Catweazle

they got
to Banden, however, she was fast asleep.
    ‘How
long are you going to be?’ asked Sam quietly.
    ‘Only
about ten minutes,’ Carrot replied, getting carefully out of the back. ‘Why
don’t you go and have a pint in the pub over there?’
    ‘Now
that’s what I call a great idea, Carrot,’ said Sam, looking cautiously at his
mother. ‘She won’t wake yet. It’s the fresh air.’
    Carrot
watched Sam going towards the pub and after another look at the old lady asleep
in the car, he ran off towards the vicarage.
    He
crept round to the back and peered in at the window. Catweazle was there all
right. He stood clutching the telephone, while the vicar vainly tried to take
it from him.
    ‘Do
stop playing with the telephone!’ said the vicar.
    Catweazle
held it cautiously to his ear. ‘I hear no voices,’ he said. ‘ ’Tis the
electrickery?’
    ‘Yes,
of course it is!’ said the exasperated vicar. ‘Now put it down!’
    ‘Sunandum!
Hurands! Saritap! Ottarim!’ Catweazle yelled into the mouthpiece waving his
hands in magical signs, but no voices answered him. Bitterly disappointed he
passed the receiver back to the vicar.
    ‘Oh
great magician! Conjure more voices with thy telling bone.’
    ‘But I
keep telling you, it isn’t magic.’
    ‘Thou
liest, false sorcerer,’ said Catweazle, switching from flattery to abuse.
‘Conjure the voices!’
    ‘Keep
calm,’ said the vicar soothingly. ‘It’s only the phone!’
    ‘Thou
wilt not share thy knowledge,’ said Catweazle angrily. ‘The young wizard of
Hexwood, he is my true brother.’
    Carrot
grinned as he heard this, and ran back to the car. He had to create a diversion
if he was going to get Catweazle out of there.
    ‘Mrs
Woodyard! Mrs Woodyard!’ he called, giving the old lady a gentle shake.
    Sam’s
mother woke with a start and looked up at him.
    ‘Where’s
Sam?’ asked Carrot.
    ‘Ain’t he
with you?’ she said.
    ‘No, I
thought he’d be back by now,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Why,
where’s he gone?’
    ‘To the
vicarage.’
    ‘The
vicarage?’ said Mrs Woodyard, now fully awake. ‘What’s he gone there for?’
    Carrot
looked mysterious. ‘I don’t know, he wouldn’t say. Just said he had to see the
vicar about something. To arrange things.’
    ‘To
arrange things?’ said Mrs Woodyard, getting alarmed. ‘My Sam?’
    ‘Yes,’
said Carrot.
    ‘Was
there a young woman with him?’
    ‘I
didn’t see one,’ said Carrot truthfully.
    ‘I’ll
put a stop to this,’ said Mrs Woodyard, struggling from the car and marching
off towards the vicarage.
    Carrot
followed her, and as she went up to the front door, he slipped round the back
to the study window. Catweazle had his knife out and was menacing the vicar.
‘Give me the secret of the telling bone, thou simpering sackbut,’ he demanded.
    ‘You’re
getting worked up again,’ said the vicar, backing away.
    ‘Thou
braying bolster! Thou black bee-hive!’ said Catweazle, driving him against the
wall. Then the front door bell rang. The strange sound made Catweazle jump back
in sudden alarm, and, seizing his chance, the vicar escaped through the door,
and locked him in.
    ‘Now
the telling bone is mine!’ said Catweazle in triumph as he sliced through the
wire with Adamcos and put the receiver in his pocket.
    ‘Here,’
hissed Carrot through the window. ‘Quick, before he gets back!’
    Catweazle,
secretly delighted to see Carrot again, climbed out of the window and swiftly
they crept back to the car.
    Meanwhile
the vicar had opened the front door to Mrs Woodyard.
    ‘Yes?’
he said, still very flustered.
    ‘Where’s
Sam?’ said Mrs Woodyard grimly.
    ‘Oh, is
that his name?’ said the vicar. ‘Well, he’s inside. Getting very excited I’m
afraid.’
    ‘Is he
indeed?’said Mrs Woodyard, beginning to bridle. ‘I’ve had a terrible time with
him.’
    ‘He
didn’t tell me he was going to do it.’
    ‘Well,
they don’t, you know, if they really mean to.’ ‘He could have told me though,
surely,’ said Mrs Woodyard. ‘I would have understood.’
    ‘Understood?’
said the vicar amazed.
    ‘After
all, I am his mother.’
    The
vicar looked at the old lady with horror. She was obviously mad as well.
    ‘I
thought that would surprise you!’ Mrs Woodyard went on. ‘Who’s he going to
marry?’
    ‘Shirley
Temple!’ said the vicar, suddenly remembering his precious cats. ‘He’s locked
in there with Shirley Temple!’
    It was
Mrs Woodyard’s turn to look