Witch's Business

  Both Jess and Frank were quite sure they ought to go away at once. But Vernon seized them each by an arm and pulled them through a door and into a darkened room beside the front door where, as Jess said afterward, she felt like thieves in the night. Vernon went across to a window and drew one of the curtains. Frank and Jess, thoroughly alarmed and nervous, found they were in a bedroom with bunk beds round the walls. All the beds were empty except the bottom bunk nearest the window, which had Silas lying in it.

  “Now see,” Vernon whispered.

  All Frank and Jess could see of Silas was his face, but that was quite enough. Jess said afterward she had never seen a face so swollen as Silas’s was, not even Frank’s when Frank had mumps. The only right thing about it was his big resentful eyes, and these stared accusingly up at the Piries. The rest of his face was tight and shiny and blown out like a balloon—so blown out that it was more purple than black.

  “Oh, dear!” said Jess. She had her hands to her own face in sympathy. “Isn’t it mumps?”

  Vernon shook his head. “He had them when I did last year. The doctor doesn’t know what it is. But I know. It was Biddy did it.”

  Silas said nothing. He stared miserably. Frank did not wonder. Neither he nor Jess could think of anything else to say. They stood there in the middle of the bedroom feeling like trespassers, and Jess, at least, wondered if she did not feel like a murderer also. And all the time Silas simply stared at them with his great black accusing eyes.

  Meanwhile, Martin must have made Mrs. Wilkins really angry. Her voice suddenly came nearer, talking and talking, until it was clear she was right outside the bedroom door and likely to come in any minute. Frank and Jess felt more like trespassers than ever.

  “Quick,” said Vernon. “Come on.” He opened the window and scrambled out, into the flower bed beneath. Jess and Frank scrambled after him, faster than they had ever climbed out of a window before. Vernon reached back inside to draw the curtain again, and Silas’s big reproachful eyes watched all three of them as he did it.

  They hurried out to the road beyond the iron gates. While they waited for Martin to finish being scolded and come and join them, Vernon said, “You got to get that tooth back.”

  There seemed no doubt that he was right. “All right,” said Frank. “But how can we get it?”

  “Go down to her hut,” said Vernon. “They said she was a witch, but I never believed it till now. What do you think she’ll take to give it back?”

  “I don’t know,” said Frank.

  Jess said, “Vernon, you wait here with Frank, and I’ll go home and collect all our valuables. I think that’s fair, Frank, because we did let Buster get his hands on that tooth.”

  Frank mournfully agreed. He owned a tiepin which he did not much mind losing, but he had a feeling it would take his watch as well, which he did mind losing. But it could not be helped. He could not condemn poor Silas to spend the rest of his life with his face that shape—particularly as it looked as if it must hurt rather a lot, too. So, while Jess cycled off to collect what she could which might be valuable, Frank sat on the roadside with Vernon and asked him if he had a plan of action.

  “I thought,” Vernon said, not exactly hopefully, “I take Jess and go and ask Biddy for the tooth back, and keep her talking supposing she says no. Then you and Martin find some way into her hut round the back and look for the tooth.”

  Frank quaked. But he saw Vernon was right. Obviously Vernon should ask for the tooth, since it was supposed to be his, and Jess had to be there to represent Own Back. Which left Martin and himself to do the dirty work. And Martin did not strike him as the most encouraging companion.

  “You listen, you see,” Vernon explained, “and if she says no, then you try to get in.”

  “And suppose,” said Frank, “we can’t find it.”

  “Try again, when she’s out,” said Vernon. “But we ought to ask first. Make it legal.”

  “And if we get it?” said Frank hopelessly. “Can you take a spell off?”

  “I can try,” said Vernon. “There’s ways. My mum’s heard some, and there’s books in the library that maybe tell us. Or if we just get it back, that could be enough to do it.”

  “Or I suppose Biddy might even tell you, if we give her enough,” Frank suggested. “It can’t matter very much to her, surely, once she knows it’s the wrong person with a bad face.”

  “Depends how much Buster give her,” Vernon said, “to make it worth her while. We reckon the gang must have clubbed together for it. They never have much money.”

