Catweazle

robe on the way back!’ he said as he pushed the unwilling
magician into the old mac. With his long hair sticking out round the hat, and
rabbit-skin boots under the mac, Catweazle looked very odd indeed.
    ‘I am
no longer Catweazle,’ he complained.
    ‘That’s
the idea,’ said Carrot.
    They
continued across the fields until they came to Westbourne. The town frightened Catweazle
and he kept close to Carrot. Outside the betting shop stood a small group of
men, chatting and reading the papers.
    ‘Stay
here,’ said Carrot, ‘I won’t be a moment,’ and he went into the shop.
    A
loudspeaker was blaring as Carrot approached the counter, and a red faced man
with his shirt sleeves rolled Up and a pencil behind each ear looked up at him.
    ‘Hop
it,’ he said.
    ‘But
listen,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Can’t
you read?’ said the man, pointing to a large notice.
    ‘No
person under eighteen is allowed on these premises,’ read Carrot.
    ‘That’s
right,’ said the man, ‘so hop it.’ ‘Look,’ said Carrot, ‘I’ve got a foreign
friend outside and he doesn’t speak much English.’
    ‘Is he
over eighteen?’
    ‘Oh,
yes,’ said Carrot. ‘Well over.’
    ‘O.K.’
said the man. ‘Write down what he wants outside and then send him in with it.
And the money,’ he added.
    But
when Carrot looked outside Catweazle had vanished and the farm truck was parked
by the betting shop with his father inside.
    ‘Come
here,’ said Mr Bennet grimly.
    ‘Listen
Dad - ’
    ‘Get
in.’
    They
drove off in silence. Carrot looked at his father’s angry face, and finally
plucked up courage to speak.
    ‘I
wanted to help the farm - ’ he began.
    ‘By
hanging around betting shops?’ interrupted his father angrily.
    There
was a pause.
    ‘Did Sam
tell you?’ asked Carrot.
    ‘I
found this by the television,’ said his father. It was Sam’s list with ‘five
bob each way’ scribbled underneath in Carrot’s handwriting.
    ‘I
tackled Sam about it,’ said Mr Bennet, ‘and he told me the whole story. I’m
prepared to forget it Carrot, if you promise never to try anything like this
again. Sam has already promised he won’t ask you.’
    ‘I
promise, Dad,’ said Carrot. ‘And thanks.’
    ‘Good
I’ Mr Bennet relaxed and smiled at his son. ‘If you really want to help the
farm you can’t beat hard work, you know.’
    Carrot,
who had expected a worse punishment from his father, sat back and began to
wonder what had happened to Catweazle.
    While
Carrot had been in the betting shop, Catweazle had recognized the signs of the
Zodiac on Madame Rosa’s notice next door, and, following the pointing arrow, he
had climbed the stairs to the fortune-teller’s waiting-room. Perhaps this
magician was the one who could help him return to his own time.
    ‘Yes,
dear?’ said Madame Rosa peering through a bead curtain. She was a large woman
and she wore a black shiny dress. On her head was an ornate turban, and large
gold earrings jingled from her ears.
    ‘Horse
and Hattock,’ said Catweazle. It was an ancient password used by witches. ‘Hast
thou the Eye of Time?’
    Madame
Rosa, who was a little bit deaf, glanced at her watch. ‘Yes dear,’ she said.
‘It’s ten past three. If you want a sitting, that will be seven-and-six.’
    ‘Seven-and-six,’
muttered Catweazle, adding them together to make thirteen. ‘ ’Tis good!’
    Pushing
his way through the curtain, he looked at the witch’s room. There were velvet
hangings, embroidered with writhing dragons, and the whole place was crammed
with ornate Chinese carvings. In the midst of all this oriental splendour,
three plaster ducks flew up the dark red wallpaper. It all looked rather
inviting to Catweazle.
    The
object that he found most fascinating was a large crystal ball standing in the
middle of the table.
    ‘Ah!’
he said. ‘ ’Tis a giant scrying glass! Like a full moon! I feel its power!’ and
he stretched out his hands over it as if warming them.
    ‘Oh,
you mean my crystal?’ said Madame Rosa nervously. ‘I don’t know what I’d do
without that. Some people use tea-leaves, you know, but it’s such a messy
business. I always think the ball is more artistic. Do sit down.’
    ‘Six to
four the field!’ squawked a scruffy looking parrot from a cage in the corner of
the room.
    Catweazle
looked at the bird in amazement, and crossed his fingers.
    ‘Art
thou a Spirit?’
    The
parrot eyed him maliciously. ‘They’re off! They’re off!’ it