I had done it! Even if I never got back alive to my grandmother, the witches were still going to get the Mouse-Maker! I left the empty bottle behind a large saucepan and began working my way back along the top shelf. It was much easier to move about without the bottle. I began using my tail more and more. I swung from the handle of one saucepan to the handle of another all the way along that top shelf, while far below me cooks and waiters were all bustling about and kettles were steaming and pans were spluttering and pots were boiling and I thought to myself, Oh boy, this is the life! What fun it is to be a mouse doing an exciting job like this! I kept right on swinging. I swung most marvellously from handle to handle, and I was enjoying myself so much that I completely forgot I was in full view of anyone in the kitchen who might happen to glance upwards. What came next happened so quickly I had no time to save myself. I heard a man's voice yelling, 'A mouse! Look at that dirty little mouse!' And I caught a glimpse below me of a white-coated figure in a tall white hat and then there was a flash of steel as the carving-knife whizzed through the air and there was a shoot of pain in the end of my tail and suddenly I was falling and falling head-first towards the floor.
Even as I fell, I knew just what had happened. I knew that the tip of my tail had been cut off and that I was about to crash on to the floor and everyone in the kitchen would be after me. 'A mouse!' they were shouting. 'A mouse! A mouse! Catch it quick!' I hit the floor and jumped up and ran for my life. All around me there were big black boots going stamp stamp stamp and I dodged around them and ran and ran and ran, twisting and turning, and dodging and swerving across the kitchen floor. 'Get it!' they were shouting. 'Kill it! Stamp on it!' The whole floor seemed to be full of black boots stamping away at me and I dodged and swerved and twisted and turned and then in sheer desperation, hardly knowing what I was doing, wanting only a place to hide, I ran up the trouser-leg of one of the cooks and clung to his sock!
'Hey!' the cook shouted. 'Jeepers creepers! He's gone up my trouser! Hold on, boys! I'll get him this time!'
The man's hands began slap-slapping at the trouser-leg and now I really was going to get smashed if I didn't move quickly. There was only one way to go and that was up. I dug my little claws into the hairy skin of the man's leg and scuttled upwards, higher and higher, past the calf and past the knee and on to the thigh.
'Holy smoke!' the man was yelling. 'It's going all the way up! It's going right up my leg!' I heard shrieks of laughter coming from the other cooks but I can promise you I wasn't laughing myself. I was running for my life. The man's hands were slap-slap-slapping all around me and he was jumping up and down as though he was standing on hot bricks, and I kept climbing and I kept dodging and very soon I reached the very top of the trouser-leg and there was nowhere else to go.
'Help! Help! Help!' the man was screaming. 'It's in my knickers! It's running round in my flaming knickers! Get it out! Someone help me to get it out!'
'Take off your trousers, you silly slob!' someone else shouted. 'Pull down your pants and we'll soon catch him!'
I was in the middle of the man's trousers now, in the place where the two trouser-legs meet and the zip begins. It was dark and awfully hot in there. I knew I had to keep going. I dashed onward and found the top of the other trouser-leg. I went down it like greased lightning and came out at the bottom of it and once again I was on the floor. I heard the stupid cook still shouting, 'It's in my trousers! Get it out! Will somebody please help me to get it out before it bites me!' I caught a flashing glimpse of the entire kitchen staff crowding round him and laughing their heads off and nobody saw the little brown mouse as it flew across the floor and dived into a sack of potatoes.
I burrowed down in among the dirty potatoes and held my breath.
The cook must have started taking his trousers right off because now they were shouting, 'It's not in there! There's no mice in there, you silly twerp!'
'There was! I swear there was!' the man was shouting back. 'You've never had a mouse in your trousers! You don't know what it feels like!'
The fact that a tiny little creature like me had caused such a commotion among a bunch of grown-up men gave me a happy feeling. I couldn't help smiling in spite of the pain in my tail.
