blisters.’
‘Come
no nearer!’ said Catweazle as Carrot began to approach, ‘Beware the Circle of
Power,’ and he pointed to the imaginary circle around him.
‘Oh
yes, of course,’ said Carrot. ‘All right if I cross my fingers?’
Catweazle
nodded and then waved his arms in the air. ‘Schempamporasch!’ he exclaimed and
beckoned to the boy. Carrot stepped carefully over the invisible circle with
his fingers firmly crossed. ‘What are you trying to do?’ he asked.
‘Return
to my own time,’ said Catweazle, who had already had enough of the twentieth
century.
Carrot
sighed. ‘Catweazle, I wish you’d drop this daft idea about the past.’
Catweazle
shook his head. When would the young sorcerer understand? He went back to his
fire-making in silence, but it was a slow business.
‘Here,’
said Carrot after a while, ‘have a match.’
Catweazle
took the little stick with the tiny red bud and examined it curiously, but
Carrot had to light it for him.
‘O
Lucifer! O Morning Star!’ cried Catweazle, falling backwards off the turkey
box, ‘truly thou art my master!’ and he was so impressed that he completely
forgot his spell.
Carrot,
pleased with the effect that he had had, lit the fire with a flourish.
Catweazle looked at him with envy. ‘Great is thy power,’ he said. ‘Canst
conjure fire at will?’
‘Sure,
it’s easy,’ he said, striking another match and blowing it out. ‘You have a
go,’ and he handed the box to Catweazle. Carefully, the old man took out a
match, and copying the boy, struck it. ‘The Spirit whispers,’ he said, watching
with wonder as it burned. Carrot retrieved the box but Catweazle grabbed his
arm. ‘Give them to me,’ he pleaded.
‘No. I
don’t think I’d better.’
‘But
fire is power! Fire is a spirit! Give me the little sticks!’
‘No,’
said Carrot, ‘you mustn’t play with matches.’
‘I
beseech thee, master!’
Carrot
looked at him. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘you can have the whole box, if you’ll
help me.’
‘Verily,
verily, O Prince of Fire!’
Carrot
sat down and tried to explain about Miss Bonnington.
‘That
money we got for the head of Cernunnos doesn’t seem to have made much
difference. If Dad marries her, just to save the farm, life won’t be worth
living. You see, she’s got pots of dough - ’
‘Pots
of dough?’ queried Catweazle.
‘Anyway,’
said Carrot, finding it hard to explain, ‘I want to get rid of her, and I don’t
know how to do it.’
Catweazle
sat twisting his beard round his finger. ‘There are many ways to rid thyself of
meddlers,’ he said finally. ‘Rapkyn will know.’
‘She
shall be blasted like a riven oak! Drowned in sulphur! Torn by whirlwinds!’ he
said as he turned the pages of the old book.
Carrot
was a little taken aback. ‘Couldn’t we just scare her a bit?’
‘Hear
Rapkyn!’ said Catweazle, finding the place. ‘ “To spite thine enemy: make thee
a mannikin of wax, saying the while, be thou such an one. Burn garlic and
vervain, and at the striking of the church bell at the seventh hour, take thou
a long pin and pierce the image throughly.” ’
‘Sounds
a bit final, doesn’t it?’ said Carrot.
‘Ay, it
doth,’ Catweazle grinned evilly. ‘Hast thou wax?’
‘Well,
I’ve got some modelling clay. Look, Catweazle, don’t you think we ought to
think of something else?’
‘
“Provide thyself with any ring, thing or knick-knack of thine enemy’s and tie
it to thy doll,” ’ Catweazle read on remorselessly. Carrot was beginning to get
worried.
‘Any
ring, thing or knick-knack?’ he said. ‘How are we going to get that?’
‘Where
is the woman?’ asked Catweazle.
‘She’s
still at the farm, but I can’t just go and ask her, “Please Miss Bonnington can
I have a ring, thing or knick-knack of yours, because I need it to put a spell
on you!” ’
‘Thou
art a dolt, brother in magic,’ said Catweazle. ‘We shall steal it from
‘Come
no nearer!’ said Catweazle as Carrot began to approach, ‘Beware the Circle of
Power,’ and he pointed to the imaginary circle around him.
