Catweazle

Stuffy, ‘I’d rather you didn’t. ...’ A book came
sailing down and bounced off his head. It was followed by others, as Catweazle
searched frantically through the shelves. He could feel by the tingling in his
arm that there was a magic book somewhere and he was going to find it. Clouds
of dust began to rise and the books continued to fall.
    Stuffy was furious. ‘Come down, Brown!’ he ordered. ‘Will you stop it!’
    The books stopped raining down. Catweazle had found what he wanted; he
stood above them, clasping a tattered old book with a look of wild excitement.
    ‘True magic!’ he yelled, shinning down the ladder and skipping round the
museum. Reaching the doorway, he held the book over his head. ‘The Power is
within!’ he cried, ‘ ’tis Rapkyn’s book!’ and with a final blood-curdling cry
of triumph, he turned and scampered out.
    Slowly, Stuffy Gladstone collapsed on the bottom step of the ladder and
looked at the pile of books scattered around him, unable to speak.
    ‘Don’t worry, Mr Gladstone,’ said Carrot, ‘I’ll get it back,’ but it was
some time before he found Catweazle sitting on a gate and reading from the stolen
book.
    ‘Come on, hand it over,’ panted Carrot.
    ‘It stays with me,’ said the old magician, gripping the book in his
claw-like hands and running off into the field.
    ‘Listen,’ said Carrot, catching up with him, ‘it’s not yours. You’ve
just got to give it back.’
    ‘Cross me not,’ snapped Catweazle, ‘I have found thy curse.’
    ‘What!’
    Catweazle put a finger to his lips, twisted his thin beard and led the
way over to a hay-stack. They sat down like a pair of conspirators and
Catweazle opened the book. Carrot looked oyer his shoulder at the curious
spider-like squiggles. ‘What’s it say?’ he asked.
    ‘Hear Rapkyn!’ said Catweazle.
     
    ‘ “Hexwood, I blight thee,
    Stones hold my power.
    One in the water,
    One in the tower.” ’
     
    Carrot was
mystified. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t get it,’ he said.
    ‘Thou
mugwump! “Stones hold my power!” ’
    ‘What
stones?’
    ‘The
stones Rapkyn cursed and then hid,’ said Catweazle impatiently.
    ‘Why
did he do that?’
    Catweazle
looked at the boy. Was he really stupid or just pretending?
    ‘Hexwood.
“Hex” wood,’ he said slowly. ‘Hex meaneth witch, thou maggot! The wood was a
meeting place for witches and when the house was built, this Rapkyn took
revenge.’
    Carrot
jumped up. ‘You mean we’ve got to find a couple of stones buried somewhere in
the farm?’
    ‘Truly,
thou art Solomon,’ said Catweazle sarcastically.
    There
was no one about when they got back to the farm, and after Carrot had made sure
that it was quite safe, the two of them crept into the kitchen. There was a
note for Carrot propped up against a milk bottle on the table.
    ‘ “Gone
to see Winkley. Back at four.” ’ he read, ‘That means we’ve only got an hour!’
    Catweazle
had sat himself down and was eagerly read-tng the book again.
    ‘ ’Tis
all here!’ he muttered to himself, ‘Prayers to Tanit, prayers to Lucifer,
spells, charms, and curses!’
    ‘We’re
going to have to work fast,’ said Carrot. ‘ “One in the water, one in the
tower”, but we haven’t got a tower, so what can it mean? “One in the tower,” ’
and he put his chin in his hands and sat down to puzzle it out. Then his eye
fell on the large chimney breast with the row of pewter beer mugs along the
great oak beam. It was the oldest part of the house.
    ‘The
chimney!’ he breathed. ‘Could old Rapkyn mean the chimney? He must; it’s the
only tower we’ve got. Gosh, if it’s up there, we’ll never find it.’
    ‘We
will try,’ said Catweazle.
    Carrot
ran and fetched some steps from the scullery and, moving the electric fire out
of the way, set them up under the open chimney. They looked up the black tunnel
above them.
    ‘Right,’
said Carrot, ‘up you go.’ Catweazle drew back, shaking his head.
    ‘Go on!
It’s all right. There’s no soot.’
    ‘There
may be Demons!’
    ‘Think
so? Then you hold the ladder,’ and Carrot began to climb up the chimney. He had
a small torch with him and he shone it over the rough stonework.
    ‘What
sort of stone am I looking for?’ he called down to Catweazle.
    ‘
’Twill have an eye.’
    ‘A
stone with an eye? What are you talking about?’
    ‘Come
down, thou cuckoo!’ called Catweazle.
    Carrot came
down. ‘We’ll never find it,’ he said, but