The Darke Toad (4 page)

“Linda, dear,” she said obsequiously, “I do hope it would not be too much trouble for you to assist us in a
Clothing Bones Spell
?”

Linda smiled. “With pleasure, Witch Mother.” She looked down at DomDaniel, who was beginning to relax. “Is this old tramp here for us to practice on?”

DomDaniel frowned but said nothing. He was so near to getting what he wanted, he did not want to jeopardize anything.

The Witch Mother giggled—not a pleasant sound. “Oh, Linda, you are so
very
amusing. Oh, ha ha. So droll. This, of course, is none other than DomDaniel.”

Linda looked shocked. “Really?” She bent down and stared at DomDaniel's head. “Gosh,” she whispered. She waggled her fingers in what Simon supposed was a wave and trilled, “Hello, Mr. Daniel. I've always wanted to meet you.”

“Oh,
get on with it!
” said DomDaniel, who had reached his limits of patience.

“Very well,” said the Witch Mother. “Let it begin.”

A
chill fell in the
fuggy kitchen and the hairs on the back of Simon's neck prickled. The Witch Mother signaled to Daphne and Veronica and they struggled out of the sofa, elbowing Simon in the ribs as they got up to join her and Linda. The four witches linked hands and stood around the table. Suddenly the Witch Mother broke the circle and stared at Simon.

“What
now
?” DomDaniel asked grumpily.

“Him.” The Witch Mother nodded her head toward Simon. “Your acolyte. Is he safe?”

“Oh,
Heap
.” DomDaniel sounded dismissive. “Don't bother about him.”

Simon was not sure how to take this, but he told himself it was good that he was presumably considered “safe.” He sank back into the sticky sofa and tried to ignore the sharp points of the springs poking into him.

The witches rejoined hands and began an intense, achingly high-pitched humming, which found its way right into the middle of Simon's head and sent pains stabbing through his back teeth. He longed to stuff his fingers into his ears once more, but he did not dare.

The humming grew louder and more intense until—at the very moment that Simon thought he would scream at the needle that was surely being driven into his ears—it stopped. Dead. A heavy silence fell and Simon began to sense the presence of something cold descending upon the kitchen.

Suddenly there was a hiss, a scuffle among the rubbish at Simon's feet and a loud yowl. A pile of cats had started a fight.

The Witch Mother turned to Simon as if it was his fault. “
Shh!
” she hissed.

Simon spread his arms as if to say,
It's nothing to do with me
, and the Witch Mother glared at him. “Stop them at once,” she ordered.

Simon knew better than to ignore the Witch Mother. He got up and steeled himself to scrabble through the mixture of old papers, vegetable peelings and bits of filthy blankets, which were heaving with cats scrapping and batting at one another with increasing ferocity. Simon managed to grab hold of one by the scruff of the neck. There was an ear-splitting yowl and then a scream. Simon leaped to his feet with a small yellow cat dangling from his hand, its teeth firmly sunk into the flesh below his little finger.

“Argh!” yelled Simon, frantically shaking his hand, trying to get the cat off. The cat swung wildly to and fro and with every swing its teeth sank in deeper. Simon began to panic.

“Tiddles!” yelled the Witch Mother. She stamped across to Simon, the spikes on her shoes spearing an assortment of potato peelings as she went, and came so close to Simon that he could see her angry red face below the cracks in her thick white makeup.

“Stop … playing … with … my …
cat
,” she hissed furiously.

The pain in Simon's hand was jangling his head and he forgot how important it was to be polite to a Witch Mother.
At all times
. He said a very rude word and added, “… you and your filthy cat.”

A sharp intake of breath came from everyone in the kitchen and Simon stammered, “I—I'm sorry.”

“You
will
be.” The Witch Mother glared at him. She put her hands around the cat's sticky-out ribs and hissed.
“Teeth Release!”
The cat let go and Simon grabbed his hand back. White-faced, he held it tightly while drips of blood dropped onto his boots.

The Witch Mother smiled. “Blood,” she hissed. “Give!”

“Uh?” Simon felt faint. He hated the sight of blood.

“
Give it
. Then I might, just
might
overlook your attack on poor little Tiddles.”

Simon began to come out of his daze. He realized what the Witch Mother wanted. He held his hand up and watched the steady drip of blood from the cat's jagged tear drip into the Witch Mother's cupped hands. When there was a small pool, she rubbed her hands together and went back to the table, elated. She wondered why she hadn't thought of human blood before. Now the
Clothing Bones
was sure to last long enough to get DomDaniel past the end of the street and safely out of sight. She didn't want to be walking by a resentful pile of bones every day.

“Now we shall begin,” said the Witch Mother happily. “With the blood of a Cowan, it will go well.”

