Neil looked appreciatively round the auditorium of the school’s little theatre. It was buzzing with excited chatter as by this time most of the classes had filed in and everyone was more or less seated. Mrs Weston slipped into her seat at the end of the row and the other teachers, too, he noticed, had started to take their places, a sure sign that the play was due to start soon. His eyes sharpened as he noticed that Herr von Grozny, sitting with his form class, was in the row in front of him. A sudden flutter of worry made Neil frown. Nothing, surely, could go wrong with Pumpkin Pie?
If the truth be told, he’d felt uneasy ever since they’d got back from Edinburgh. Odd things bothered him. Clara, for a start; for despite the MacArthur’s assurances that the protective hex he’d put round the talisman would mean that no one would sense its magic, she’d been worried at wearing it in school, pushing the clasp halfway up her arm so that her sweater would hide it. Neil sighed, knowing that the last couple of rehearsals had been a bit nerve-racking for her. However, Miss Markham didn’t seem to have noticed anything and she wouldn’t see von Grozny any time soon as her next German lesson wasn’t until the following week.
She’ll be fine, he told himself. After all, the witches would hardly try anything on during the play. Not, he reckoned, with the formidable Queen of the Earth Witches in the wings. No, he was letting his imagination run away with him. Anyway, what could possibly happen during a school play with the theatre full of teachers?
Then he remembered a few of his friends giggling with some of the third year boys. Something was going to happen, he thought suddenly. After putting half of them in detention at the start of the term, Miss Markham wasn’t at all popular with the third year and he’d vaguely gathered that they were up to some sort of mischief. But was it connected with the play? Some of them had sisters in Clara’s year — surely they wouldn’t do anything to sabotage the performance? Looking behind him, however, he immediately had his suspicions confirmed. The third years were sitting quietly enough but there was an air of suppressed excitement about them that told him all he wanted to know … and his heart sank …
Just then, the lights dimmed and a spotlight blazed, illuminating the sinister, threatening figure of Miss Markham who slid evilly from behind the gold-tasselled, red velvet curtains. She had dressed for the occasion in witch’s clothes and although she’d added a pair of rather daring, red and white striped stockings to her ensemble, her presence sent a frisson of unease round the audience. There was an immediate outbreak of hissing, which was quickly quelled by the staff and by Miss Markham herself as, with a furious glare round the hall, she welcomed them to the dress rehearsal of Pumpkin Pie.
Neil glanced quickly at the teachers that were within his range of vision and caught them exchanging rather startled glances. He felt sure that none of them had realized just how much the upper school disliked Miss Markham.
It was then that Neil caught sight of him, standing at the side of the auditorium, quite near Herr von Grozny; a small, elderly man with grey, straggly hair. The janitor, thought Neil, who had saved their skins when von Grozny had nearly caught them in the library. Funny, he hadn’t seen him around since then. He looked at him again and almost choked as realization dawned. He had seen him again — at the river when he’d tried to hex Clara! The same old man! He must be a magician of some sort! But who was he?
Neil slumped back in his seat, quite oblivious to the gasps of wonder that ran round the auditorium as the curtains parted to reveal the witches’ fantastic castle. It was huge and looked frighteningly creepy. Black paper bats flapped spookily round its grim battlements and an owl hooted eerily. The seniors sat up expectantly and even the teachers looked interested. Maybe the play was going to be worth watching after all.
Neil’s mind, meanwhile, was racing frantically. Who on earth, he wondered worriedly, was the old man? He groaned. There was just so much he didn’t know! As it happened, the old man was to prove the least of his problems. Although Miss Markham had no reason to suspect Clara, the Wind Witches knew what she looked like and putting two and two together, had gathered that the children went to Netherfield, Lady Merial’s old school. So, even as Neil sat in the audience, worrying his socks off, they were there already, perched high above the stage in the flies, waiting for a chance to grab the talisman.
