How did there come to be two knife throwers in the snow-covered village street? And since when had there been cowboys and Indians in these parts? Knife throwers with red caps and wide baggy trousers – and Indians with faces painted fiercely, waving long spears over their heads.
They must be from the circus, thought Abraxas the raven.
But the two knife throwers didn’t come from the circus. No more did the cowboys and Indians. The Chinese women, the cannibal, the Indian girls, the desert sheikh and the pirate were not part of the show either. No – it was carnival time in the village. The children had a half-holiday from school because of the carnival, and they were romping about the village square in fancy dress.
The princesses threw paper streamers. “Wah! Waah!” roared a pirate. “I’m hungry!” shouted the cannibal. “Who wants to be gobbled up? I’m hungrrry!” The Chinese girls talked in Chinese, the Indian girls chattered in their language, and the cowboys shot corks into the air from the pistols. The chimney sweep flourished his cardboard top hat, Punch hit the desert sheikh on the turban with his wooden sword, and Jaromir the robber chief made such dreadful faces that his moustache came unstuck and kept falling off.
“Do you see the little witch over there?” asked Abraxas after a while.
“Where?”
“Over by the fire station. With the long broom!”
“Oh yes – I see her,” said the little Witch. “But I must go and have a closer look.”
She ran up to the carnival witch and said, “Good afternoon!”
“Hullo,” said the carnival witch. “Are you my sister by any chance?”
“Perhaps,” said the real little Witch. “How old are you?”
“Twelve. How old are you?”
“A hundred and twenty-seven and a half.”
“What fun!” cried the carnival witch. “I must remember that! From now on, when the others ask how old I am, I’ll say two hundred and fifty-nine and three-quarters!”
“But it’s my real age!”
“Yes, of course it’s your real age. And you can really cast spells and ride on a broomstick too!”
“Of course I can!” cried the real little Witch. “What do you bet me?”
“Let’s not bet anything,” said the carnival witch. “After all, you can’t really.”
“What do you bet me?” repeated the real little Witch.
The carnival witch burst out laughing. “Come here, you Chinese girls!” she shouted. “And you evil sorcerer and you good fairies, come here too. All of you – the desert sheikh and the Indians and the cannibal. Here’s a little witch who can ride on a broomstick!”
“She can’t possibly,” said Punch.
“Yes, yes!” cried the carnival witch. “She wanted to have a bet with me. Now let’s see if she was telling the truth.”
In a trice all the children had surrounded the two witches. The chimney sweep, Jaromir the robber chief, Punch and the Indians, the pirate, the evil sorcerers and the good fairies, they all came crowding around, laughing and shouting.
“Don’t try and trick us,” cried the Indian girls.
“Or we’ll tie you to the stake!” threatened the Indian, Red Cloud.
“If you’ve tricked us,” roared the cannibal, “I shall gobble you up for a punishment! Do you hear? And let me tell you, I’m hungrrry!”
“You’re welcome to gobble me up, if you’re hungry,” said the little Witch. “But you’d better look sharp, or I shall be off!”
The cannibal was going to grab the little Witch by the collar. But the little Witch moved faster. She jumped on her broomstick – and whoosh! she was up in the air.
The cannibal flopped down on his bottom in fright. The cowboys and Indians, the Chinese girls and the Indian girls, they all fell silent. The desert sheikh’s turban fell off. The robber chief forgot to make faces. Red Cloud, the bold Indian brave, went pale under his war paint. The little chimney sweeps turned as white as chalk, but luckily no one could see because they had blacked their faces with soot.
The little Witch rode round the village square laughing. Then she settled on the roof of the fire station and waved down.
Abraxas the raven perched on her shoulder and croaked, “Hey, you down there! Now do you believe she can cast spells?”
“But I can do lots more magic!” said the little Witch. “The cannibal was so hungry …”
She spread out her fingers and murmured something. Then a shower of carnival pancakes and doughnuts pattered down into the village square! Shouting for joy, all the children fell on the rich dainties and ate as much as they wanted. Even the cannibal didn’t say no to the pancakes, though they were not really his usual diet.
Only the carnival witch ate nothing. She looked after the real little Witch, who was riding away on her broomstick now, chuckling.
Well, fancy that! thought the carnival witch. Perhaps she really is a hundred and twenty-seven and a half after all.