Catweazle

jolly good run. Viewed him across Gamley
    Heath,
drew Meddington Big Wood, and then we lost him. Daddy was livid.’ She paused.
‘Why don’t you hunt, George?’
    ‘I
don’t really have time, Susan,’ said his father.
    ‘Oh,
hullo Edward,’ said Miss Bonnington. ‘Did you enjoy your joke?’
    ‘What
joke?’ said Mr Bennet.
    ‘I was
forced to drive all the way down the lane behind the tractor,’ she said.
‘Thought it terribly funny, didn’t you, Edward?’
    ‘Go and
get washed,’ said Mr Bennet angrily, ‘and put a clean shirt on.’
    Lunch
was misery. Carrot ate mechanically and watched them smiling at each other.
Miss Bonnington kept making feeble jokes and his father laughed at them.
    ‘I
say,’ she said suddenly, ‘that boy’s hair needs a jolly good cut!’ Carrot
glowered at her.
    ‘You’re
right, so it does,’ said his father.
    ‘He’d
better come with me this afternoon,’ she laughed.
    ‘When
do you have to go?’ asked Mr Bennet.
    ‘Oh, my
appointment’s not till four.’
    ‘That’s
splendid!’
    ‘We’ve
masses to talk about,’ she smiled.
    ‘Yes,
we have,’ replied Mr Bennet.
    Carrot didn’t
like the way things were developing. He began to wonder if Catweazle could help
him get rid of this woman; she was obviously after his father, and, unless she
was stopped, she looked like getting him. He asked to be excused and got down
from the table.
    ‘Don’t
forget the hair, Edward,’ said Miss Bonnington loudly.
    ‘No,’
he said, ‘I won’t.’
    When he
climbed into Castle Saburac, Catweazle was deep in a spell. Rapkyn’s book lay
open on a turkey box and the old man was scraping a long hazel stick with Adamcos,
while Touchwood looked on phlegmatically.
    ‘I will
bind thee, Spirit of Time,’ he muttered, ‘By Meltraton, by Raziel, by Cassiel,
and by ... and by...’ he referred to the book, ‘ ’tis so, by Azoth and Ysmael.’
    He
climbed on another box and drew an imaginary circle round himself with the
hazel stick. ‘Galbus, Gal-dat, Galdes, Galdat,’ he intoned and then paused
waiting for his spell to take effect, but with no result at all. ‘Nothing
works!’ he said sadly.
    He
knelt by the box and twirled a twig against a piece of bark in an attempt to
make fire.
    ‘I
didn’t know you were in the Scouts,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Disturb
me not, my brother, I make the Fire of Time.’
    ‘I
tried that once,’ said Carrot. ‘All you get is blisters.’
    ‘Come
no nearer!’ said Catweazle as Carrot began to approach, ‘Beware the Circle of
Power,’ and he pointed to the imaginary circle around him.
    ‘Oh
yes, of course,’ said Carrot. ‘All right if I cross my fingers?’
    Catweazle
nodded and then waved his arms in the air. ‘Schempamporasch!’ he exclaimed and
beckoned to the boy. Carrot stepped carefully over the invisible circle with
his fingers firmly crossed. ‘What are you trying to do?’ he asked.
    ‘Return
to my own time,’ said Catweazle, who had already had enough of the twentieth
century.
    Carrot
sighed. ‘Catweazle, I wish you’d drop this daft idea about the past.’
    Catweazle
shook his head. When would the young sorcerer understand? He went back to his
fire-making in silence, but it was a slow business.
    ‘Here,’
said Carrot after a while, ‘have a match.’
    Catweazle
took the little stick with the tiny red bud and examined it curiously, but
Carrot had to light it for him.
    ‘O
Lucifer! O Morning Star!’ cried Catweazle, falling backwards off the turkey
box, ‘truly thou art my master!’ and he was so impressed that he completely
forgot his spell.
    Carrot,
pleased with the effect that he had had, lit the fire with a flourish.
Catweazle looked at him with envy. ‘Great is thy power,’ he said. ‘Canst
conjure fire at will?’
    ‘Sure,
it’s easy,’ he said, striking another match and blowing it out. ‘You have a
go,’ and he handed the box to Catweazle. Carefully, the old man took out a
match, and copying the boy, struck it. ‘The Spirit whispers,’ he said, watching
with wonder as it burned. Carrot retrieved the box but Catweazle grabbed his
arm. ‘Give them to me,’ he pleaded.
    ‘No. I
don’t think I’d better.’
    ‘But
fire is power! Fire is a spirit! Give me the little sticks!’
    ‘No,’
said Carrot, ‘you mustn’t play with matches.’
    ‘I
beseech thee, master!’
    Carrot
looked at him. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘you can have the whole box, if you’ll
help me.’
    ‘Verily,
verily, O