I stayed where I was until I was sure they had forgotten about me. Then I crept out of the potatoes and cautiously poked my tiny head over the edge of the sack. Once again the kitchen was all of a bustle with cooks and waiters rushing about everywhere. I saw the waiter who had come in earlier with the complaint about tough meat coming in again. 'Hey, boys!' he shouted. 'I asked the old hag if the new bit of meat was any better and she said it was perfectly delicious! She said it was really tasty!'
I had to get out of that kitchen and back to my grandmother. There was only one way to do this. I must make a dash clear across the floor and out through the door behind one of the waiters. I stayed quite still, watching for my chance. My tail was hurting terribly. I curled it round so as to have a look at it. About two inches of it were missing and it was bleeding quite a lot. There was a waiter loading up with a batch of plates full of pink ice-cream. He had a plate in each hand and two more balanced on each arm. He went towards the door. He pushed it open with his shoulder. I leapt out of the sack of potatoes and went across that kitchen floor and into the Dining-Room like a streak of light, and I didn't stop running until I was underneath my grandmother's table.
It was lovely to see my grandmother's feet again in those old-fashioned black shoes with their straps and buttons. I shinnied up one of her legs and landed on her lap. 'Hello, Grandmamma!' I whispered. 'I'm back! I did it! I poured it all into their soup!'
Her hand came down and caressed me. 'Well done, my darling!' she whispered back. 'Well done you! They are at this very moment eating that soup!' Suddenly, she withdrew her hand. 'You're bleeding!' she whispered. 'My darling, what's happened to you?'
'One of the cooks cut off my tail with a carving-knife,' I whispered back. 'It hurts like billy-o.'
'Let me look at it,' she said. She bent her head and examined my tail. 'You poor little thing,' she whispered. 'I'm going to bandage it up with my handkerchief. That will stop the bleeding.'
She fished a small lace-edged handkerchief out of her bag and this she somehow managed to wrap around the end of my tail. 'You'll be all right now,' she said. 'Just try to forget about it. Did you really manage to pour the whole bottle into their soup?'
'Every drop,' I said. 'Do you think you could put me where I can watch them?'
'Yes,' she answered. 'My handbag is on your own empty chair beside me. I'm going to pop you in there now and you can peep out as long as you are careful not to be seen. Bruno is there as well, but take no notice of him. I gave him a roll to eat and that's keeping him busy for a while.'
Her hand closed around me and I was lifted off her lap and transferred to the handbag. 'Hello, Bruno,' I said.
'This is a great roll,' he said, nibbling away in the bottom of the bag. 'But I wish there was butter on it.'
I peered over the top of the handbag. I could see the witches quite clearly sitting at their two long tables in the centre of the room. They had finished their soup now, and the waiters were clearing away the plates. My grandmother had lit up one of her disgusting black cigars and was puffing smoke over everything. All around us the summer-holiday guests in this rather grand hotel were babbling away and tucking into their suppers. About half of them were old people with walking-sticks, but there were also plenty of families with a husband, a wife and several children. They were all well-to-do people. You had to be if you wanted to stay in the Hotel Magnificent.
'That's her, Grandmamma!' I whispered. 'That's The Grand High Witch!'
'I know!' my grandmother whispered back. 'She's the tiny one in black sitting at the head of the nearest table!'
'She could kill you!' I whispered. 'She could kill anyone in this room with her white-hot sparks!'
'Look out!' my grandmother whispered. 'The waiter's coming!'
I
popped down out of sight and I heard William saying, 'Your roast lamb, madam. And which vegetable would you like? Peas or carrots?'
'Carrots, please,' my grandmother said. 'But no potatoes.'
I heard the carrots being dished out. There was a pause. Then my grandmother's voice was whispering, 'It's all right. He's gone.' I popped my head up again. 'Surely no one will notice my little head sticking out like this?' I whispered.
'No,' she answered. 'I don't suppose they will. My problem is I've got to talk to you without moving my lips.'
'You're doing beautifully,' I said.
'I've counted the witches,' she said. 'There aren't nearly as many as you thought. You were just guessing, weren't you, when you said two hundred?'
'It just seemed like two hundred,' I said.
'I was wrong, too,' my grandmother said. 'I thought there were a lot more witches than this in England.'
