'Walked in,' said Peter bitterly. 'I thought I heard Gib mewing inside the walls, so of course I came straight in. And the gate shut behind me, smooth as butter, and I've been here for hours. Mother and Daddy will be out of their minds. They've probably got the police out looking for me by now. It must be midnight.'
'Probably after,' said Mary, for whom the night had certainly seemed a long one. 'Well, we'll have to fly out the way I came in. Hold tight to Gib, will you?'
'Then it's true? It is magic?'
'It was magic that locked the gate on you,' said Mary, 'you can be sure of that. But I've got some too, I told you. There's a snag about this broomstick–it's Doctor Dee's, and I may not be able to make it take us home, but at least it'll get us over the wall.'
She felt for the remains of the fly-by-night in her pocket, and squeezed the last of its juices over her hand. 'Hurry up now, hold tight. These broomsticks are funny, they sometimes buck.'
But it didn't buck. When Mary rubbed it with the fly-by-night, with a sharp command to 'get over the wall, and then fly to Red Manor–Red Manor, in Shropshire. Do you hear?' the broomstick tried its best, rearing from the ground, but with the double weight on it, it could not rise even as far as the top of the wall. At about six feet up, it stuck, and then careered round and round the walled garden till the two children were dizzy, and Mary gasped at last, 'Go down, will you? Go down!'
With a little wriggle of relief, the broomstick dropped. The two children got off. There was no need to hold on to the cats now; Tib and Gib seemed to realise exactly what the situation was, and were silent, each cat clinging tightly to a child's shoulder with every one of his claws.
'What on earth are we going to do?' asked Peter in dismay. Then suddenly he lifted his head. 'Listen! What's that?'
Above the soughing of the wind in the treetops outside came another sound; a high, swishing noise that Mary, with a prickling of the spine, recognised.
'It's a broomstick coming. Doctor Dee. Quickly, we'll have to hide!'
'He'll find us in two minutes. There's only those bushes, no other cover at all in the garden, and the house door's locked. I tried it. I wanted to see if there was a telephone–this is a fine time to giggle, I must say! Girls!' He seized her arm. 'Get into the bushes, quickly. It's the only chance!'
But Mary ran for the house door. 'No. I told you I had magic. I can open locks.' And she dragged torch and book from her pocket, flashing the light at the pages.
Peter was quick. He saw the point straight away even though, thought Mary admiringly, he had hardly had time to get used to the idea of magic at all. 'Can you? Then if you open the house door, he'll think we've got in somehow, and we can get out through the garden gate while he's busy searching the house. Is that it?'
'We may not even need to open the garden gate.' In Mary's hand, the torch had found the right page, and fixed on the lock-spell. 'He's bringing another broomstick. We'll have one each. Wait, now.' She muttered the lock-spell straight to the house door, and watched it open immediately to stand wide on a dark hall.
There was a gasp behind her, but when she turned Peter and the grey cat had disappeared. She ran across the grass, snatched up the broomstick, and ran with Tib in among the bushes, to crouch down beside Peter.
Not a moment too soon. Low overhead came that long swishing noise, like paper tearing, and a broomstick bearing a black crouching figure shot over the top of the garden wall and landed on the grass with a thud.
Doctor Dee was furiously angry. The screech he gave when he saw the open door made Mary shrink back into the bushes, and she felt Peter shiver beside her. There was a soft hiss from the grey cat, but it did not move. Tib made no sound. Doctor Dee jumped off his broomstick, flung it angrily to one side, and rushed in through the open door of the house, his white wand of power brandished above his head.
'So I've caught you, young witch!' they heard him shouting. 'Destroy my laboratory too, would you? We shall see! Gormbridge or no Gormbridge, professor or no professor, we shall see!'
He was searching the house. From window after window, as he searched, they saw the flickering green light from his wand.
The children watched it. It appeared, suddenly, at an upstairs window. Then it faded.
Peter said softly, 'He's at the back of the house now. Come on.'