  “No,” said Frank. “They spend it straight off, if they do have any. We ought to be able to get enough together to buy her off.”

  When Jess pedaled back, she had their two watches, Frank’s tiepin and two bracelets, one which she knew was silver—her charm one—and one which she just hoped was valuable. She put them in a heap on the bank. Vernon had fifty pence, which, from the grudging way he added it to the heap, Frank thought he must have been saving for something special. Vernon more or less admitted that he had been when he said, “It’s worth it, seeing it was my fault Silas got like that.”

  “And ours,” said Jess. “Vernon, I’ve been thinking about spells. Isn’t salt supposed to take them off?”

  “I heard that, too,” Vernon said.

  And that, it seemed, was as much as any of them knew about witchcraft. Frank wished they had all been born in the Middle Ages, when people knew about such things. He had horrid visions of them making Silas worse while they tried to uncharm him. Jess said, most unhelpfully, that she knew how to get rid of warts. Vernon, even less helpfully, said it was not warts, it was chilblains. Both of them knew seven different ways of being unlucky, and Frank knew three more, but none of it seemed to help. Martin, when he at last came out to join them, said he knew nothing about it at all.

  “Only the first thing seems to be to get the tooth back,” he said, and he took off his watch to add to the heap.

  “But that’s not fair,” said Jess, trying to stop him. “You didn’t have anything to do with the wretched tooth.”

  “Vernon’s my best friend,” said Martin. “So it is fair. He’s done all sorts of things for me.”

  So Jess gave in, and took up the heap in both hands before she crammed it into her pocket. “Surely,” she said, “this ought to be enough for one little baby tooth. Weighed in the balance, I mean. Even if it was a gold tooth.”

  “I wish it had been,” Vernon said glumly. “Then Buster would have bought them all fish and chips with it instead.”

  They set off, the Piries wheeling their bicycles beside the other two, until they came to the allotment fence. Everyone was anxious and dejected. Frank almost admitted to being scared as well. He did not like the idea of breaking into Biddy’s hut—particularly now she really did seem to be a witch. Still, as he looked at Martin walking in front down the path with Vernon, Frank was more encouraged by him than he had expected. Martin was not as tall as Vernon—probably he was a little younger—but he was promisingly solid looking, and he did not try to boss anyone. It was Vernon who seemed to be the bossy one. At least, somehow, they all kept doing what Vernon said.

  They separated before Biddy’s hut was in sight. Vernon and Jess went on down the path to the hut. Frank and Martin set off to toil through the white grass, over tin cans and old bicycles, through squashy hidden marsh, to the back of the hut. Stale stinks came up under their feet. Both of them sweated and gasped for air.

  “You feel you want to open a window,” Martin whispered.

  Frank nodded but could not think of a reply. He thought he was going to find it very hard to talk to Martin, until after they had each, with a long stride, got themselves onto the firmer ground under the willows, he remembered one thing he could say.

  “We stopped the Adams kids for you,” he whispered.

  Martin said, “Thanks,” and began to sidle along the riverbank to the leaning, rotten-looking back of the hut. “You’ll have to wait to b
e paid, though.”

  “Can’t be helped,” said Frank, awkwardly.

  Vernon and Jess, meanwhile, went very slowly on toward the bare patch in front of the hut. Jess was so frightened that she found it hard to put one foot before the other, for now they knew Biddy was some kind of witch, and Biddy had warned her and Frank to keep away. Vernon, Jess suspected, was almost as frightened as she was. It showed when he tried to make her go first between the petrol drums, and it showed again when the cockerel flew up to the roof. Both of them ducked and put one arm up. Jess nearly ran away, only Vernon caught her coat and would not let her go.

  Biddy did not seem to be there. Jess hoped she was out—shopping or something. She had often seen Biddy out shopping, with a string bag, all stooped over, peering through her glasses and taking big, irregular, swooping steps. Jess prayed she was doing it now. Vernon fidgeted and seemed to get over being frightened.

  “I think she’s out,” Jess whispered.

  “Shall we see?” Vernon asked, with a sideways sort of grin at her. Before Jess could stop him, he picked up a stick and hammered at a petrol drum with it.

