doctor chants over Polly in a strange language that sounded like grunts mixed with the mooing of a cow. Then she pulls out some tiny crystals from a deep pocket in her feathered cape, and tosses them all over the bed. One of them hits Polly in the face. Polly sighs again. She opens her eyes and brushes a crystal off her cheek.

Doctor Firestone has lit two sticks and is now waving them up and down Polly’s body.

Polly coughs a little from the smoke.

‘Good!’ shouts the doctor. ‘Good! Cough that sickness out!’

Polly does another cough, fake this time, hoping it will speed up the process.

‘Oh, you are sick! You are very sick!’ Doctor Firestone says, her eyes rolling white and wild. ‘I’m afraid I have no choice but to use Samba!’

‘Samba?’ Polly winces.

Doctor Firestone nods. She reaches into yet another deep pocket and pulls out a black and yellow python. It seems to go on and on forever. Polly watches in horror until finally, its head appears, writhing and hissing.

‘You’re going to use that snake on me?’ Polly yelps. ‘What if it bites me?’

‘No, oh no!’ Doctor Firestone chuckles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. ‘That’s not Samba. That’s just a snake. She would most certainly bite you if she could. Then you would be really sick! Probably die even!’

She laughs loudly at her own joke, then tosses the snake into a basket and flips the lid down with her bare foot.

Polly notices her long toenails and the silver rings on her toes.

‘This is Samba!’ Doctor Firestone says in an important voice. She reaches even deeper into the same pocket and pulls out a small brown toad. ‘Voila!’ she exclaims, holding the toad out on her palm.

Samba croaks obediently.

‘A toad?’ Polly says.

‘Not. Just. A. Toad!’ Doctor Firestone bellows, and the glass in Polly’s window trembles. ‘This is a healing toad. You will sleep with him on your pillow for one night. Tomorrow I will come back to get him. If he has turned green and his skin is clear, your sickness will be cleared, too. If he is even more warty than he is now, and you also have a face covered in warts, we will have to try something else.’

‘Er, really?’ says Polly. ‘Do I have to have him on my pillow? I really don’t want a face covered in warts. Can we just try something else? I’m actually feeling a bit better already.’

‘No!’ shouts Doctor Firestone. ‘The toad it is! Doctor Firestone has diagnosed a healing toad, so a healing toad it shall be!’

And with that, she drops the toad onto Polly’s pillow, gathers up her feathered robes and baskets, and swishes out the door.

‘Oh!’ she says, stopping in the doorway and spinning around. ‘And take two of these every four hours, with water.’

She tosses a packet of pills onto Polly’s bed.

Polly picks up the packet and reads the writing on the side. ‘Headache pills?’ she says.

Doctor Firestone shrugs. ‘In case the toad doesn’t work,’ she says, and then, with another swoop of her cape, she is out the door.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Polly pulls out a tissue from the box by her bed, scoops up the slimy toad, and drops it into her bedside drawer.

‘Sorry, Samba,’ Polly says, her mouth curling in disgust, ‘but you are not sleeping on my pillow. There’s no way I want to risk waking up with warts all over my face. I have enough problems as it is!’

Samba blinks twice in reply.