Catweazle

of Catweazle’s gesture, clasped him by the hand.
‘Of course! Of course!’
    ‘Then thou
wilt show me thy book?’ Perhaps this sorcerer had better spells than Rapkyn’s,
thought Catweazle.
    ‘Gladly,’
said the vicar, feeling he was making real progress. ‘I’ll give you a copy.’
    ‘Then I
will descend,’ said Catweazle.
    ‘Thank
heavens for that!’ said the vicar, who really had no head for heights.
    Catweazle
slithered down the spire, nearly knocking the vicar off the ladder, and then
slowly made his way down, through the belfry.
    The
vicar took Catweazle across the churchyard and Ushered him into his study at
the vicarage. It was a typical bachelor’s study, comfortable and old fashioned,
with squashy armchairs and an old desk piled high with papers. There was a
white telephone, a set of golf clubs, and books piled everywhere. On the
mantelshelf stood last year’s Christmas cards. The room was very untidy and
several cushions lay scattered on the floor.
    Catweazle
stood in the middle of all the strangeness as the vicar tried to put him at his
ease.
    ‘Do sit
down, old chap,’ he said. ‘I except you’re all in.’
    Catweazle
sat in a large wickerwork chair.
    ‘No,
not that one, it’s Shirley Temple’s. I don’t know where she’s got to,’ said the
vicar looking round. ‘She went out with Spencer Tracey, half an hour ago.’
    A small
bright-eyed cat crept out from behind the wastepaper basket.
    ‘Talk
of the Devil!’ said the vicar with a smile.
    ‘Which
one?’ said Catweazle.
    ‘You
must forgive the ménage,’ said the vicar, ‘but cats just seem to
gravitate to the vicarage.’ He pointed to two more sleeping on a cushion.
‘Laurel and Hardy,’ he said. ‘Then there’s Buster Keaton, Jean Harlow and the
Marx Brothers, Groucho, Chico, and Harpo. But they’re all out at the moment.’
He picked up the little cat, ‘Magical little thing isn’t she?’
    ‘Verily
the cat bringeth magic,’ replied Catweazle, wondering why the sorcerer should
need so many familiars.
    ‘I,
too, have a familiar spirit,’ he said, taking Touchwood from his pocket. The
vicar looked at Touchwood with friendly interest. ‘I say,’ he said. ‘What a
splendid chap! How long have you had him?’
    ‘Nine
hundred years,’ replied Catweazle proudly.
    The
vicar backed away, convinced he was dealing with a lunatic, and began nervously
edging towards the telephone.
    ‘I
invoked the Spirits of the Brazen Vessel,’ Catweazle explained.
    ‘Oh,
did you?’ said the vicar putting down Shirley Temple as he reached his desk.
    ‘But
’twas in vain, I flew not back, but sideways.’
    The
vicar began to dial 999.
    ‘Where
did your, er, journey begin?’
    ‘Hard
by the farm at Hexwood.’
    The
vicar stopped dialling and replaced the receiver. ‘Hexwood? Near Westbourne? Do
you work there?’ he asked beginning to look in the directory.
    ‘Nay my
work is at Castle Saburac,’ Catweazle replied.
    ‘Castle
Saburac?’ said the vicar shaking his head. ‘Thought I knew all the villages
round here.’
    Touchwood
croaked loudly.
    ‘Bless
you,’ said the vicar nervously. ‘Ah, here we are! Hexwood Farm, G. A. Bennet.
Westbourne 583,’ and he dialled the number.
    Carrot
answered the phone at the farm.
    ‘Hullo,’
said the vicar.
    ‘Hullo,’
said Catweazle to the vicar.
    ‘Who is
that speaking?’ asked the vicar.
    ‘It is
I,’ said Catweazle, looking puzzled.
    ‘Could
I speak to Mr Bennet?’
    ‘I know
not,’ said Catweazle looking round the room.
    ‘Sssh!’
said the vicar to Catweazle. ‘My name is Potts.’
    ‘Ssssh!’
said Catweazle to the vicar. ‘My name is Catweazle.’
    ‘Will
you be quiet!’ said the vicar. ‘No I didn’t mean you, I’m sorry,’ he said down
the phone to Carrot.
    Catweazle
looked astonished. The sorcerer was talking nonsense.
    ‘I’m
the Vicar of Banden,’ said the vicar to Carrot.
    ‘And I
am Catweazle,’ said Catweazle convinced that the sorcerer was mad.
    ‘Hang
on,’ said Carrot, and fetched his father to the phone.
    ‘George
Bennet here,’ he said, picking up the receiver.
    ‘Ah, Mr
Bennet,’ said the vicar. ‘It’s the Vicar of Banden.’
    Catweazle
looked round the room. He was getting angry. ‘Where is the invisible one?’ he
asked.
    ‘I
wonder if you could help me,’ said the vicar to Mr Bennet.
    ‘Ask me
anything, my brother,’ said Catweazle.
    The
vicar held the mouthpiece close. ‘I’ve got a man here with me who’s out of