Catweazle

Theda was busy doing the washing when Sam
came up to talk to her through the open scullery window. He was a bit soft
about Theda.
    ‘ ’Mornin’ Theda,’ said Sam. ‘Has the old tramp gone?’ lie added
casually.
    ‘What old tramp?’ said Theda, up to her elbows in suds.
    ‘Come off it,’ said Sam. ‘Carrot took him in. Dressed funny he was. Like
an old monk.’ ‘You’re seein’ things,’ said Theda, washing away.
    Upstairs, Carrot hummed purposefully as he ran the water into the bath.
    ‘Shut the door,’ he ordered Catweazle who was wandering around examining
everything with childlike wonder. The lavatory chain fascinated him and, waving
his other arm hopefully at the light bulb, he pulled. The cistern flushed
loudly and Catweazle, terrified, made for the door. Carrot, however, beat him
to it and shot the bolt. Then he pushed Catweazle towards the bath. The old man
made his strange fizzing sounds of alarm.
    ‘Nay, kill me not,’ he pleaded, once more going down on his knees.
    ‘Take it off,’ said Carrot firmly, pointing to the old man’s robe.
    Catweazle looked at the bath then up at the boy, suddenly realizing the
fate in store for him. ‘No - no! Not in the water! Do not put me in the water
-1 shall drown.’
    ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Carrot heartlessly. ‘Get in.’
    ‘Thou legless lizard! Thou wriggling grub! Thou soft-backed beetle!’
cursed Catweazle in impotent fury.
    ‘No good calling me names,’ said Carrot. ‘Get in.’ The boy was
implacable. Holding up his robe and still wearing his home-made rabbit-skin
boots, Catweazle cautiously put both feet in the bath. As the hot water soaked
through to his feet, he gave a howl and jumped out.
    ‘It burns! It burns!’ he moaned, running round the bathroom in little
desperate circles.
    ‘Will you shut up!’ said Carrot, swishing in more cold water.
    ‘When I escape, I shall cast such a spell - ’ the magician threatened.
    ‘Back you get,’ said Carrot calmly.
    Seeing there was no escape, the old man climbed back in and stood
miserably eyeing the bath water as he took off his robe. Then he lost his
balance on the slippery bath and his feet shot from under him, water going in
all directions.
    In the scullery, Theda heard the splash and looked up. ‘He’ll use all
the hot water,’ she thought to herself, surprised at Carrot having a bath
without being told.
    Carrot soaped Catweazle busily. It was rather like washing Winston. The
old man sat, utterly defeated, as the dirt ran off him and the water turned a
nasty grey.
    ‘Here - you do it,’ said Carrot, handing him the soap. ‘I’ll get a
towel. Don’t go away,’ and he left Catweazle covered in soap and wishing he was
dead.
    Carrot took a towel from the airing cupboard on the landing and was just
going back to Catweazle when Theda came up the stairs and caught him at the
bathroom door.
    ‘I thought you was in the bath?’ she said.
    ‘That’s right,’ said Carrot breathlessly, ‘I am ... er ... was, I mean.’
A tremendous splash came from inside the bathroom where Catweazle, hearing
Theda’s voice had attempted, unsuccessfully, to get out of the bath.
    With a surprised look at Carrot, Theda pushed past him and opened the
bathroom door.
    Catweazle stood in the bath wearing the bath-mat round his skinny
middle. Round his neck hung Adamcos in its sheath. With a piercing shriek, Theda
began to have hysterics while Catweazle climbed out of the bath and began to
advance on her.
    ‘Out woman! Out!’ he cried, drawing Adamcos. ‘Lest I turn thee into a
one-legged ferret!’
    Seeing the knife, Theda backed against the wall, convinced she was about
to be murdered.
    ‘Know that I am Catweazle,’ he intoned, waving Adamcos before her
terrified eyes. ‘Master of the Black Arts, Follower of the Secret Path,’ and he
began to mutter a spell, ‘Zazel, Hasmael, Barsabel, Betharshesim,
Shedbarshemoth, Hasmoday.’
    Slowly Theda’s eyes began to close as they followed the moving knife and
Carrot, watching from the door, realized with amazement that Catweazle was
hypnotizing her. He remembered his own experience of the moving knife and how
those glittering eyes had bored into his own the previous night.
    ‘I don the cloak of darkness,’ intoned the magician. ‘When thou wakest,
thou shalt not see me. Invisible ... invisible ... invisible ...’
    ‘Invisible ... invisible ... invisible ...’ repeated Theda with her eyes
firmly closed.
    ‘ ’Tis done,’ said