If Neil looked apprehensive at what was happening, his reaction was nothing to that of those on stage. They all knew from Clara’s words that it was an ancient spell and gazed at her in disbelief.
Maritza stopped bouncing, the witches stopped laughing and with one accord, each and every one of them swung round to gape at Clara in horror. The old man, standing at the side of the auditorium stiffened in shock and drew in his breath with a gasp. Like the witches, he’d never heard the spell before but had more than a vague idea where it must have come from and paled at the thought.
Von Grozny, too, had been totally stunned at Clara’s ringing tones and leapt from his seat to look warily at the old man who was swearing viciously under his breath. That they both felt the same was obvious and despite their enmity, an uneasy alliance was born. They both knew this was something the witches couldn’t handle on their own.
“Come on, Vassili,” the old man snapped, gripping his arm. “We’re in this together. The little fool has no idea what she’s done!”
Vassili, who had long since guessed the identity of the old man, smiled wryly. “Milord,” he bowed, “I am at your service.”
And with that, two sets of cold, blue eyes, determined and desperate, gazed at the stage where a moving darkness heralded the arrival of the daemons of the spell.
Neil’s heart sank as he looked along the row and saw them move purposefully towards the flight of steps that led up onto the stage. Their faces were those of soldiers going into battle against a mighty opponent and he gulped and wondered what on earth it was that Clara had conjured up.
He didn’t have long to wait.
Glancing around, he saw that the entire audience was now totally engrossed in the action of what they blissfully thought was the plot and as his eyes moved again to the stage where the witches cowered in terror, a fearful shadow gathered itself in sweeping waves, like the folds of an enormous cloak, round the soaring turret of the castle.
Then they appeared, slithering from its slit windows in a never-ending stream, sliding softly from its darkness on outspread wings; dreadful creatures, the stuff of nightmares. Daemons! Winged creatures with the sleek heads of cats and the scaly bodies, feet and tails of lizards. Neil drew in his breath and the audience cringed as the fearsome creatures glided down on jagged, leathery wings. Red eyes gleaming and wicked-looking teeth curved menacingly over furry chins, they swooped across the stage with eerie, whistling cries, to attack the witches.
Clara took a couple of steps backwards, appalled at what she’d done.
“Daemons!” Samantha ground out as she lifted her arm to throw a hex.
Many of the witches were caught in the initial attack for, as the bats swooped from the tower, they landed on their backs, and crouching horribly, sank their teeth deep into the back of their necks. Total bedlam then erupted; the witches screeched in agony, hexes crackled through the air and disgusting clouds of black smoke rose from the stage as daemons went pop all over the place. A scene from hell couldn’t look much worse thought Clara, staring in alarm at the devastation,
The audience looked on, wide-eyed and fearful. Even the staff sat up, looking more than slightly worried. It all looked so … so real … and, indeed, given the bedlam on stage, it could safely be said that any resemblance to a respectable school concert had long since flown out the window.
Maritza, hexing daemons furiously, yelled across the stage at Samantha. “Make — her — get — rid — of — them!”
Clara heard her and looked at Samantha blankly, realizing that she hadn’t a clue how to reverse the spell. “I can’t,” she said, looking at Samantha hopelessly. “I … I don’t know how!”
Samantha, also hexing daemons furiously, glanced at her in disgust. “Say the spell backwards, you fool!” she hissed.
Clara ran the spell through in her mind. Her thoughts were in turmoil and she had to think carefully to get the words in the right order. What, she thought, was the last word? Her mind raced through the spell and she said it aloud. Now the second last …
It was then that she noticed Herr von Grozny and the old man darting among the witches, throwing crackling hexes at the daemons that leapt and swooped around them. Who was he? The confusion distracted her and, with her mind in free fall, she knew she had to get a grip. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes firmly so that she could concentrate on getting the words of the spell in the right order.
Heart in his mouth, Neil watched as, with the arrival of the old man and von Grozny, the pitched battle grew in intensity. Their hexes, he noticed, were much more effective than those of the witches and as the startled daemons started to disappear with alarming swiftness, their leader, perched dramatically on the battlements against the backdrop of the night sky, changed his tactics. At their master’s command, the daemons immediately turned from the witches who, more than grateful to be thus ignored, promptly took advantage of this unexpected respite to disappear in a shimmer of light.
Red-eyed and evil, the cat-faced creatures folded their scaly wings and, crawling together, gathered in hunched, tight-knit bunches to concentrate their attentions on the two magicians.
As the Wind Witches disappeared, only the Snow Witches were left, staggering around looking totally exhausted. The battle, however, was by no means over and although Samantha hadn’t a clue as to who the magicians were, she knew she couldn’t move out; not until Clara had finished saying the words of the spell. She looked at her in exasperation, knowing that the whole spell had to be repeated backwards for the daemons to disappear. Eyes shut tight and concentrating hard, Clara, however, was oblivious to what was going on around her.