The fly floor, in any theatre, soars at least thirty feet above the heads of the actors and is little more than a ten-foot platform jutting out round three sides of the stage. The Wind Witches, therefore, got the shock of their lives when the Snow Witches materialized on the opposite platform. Wanda looked distraught. How on earth did Samantha know about the children? She’d have sworn that no Snow Witches had been within spitting distance of Etal that night. Who had let the cat out of the bag? She glared round furiously but as every witch in her coven looked just as appalled as she did, she remained none the wiser.
What she couldn’t know was that some of the Snow Witches had actually witnessed the incident at the ford and had not only seen Clara but had also passed the news of the event on to their mistress. Samantha had listened carefully and her instructions had been brief, clear and to the point. Since then, she and her coven had secretly followed the Wind Witches wherever they went and, although time-consuming, her tactics had paid off. Indeed, the look of stunned astonishment on Wanda’s face when they’d turned up had been ample reward for their efforts!
Samantha, looking supremely confident in her shredded, silver gown, smiled sweetly and rejoiced inwardly at Wanda’s hidden fury. Bowing mockingly from her perch on the platform opposite, she knew perfectly well that there wasn’t a lot Wanda could do without revealing their presence to Maritza. Wanda inclined her head graciously in response and, holding her tongue and her temper, crouched in the heights above the stage, waiting for an opportunity — any opportunity — to grab the talisman before Samantha, or any of the other witches, had the chance to get their hands on it!
The play progressed amid bursts of laughter, gasps of horror and loud cheers from the audience for, as Clara had said, it was a good play. It wasn’t until the second act, however, that Miss Markham unwittingly set the ball rolling.
The sleeves of Clara’s witch outfit weren’t, unfortunately, all that long and although she’d done her best to push the talisman up her arm, her sleeve fell back accidentally as she dipped a long-handled ladle in the cauldron and lifted out a huge black spider. As the audience went “Aaaarghhh”, the talisman was revealed for all to see; the shining clasp of silver round her arm blazing in the glare of the spotlights. Neil closed his eyes. Now she’d done it!
Standing in the prompt corner, still totally unaware of the witches crowding the flies above her head, the inevitable happened. Miss Markham spotted the talisman. Her mouth fell open and excitement gripped her like a vice. How or where this child had found the talisman, she didn’t know, but within a very short time — like right now — it was going to be hers!
Several things then happened in quick succession. She strode onto the stage, pushing the girls roughly to one side in her anxiety to get to Clara. This, of course, wasn’t in the original script but no one thought of protesting. Even the teachers in the audience were frozen to their seats. One look at her face was enough! Surely, this was a real witch! The girls in Clara’s class didn’t hesitate; they scattered, quivering with fear into the wings, leaving Maritza facing Clara in the middle of the stage.
Clara looked at her interestedly. She didn’t feel the least bit frightened, knowing that the talisman would protect her. It was only when Maritza started to recite the words of a spell that Clara stiffened and took a step backwards. She knew it, Clara thought, suddenly horrified. Of course! How could she have been so stupid! She knew the spell that would draw the talisman to her! She’d memorized it from The Book of Spells before they’d stolen it! Maritza finished reciting the spell and with a triumphant scream of “Eliandor!” threw out her hands. To her horror, Clara felt the talisman loosen its grasp on her arm and fly in a gleaming, shining arc, through the air towards Maritza’s greedy, grasping hand.
It was then that the Wind Witches dropped like stones from the flies, screeching like banshees. Manoeuvering her broomstick deftly, Wanda caught the talisman in mid-flight and held it aloft for all to see. “The talisman is mine!” she called out in the language of the witches.
Maritza, however, was having none of it. Nor was she going to give it up that easily. Crouching down, she gathered her strength and, propelling herself violently upwards, leaped all of ten feet into the air as Wanda passed, knocking the astonished witch off her broomstick. With a jarring thud that made the audience wince in sympathy, they hit the stage together in a messy tangle of hats, cloaks and the odd flash of striped stocking. Then, as the rest of the Wind Witches soared and swooped overhead, still screeching loudly, a totally unseemly scuffle ensued.
