Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

away!’
He sounded the car horn several times, but the cat took no notice, so he picked
up his radio telephone and asked for a number.
    ‘Victor
here,’ he said, feeling somewhat reassured when his assistant in London
answered him. ‘I’m about a hun — er... some distance from Kings thingummy. Ring
Lord Whatsisname and tell him I’m a bit held up, will you?’
    He rang
off and was still looking anxiously towards the cat when Catweazle came up the
road carrying a divining rod. Jack Victor didn’t like the look of him at all.
    ‘What
do you want?’ he said.
    ‘Gab
gaba agaba,’ said Catweazle, as he blew on his thumb-ring.
    ‘If
you’re after some money,’ said the millionaire, ‘move that cat out of the way.’
    Catweazle
shook his head. ‘Mayhap ’tis a fetch.’
    Victor
was very taken aback. ‘A fetch?’ he gulped. ‘That’s a witch in the shape of a
cat, isn’t it?’
    ‘Ay,’
said Catweazle calmly. ‘We must wait.’
    ‘But I
can’t wait! I’ve got an appointment!’ said Jack Victor, drumming his fingers on
the steering wheel.
    Catweazle
went up to the cat. He held his hands over it with spread fingers and recited a
little spell.
     
    ‘O witch depart
    If fetch thou art.
    Too long hast sat
    If thou art cat.’
     
    Then he
squatted down in the road and stroked the cat three times very slowly and
deliberately from its head to the tip of its tail. ‘Yan, tan, tethera,’ he
counted.
    The cat
uncurled and stood up, arching its back. Then, sticking its tail in the air
like a furry banner, it stalked off with contemptuous dignity.
    ‘ ’Twas
but a blackberry cat,’ said Catweazle.
    The
millionaire started the car and drove through the gates without a word.
    He was
received with a certain amount of caution by Lord and Lady Collingford, who
were not used to business tycoons and were inclined to mistrust them.
    ‘You
won’t know this area in five years,’ said Victor, offering a huge cigar to Lord
Collingford, which he hastily declined, ‘two hundred thousand people will be
living here.’
    ‘How
many?’ said Lady Collingford faintly.
    Jack
Victor lit his cigar. ‘Possibly three hundred thou sand.
Depends where we site the fish-glue factory.’ He spread a map on Lord
Collingford’s desk. ‘This is the plan. Here’s Elderford and here’s Kings
thingummy.’ ‘Farthing,’ said Lord Collingford coldly.
    ‘Of
course,’ said Jack Victor smoothly.
    ‘What’s
all that?’ said Lord Collingford, pointing to an area marked in red.
    ‘Houses,
shops and offices.’
    ‘But
that’s my land!’
    ‘That’s
right.’
    ‘Those
houses would come right up to the moat!’
    ‘Plant
a row of trees,’ said Jack Victor, sweeping the objections aside. ‘Look, I’ll
come straight to the point. We want to buy two hundred and fifty-three acres.’
    ‘It’s
not for sale,’ said Lord Collingford firmly.
    ‘The
stars all pointed to this area,’ Victor continued. ‘And all the omens are good.
Well, nearly all of them,’ he . added. ‘Now I don’t expect you to rush into
this without studying all the facts,’ and he produced a thick report from his
briefcase, ‘but I would like your permission now to look over the land and let
my surveyor make a few trial holes.’
    ‘Trial
holes?’ said Lady Collingford.
    ‘To
check the ground. See there’s no likelihood of subsidence. We’re already
digging on land adjoining your estate.’
    Lord
Collingford’s heart sank. The building seemed inevitable.
    ‘By the
way,’ said Victor, pointing at the map, ‘how do I get to this old railway
station?’
    Cedric,
who had been pretending to be reading, looked up quickly. ‘You don’t mean Duck Halt,
do you?’
    ‘That’s
it,’ said Victor, snapping his fingers, ‘Duck Halt. I am going to have to buy
it.’
    ‘What
for?’ asked Cedric.
    ‘So I
can pull it down of course. There’s an access road scheduled to go straight
through it.’
    Cedric
stood up and shut his book. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, ‘I think I’d like
to go for a walk.’
    He ran
all the way to Duck Halt and was surprised to see a freshly drawn pentacle on
the door. As he went inside, an arrow whistled out of the darkness and thudded
into the woodwork only inches away from him. ‘Hey!’ cried Cedric in alarm.
    ‘Pardon,
Owlface! Pardon!’ called Catweazle, bustling out from behind an old weighing
machine. ‘ ’Twas not meant for thee.’
    ‘Well
it jolly nearly got me,’ said Cedric, pulling the