Catweazle

stump, puffed
up and intent.
    ‘Come,
thou fog-mongering Spirits,’ intoned the old sorcerer, whose face looked
dirtier than ever. ‘Bear me hence.’
    He
raised his skinny arms, ‘Hither, GlabberchopsI’ he called. ‘To me, Demigorgon!
Tarry, Mouldwarp!’ But no spirits appeared.
    ‘Disobedient
devils! A plague rot thee!’ he cursed. ‘Wilt thou not come?’
    He
lifted a strange contraption, made of brooms tied together. They spread out
behind him like a sort of bushy fan, as he mounted the foremost and ran round
and round the fire.
    ‘Leap
through fire to fly away, Salmay, Dalmay, Adonay,’ shouted Catweazle jumping
over the fire, but instead of flying he collapsed in a little heap, while his
train of broomsticks began to burn on the fire behind him.
    ‘Nothing
works!’ moaned Catweazle.
    ‘Just
what d’you think you’re trying to do?’ said Carrot angrily.
    ‘Thou
knot! Thou lump! Thou itch!’ snapped Catweazle savagely, mortified at his
failure.
    ‘You’re
a menace, Catweazle, an absolute menace!’
    ‘Pig’s
grunt!’ muttered the magician.
    ‘I knew
it was you. It’s your fault Sam’s in trouble.’
    ‘Scullion!
Leave me be!’
    ‘If he
goes to jail for something you’ve done, I’ll never forgive you.’
    Catweazle
ignored him completely and picked up Rapkyn’s book, still obsessed with his
dream of returning to the past.
    ‘Why do
I not fly, Touchwood?’ he asked his familiar, giving him a worm to eat.
    ‘You
took the brooms, didn’t you?’ said Carrot. ‘Why did you want so many?’
    ‘To
jump through the Time Fire,’ retorted Catweazle, beginning to climb up to his
castle.
    ‘You’re
potty,’ said Carrot, following him up the rusty ladder. ‘It won’t work.’
    ‘It
shall! It must!’
    ‘Not if
you used a hundred broomsticks.’
    ‘Canst
find an hundred?’ asked Catweazle eagerly, pausing at the inspection hole.
    Carrot
was furious. ‘What about Sam?’ he said.
    ‘Sam,
Sam, Sam,’ mimicked Catweazle, going into the tank. ‘Sing another song, thou
magpie!’
    ‘All
right, I’ll tell them it was you,’ said Carrot bitterly, as he clambered down
after him. ‘I’ll give you away.’ ‘Nay, thou hast sworn,’ said Catweazle,
touching Adamcos. ‘Thou art my brother.’
    ‘Then
you ought to help me,’ retorted Carrot.
    There
was no reply. Catweazle buried himself in Rapkyn’s book and reached for a
banana.
    ‘No
help, no bananas,’ said Carrot snatching it from him. ‘In fact from now on, no
food at all.’
    ‘I will
not starve,’ said Catweazle brandishing a homemade bow.
    ‘You
couldn’t hit our barn with that.’
    For an
answer, Catweazle pointed proudly to a row of rabbit pelts hanging from one of
the metal supports. ‘My aim is true,’ he said conceitedly.
    Carrot
stared at the bow thoughtfully. An idea was beginning to form in his mind.
    ‘Look,
Catweazle - ’ he began.
    ‘Drip,
drip, drip,’ said Catweazle peevishly. ‘Thou wilt wear me away. I will not help
thee. I care nought for thy vassal, thy Sam,’ and he turned back to the book.
    For a
moment Carrot was nonplussed. Then he felt in his pockets. Perhaps a bribe
w'ould do the trick. He took out his mouth-organ and began to play. Catweazle,
hearing the strange noise, looked round with wonder. Carrot stopped playing and
held the mouth-organ towards Catweazle and as the old sorcerer grabbed at it,
he moved it out of his range.
    ‘What
must I do, brother?’ said Catweazle, looking with longing at the mouth-organ.
    Carrot
squatted down beside him and began to outline his plan.
    In the
meantime, Sam had arrived at the police station and was rather ostentatiously
removing his cycle clips while he chatted to Charlie Cooper, a very young
constable he had known most of his life.
    ‘What’s
this new sergeant like, Charlie?’ asked Sam, somewhat nervously.
    ‘You’ll
find out,’ said Charlie, ushering him into Bottle’s office.
    ‘Sit
down,’ said Bottle, without even bothering to look up.
    Sam sat
down, rather surprised to see his burnt broom on the desk. There was a pause.
Bottle looked briefly at Sam and then began writing.
    ‘Mr
Woodyard, isn’t it?’ be said suddenly.
    Sam
jumped. ‘Yes,’ he said nervously.
    Bottle
tapped the broomstick with his pen. ‘That yours?’ he said.
    ‘Looks
like it,’ said Sam, puzzled. He decided to make a clean breast of things. ‘Do
you want to see my licence?’
    ‘That’s
enough impertinence,’ said Bottle tensely. ‘Can you