They ran out on to the lawn, and Mary picked up the broomstick the doctor had flung aside. She could feel it quivering with apprehension–or could it be rage?
'It's my own little broomstick!' she whispered, excited and relieved. 'And it knows the way home! Here, you take Doctor Dee's. If it will only follow mine–'
But it would not. As Peter took it, it gave a jump and a buck, and tore itself free from his hands. It vanished after its master into the dark doorway of the house.
'It'll go straight to him!' exclaimed Peter in dismay. 'He'll know for certain you're here! Quick, Mary, get on your own broomstick and go now. He doesn't even know I'm here–I'll be all right. And in the morning–'
But Mary was already running for the gate. 'We'll go together, or not at all. We've got magic, we'll manage somehow. For tonight I'm a witch, just as he says.'
And indeed, it seemed that she was. She had, in her haste, let go the little broomstick, but it came cantering alongside her. She did not even need the torch and the book for the lock-spell. She whipped the last fragment of fly-by-night from the pocket of her coat, and, pressing it hard against the padlock, whispered the spell as quickly as she could gabble the words.
The padlock snapped with a flash of green fire, and fell to the ground. The door opened on screaming hinges that sounded like a screech of rage. They heard its echo, in Doctor Dee's voice, from the house behind them. Then they tumbled through the open gate into the starlight of a narrow, winding lane.
'Get on!' cried Mary, and in a moment Peter was behind her on the broomstick, the grey cat clamped to his shoulder and hissing now with excitement like a steam kettle. Tib was still silent, but every now and again his tail whipped from side to side, as if he could not stop it.
'Hang on, everyone!' Mary shouted. 'Now, dear little broomstick, please take us all home to Red Manor!' And she rubbed her fly-by-night hand down the shaft of the broom.
You could feel that it was an effort, but the little broomstick tried very gallantly. It heaved itself into the air under the double weight of children and cats, and surged up three feet, four feet, five…
At about eight feet it levelled off, and began to race.
The tops of the high lane hedges were just level with their knees. Now and again the branches of trees loomed up in the dark and whipped at them. They lay as low as they could, holding on tightly.
It seemed this was as high as they could get, and at this height the sensation of speed was infinitely greater than it had been through the limitless air or over the wide seas of cloud. Both children were soon breathless, and Mary heard Tib begin to swear to himself as he clung, rocking, to her shoulder. The lane was full of curves, and the broomstick went swooping round them, banking to right and left like a swallow flying.
It was terrifying, exhilarating, and very uncomfortable. But they were on the way home, and, providing they met no obstacle more than eight or nine feet high, they stood a good chance of getting there.
Then they heard the other broomstick coming. It was high overhead, with Doctor Dee, still shouting angrily, astride it. And it was overhauling them rapidly. Mary waited for his yell of recognition as he sighted them below him. But instead his voice changed to a shout of greeting as another long, tearing swish announced the arrival of a new broomstick, and Madam Mumblechook's voice, high-pitched and furious, cried, 'Have you caught her?'
Craning her neck, Mary could just see the two of them high above, shadows flying against the windy stars. Green sparks streamed from the wand of power. It lit the figures of Madam and Doctor Dee, crouched low on their racing broomsticks, peering around, peering…
Any minute now, thought Mary, they would
be seen. At the same moment the little broomstick, as if it read her thought, dropped smoothly downwards until it was running in the lane's shadow.
It was very dark here, and the broomstick's pace, mercifully, slowed.
They were free now of the whipping branches, but still the curves and dips of the lane, which the little broomstick seemed to sense as accurately as a night-flying bat, continually took them by surprise, so that they lurched and swayed more violently than ever, and had to hang on with all their strength.
It was like riding an uncontrollable horse at full gallop in the dark along a path one doesn't know. And with much faster horses behind one.
The other broomsticks were almost level now, high overhead.
'Remember, they don't know I'm here,' whispered Peter. 'They think it's only you with the two cats. They'll expect you to be away ahead of them at full speed. If we stop here in the lane and wait, they'll overfly us, and get out of sight ahead. Then we can go home our own way.'