  A hen squawked. The cat darted out of another drum and ran crouching into the hut. It was so fuggy that the echoes died quickly, as if someone had dropped a blanket over Jess’s ears. She and Vernon stood in deep silence until they heard a small shuffling inside the hut. Jess gasped. Vernon’s eyes blinked whitely over at her. Then Biddy Iremonger came ambling cheerfully out through the door, still wearing her sack.

  “Yes?” she said merrily. “Somebody knocking for me?”

  “Me,” said Vernon. “Us.”

  “Ah, good morning,” said Biddy. “Vernon Wilkins, isn’t it?” She took no notice of Jess at all. “Now what do you want, young man?”

  “Please,” Vernon answered politely, “I would like to buy back the tooth Buster Knell gave you. How much is it, please?”

  Biddy put her glasses straight with a big purple hand and peered at Vernon through them. She chuckled. “I don’t see much wrong with your face, young man. I don’t believe it was your tooth at all. Whose was it?”

  “It belonged to my brother Silas,” Vernon admitted, shifting about rather. “And I’d like it back, please.”

  Biddy chuckled so merrily that her plaits leaped and shook. “Oho!” she said. “So that’s it, is it? Now we have it. Wilkins’s tooth! Oh, my dear Vernon, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. And what sort of shape is your brother’s face in today, may I ask?”

  “It’s all swollen,” said Vernon.

  “And it hurts him, you can see,” said Jess, who thought Biddy was being maddening. “So could you tell us how much it is, please? And how to take it off him.”

  Biddy took no notice of her. She said to Vernon, “So now you’re sorry, I suppose?”

  “Yes. Very,” said Vernon. “Can we have the tooth, please?”

  “Well, you may,” said Biddy. “But can you? Can you? That’s the question, Vernon Wilkins, that you have to ask yourself. Can you give me anything as valuable as Buster gave me to charm your brother’s tooth for him? What can you give?” She asked the last question very sharply and greedily indeed, and peered first at Vernon, then at Jess.

  Both of them backed away a step. “Three watches,” said Jess.

  “And fifty pence,” said Vernon.

  Biddy shook her head as if she thought this was very funny.

  “Two bracelets as well,” said Jess.

  “And a tiepin,” said Vernon. “Looked like gold.”

  “Oh, it is,” said Jess.

  Biddy wrapped her sack firmly around her and shook her head again. “No,” she said. “I’ve all the gold I need, thank you.”

  “Then what did Buster give you?” Vernon asked. Jess could see he was three-quarters scared and the rest maddened, just as she was.

  Biddy raised a fat purple finger. “Listen,” she said. “Listen. Nine tailors make a man, they say. Now, I have nine times nine—or will have—and, believe me, they shall dance the Nine Men’s Morris before they’re through. Can you offer me nine again? Or ten?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Vernon.

  “I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about,” said Jess.

  “Then that’s your bad luck, my dears,” said Biddy. “I won’t part with the tooth for less. Your brother will just have to get used to his new face.”

  “How can you be so horrible?” said Jess. “He’s only little.”

  “The size of him doesn’t concern me,” said Biddy, and she began to go back into her hut.

  Vernon and Jess both called out to stop her.

  “Beast!” said Jess.

  “See,” shouted Vernon, “I had no teeth of my own. How was I to know you’d do this with it? You give me some idea how I can get it back.”

  Biddy stopped. “I have,” she said. “Only you’re too dim-witted to understand. And I’m not going to stand here all morning spelling it out. I’ve better things to do. Maybe Buster will tell you, if you ask him nicely.” She chuckled at the idea.

  “Please,” Jess said desperately, wondering if Frank could hear and what he was doing. “I’m sure you’re really kind and nice, Miss Iremonger, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like poor little Silas to suffer when it wasn’t his fault.”

  Biddy looked at her sarcastically. “What gave you that idea, Jessica Pirie? I don’t care two pins what happens to the little Wilkins. Why should I?”

  “But we do,” said Jess and Vernon.