Samantha’s lips tightened. Telling her to get a move on would only break her concentration and cause more delay but she knew perfectly well that if the child didn’t hurry up, the magicians would soon be dead for both were in deep trouble, fighting desperately for their lives. Indeed, she wouldn’t be surprised if the old man hadn’t lost the battle altogether. She watched as, totally outnumbered, he struggled to fend off the daemons and as his eyes met hers, cried out in agony. “Samantha, get out of here and take Clara with you!”
Samantha looked dumbfounded. It couldn’t be him, she thought wildly. How could it be him? She stepped forward sharply but was a second too late; he’d disappeared, pinned down under a crawling pile of scaly bodies and leathery wings.
It was then that Clara spoke the final word of the spell.
In an instant, the surprised daemons disappeared in a crack of sound and as the rippling cloud of darkness that swirled round the stage gradually faded to nothing, Samantha, too, muttered a spell, grabbed Clara round the waist and promptly vanished, taking her witches with her.
Gasping for breath, Maritza ran to the side of the stage and pressed the button that released the curtain. As it swung down she leant exhaustedly against the wall and thought at a rate of knots as the roar of applause from the other side of the curtain reached her ears. Another hex floated through the theatre and as Clara’s class found itself assembling beside her with no memory of what had happened, she forced a delighted smile, lined them all up hastily, told them they’d been fabulous and took them in front of the curtain to take their bows.
The headmaster then made a speech of appreciation, remarking dryly and with some justification, that he’d never before seen such an exciting concert. Maritza, nodding and smiling at the side of the stage, agreed with him and bringing her forward, he stepped back and started to clap. So it was that with a twitch of her skirt and a tantalizing glimpse of striped stocking, Maritza took her bow to roar upon roar of delighted applause.
With all eyes concentrated on Maritza, Neil thought it a good time to disappear. Switching his magic ring to his left hand, he vanished unobtrusively and looked round. No one, he reckoned, had noticed that he’d gone and no one would miss him. Classes had finished for the day and all he had to do was wait until his form had filed out of the theatre. As rumours from the kitchen had been drifting round the Senior School all day, this happened remarkably quickly for everyone was anxious to get their helping of pumpkin pie and nobody hung around.
Even as the last class filed out, Neil was halfway up the flight of steps that led onto the stage. He’d seen the old man fall down covered in daemons and had heard what he’d said to the Queen of the Snow Witches. Had Clara been quick enough to save him, though?
Creeping behind the curtain, he reached the wings and looked onto the stage. Apart from Herr von Grozny who was leaning over the old man’s body, it was completely empty. Thank goodness, Neil thought, maybe this time I’ll be able to find out who he is. Walking very quietly, he could see the concern on von Grozny’s face as he treated the old man’s wounds. Funny, he thought, fleetingly, his mind winging back to the night they’d faced one another up in the library, I could have sworn they were enemies.
“You’ll be all right,” von Grozny was saying reassuringly. “I think I’ve neutralized the poison. You’ll be up and about in minutes.”
The old man smiled weakly. “Thanks, Vassili,” he whispered. “I owe you …”
Von Grozny looked serious. “Will you tell me how you come to be … like this?” He lifted one of the magician’s thin, withered hands and looked at him questioningly.
The old man closed his eyes, his lips twisting in a sour smile. “I call it Malfior’s Curse,” he whispered.
“Malfior?” Vassili looked and sounded startled.
“Another story,” the old man breathed, feeling slightly better now that the pain was easing. His eyes had been closed as he spoke and he missed the look of complete surprise that had crossed Vassili’s face.
Neil didn’t miss it, however, and his eyes sharpened as he watched the wolf man interestedly. Malfior! His attention was well and truly caught at the mention of the name, his mind immediately sweeping back to the previous year when he’d been involved with the Cri’achan, the great giants of the Highlands. How on earth did von Grozny know of Malfior?
“It was a spell,” the magician continued, raising himself on one elbow, the colour coming back into his face, “an ageing spell that has nearly run its course.” His wrinkled lips twisted. “I doubt if I have very much longer to live.”
Footsteps suddenly sounded in the wings and as Neil swung round, he glimpsed Maritza, still in her witch’s costume, heading towards them. By the time she reached the stage, however, it was empty. The two magicians had vanished.
Neil, however, was still there, his mind racing frantically. He barely noticed her for, just before the old man disappeared, he had seen beyond the lines of age.
Recognition had dawned and with it came shock, horror and disbelief. He knew now who the old man was.