01 - Pongwiffy a Witch of Dirty Habits (13 page)

“So I see, sir, so I see. And what a lovely Cake that is, sir.”

“Never mind that. Warrabout my fortune?”

“Patience, sir, patience. Don’t want to bring the Gypsy Curse down upon your
head do you? Oh, but what a lucky face you have, sir! See that wart, right there
on your nose? That means a journey, sir, a long journey over water. And that
pimple on your neck stands for a tall stranger who will bring you good luck.”

“Yer? Gerraway!” said Plugugly, pleased.

“Now, let me see your hand.” Pongwiffy casually placed her basket on the floor
and inspected Plugugly’s filthy paw, bracelets jangling.

“Aha. I thought so. It’s all here, you know. Plain as can be. You’re going to
meet a beautiful She-Goblin with long matted hair like old rope and little red
piggy eyes. She’ll fall in love with you at first sight.”

“Cor. Just my type. ’Ear that, you lot?”

“And what’s more, I see a wedding, with much dancing and delicious things to
eat. And what’s this? Oho! Oh ho ho ho! I see six—no, seven little baby Goblins,
bald they are, climbing all over you, sir, and calling you daddy.”

“Yer? You can really see all that?” said Plugugly, his eyes misting over.

“Clear as day. It’s all here, on your love line. In fact, one’s being sick
down your shirt right now.”

Pongwiffy’s performance was going down rather well, much to her relief. The
other Goblins in the cave had torn their piggy eyes away from The Cake, and were
listening intently, mouths open.

“And their names,” continued Pongwiffy, “their names are written here as well.
Skwawk, Shreek, Grizzle, Boo, Hoo, and er—Plop.” That only came to six, of
course, but the Goblins didn’t notice, so it didn’t matter.

“My little boys,” wept Plugugly emotionally. “What lovely names!”

“They’re girls actually,” Pongwiffy corrected him. “Except for Plop.”

“Even better. I’ll buy six pink frilly dresses ter go wiv dere bovver boots.
An’ a blue Goblin-gro fer Plop.”

By now, the Goblins were all beginning to crowd around, eager to hear the
rest of Plugugly’s fortune and dying to have their own hands read. So intent
were they at being first in the queue, they didn’t notice the small Hamster,
disguised as a bunch of heather, slip out of the basket, scuttle towards The
Cake, swing himself up and tuck himself out of sight in the folds of the pink
bow.

“What else, gypsy?” Plugugly was saying. “Anyfin’ else?”

“That’s all I see on your love line. Now, let’s look at your life line, shall
we? Wait a minute. Where is it? You haven’t got one!”

“Eh?”

“I don’t believe it, everyone has a life line—ah, here it is. But it’s so
short! I’ve never seen one as short as this. According to this line, your life
is about to end very, very soon.”

“What? How soon?” Plugugly had gone very white, and his hand trembled.

“According to this, in about five minutes.”

“What? ’Ang on, you muster made a mistake.”

“Oh sir, sir, the lines don’t lie! There’s going to be a dreadful
catastrophe. It’s written quite plainly on your palm. Hold your hands up,
everyone, quick! Yes, yes, it’s as I thought! You’ve all got short life lines!
There’s going to be a disaster. Oh, doom, doom. Doom and woe!”

“What? What’s going to happen?” quavered the alarmed Goblins.

“What about my little girls?” wailed Plugugly. “And Plop? What about Plop?”

“Yes, it’s very unfortunate, I do agree,” said Pongwiffy, shaking her head
with a worried look. “But disaster’s at hand, I feel sure of that. The question
is, what sort of disaster? Flood? Fire? Plague? Maddened Pandas? Killer
Ladybirds? Blood Crazed Bunny Rabbits? Could be anything, hard to say. Of
course, the most likely thing is a bomb.”

“What did she say? A what?” gibbered the Goblins, eyes bulging.

“A bomb. I’ve just got this feeling that there’s a bomb somewhere in this
cave, and any minute now it’s going to go off! We have to find it, there’s not a
minute to lose! Think, kind sirs, think, I beg of you! Has anything been brought
into this cave recently which is…
big enough to hide a bomb?”

Pongwiffy stared pointedly at The Cake, but the Goblins merely shrugged,
looked frightened and gnawed their fingernails. The word Bomb had clearly sent
them into a state of shock, and their brains had jammed. She saw she would have
to spell it out even more clearly. “Now, let’s not panic. We must remain calm. We
are looking for a bomb. A bomb in disguise, a cleverly hidden bomb. Now, what do
bombs do? Think!”

The Goblins looked blank. Bombs. Bombs. What did bombs do again? They knew it
was something awful, it was on the tip of their tongues but they just couldn’t
think…

“Why, they tick, of course! Let’s all be very quiet for a moment, and see if
we can hear ticking.” There was an instant silence. Then:

“Teek,” went The Cake, dead on cue. “Teek, teek, teek, teek…”

“That Cake!” howled Pongwiffy, pointing a trembling finger. “There’s a bomb
in The Cake! It’s going to go off!”

That was it! That’s what bombs do! They go off! Seven Goblin mouths opened
and let out seven Goblin howls. And before you could say bobble hat, the cave
was deserted!

“You see? Told you it’d work,” said Pongwiffy to Hugo as the screaming faded
away in the distance. “Nothing to it. Operation Cake Rescue successful. At ease,
Sergeant.”

“Not quite,” said Hugo, emerging from his hiding place and pulling heather
from his ears. “Vee ’asn’t got it ’ome yet.”

“Elementary, my dear Hugo. I shall use a Rolling Spell. I don’t trust that
Spell of Transport.”

“A Rollink Spell?”

“Yes, I learnt it in school. How did it go again? Oh yes, I know. Stand back
Hugo, how often do I have to tell you I need room when I cast spells? Right.