  Frank and Martin, meanwhile, were slithering in the damp ground at the back of the hut. It had, plainly, been a boathouse once. That end, just above the river, was a big double door, rather like a garage door, all rotted at the foot. The two halves were held together by a rusty chain, which had been padlocked to a couple of even rustier staples. It was clear that one good wrench would have a staple out and the doors open in next to no time.

  Frank looked at Martin, whose face seemed as blank and cool as a statue’s. “Do you think she means no?”

  Martin nodded. “She’s just playing cat and mouse. Making Vernon angry. Go on.”

  So Frank, who was nearest, put out a careful hand, hooked his finger in a staple, and yanked. And it was suddenly agonizing. Frank could not let go. A pain like a huge electric shock shot up his arm in waves. He all but yelled. Before he knew what he was doing, he was down on his knees, pulling with all his might to get his hand free from the staple. It came away at last, and Frank fell back against the doors with a bang that Biddy must have heard. He listened wretchedly, because he could not have gotten away. His arm hurt too much to move.

  To his amazement, no one seemed to have heard. He could hear Biddy, quite clearly, saying, “This for you first, little Miss Pirie. You’ve been trespassing on my business, haven’t you? You and your brother. I’ll have you know that Own Back is my concern, not yours, and if I hear any more of your activities, I warn you I shall take a very poor view indeed. I may do something extremely unpleasant. Is that clear?”

  Jess answered, in her most argumentative way, “I don’t see why you should. You’ve got some customers out of us, if it comes to that.”

  Biddy gave a great cackle of laughter. “So I have. So I have, but I mean it.”

  All this time, Frank was leaning against the rotting door. Martin, with a slightly scornful wrinkle in his nose, said, “What’s the matter? Shall I do it?”

  “Don’t touch it!” said Frank.

  But Martin already had his hand on the staple. Frank heard him gasp. Frank lurched up, seized Martin’s wrist in both hands, and yanked his arm clear. Martin, looking very white, collapsed against the doors, too, till the boards bounced. “Christmas!” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t—ow!—understand. This is no good, is it?”

  “Let’s get out,” said Frank.

  “Minute!” said Martin. Frank quite understood, knowing what he had felt like. He waited while Martin leaned against the door, bent over, hugging his arm
and breathing like a sawmill. While he waited, Frank heard Vernon shouting at Biddy again and Biddy’s sharp voice cutting across Vernon’s.

  “It’s no good dancing up and down, young man. I don’t care what people say or do. You must learn that. The answer is: No Never! Wilkins’s face can go the way of Adams’s foot, and I don’t care. I told you, Jessica, that Jenny will walk when she has her heirloom. You may add that Silas will talk at the same time. Now be off, before I set the dogs on you.”

  “Dogs?” said Jess. Things were getting out of hand and horrible. Vernon had lost his temper completely and, although Jess did not blame him, she found him as frightening as Biddy.

  “I’ll give you dogs!” Vernon shouted. He picked up a paint can off the oil drums and threw it at Biddy. Biddy did not move, but the tin somehow missed her. Vernon roared with rage and seized another tin. Before he had a chance to throw it, Biddy fetched a whistle from under her sack and blew it.

  “Right. Get him!” said Buster. The gang were suddenly all round them in the bare patch, grinning and waving sticks.

  “Help!” Jess shouted. Vernon threw the tin at Buster instead, and missed again. Biddy laughed and settled in the doorway of her hut to watch, while the gang closed in. “Help!” Jess yelled.

  “Come on,” said Martin. “I’m okay now.” He and Frank pelted round the hut. By the time they reached the bare patch, Vernon was down, under six yelling boys. Jess was fighting three more, and still calling for help. Martin climbed onto the oil drums and jumped on top of Buster. Frank took the easier way, in through the gap, and charged with his head down at the three round Jess. Before long, he was down, too, and as he rolled and punched, he could hear Biddy laughing.

  Jess backed up against the drums, kicked them with her heel as she fought, and went on yelling. The thunder she made nearly deafened her. Perhaps Mr. Carter or someone was in the allotments. Jess hoped he might hear and come. She took Buster’s special friend, Stafford, by his hair and shook him. Stafford kicked her.