“I’m sorry, Maritza,” the Deputy Head said, looking somewhat stunned as he regarded the massive castle from his vantage point in the wings, “it’s a truly wonderful set, but you really should have consulted me before you put it up, you know.”
“Perhaps you could tell me exactly what’s wrong with it?” the Drama teacher said, her hackles rising almost visibly as she strode onto the stage. “Look at it,” she waved her arms around in a gesture that embraced the entire castle — turrets, battlements and all. “Just look at it! It’s a fantastic set! Everybody says so!”
“It’s not suitable, that’s all,” he answered.
Maritza regarded him coldly. This, she thought furiously, was all she needed! That she’d had a bad night was putting things mildly. Deeply worried at the loss of The Book of Spells and unsure as to which of the witches had managed to steal it, she was in no mood to be trifled with. Her eyes narrowed angrily. The Deputy’s criticism of her beautiful set did nothing to improve her temper; indeed, she looked as though she were about to erupt. “What do you want me to do with it then?” she snapped. “Take it all down?”
Sensing danger, the Deputy Head backed off at the threat of a confrontation. The trouble with all the Drama teachers he’d ever met, he thought sourly, was their in-built tendency to go totally over the top at the drop of a hat. He looked again round the stage where the turrets of the huge castle loomed stark and clear against a stormy sky, the yellow glow of the full moon half hidden by clouds. He pursed his lips undecidedly. There was no getting away from it, he thought, it was a fantastic set. Possibly the best he’d ever seen for a school concert.
“It would break my heart to have to take it all down,” Maritza pleaded, changing her approach — whilst wondering if she shouldn’t just hex him into agreeing to it there and then.
“Well …” he frowned.
“We put so much work into it,” she added, laying on the pathos with a trowel.
“Look, most of it’s fine,” he agreed, trying to sound encouraging. “It’s the battlements that are the problem.” He pointed to a staircase that curved upwards to a broad platform that was backed by a length of crenellated stonework. “That platform affair is quite a height, you know. Do you really need it?”
The Queen of the Witches took a deep breath and held on to her temper with an effort. “Of course I need it,” she said in a voice only slightly tinged with exasperation. “It’s used all the time! A whole chorus of witches stands up there in Act II. It’s … it’s the most dramatic part of the play!”
“In that case, it’ll almost certainly have to come down,” the Deputy Head said stiffly. “We can’t risk having any of the children falling off. I mean, one of them might forget and just step backwards. The crenellations at the back aren’t high enough to stop anyone going over and the stage,” he said crisply, “is a long way down.”
Just then, the History master walked onto the stage and whistled appreciatively as he looked round. “Some set, Maritza,” he nodded.
Maritza eyed the Deputy sideways and accepted the praise gratefully. “Thank you, Ross,” she said, inclining her head graciously. “I’m glad somebody likes it!”
“I’m not saying it’s not a good set,” muttered the Deputy. “Actually, I think it’s fabulous but I am Health and Safety officer for the school and we just can’t have a whole load of children prancing up and down on those battlements with nothing behind them. You know how excited they get during shows … ten to one someone would do a bit of pushing and shoving and bingo — a nightmare situation for the school!”
“He wants me to take the whole thing down, Ross,” she said angrily as the History master prowled the stage.
“Oh, I shouldn’t think there’s any need for that,” came the answer as Ross walked through an archway and peered round the back of the set. “I’d have said the solution was pretty obvious, really!”
“What?” Maritza’s head jerked in surprise.
“Come and have a look,” Ross Wilson invited and, as they stepped behind the castle, he pointed to the space below the battlements. “All you need is a couple of mattresses,” he said, “and then, if anybody does fall off, there’ll be no harm done.”
“You’re a genius, Ross,” Maritza clapped her hands.
“You’re right,” the Deputy Head sighed with relief, “and no need for proper mattresses, either. You can use the mats from the gym.”
“I will arrange it,” Maritza said, her black eyes flashing in relief. “Now gentlemen,” she looked at her watch, “I have a rehearsal in five minutes and still many things to do. The mats first of all!”
“The funniest bit of the rehearsal,” Clara confided to Neil later when she flew over to his room, “was when Angela fooled around with the cauldron and Sandra stuffed a plastic spider down her blazer.”
“Is that all?” Neil looked up in surprise as he finished sorting out his homework. “I heard there was a bit of a stink about the set?”
“Really?” Clara said, interestedly. “We never heard anything about that.”
“Well, we had History after break and Mr Wilson told us that the Deputy Head was threatening to have it all pulled down!”
“Pulled down!” Clara echoed, looking horrified. “No way!”
Neil raised his eyebrows. “Good, is it?”
“Haven’t you seen it yet?” she asked in surprise and as he shook his head, added. “It’s the most fabulous set I’ve ever seen; a really super castle. Dead creepy.”
“I bet she hexed it up in a couple of seconds,” Neil replied, only half listening as, for the hundredth time, he took out his copy of the riddle and stared at it as though hoping the answer would jump out at him.