Sucking his injured hand, Simon watched. Once again the chill descended and this time no cat stopped it. The circle began to chant in high, squeaky witch voices and move slowly around the table. DomDaniel's head followed them, swiveling complete circles in the way that Simon found so chilling. Around and around it turned, eyes fixed always on the Witch Mother. The witches' singing grew higher and fainter as they increased their speed until it sounded like the distant trilling of birds. Faster and faster they went, until Simon could no longer make out who was who, and all he could see was a faint blur buzzing around DomDaniel's head. By now the head had—wisely, Simon thought—stopped following the witches and was sitting on top of its black cloak with its eyes closed and its lips reposed in a smug little smile.

And then it happened. There was a flash of brilliant, bloodred light and a loud
craaack
. Suddenly, standing on the table, his bones fully
Clothed
, was DomDaniel. A little unsteady, it is true, and fatter than Simon had expected—but he looked as human as anyone in that room.

The witch circle slowed until each witch was once again visible and the chill in the room was replaced by the old warm fugginess overlaid by a lingering smell of burnt pumpkin. The Witch Mother regarded her success—who was now nervously trying to work out how to get down from the table without upsetting his
Clothed Bones
—with excitement. The
Darke
Toad was as good as hers.

D
omDaniel looked down fretfully at
his large, rounded stomach. “Pamela, I was never
this
fat.”

“Yes, you were,” the Witch Mother told him. “In fact, if you ask me, I have erred on the thin side.”

“And look at the state of these clothes—they're disgusting.” DomDaniel inspected his tunic. “There's dried egg all down the front.”

Simon was surprised how curt the Witch Mother was with DomDaniel. “Oh, stop moaning, Dommie. That's how I remember you, and that's the way you are now.”

DomDaniel sighed loudly. “I suppose it will have to do. Help me down, Pamela, will you?” Supported by the Witch Mother, DomDaniel gingerly stepped down from the table.

“Right,” said the Witch Mother, “time to go home. I'll see you to the door and you can hand over the toad.”

“I need a little rest first,” DomDaniel said.

“What—here?” the Witch Mother said unenthusiastically.

“If it were anywhere else, I would have to get up and go there, wouldn't I? Then it wouldn't be a rest,
would it
?” DomDaniel said snappily as he lowered himself onto the lumpy sofa with a sigh of relief. The newly
Clothed
Wizard looked suspiciously at the Witch Mother. She was up to something, he was sure. “And then, when I have had my rest,” he said, “I shall go for a little test drive.”

“A
test drive
?” asked the Witch Mother. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I want to check that everything works properly, Pamela. And then, if it doesn't, you'll be able to fix it.” DomDaniel glared at her. “
Won't you?
”

“
But what about the toad?
”

“You'll get your toad. A bargain is a bargain,” said DomDaniel. “But I won't be rushed, Pamela. I am going to sit here and get used to my new
Clothes
; then we shall take a little walk around the Port. To make sure that nothing falls off.”

Veronica and Daphne were overtaken by a fit of giggles but Linda was made of sterner stuff. A walk with DomDaniel presented the opportunity she had been looking for.

“Now that we shall have a
Darke
Toad,” Linda said to the Witch Mother, “we will need a servant to answer the door.”

“Ooh, yes,” Veronica chimed in. “A
servant
. That would be fun. But one that lasts, not like all the other ones.”

“They never last, Veronica,” said the Witch Mother. “That's the trouble. You just can't get the staff nowadays.”

“Maybe if we fed them,” said Daphne, “they would last a bit longer.”

“Feed them!” The Witch Mother sounded shocked. “Don't be ridiculous, Daphne.”

But Linda wanted a servant. And what Linda wanted, Linda got—especially now, after Dorinda's elephant ears.

Linda had it all worked out. “We're not dragging some idiot Port girl off the streets this time; we need a professional who is used to a tough life. I reckon if we feed one just a bit—we don't have to give it much—then we'll get at least six months' use before it wears out.”

The Witch Mother looked impressed. She had never had a servant long enough to wear one out. “That's a good idea, Linda. But what kind of professional? Not a nasty little Wizard Apprentice, I hope.”

Linda laughed. “No, something much better than that. A ship's rat!”

“A rat?” The Witch Mother sounded scornful. “We've got plenty of those living in this rubbish.” She kicked at the floor and sent flying a shower of liquified carrots. As if on cue, a rat fled for cover.

Linda sighed. “Not a real rat, Witch Mother. It's what they call those kids who work on the ships doing all the nasty jobs that no one else wants to do. They're tough little things. One of those would last for ages.”

The witches fell silent. Simon could tell that the suggestion was not popular.

“But Linda,” Daphne ventured, “those rat kids live on ships. And ships live on salt water. And, well, you know what happens to us in …” Daphne trailed off. It was considered bad luck to mention that
Darke
Witches had a tendency to dissolve in salt water (which is why you will never see a
Darke
witch cry).

“I know
exactly
what happens to us, Daphne, thank you,” said Linda. “But we shall not need to go near any of that saltwater stuff. Because we will get the
kid
to come to
us
.”