Chapter Six

There was a CLOSED sign on the shop door the following day. After all, there was now more than enough work for the three of them.

Emily couldn’t wait to start. In her book on how to be a detective, she had read that you needed to be able to make decisions, to listen, to pay attention, and to have a good sense of justice. But most important of all, you needed great dedication to the case at hand. After managing to defeat Harpella, the scariest witch of all time, Emily knew she was up to the job. The only trouble was Buster. Emily trudged upstairs again.

She had tried all morning to make Buster leave the warmth of the living room and start the investigation. He was on the sofa, reading a comic. Fidget had put on his overcoat and was ready to go, but now he was knitting, a hobby he had taken up recently. Every pattern Fidget attempted ended up in the shape of a fish.

“Cast one, purl one,” said Fidget to himself.

“What does that mean?” asked Emily.

“I’m knitting you a sweater, my little ducks.”

“Listen, we shouldn’t just be sitting here,” said Emily. “We should be investigating the crime scene.”

“I’m as ready as catnip,” said Fidget, putting down his knitting.

“Have you looked outside?” said Buster, still glued to his comic.

Emily pressed her face against the bottle-glass window. The alleyway where the shop stood was covered in a thick blanket of untrodden snow.

“A bit of bad weather shouldn’t stop—” She was interrupted by a humongous noise, as if something had exploded in the shop below. The whole building wobbled, the lights flickered, the windows rattled, and smoke rushed back down the chimney and filled the room. “Oh, Fidget,” she said in alarm, “is Harpella back?”

“Not possible, my little ducks,” said Fidget, desperately holding on to his knitting and a plate of fish paste sandwiches.

“No one panic,” said Buster, who was panicking. “The last time anyone saw the old witch, she was a purple bunny rabbit, remember? It will take her hundreds of years to get out of that pickle.”

The noise seemed to be slowly climbing the stairs toward them. Bump-bang-bump. It sounded not unlike a dragon, hissing and snorting. The detectives were frozen to the spot like three fish sticks.

Then they heard a cell phone ring and a voice say, “Sorry, deary, I got cut off. I can’t talk now, Pauline. I’m in a predicament.”

“Oh, no,” said Buster. “It’s not…”

“It is,” said Fidget.

“Is who?” asked Emily.

“The keys must have opened another drawer,” said Buster and dashed to hide behind the sofa. “I thought it was your job to keep an eye on them,” he hissed at Emily.

Emily felt this day wasn’t working out as she had expected. Yes, one of the keys was missing. It was all very annoying. She was sure this didn’t happen to proper detectives.

The door to the living room burst open, and there stood a fairy with a tea trolley.

“This is most inconvenient, deary, most inconvenient indeed,” she said to Fidget. “Pauline rang me just before I started my tea round and then … you could have given me some warning.”

“Hello, Lettice. Good to see you, my old cod.”

“Where am I?” asked Lettice.

“In Podgy Bottom, in the shop. Remember? You handed in your wings for safekeeping,” said Fidget.

“But that was a hundred years ago. I’ve moved on since then. Wings are most unsuitable for modern living. Anyway, no one takes fairies seriously these days. Have you seen what they have done to us in the media? We are pink and silly—not like the old times, when fairies were given the respect and loathing they deserved.”

Emily looked on, wonderstruck. Lettice was round, with a nose like the beak of a bird. She had a cheerful face, tied her gray hair back in a ponytail, and wore an apron over her trousers and top. Apart from her wings, she didn’t look one bit like a fairy.

“What’s with the tea trolley, dear old trout?” asked Fidget.

“I was about to hand the prime minister a gingersnap,” said Lettice, “when I was whizzed back here.”

“The prime minister?” said Emily.

“Yes, deary. I work as a tea lady in the Houses of Parliament. One could say, deary, that without me the country would go to custard creams.”

At that moment, the magic lamp came into the living room, followed by a bashful-looking key. When Lettice saw the lamp, she screamed and stood on a chair, her wings flapping.

“What’s that thing doing here?”

Since the lamp had worked for the witch Harpella, it had turned over a new gold leaf.

“Excuse me,” it said, offended. “I am now shining with good intentions. I helped a key to open your drawer. I nobly allowed it to stand on my lid. And this is all the thanks I receive.”

“It’s quite harmless,” explained Emily. “Ever since I removed the dragon’s tooth.”

“No, deary, I’m sorry, but a lamp like that can be a dangerous thing if it falls into the wrong hands. I mean, deary, you never know what magic could be stuffed inside it. And you are…?”

“Emily Vole.”

“Not the famous Emily Vole?” said Lettice. “Savior of the fairies?” Carefully she climbed down from the chair and straightened her apron. “So brave. Such a brave girl. A pleasure to meet you at last, deary, a pleasure, I’m sure.” She turned and sniffed, and sniffed again. “I see you’ve not learned any manners yet,” she said, pulling Buster out from behind the sofa by the ear. “One hundred years of being eleven, and no improvement. Haven’t you got a kiss for your Auntie Lettice?”

“Auntie?” said Emily, surprised that Buster had an auntie.

“Yes,” replied Buster. “This is my aunt, Lettice Lovage.”

Lettice sat down on the sofa. “Pour us a cuppa from the tea trolley, there’s a love,” she said. “I’m all at sixes and sevens.”

To Emily’s amazement, Buster did as he was told.

Lettice’s cell phone rang again.

“Pauline, I’m sorry, something just sprang up, so to speak.” Lettice listened for a minute. “Well, as it happens, deary, I’m in Podgy Bottom. Wait a mo.” She turned to Fidget. “How long would it take to get to Mountview Drive?”

“Not long, as the crow flies,” said Fidget.

“I’m not a crow,” said Lettice.

“You are a fairy,” Buster reminded her. “And you have your wings back, which is more than I do.”

“Pauline, deary, what number? Twenty-two.… Hang on, I can be there in no time. Are the police there now? Yes … and a doctor? Don’t panic, Pauline. Keep breathing. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Wait,” said Emily, as Lettice stood up to leave. “What’s happened? Who’s Pauline?”

“I can’t stop, deary. Fidget, I’m parking my tea trolley here. Now, handbag … cell phone … wings.”

And with that, Lettice Lovage was gone.