'How many are there?' I asked.
'Eighty-four,' she said.
'There were eighty-five,' I said. 'But one of them got fried.'
At that moment, I caught sight of Mr Jenkins, Bruno's father, heading straight for our table. 'Look out, Grandmamma!' I whispered. 'Here comes Bruno's father!'
Mr Jenkins and His Son
Mr Jenkins came striding up to our table with a very purposeful look on his face.
'Where is that grandson of yours?' he said to my grandmother. He spoke rudely and looked very angry.
My grandmother put on her frostiest look, but didn't answer him.
'My guess is that he and my son Bruno are up to some devilment,' Mr Jenkins went on. 'Bruno hasn't turned up for his supper and it takes a lot to make that boy miss his food!'
'I must admit he has a very healthy appetite,' my grandmother said.
'My feeling is that you're in on this as well,' Mr Jenkins said. 'I don't know who the devil you are and I don't much care, but you played a nasty trick on me and my wife this afternoon. You put a dirty little mouse on the table. That makes me think all three of you are up to something. So if you know where Bruno's hiding, kindly tell me at once.'
'That was no trick I played on you,' my grandmother said. 'That mouse I tried to give you was your own little boy, Bruno. I was being kind to you. I was trying to restore him to the bosom of his family. You refused to take him in.'
'What the blazes do you mean, madam?' shouted Mr Jenkins. 'My son isn't a mouse!' His black moustache was jumping up and down like crazy as he spoke. 'Come on, woman! Where is he? Out with it!'
The family at the table nearest to us had all stopped eating and were staring at Mr Jenkins. My grandmother sat there puffing away calmly at her black cigar. 'I can well understand your anger, Mr Jenkins,' she said. 'Any other English father would be just as cross as you are. But over in Norway where I come from, we are quite used to these sorts of happenings. We have learnt to accept them as part of everyday life.'
'You must be mad, woman!' cried Mr Jenkins. 'Where is Bruno? If you don't tell me at once I shall summon the police!'
'Bruno is a mouse,' my grandmother said, calm as ever.
'He most certainly is not a mouse!' shouted Mr Jenkins.
'Oh yes I am!' Bruno said, poking his head up out of the handbag.
Mr Jenkins leapt about three feet into the air.
'Hello, Dad,' Bruno said. He had a silly sort of mousy grin on his face.
Mr Jenkins's mouth dropped open so wide I could see the gold fillings in his back teeth.
'Don't worry, Dad,' Bruno went on. 'It's not as bad as all that. Just so long as the cat doesn't get me.'
'B-B-Bruno!' stammered Mr Jenkins.
'No more school!' said Bruno, grinning a broad and asinine mouse-grin. 'No more homework! I shall live in the kitchen cupboard and feast on raisins and honey!'
'B-b-but B-B-Bruno!' stammered Mr Jenkins again. 'H-how did this happen?' The poor man had no wind left in his sails at all.
'Witches,' my grandmother said. 'The witches did it.'
'I can't have a mouse for a son!' shrieked Mr Jenkins.
'You've got one,' my grandmother said. 'Be nice to him, Mr Jenkins.'
'Mrs Jenkins will go crazy!' yelled Mr Jenkins. 'She can't stand the things!'
'She'll just have to get used to him,' my grandmother said. 'I hope you don't keep a cat in the house.'
'We do! We do!' cried Mr Jenkins. 'Topsy is my wife's favourite creature!'
'Then you'll just have to get rid of Topsy,' my grandmother said. 'Your son is more important than your cat.'
'He certainly is!' Bruno shouted from inside the handbag. 'You tell Mum she's got to get rid of Topsy before I go home!'
By now half the Dining-Room was watching our little group. Knives and forks and spoons had been put down and all over the place heads were turning round to stare at Mr Jenkins as he stood there spluttering and shouting. They couldn't see either Bruno or me and they were wondering what all the fuss was about.
'By the way,' my grandmother said, 'would you like to know who did this to him?' There was a mischievous little smile on her face and I could see that she was about to get Mr Jenkins into trouble.
