Catweazle

they
turned back through the wood.
    Catweazle
began making his anxious little fizzing noises through his teeth, and Carrot glanced
at him in alarm.
    ‘I grow
colder,’ said Catweazle. ‘I shall die!’
    ‘It’s
imagination,’ said Carrot, pulling him to his feet. ‘Come on! We’ll get it back
somehow.’
    They
followed his father and the others back to the farm and watched them drive off
in the farm truck, and then they began a frantic search of the house.
    ‘I bet
it’s in the desk,’ muttered Carrot, but it wasn’t in any of the drawers.
    ‘Come,
Touchwood,’ said Catweazle. ‘Lead me to Adamcos.’ He held the toad up and
pointed him round the room like a torch. Suddenly, Touchwood croaked and
Catweazle held his breath. Then the magician took a step forward in the
direction Touchwood was pointing and Touchwood croaked again. Catweazle was
convinced now that Touchwood knew what he was doing, and he went straight
across the room, while Touchwood croaked harder and harder, until they finished
up in front of a large china frog on the dresser.
    ‘Thou
art a fool,’ said Catweazle to his familiar, and angrily put him back in his
pocket.
    Carrot
came back from the sitting-room.
    ‘Not in
there either,’ he said.
    ‘What
is to become of me?’ moaned Catweazle.
    ‘Don’t
start that again. You only think you’re ill.’
    Catweazle
collapsed into a chair.
    ‘There’s
nothing wrong with you. Get up,’ said Carrot heartlessly, and pulled the
sorcerer to his feet.
    ‘My
blood turns to ice!’ moaned Catweazle, collapsing again. Carrot ran over to a
cupboard and poured out some brandy. ‘Here, have some of this,’ he said, handing
the glass to Catweazle.
    ‘ ’Tis
a magic potion?’ asked Catweazle hopefully.
    ‘Yes.
Drink it down fast. It’ll warm you up.’
    Catweazle
tossed down the brandy. A look of surprise grew on his hairy face. Then as the
drink took effect, he leapt to his feet.
    ‘Yeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!’
he cried, skipping round the room, clutching his stomach and then his throat.
‘I burn! I burn!’
    ‘Thought
that would do the trick,’ murmured Carrot.
    Catweazle
stopped jumping about and advanced on Carrot, coughing and spluttering. Tears
ran down his face leaving little pale paths on his dirty face.
    ‘Thou
bow-legged beetle!’ he snarled.
    ‘That’s
better,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Thou
white-legged worm!’
    ‘Anything
else?’ asked Carrot calmly.
    Catweazle
took a deep breath. ‘Thou wry-necked, trash-mongering, swaggering,
double-tongued, huff-snuff!’
    ‘Ten
out of ten,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Thou
art a Demon sent from hell to plague me,’ said Catweazle, sitting down again.
    ‘No I’m
not,’ said Carrot. ‘I want to help you. We’ll find Adamcos. I promise we will.’
    ‘Before
sunset?’
    ‘Oh,
yes,’ said Carrot uneasily. ‘Long before then.’ ‘Nay,’ said Catweazle. ‘I am
doomed.’
    ‘Well,
you’re supposed to be the magician. You ought to know where it is. You found
the head of Cernunnos easily enough.’
    Carrot
suddenly stopped rummaging in the sideboard.
    ‘Maybe
we’re wasting our time?’
    ‘What
meanest thou?’
    ‘Maybe
it isn’t here at all. Suppose he’s taken it into Westbourne with him?’
    ‘Then
let us follow,’ said Catweazle, anxiously getting to his feet.
    ‘But why
would he do that?’ wondered Carrot. ‘Unless - ’
    Catweazle
looked uneasily at Carrot, ‘Unless - my brother?’ he queried.
    Carrot
gulped. ‘Unless he was going to sell it.’
    Carrot
had guessed right. After dropping Sam, Fred and Dick at Old Westbourne House,
Mr Bennet had gone to see Leslie Milton, who ran the little local antique shop.
He found Leslie sitting on his desk, a voluminous dress over his knees,
surrounded by piles of costumes and large wickerwork baskets, trying hard to
get the costumes finished in time for the dress rehearsal.
    ‘I said
last year, I’d never do it again,’ he exclaimed. ‘Forty-five costumes, Mr
Bennet. I mean it’s ludicrous, isn’t it?’ He took a tape measure from round his
neck. ‘Been up there yet?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve
just dropped Sam,’ said Mr Bennet. ‘I must say things seem pretty chaotic, but
I suppose they’ll get it sorted out eventually. How are you getting on?’
    Leslie
rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Finished the last one at three this morning, apart
from bits and bobs and poppers. Quite frankly, I’m dead!’
    Leslie
slid down from the desk and gave the dress to Mr Bennet. ‘Just hold