‘Oh
yes, of course,’ said Carrot. ‘All right if I cross my fingers?’
Catweazle
nodded and then waved his arms in the air. ‘Schempamporasch!’ he exclaimed and
beckoned to the boy. Carrot stepped carefully over the invisible circle with
his fingers firmly crossed. ‘What are you trying to do?’ he asked.
‘Return
to my own time,’ said Catweazle, who had already had enough of the twentieth
century.
Carrot
sighed. ‘Catweazle, I wish you’d drop this daft idea about the past.’
Catweazle
shook his head. When would the young sorcerer understand? He went back to his
fire-making in silence, but it was a slow business.
‘Here,’
said Carrot after a while, ‘have a match.’
Catweazle
took the little stick with the tiny red bud and examined it curiously, but
Carrot had to light it for him.
‘O
Lucifer! O Morning Star!’ cried Catweazle, falling backwards off the turkey
box, ‘truly thou art my master!’ and he was so impressed that he completely
forgot his spell.
Carrot,
pleased with the effect that he had had, lit the fire with a flourish.
Catweazle looked at him with envy. ‘Great is thy power,’ he said. ‘Canst
conjure fire at will?’
‘Sure,
it’s easy,’ he said, striking another match and blowing it out. ‘You have a
go,’ and he handed the box to Catweazle. Carefully, the old man took out a
match, and copying the boy, struck it. ‘The Spirit whispers,’ he said, watching
with wonder as it burned. Carrot retrieved the box but Catweazle grabbed his
arm. ‘Give them to me,’ he pleaded.
‘No. I
don’t think I’d better.’
‘But
fire is power! Fire is a spirit! Give me the little sticks!’
‘No,’
said Carrot, ‘you mustn’t play with matches.’
‘I
beseech thee, master!’
Carrot
looked at him. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘you can have the whole box, if you’ll
help me.’
‘Verily,
verily, O Prince of Fire!’
Carrot
sat down and tried to explain about Miss Bonnington.
‘That
money we got for the head of Cernunnos doesn’t seem to have made much
difference. If Dad marries her, just to save the farm, life won’t be worth
living. You see, she’s got pots of dough - ’
‘Pots
of dough?’ queried Catweazle.
‘Anyway,’
said Carrot, finding it hard to explain, ‘I want to get rid of her, and I don’t
know how to do it.’
Catweazle
sat twisting his beard round his finger. ‘There are many ways to rid thyself of
meddlers,’ he said finally. ‘Rapkyn will know.’
‘She
shall be blasted like a riven oak! Drowned in sulphur! Torn by whirlwinds!’ he
said as he turned the pages of the old book.
Carrot
was a little taken aback. ‘Couldn’t we just scare her a bit?’
‘Hear
Rapkyn!’ said Catweazle, finding the place. ‘ “To spite thine enemy: make thee
a mannikin of wax, saying the while, be thou such an one. Burn garlic and
vervain, and at the striking of the church bell at the seventh hour, take thou
a long pin and pierce the image throughly.” ’
‘Sounds
a bit final, doesn’t it?’ said Carrot.
‘Ay, it
doth,’ Catweazle grinned evilly. ‘Hast thou wax?’
‘Well,
I’ve got some modelling clay. Look, Catweazle, don’t you think we ought to
think of something else?’
‘
“Provide thyself with any ring, thing or knick-knack of thine enemy’s and tie
it to thy doll,” ’ Catweazle read on remorselessly. Carrot was beginning to get
worried.
‘Any
ring, thing or knick-knack?’ he said. ‘How are we going to get that?’
‘Where
is the woman?’ asked Catweazle.
‘She’s
still at the farm, but I can’t just go and ask her, “Please Miss Bonnington can
I have a ring, thing or knick-knack of yours, because I need it to put a spell
on you!” ’
‘Thou
art a dolt, brother in magic,’ said Catweazle. ‘We shall steal it from
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