DomDaniel looked down fretfully at his large, rounded stomach. “Pamela, I was never this fat.”
“Yes, you were,” the Witch Mother told him. “In fact, if you ask me, I have erred on the thin side.”
“And look at the state of these clothes—they’re disgusting.” DomDaniel inspected his tunic. “There’s dried egg all down the front.”
Simon was surprised how curt the Witch Mother was with DomDaniel. “Oh, stop moaning, Dommie. That’s how I remember you, and that’s the way you are now.”
DomDaniel sighed loudly. “I suppose it will have to do. Help me down, Pamela, will you?” Supported by the Witch Mother, DomDaniel gingerly stepped down from the table.
“Right,” said the Witch Mother, “time to go home. I’ll see you to the door and you can hand over the toad.”
“I need a little rest first,” DomDaniel said.
“What—here?” the Witch Mother said unenthusiastically.
“If it were anywhere else, I would have to get up and go there, wouldn’t I? Then it wouldn’t be a rest, would it?” DomDaniel said snappily as he lowered himself onto the lumpy sofa with a sigh of relief. The newly Clothed Wizard looked suspiciously at the Witch Mother. She was up to something, he was sure. “And then, when I have had my rest,” he said, “I shall go for a little test drive.”
“A test drive?” asked the Witch Mother. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I want to check that everything works properly, Pamela. And then, if it doesn’t, you’ll be able to fix it.” DomDaniel glared at her. “Won’t you?”
“But what about the toad?”
“You’ll get your toad. A bargain is a bargain,” said DomDaniel. “But I won’t be rushed, Pamela. I am going to sit here and get used to my new Clothes; then we shall take a little walk around the Port. To make sure that nothing falls off.”
Veronica and Daphne were overtaken by a fit of giggles but Linda was made of sterner stuff. A walk with DomDaniel presented the opportunity she had been looking for.
“Now that we shall have a Darke Toad,” Linda said to the Witch Mother, “we will need a servant to answer the door.”
“Ooh, yes,” Veronica chimed in. “A servant. That would be fun. But one that lasts, not like all the other ones.”
“They never last, Veronica,” said the Witch Mother. “That’s the trouble. You just can’t get the staff nowadays.”
“Maybe if we fed them,” said Daphne, “they would last a bit longer.”
“Feed them!” The Witch Mother sounded shocked. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daphne.”
But Linda wanted a servant. And what Linda wanted, Linda got—especially now, after Dorinda’s elephant ears.
Linda had it all worked out. “We’re not dragging some idiot Port girl off the streets this time; we need a professional who is used to a tough life. I reckon if we feed one just a bit—we don’t have to give it much—then we’ll get at least six months’ use before it wears out.”
The Witch Mother looked impressed. She had never had a servant long enough to wear one out. “That’s a good idea, Linda. But what kind of professional? Not a nasty little Wizard Apprentice, I hope.”
Linda laughed. “No, something much better than that. A ship’s rat!”
“A rat?” The Witch Mother sounded scornful. “We’ve got plenty of those living in this rubbish.” She kicked at the floor and sent flying a shower of liquified carrots. As if on cue, a rat fled for cover.
Linda sighed. “Not a real rat, Witch Mother. It’s what they call those kids who work on the ships doing all the nasty jobs that no one else wants to do. They’re tough little things. One of those would last for ages.”
The witches fell silent. Simon could tell that the suggestion was not popular.
“But Linda,” Daphne ventured, “those rat kids live on ships. And ships live on salt water. And, well, you know what happens to us in …” Daphne trailed off. It was considered bad luck to mention that Darke Witches had a tendency to dissolve in salt water (which is why you will never see a Darke witch cry).
“I know exactly what happens to us, Daphne, thank you,” said Linda. “But we shall not need to go near any of that saltwater stuff. Because we will get the kid to come to us.”
“How?” asked Daphne.
“Woodworm,” said Linda.
Daphne went pale. She could tell that Linda had something nasty planned.
Linda turned to the Witch Mother. “Tell Daphne to go get her giant woodworms, please, Witch Mother.”
“Go get your giant woodworms, Daphne,” the Witch Mother said obediently.
Daphne looked horrified. “Why?”
“Why?” the Witch Mother asked Linda.
“Because I say so,” said Linda.
“Because she says so,” said the Witch Mother.
“B-but …” Daphne spluttered.
