Catweazle

said angrily.
    ‘So
will you,’ said Carrot. ‘Look at this!’ He held up the picture. Catweazle
uttered a terrible cry and disappeared down the hole. There was a crash.
    ‘Jolly
well serves you right,’ said Carrot climbing into the tank.
    ‘Schempamporasch!’
shouted the sorcerer, waving his hazel wand frantically. ‘Nothing works!’ he
moaned as Carrot ignored the magic command and came nearer.
    Carrot
was bewildered by the old man’s terror.
    ‘I will
obey thee, master! I will obey!’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Do not
pretend with me,’ said Catweazle. ‘My being is in thy power. Thou hast my
image, thou treacherous cunning fox!’
    ‘What
are you talking about?’
    ‘See, I
am in thy hands,’ said Catweazle pointing to the photograph.
    Carrot
paused. ‘You mean whoever’s got a picture of you can make you do anything that
they want?’
    ‘Mock
me not! Thou knowest ’tis so.’
    Carrot
shrugged and handed the photograph to Catweazle who took it with amazed relief
and tore it into tiny pieces.
    ‘Now I
am safe,’ he muttered.
    ‘But I
didn’t take that picture,’ said Carrot with dismay, ‘Mrs Derringer took it and
she’ll be furious!’ ‘Without the Magic Face the hag hath no power over me.’
    ‘Don’t
be daft,’ said Carrot. ‘She’s got the negative. She can make as many copies as
she likes.’
    This
remark had á disastrous effect on Catweazle. His arms fell to his sides and he
looked utterly defeated.
    ‘If my
image is with her, I am her slave.’
    ‘No
you’re not, she’s only a photographer.’
    ‘I must
find her,’ said Catweazle dully. And, as if he was walking in his sleep, he
climbed out of Castle Saburac.
    Nothing
that Carrot could say seemed to have any effect. Catweazle marched through the
wood looking straight ahead. He might have been deaf.
    ‘You
can’t go!’ said Carrot. ‘Anything might happen to you.’
    When
they reached the road, Catweazle stopped and looked towards the farm.
    ‘She
comes,’ he muttered tonelessly. ‘I hear her chariot.’ He stood motionless and
apathetic, waiting until the shining car drove up to them.
    ‘Why,
hello there!’ said Mrs Derringer, smiling at Catweazle while Maud looked on
disapprovingly. ‘You got my message?’
    ‘I am
yours,’ said Catweazle, totally resigned.
    ‘Oh, how
charming,’ said Mrs Derringer. ‘And so clever of Edward to find you.’
    ‘Oh,
that’s all right,’ said Carrot miserably, feeling that matters were now out of
his hands.
    ‘Climb
aboard,’ Mrs Derringer said to Catweazle. ‘You’ll have to perch in the back,
O.K.?’
    Catweazle
scrambled on to the car and lay across it like a condemned man at an execution.
Mrs Derringer waved at Carrot and off they went.
    For
Catweazle, the journey seemed like unending torture. The car tore down the
twisting country roads with Mrs Derringer driving dangerously fast. The
magician held on as best he could, with his eyes tightly closed. His long white
hair blew about and his teeth chattered with fear. The car swayed round the
bends and almost took off over the hump-backed bridges.
    As Mrs
Derringer drove up to Tollington Hall, he finally opened his eyes.
    ‘Here
we are,’ she said.
    Catweazle
slid off the back of the car and sat down heavily in the drive.
    ‘Guess
you’re not used to fast cars,’ said Mrs Derringer.
    ‘I think
he’s going to be sick,’ said Maud.
    ‘Nonsense,
Maud!’ said Mrs. Derringer, helping him to his feet and leading him indoors
like a sacrifice.
    He was
made to sit on a high stool while the witch moved towards him and then away
again in a strange ritual. Grinning evilly at him, she twisted her body into
ungainly positions and bent over a silver box from which grew a hideous round
black eye. She kept blinding him with her magic. Lightning flashed, but there
was no thunder.
    When
the photographic session was over, Mrs Derringer and Maud disappeared into the
improvised darkroom, leaving Catweazle trembling and shaken. What potions were
the witches brewing, he thought? What spells? What enchantments?
    It was
some time later that the photographer and her assistant returned to find him in
exactly the same position still frozen with fear. Mrs Derringer pinned half a
dozen assorted Catweazles, wet from the fixing tank, to a large screen, while
Maud made the tea.
    ‘There,’
said Mrs Derringer. ‘I really think I’ve caught you, don’t you?’
    Catweazle
looked at the pictures. ‘Ay,’ he said.
    ‘You
know,’ she said,