the staff room instead of to Miss Cadwallader. But only luck had saved him confessing to Mr. Towers. He had better not be that stupid again. As long as he kept his mouth shut and worked no more magic, he would be perfectly safe. He almost smiled as he trudged off to supper.
But he could not stop thinking about it. Around and around and around, all through supper. How wicked was he? Could he do anything about it? Was it enough just not to do any magic? Could you go somewhere and be de-magicked, like clothes were dry-cleaned? If not, and he was found out, was it any use running away? Where did witches run to, after they had run through people’s backyards? Was there any certain way of being safe?
“Oh magic!” someone exclaimed, just beside him. “I left my book in the playroom!” Charles jumped and hummed, like the school gong when it was hit, at the mere word.
“Don’t swear,” said the monitor in charge.
Then Theresa Mullett, from the end of the table, called out in a way that was not quite jeering, “Nan, won’t you do something interesting and miraculous for us? We know you can.” Charles jumped and hummed again.
“No, I can’t,” said Nan.
But Theresa, and Delia Martin too, kept on asking. “Nan, high table’s got some lovely bananas. Won’t you say a spell and fetch them over?”
“Nan, I feel like some ice cream. Conjure some up.”
“Nan, do you really worship the devil?”
Each time they said any of these things, Charles jumped and hummed. Though he knew it was entirely to his advantage to have everyone think Nan Pilgrim was the witch, he wanted to scream at the girls to stop. He was very relieved, halfway through supper, when Nan jumped up and stormed out of the dining room.
Nan went straight to the deserted library. Very well, she thought. If everyone was so sure she was guilty, she could at least take advantage of it and do something she had always wanted to do and never dared to do before. She took down the encyclopedia and looked up Dulcinea Wilkes. Curiously enough, the fat book fell open at that page. It seemed as if a lot of people at Larwood House had taken an interest in the Archwitch. If so, they had all been as disappointed as Nan. The laws against witchcraft were so severe that most information about Nan’s famous ancestress was banned. The entry was quite short.
WILKES, DULCINEA. 1760–1790. Notorious witch, known as the Archwitch. Born in Steeple Bumpstead, Essex, she moved to London in 1781, where she soon became well known for her nightly broomstick flights around St. Paul’s and the Houses of Parliament. Brooms are still sometimes call “Dulcinea’s Ponies.” Dulcinea took a leading part in the Witches’ Uprising of 1789. She was arrested and burned, along with the other leaders. While she was burning, it is said that the lead on the roof of St. Paul’s melted and ran off the dome. She continued to be burned in effigy every bonfire day until 1845, when the practice was discontinued owing to the high price of lead.
Nan sighed and put the encyclopedia back. When the bell rang, she went slowly to the classroom to do the work that had been set during the day. It was called devvy at Larwood House; no one knew why. Everyone else was there when Nan arrived. The room was full of the slap of exercise books around Brian Wentworth’s head and Brian squealing. But the noise stopped as Nan came in, showing that Mr. Crossley had come in behind her.
“Charles Morgan,” said Mr. Crossley. “Mr. Wentworth wants to see you.”
Charles dragged his mind with a jolt from imaginary flames whirling around him. He got up and trudged off, like a boy in a dream, along corridors and through swinging doors to the part of the school where teachers who lived in the school had their private rooms. He had only been to Mr. Wentworth’s room once before. He had to tear his mind away from thoughts of burning and look at the names on the doors. He supposed Mr. Wentworth wanted him
But he could not stop thinking about it. Around and around and around, all through supper. How wicked was he? Could he do anything about it? Was it enough just not to do any magic? Could you go somewhere and be de-magicked, like clothes were dry-cleaned? If not, and he was found out, was it any use running away? Where did witches run to, after they had run through people’s backyards? Was there any certain way of being safe?
“Oh magic!” someone exclaimed, just beside him. “I left my book in the playroom!” Charles jumped and hummed, like the school gong when it was hit, at the mere word.
“Don’t swear,” said the monitor in charge.
Then Theresa Mullett, from the end of the table, called out in a way that was not quite jeering, “Nan, won’t you do something interesting and miraculous for us? We know you can.” Charles jumped and hummed again.
“No, I can’t,” said Nan.
But Theresa, and Delia Martin too, kept on asking. “Nan, high table’s got some lovely bananas. Won’t you say a spell and fetch them over?”
“Nan, I feel like some ice cream. Conjure some up.”
“Nan, do you really worship the devil?”
Each time they said any of these things, Charles jumped and hummed. Though he knew it was entirely to his advantage to have everyone think Nan Pilgrim was the witch, he wanted to scream at the girls to stop. He was very relieved, halfway through supper, when Nan jumped up and stormed out of the dining room.
Nan went straight to the deserted library. Very well, she thought. If everyone was so sure she was guilty, she could at least take advantage of it and do something she had always wanted to do and never dared to do before. She took down the encyclopedia and looked up Dulcinea Wilkes. Curiously enough, the fat book fell open at that page. It seemed as if a lot of people at Larwood House had taken an interest in the Archwitch. If so, they had all been as disappointed as Nan. The laws against witchcraft were so severe that most information about Nan’s famous ancestress was banned. The entry was quite short.
WILKES, DULCINEA. 1760–1790. Notorious witch, known as the Archwitch. Born in Steeple Bumpstead, Essex, she moved to London in 1781, where she soon became well known for her nightly broomstick flights around St. Paul’s and the Houses of Parliament. Brooms are still sometimes call “Dulcinea’s Ponies.” Dulcinea took a leading part in the Witches’ Uprising of 1789. She was arrested and burned, along with the other leaders. While she was burning, it is said that the lead on the roof of St. Paul’s melted and ran off the dome. She continued to be burned in effigy every bonfire day until 1845, when the practice was discontinued owing to the high price of lead.
Nan sighed and put the encyclopedia back. When the bell rang, she went slowly to the classroom to do the work that had been set during the day. It was called devvy at Larwood House; no one knew why. Everyone else was there when Nan arrived. The room was full of the slap of exercise books around Brian Wentworth’s head and Brian squealing. But the noise stopped as Nan came in, showing that Mr. Crossley had come in behind her.
“Charles Morgan,” said Mr. Crossley. “Mr. Wentworth wants to see you.”
Charles dragged his mind with a jolt from imaginary flames whirling around him. He got up and trudged off, like a boy in a dream, along corridors and through swinging doors to the part of the school where teachers who lived in the school had their private rooms. He had only been to Mr. Wentworth’s room once before. He had to tear his mind away from thoughts of burning and look at the names on the doors. He supposed Mr. Wentworth wanted him
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