“Unless, Daphne,” Linda snarled, “you, too, would like a pair of elephant ears. So that you and Dorinda could have little elephant-ear styling sessions together.”
The Witch Mother cackled loudly and Veronica dutifully joined in.
Daphne gulped. “How many woodworms would you like, Linda?”
Linda smiled, her yellowing teeth glinting in the light from the stove. “All of them.”
Daphne looked horrified. “All of them?”
“You heard. Get them!”
Daphne fled. She clattered up a ladder and disappeared through a hole in the kitchen ceiling.
Simon and DomDaniel sat awkwardly on the sofa together, watching the preparations for going out. Drowsy in the warm fug of the kitchen, Simon fell asleep and was woken half an hour later by the nasty, squashy sensation of DomDaniel’s hand squeezing his shoulder.
“Come on, Heap,” his Master said. “Time for my test drive.”
Simon got blearily to his feet and very nearly fell over the wheelbarrow.
“Mind my woodworms!” yelled Daphne.
“Oh. Sorry,” Simon mumbled.
Daphne glared at him. “You will be, if anything happens to them.”
A grating laugh came from Linda. “Get used to it, Daphne. A lot is going to happen to those boring—ha ha, boring, get it?—little biters.”
Excited now by the prospect of a servant and the Darke Toad—and much encouraged that the Clothed Bones were still Clothed—the Witch Mother smiled, her makeup cracking like a dried-up riverbed. “Ah, Dommie,” she said. “Off out on the town, eh? Just like the old times.”
DomDaniel sighed. The old times with the Witch Mother had been nothing but trouble. “Indeed, Pamela,” he murmured.
“Oh, you know you can call me Pammie, Dommie.”
DomDaniel grimaced and Simon suppressed a smile—clearly that was a step too far.
“Off we go!” The Witch Mother threw open the kitchen door and offered her arm to DomDaniel, who obediently took it and led her out. A quick scuffle between Linda and Veronica ensued over who should go next. It was settled by a nasty kick to the shins that left Veronica hobbling down the corridor in Linda’s wake.
Simon followed Daphne and her wheelbarrow, in which lay a large black metal box containing, he guessed, the woodworms. The box was covered in tiny writing, which Simon stared at, trying to decipher.
“Nosy, aren’t you?” said Daphne.
Simon sprang back. “Sorry,” he said. “I mean, about your woodworms.”
Daphne immediately thawed. No one had ever been nice about her woodworms before. “They’re my friends,” she said. “I know every single one of them. Look, I’ve written all their names on the box.”
Trying to be friendly, Simon asked, “Gosh. How do you think up so many names?”
Daphne looked indignant. “I don’t think them up. They tell me what their names are. Stupid.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course they do.”
Daphne sighed. “They are all in there except for Louise, Paulie, Bernina and Freddo, who are stuck on the spikes of the Witch Mother’s shoes. Oh, and Dukey, who died last night. Do you want to see him?”
“Oh! Well, no, thanks, I—”
But Daphne was not listening. From her pocket she pulled out a surprisingly large—and clearly dead, judging by its stiffness and the amount of pocket fluff stuck to it—segmented fat brown worm with stumpy legs. “He was one of my favorites,” Daphne said sadly. “I used to tell him bedtime stories, and he had his own little house and everything. But he got ill last week after I fed him some cat food. You don’t think I killed him, do you?”
Simon thought that Daphne probably had, but he knew better than to say so. “No, of course not,” he said.
Daphne dropped the ex-Dukey back into her pocket, wiped her arm across her eyes and sniffed. “It was probably Linda. Nasty cow.” With that, the witch grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and trundled out of the kitchen.
Simon followed the procession down the dark corridor toward the front door. Suddenly everyone came to a halt. A door opened and Dorinda came out, a huge towel wrapped precariously around her head.
“Oh, hello, Dorinda,” the Witch Mother said, as though nothing to do with elephant ears had ever happened. “We’re going out. You coming?”
Dorinda gingerly patted her towel and gave a small, brittle smile. “Oh, not tonight, thank you, Witch Mother. I’ve just washed my hair.” And she wandered back into the shadows.
The witches staggered down the corridor and fell out of the front door, screaming with laughter.
From its perch on the doorknocker, the Darke Toad watched its Master go. It waited its statutory Listening Time—five minutes and a little bit more—then it hopped down and set off along the street, following its Master as a Darke Toad must.