Samantha looked on disgustedly and, raising a disparaging eyebrow at such uncouth behaviour, dropped from the heights with her witches behind her, ready to seize any opportunity that came her way.
And, as it happened, she didn’t have long to wait … for Wanda and Maritza were so desperate to get their hands on the talisman that they broke every rule in the book — and when, at one stage, Wanda suddenly let out a blood-curdling yell that made everyone’s blood freeze it was quickly accompanied by another as she promptly bit Maritza back. No one dared intervene as they kicked, jabbed and did their best to pull one another’s hair out. The end, however, was unexpectedly swift. Maritza, gasping for breath, staggered to her feet, drew back her fist and delivered a punishing right to the chin that would have felled an elephant. Wanda, not surprisingly, crumpled at this devastating blow and collapsed in a heap.
Grasping the talisman, Maritza ran to wings to escape and to her horror, found the Snow Witches waiting for her. Hovering on their broomsticks, she knew at a glance that there was no way she was going to get past them. Without breaking her stride, she swerved like a greyhound, ran back across the stage and, robes flapping wildly, headed for the battlements of the castle.
She’s going to jump, thought Neil, as Maritza poised dramatically for a second before launching herself into space. However, even as she leapt for the safety of the mats below, the Queen of the Snow Witches, who had swooped across the stage after her, stretched out her hand and grabbed the talisman. The Snow Witches screamed in triumph as Samantha held it aloft and then turned in surprise as another, truly terrible shriek pierced the air; a shriek that held a variety of conflicting emotions — surprise, disbelief, unrelieved fury and much, much, more. It was terrible in its intensity and, indeed, to the discerning ear, had a resonance all of its own …
Neil burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. Now he knew what the third form had been up to. They’d replaced the pile of gym mats with the biggest trampoline the gym had to offer! Maritza had, quite literally, got her come-uppance at last!
It wasn’t only the audience who howled with laughter as Maritza bounced ever higher above the battlements. Samantha, still clutching the talisman, couldn’t believe her eyes at first — but when she saw Maritza’s startled, agonized face popping up again and again, she let out a joyful wail of unrestrained mirth and gleefully threw a hex so that Maritza continued to soar skywards. Indeed, every time Maritza appeared, a furious, gesticulating jumble of black skirts and striped stockings, everyone creased up anew. Tears of laughter spilled down Neil’s face as she bounced up time and time again; sometimes the right way up — often upside down — and always shrieking with rage.
The Snow Witches, helpless with laughter, were soon staggering round the stage, holding one another up hysterically. The Wind Witches, too, were every bit as bad. Wanda, of course, was still out cold but the rest of them were doubled up, clutching at their broomsticks as they howled with unholy glee.
Clara, however, didn’t feel the least like laughing. She felt dreadful; she’d lost the talisman and, totally devastated, was set on recovering it. Ignoring the hapless Maritza and the helpless witches, she repeated the words of the spell. If Maritza could use it to take the talisman then she could use it to get it back again! It was as she said “Simaron Eliandor”, the final words of the spell, that the talisman left Samantha’s hand and curved across the stage towards her.
Samantha, however, felt it leave her hand. Quick as a flash, she followed it on her broomstick and grabbed at it at much the same time as Clara. As they struggled, Clara knew instinctively that she was no match for the powerful witch. She needed help badly but as she looked round desperately, all she could see were witches and more witches.
Perhaps it was the sight of the black paper bats waving on their strings above the towers and turrets of the castle that spurred her imagination; perhaps the talisman was trying to protect her as it had when she’d fallen into the river or maybe The Book of Spells, itself, had a hand in the affair.
Whatever it was, the words of a spell flowed like running water from Clara’s lips and as her voice rang out, clear and concise, in the ancient language of old magic, Samantha stepped back; white-faced, frightened and totally appalled.