Mary opened her mouth to say the word, but at that very moment the lane came to an end, and the little broomstick shot out of the comforting shadow of the hedgerows, across a smooth open meadow where, sharp below them on the starlit grass, scudded their flying shadow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ride Away, Ride Away,
Peter Shall Ride,
He Shall Have A Pussy Cat
Tied To One Side…
Too late to go back. Too late even to make for the shadow of one of the huge oaks dotted here and there in the meadow. They had been seen. From high above came the twin screams of anger and discovery.
'There she goes!' shrieked Madam Mumblechook, and the Doctor shouted at the same time: 'Two of them! She had an accomplice all the time! Look, two of them on the same broomstick!'
'And that,' cried Madam, 'means they can't go any higher! Sitting ducks, dear Doctor, sitting ducks! We've got them both! Are you ready? You take the port, I'll take the starboard! Now–attack!'
The two broomsticks, high in the night air, wheeled away from one another, then tilted, turned, and dived. Their speed was tremendous. They tore downwards on a steadily rising scream of air, one from each side, deadly as hawks plummeting on their prey.
Mary felt the little broomstick give a sudden leap of effort, and thought, without hope, that it was trying its best to accelerate. But no. It dropped another two feet, so that the children's toes were brushing the dew from the long, seeding grasses.
Harebells shook with a sweet, whispering rattle. Tansies swept their legs with dew. A thistle exploded softly against Mary's foot, its cloud of seeds scattering like ghosts through the dim grass.
She gripped the broomstick more tightly. 'Please please! Oh, Peter, it's going to land and let them–'
'No,' said Peter urgently, in her ear. 'Leave it alone. It knows what it's about. Don't you see? They can't pounce on us when we're flying as low as this. Coming down from that height they'd run straight into the ground, and bash themselves and their broomsticks to bits. Unless they can actually force us to land, they can't do a thing…'
His voice was lost in a whining scream as Doctor Dee swept down on them. The little broomstick had held steadily to its course, sailing forward straight and level, but in the exact moment that the Doctor swooped, it jinked sideways, so that the clinging children lurched with it and their right feet struck the ground. Their steed checked for a moment, but recovered immediately and leaped away. The attacking broomstick overshot them at great speed.
For a moment it looked as if the Doctor would hit the ground, but at the last instant he recovered, and his broomstick tore on, away, rearing upwards fast to regain height.
'Feet up,' gasped Peter. 'Lie as flat as you can!'
As Mary obeyed him, the other broomstick came down to the attack. Madam was bolder than the Doctor, or else her broom was not so well under control. She came down at terrific speed, so fast that her yell of triumph was torn half away by the wind of the dive.
'The familiars! The familiars as well! We have them all! Now land, you little fools, land, or you will be hurt!'
She was on them. Her grabbing hand brushed Mary's hair. The little broomstick stopped dead, sat back on its bristles for one bone-rattling moment, then switched clear round like a horse turning on its haunches, and sped away at right angles over the meadow.
Madam Mumblechook had been travelling too fast to stop or turn. Mary, looking back, saw her hit the ground. At the last moment her broomstick shied, met the ground in a long, tearing skid, then, rearing sharply, shot straight up into the air again. In front of it, suddenly, loomed the black bulk of a tree. The broomstick swerved, but fractionally too late. It struck the outer branches of the tree, lurched, side-slipped, and threw off its rider. Madam Mumblechook, her grip loosened by the near-crash, hurtled off in a tangle of flying black skirts, to hang like a ragged old crow, screeching, in the high boughs of the tree.
'That'll teach her!' said Peter with satisfaction. 'I told you our broomstick knew what it was doing. Look, I think it's saved us!'
The little broomstick, rising slightly in a flowing leap, crossed a fence and a wide ditch that smelled of meadowsweet, and flew with them into the shadow of a deep, dark wood.
Just before the trees closed round them they heard Madam cry, 'Doctor Dee! Doctor Dee!' There was an answering shout from high above, then the whistling track of his broomstick curved away and back towards the top of the oak.