“I almost forget to tell you,” Clara continued. “We tested one of the harnesses. Monica put on hers and flew from one side of the wings to the other on a broomstick. It’ll look great on the night but she looked a bit stupid in school uniform. Everyone cheered and Miss Markham was furious. I thought she was going to hex us all! I’m not surprised that everybody hates her; she was in such a foul mood today!”
“I’m not surprised, after last night,” grinned Neil. “She must be worried out of her mind.” He looked at her anxiously. “Where did you put The Book of Spells, by the way?”
“I’ve hidden it on top of my wardrobe under some school books,” Clara admitted. “I hope it’s safe. If the witches find out that it was us that took it …” she shivered at the thought.
“The MacArthur’s spell protected us,” Neil pointed out reasonably. “You know that! The witches didn’t sense that anyone else was around at all.”
“You never know, we might have left a clue behind that’ll bring them straight here.”
“Give over, Clara,” Neil looked irritated. “You’re worrying about nothing.”
“I can’t help it, Neil,” Clara admitted. “I’m really scared of Miss Markham. Maybe we should ask Kitor and Cassia to go to Arthur’s Seat and tell the MacArthur what we’ve been up to and … and ask about The Book of Spells, as well. What do you think?”
Neil frowned. “Where is Kitor?” he asked.
“They’re both in my room, perched on the chair beside the radiator,” Clara answered with a reluctant smile. “Either my room’s much more comfortable for roosting in than the trees or they’re guarding The Book of Spells!”
“You could take the book home and hide it there,” Neil suggested, looking at his watch. “It would take you about an hour to get to Craiglaw and back on your broomstick. What about it?”
Clara shook her head. “That’s not a good idea, Neil. I’d rather send Kitor and Cassia back to the hill for if the witches suspect anyone of stealing The Book of Spells, it’ll be either the Wind Witches or the Snow Witches. I reckon they’ll be on the lookout for broomsticks … any broomsticks!”
“You’re right,” Neil agreed, “I didn’t think of that.” He looked at her anxious face and smiled. “Calm down,” he said. “We’ll send Kitor and Cassia off tonight. Okay?”
“Great,” Clara said, relief colouring her voice. “That makes me feel a lot better.”
Neil nodded. “It’s just as well we don’t need the broomsticks at the moment — apart from flying between our rooms, that is.” He grinned mischievously. “Face it, Clara! You’ll just have to make do with the harness in the school play for now!”
Clara shook her head. “Actually, I don’t get to fly at all,” she grinned. “I’m one of the “pretend” witches.”
Neil looked at her sideways. “What on earth’s a ‘pretend’ witch?”
“Well,” Clara shrugged, “some of us are kids playing at being witches and the others are supposed to be ‘real’ witches.”
“So you’re not one of the stars!” Neil teased.
“I don’t want to be,” she assured him. “Not with Miss Markham around.”
“Yeah,” Neil nodded, “I’ll keep out of her way, too, just in case she senses any magic in me.”
“The play’s quite good fun otherwise, though,” Clara continued. “I got to know one or two of the girls better this morning. Angela seems really nice and on the days her dad’s late in picking her up, I’ve asked her to come to my room.”
“Good,” Neil looked across at her and was relieved to see that she looked more like her old self. It had worried him that Clara seemed to be on her own all the time once classes finished. “Why’s the play called Pumpkin Pie, by the way? It seems to be all about witches.”
“We find a spell in an old book and change our pumpkin into a magic one that conjures up bats and owls and real witches. We all run away and the real witches change it into a pie.”
“Doesn’t sound very exciting,” Neil grumbled.
“I know — it sounds nothing the way I’m telling it, but it’s actually quite good,” Clara grinned. “Anyway, cheer up! Miss Markham’s got the kitchen staff organized and you’re all going to get a huge slice of pumpkin pie at the end of the dress rehearsal.”
Neil’s eyes brightened. “Mightn’t be so bad, then!”
Clara looked at her watch and sighed. Time to be getting back, she thought. She still had some homework to finish as well. She looked at Neil somewhat guiltily. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide anything from him but somehow she just couldn’t tell him how The Book of Spells fascinated her. The dusty pages of old parchment, the funny old-fashioned writing and strange magic words that she couldn’t understand seemed to send her into a dream and although she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself, she knew perfectly well that the spells that she read were imprinted in her memory. “Did you have any luck with Mrs Weston?” she asked, seeing the riddle lying beside his Maths book.
Neil shook his head. “No, I didn’t have a chance,” he admitted. “The Geography teacher’s off sick and she’s taking some of his classes. I’ll try and see her tomorrow.”
“Do you really think she might work it out for us?” Clara asked, taking her magic ring off.
“Well, she was Auntie Muriel’s friend and Mum said they always did the Scotsman crossword together at break.”
“You’ll have to ask her not to mention it to anyone,” Clara warned, slipping the ring onto her left hand and disappearing entirely as she reached for her broomstick.
Neil nodded as he turned to open the window for her. “I won’t forget,” he said.