Catweazle

explaining things to Catweazle.
    ‘You
have to guess which horse will win a race,’ he said slowly and carefully. ‘They
all get in a line, you see, and then they run towards a white post, and the
first one past it is the winner. If you guessed the right horse you get some
money.’
    ‘Dost
thou not know?’ asked Catweazle with surprise.
    ‘Know
what?’
    ‘The
horses that will win.’
    ‘Don’t
be silly,’ said Carrot. ‘How could you?’
    Catweazle
wondered if the young sorcerer was mocking him again.
    ‘With
the Eye of Time, brother, with the Eye of Time.’
    ‘Oh,
yes,’ said Carrot, wondering what the Eye of Time was.
    They
paddled to the shore where Carrot had pitched his tent, and Catweazle lit a
small fire, using his newly acquired matches. Then he placed the Thirteenth
Fish on an improvised spit.
     
    ‘From the water into the fire.
    From the fire into the earth,
    From the earth into the air’
     
    sang
Catweazle as he sprinkled marigold petals over the burning fish.
    Suddenly,
Carrot caught sight of his father’s truck driving round the far side of the
lake towards them.
    ‘It’s
Dad!’ he said, and pushed Catweazle into the tent.
    Mr
Bennet and Sam had been into Westbourne for supplies, and while his employer
was busy ordering fertilizer, Sam had slipped away to visit Madame Rosa, the
local fortune-teller. He often went to see her to ask for the names of horses
that were going to win. She would gaze into her crystal ball, pretending to see
into the future, while she read out names from a racing paper hidden under the
table on her lap. Then Sam would go next door to the betting shop and place his
bets. What he didn’t know was that the betting shop was run by Madame Rosa’s
husband; working together, they were running a very profitable business.
    Unfortunately
Mr Bennet had caught Sam before he had managed to place his bets and had made
him get into the truck.
    ‘But I
ain’t bin in yeti’ Sam had protested.
    ‘Then
I’ve saved you some money,’ Mr Bennet had replied.
    Now, as
the two men walked up to the tent, Carrot signalled to Catweazle to keep very
quiet.
    ‘Any
luck?’ said Mr Bennet.
    ‘Yes,’
said Carrot, ‘I’ve caught a lot.’
    ‘I told
you, you needed a decent rod. We’re going to measure the ground for the new
sheds. You’ll make sure that fire’s out before you go, won’t you, Carrot?’ said
his father turning back to the truck.
    Sam
waited until Mr Bennet was out of earshot and then he spoke.
    ‘You
going back to the farm afore this afternoon?’
    ‘Why?’
said Carrot. ‘Do you want me to put some bets on for you?’
    ‘How
did you know?’ asked Sam, getting a piece of paper from his pocket.
    ‘Because
it’s Saturday,’ said Carrot taking the paper.
    ‘Better
make it five bob each way,’ grinned Sam.
    As
Carrot wrote this down, Catweazle watched suspiciously from the tent. What plot
was the young sorcerer hatching?
    ‘Come
on, Sami’ Mr Bennet called from the truck. ‘Cornin’ Mr Bennet,’ called Sam. He
turned back to Carrot. ‘You’ll get them on in time, won’t you?’
    ‘Of
course I will.’
    ‘An’ if
they come up, there’ll be a couple of bob for you,’ said Sam as he began to run
back to the truck.
    Carrot
waved as it drove off and then Catweazle emerged from the tent and glowered at
him.
    ‘What
spell didst thou write?’ he asked.
    ‘It’s
not a spell, it’s Sam’s bets for this afternoon.’
    ‘Ah! The
horses that will win,’ said Catweazle.
    ‘If
he’s lucky.’
    ‘Hath
he the Eye of Time?’
    ‘I
don’t know. What is it?’
    Catweazle
held out his wrinkled hand. ‘Give me thy paper,’ he said. Carrot handed it over
and Catweazle sat down crosslegged while the smoke from the fire rose into the
air.
    ‘Where
do these swift horses run?’ he asked.
    ‘Lingfield
and Newmarket,’ said Carrot.
    Catweazle
held the bit of paper against his forehead and closed his eyes. Carrot looked
at him anxiously. ‘Have you got a headache?’
    ‘Peace
brother.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    Catweazle
began to sway backwards and forwards.
    ‘O
Spirits of the Brazen Vessel, I call on thee,’ he intoned. ‘Sator, Arepo, Tenet, Opera, Rotas!’
    He
stopped swaying and the piece of paper fluttered down. His eyes opened but they
saw nothing.
    ‘Lingfield,’
he whispered, ‘Lingfield! A multitude roaring like the sea! Men wave their
arms. Spells are spoken. The horses thunder past a white post. A bird flying
through the rain. The