'That should keep them busy!' said Peter cheerfully.
Mary was patting the little broomstick with her fly-by-night hand. This seemed to give it pleasure; it gave little jumps and curvets as it carried them swiftly along a curly path through the trees. The going here was more difficult even than it had been in the lane, for the path was narrow, and the wood, consisting of big trees set widely apart, was thick with undergrowth. Trails of ivy and honeysuckle hung from the boughs; holly and elder and hazel clustered thickly between the huge trunks of oak and beech; there were ferns everywhere, and the seeding heads of foxgloves rattled as their feet struck them in passing. In the darkness it was like a jungle.
'This must lead us home in the end,' said Mary, voicing the thought for both of them. 'The little broomstick must know the way. The only thing is, it'll take an awfully long time. It seemed ages, even flying.' As quickly as she could, she told him of her adventure. 'How long did it take you, Peter, without a broomstick? And how did you get here, anyway?'
'I had my bike for part of the way. Somebody told me they thought they'd seen Gib down in the garden of an empty house near the river–I don't know if you know it? Well, I went that way, but there was thick mist at the river bridge, so I left my bike there, and walked. It was easier. I thought I heard Gib, you see, calling in the mist. I suppose that may have been magic, too? Anyway, I lost my way in the mist, and couldn't get back, and then I found Doctor Dee's house.'
'How far from the bridge?' asked Mary.
'I don't know. I seemed to be walking for ages, but–hallo, I can see the end of the wood. That's a pity; I hoped it would take us the whole way. If they're waiting for us at the other side–'
'They're probably still stuck at the tree,' said Mary hopefully, 'or her broomstick's run away, or–' She stopped. Unmistakably, just above the crests of the woodland trees, they could hear Madam Mumblechook and the Doctor, talking. The two of them must be flying a short way apart; their voices were raised, and quite distinct.
'…in the wood. I saw it distinctly. We have only to wait up here, cruising,' said Doctor Dee clearly, 'to see which way they break cover. Then we have them.'
'Has it occurred to you, my dear Doctor–' Madam had, it appeared, quite recovered from her mishap '–has it occurred to you that the girl must have the Master Spell? How else could she have undone all those expert transformations, and destroyed our laboratory and all our years of work, all in a moment? Everything went, everything; all the main building. It was impossible to get the fire under control until it reached the boarders' wi
ng–then it went straight out of its own accord. Certainly caused by the Master Spell. It must have been perfectly true that her name was Smith. When we catch her, dear Doctor, it will need care, but I feel sure that we can deal with her–'
Here for a moment, mercifully, the conversation was lost in a gust of wind that combed the treetops. But when this ceased the voices were nearer, right overhead. They seemed to be circling.
'…offer you the hospitality of my house,' Doctor Dee was saying. 'My resources, compared with those of the College, are small indeed, but I venture to think, dear Madam, that you will find my own small laboratory very well equipped, very well equipped indeed. More than adequate,' he added with a nasty chuckle, 'to deal even with Miss Mary Smith, Gormbridge or no.'
'But the Master Spell,' said Madam Mumblechook anxiously, 'the Master Spell?'
'Only works till daylight, even for a genuine Mary Smith,' said Doctor Dee with another chuckle. 'All we have to do is to keep them contained in this wood till daylight, then run them down at leisure. Unless of course they decide to stay there and hide, in which case–'
'We simply starve them out,' said Madam Mumblechook with satisfaction.
'Exactly,' said Doctor Dee. 'And now, dear lady, if we gain a little height we shall be able to watch all sides of this wood at once.'
His voice dwindled as the two broomsticks rose.
The sound of their circling grew fainter, but was still there, a background to the swishing progress of the children's own steed through the ferns.
The children did not speak. It was too bad. All they could do was to leave it to the little broomstick. But it seemed as if the little broomstick had understood.
All of a sudden, a few yards short of the starlit gap that showed the end of the wood, it stopped and sank back on its twigs. Peter got off without a word, and walked forward to the fence.