'Who?' he cried. 'Who did it?'
'That woman over there,' my grandmother said. 'The small one in a black dress at the head of the long table.'
'She's RSPCC!' cried Mr Jenkins. 'She's the Chairwoman!'
'No, she's not,' my grandmother said. 'She's The Grand High Witch Of All The World.'
'You mean she did it, that skinny little woman over there!' shouted Mr Jenkins, pointing at her with a long finger. 'By gad, I'll have my lawyers on to her for this! I'll make her pay through the nose!'
'I wouldn't do anything rash,' my grandmother said to him. 'That woman has magic powers. She might decide to turn you into something even sillier than a mouse. A cockroach perhaps.'
'Turn me into a cockroach!' shouted Mr Jenkins, puffing out his chest. 'I'd like to see her try!' He swung around and started marching across the Dining-Room towards The Grand High Witch's table. My grandmother and I watched him. Bruno had jumped up on to our table and was also watching his father. Practically everyone in the Dining-Room was watching Mr Jenkins now. I stayed where I was, peeping out of my grandmother's handbag. I thought it might be wiser to stay put.
The Triumph
Mr Jenkins had not gone more than a few paces towards The Grand High Witch's table when a piercing scream rose high above all the other noises in the room, and at the same moment I saw The Grand High Witch go shooting up into the air!
Now she was standing on her chair, still screaming...
Now she was on the table-top, waving her arms...
'What on earth's happening, Grandmamma?'
'Wait!' my grandmother said. 'Keep quiet and watch.'
Suddenly all the other witches, more than eighty of them, were beginning to scream and jump up out of their seats as though spikes were being stuck into their bottoms. Some were standing on chairs, some were up on the tables and all of them were wiggling about and waving their arms in the most extraordinary manner.
Then, all at once, they became quiet.
Then they stiffened. Every single witch stood there as stiff and silent as a corpse.
The whole room became deathly still.
'They're shrinking, Grandmamma!' I said. 'They're shrinking just like I did!'
'I know they are,' my grandmother said.
'It's the Mouse-Maker!' I cried. 'Look! Some of them are growing fur on their faces! Why is it working so quickly, Grandmamma?'
'I'll tell you why,' my grandmother said. 'Because all of them have had massive overdoses, just like you. It's thrown the alarm-clock right out of whack!'
Everyone in the Dining-Room was standing up now to get a better view. People were moving closer. They were beginning to crowd round the two long tables. My grandmother lifted Bruno and me up so that we wouldn't miss any of the fun. In her excitement, she jumped up on to her chair so that she could see over the heads of the crowd.
In a
nother few seconds, all the witches had completely disappeared and the tops of the two long tables were swarming with small brown mice.
All over the Dining-Room women were screaming and strong men were turning white in the face and shouting, 'It's crazy! This can't happen! Let's get the heck out of here quick!' Waiters were attacking the mice with chairs and wine-bottles and anything else that came to hand. I saw a chef in a tall white hat rushing out from the kitchen brandishing a frying-pan, and another one just behind him was wielding a carving-knife above his head, and everyone was yelling, 'Mice! Mice! Mice! We must get rid of the mice!' Only the children in the room were really enjoying it. They all seemed to know instinctively that something good was going on right there in front of them, and they were clapping and cheering and laughing like mad.
'It's time to go,' my grandmother said. 'Our work is done.' She got down off her chair and picked up her handbag and slung it over her arm. She had me in her right hand and Bruno in her left. 'Bruno,' she said, 'the time has come to restore you to the famous bosom of your family.'
'My mum's not very crazy about mice,' Bruno said.
'So I noticed,' my grandmother said. 'She'll just have to get used to you, won't she?'
It was not difficult to find Mr and Mrs Jenkins. You could hear Mrs Jenkins's shrill voice all over the room. 'Herbert!' it was screaming. 'Herbert, get me out of here! There's mice everywhere! They'll go up my skirts!' She had her arms high up around her husband and from where I was she seemed to be swinging from his neck.