Rolling drums and rolling pins

Rolls of fat make double chins,

Rock and roll is here to stay,

Make this Cake now roll away!”

And after a moment, to their great relief, The Cake heaved, shuddered,
shifted sideways, crawled off the silver platter and plopped on to the floor in
a shower of crumbs. Several Witch hats and Broomsticks became unstuck in the
process, but at least the spell was working. Once on the floor, it flipped over
on its side and began to roll towards the cave’s exit. Pongwiffy and Hugo
scurried after it and emerged into the moonlit night just in time to see it go
rolling briskly down the slope, looking rather like a giant runaway junior
aspirin.

“Some of ze decorations, see, zey fall! Make it go slower,” squeaked Hugo as
they scrambled down after it, tripping over hidden roots and inconveniently
placed boulders.

“Slower, Cake!” howled Pongwiffy, falling headlong over a tree stump and
grazing her knees quite badly. “Oh bother, I’ve lost my scarf! I said, Slower,
Cake!” The Cake didn’t seem to be slowing down at all. If anything, it was
gaining speed. Before Pongwiffy had picked herself up, it had reached the bottom
of the hill, and was already halfway up another one.

“Ve ’ave to let it go,” gasped Hugo, ringing sweat from his whiskers. “Ve
never catch it now.”

“Oh no? That’s what you think!” Pongwiffy’s voice took on that deep,
important, ringing tone that actors always use when making an important speech.
She clenched her fist in the air as well. All things considered, she really
looked quite good. A pity her knee was bleeding, though.

“I shall follow this Cake wherever it leads!” she thundered. “Let no one
stand in my way! However long it takes, however far the path may lead, even to
the ends of the earth, I shall follow! The way may be long and hard, fraught
with dangers and perils, but I shall follow! The rivers may be deep and the
mountains high…”

There was a great deal more of the same, but that’s enough for you to get the
idea. And this seems a rather good moment for us to leave. Let’s move on to
exactly twenty-four and a half hours later. We’re allowed to do that if we want.
We should spend a bit of time with Sourmuddle. After all, she is two hundred
years old.

Twenty-four and a half hours later, was the night of Grandwitch Sourmuddle’s
birthday party. Of course, Sourmuddle didn’t know this. She thought it was just
another monthly Crag Hill Sabbat meeting. She was, however, Expecting Trouble.
The whispering and giggling behind her back had become more noticeable of late,
and even Snoop was nowhere to be found. Sourmuddle was totally convinced that
there was treachery in the air—but she wasn’t Coven Mistress for nothing. She
was prepared.

She zoomed in, dismounted, parked her Broomstick and marched into the glade.
She was in full combat gear—armour-plated hat, spell-proof vest, flak rags, the
lot. She was also hung about with charms, amulets, talismans, bells, books and
candles. She held a Wand in one hand and a sawn-off pea shooter in the other.
She bristled with stink bombs and
wishbones. Her pockets were crammed with powders and philtres of every
description, and she was prepared, at a moment’s notice, to vanish, turn into a
leopard, shrink, grow into a giantess, or anything which might be appropriate,
depending on what the rebel Witches chose to throw at her. In other words, she
was Ready For Action. Plot against the Coven Mistress, would they? She’d show
’em.

The Witches and their Familiars were all assembled on the hill. There was no
evidence of any weapons, Sourmuddle noticed. In fact, they seemed to be wearing
party rags—but this was probably all part of the plan to pull the wool over her
eyes. “Right, you lot, do your worst!” shrilled Sourmuddle, taking up a battle
pose and glaring around. “I know you’ve been plotting against me! I’m not
stupid, you know. I’m not Grandwitch for nothing! Oh, so there you are, Snoop,
you traitor. Gone over to the enemy, eh? Well, I don’t need you. I don’t need
anyone. I… what are all these decorations doing?”

Suddenly, Sourmuddle became aware of the strings of gaily coloured Witch
lights strung through the trees. There were paper streamers too, and lanterns.
And what was this? The trestle tables were literally groaning with delicious
things to eat. Jellies, little sausages on sticks, cheese straws, chocolate
biscuits, ice-cream, more ice-cream—and not a stale spiderspread sandwich in
sight! There were crackers, too, and red serviettes!

And
what was that? A pile of… presents?

“What’s going on?” quavered Sourmuddle, confused. “What’s hap…” But her
voice was drowned out.
“Happy Birthday tooo yooooouuuu…”
sang the
Witches.
“Happy Birthday tooo yooooouuuu…”

Sourmuddle couldn’t believe her ears. Her
birthday?
At last, it was
really her BIRTHDAY? And she had thought… all that whispering and huddling in
corners… she had thought they…

“Oh,” she whispered, a lump in her throat. “Oh. Thank you girls, I… I
didn’t know, you see, I…”

“We wanted it to be a surprise!” shouted the Witches, crowding round.

“Oh, it’s that. It’s that all right,” bawled Sourmuddle, mopping her eyes,
feeling an absolute idiot. That she could have mistrusted her own girls. That
she could have thought even for one minute that… oh, what a fool she had
been!

She wasn’t allowed to stay miserable for long, however. Gaga passed around
her home-made crazy hats, which were
really
crazy, and that was the
signal for the festivities to start in earnest. First, Sourmuddle had to open
all the cards, which was done rather hastily because she was dying to get on to
the presents. And what presents!

There was a pair of bookends in the shape of Broomsticks from Agglebag and
Bagaggle. They were a bit flimsy for bookends, being made of paper, but everyone
agreed that they were very clever.

Bonidle’s gift was a paperweight in the shape of an old brick. Well, to be
honest, it
was
an old brick, but Bonidle had tied a red ribbon round it,
so it looked quite pretty for a brick.