The Courage of Cat Campbell (22 page)

“You did good,” Uncle Tom said gruffly. “I'm very impressed with you, Cat.”

“If you could tell that to Ms. Roach, I'd love it. But I'd really like to keep what happened quiet with the press, if you don't mind. It would be awful if all these reporters and newscasters started showing up at the bakery. That's not what I want at all.”

“You captured the most evil witch of the century,” Uncle Tom said. “People are going to want to interview you, Cat.”

“Yes, but wouldn't it be easier if the Potts Bottom Police Department handled it all? You can tell them whatever you like,” Cat said. “I'm just a kid, Uncle Tom. I really don't want to be involved in all of this. So long as Ms. Roach knows what I did, I'm happy.”

“Right, then.” Uncle Tom pulled back his shoulders. “As chief of police I shall release a statement saying it was a top secret arrest, and any inquiries are being handled by me.”

“You're the best, Uncle Tom,” Cat said, grinning. “And try to convince Ms. Roach she shouldn't get too mad at me for taking a broomstick. I didn't know what else to do.”

“How was it?” Uncle Tom asked as he splashed his way back downstairs. “Flying on this thing, I mean?” He waved the training broom in the air.

“It was fantastic.” Cat sighed with real passion. “Best experience of my life.”

C
AT'S GRANDPARENTS HAD INVITED THEMSELVES
to tea that afternoon. The bakery was still a little damp from all the water, but Uncle Tom had sent in the fire department and they did an excellent job pumping Madeline Reynolds's tears into the canal. There was a faint salty tang in the air, which had inspired Poppy to make a salted caramel cake, and she was busy melting butter and sugar together when Granny Edith and Grandpa Roger came bustling into the kitchen.

“Where's our Cat?” Granny Edith said, holding her arms out wide. Cat, who had been reading all about magic in the Middle Ages, leapt up and gave her grandmother a hug. “We are so proud of you, Catkins,” Granny Edith said. “Not that it surprised either of us, did it, Roger?”

“No.” Grandpa Roger laughed. “You're strong-headed, just like your mother.” He walked over to the stove. “Whatever you're making, Poppy, it smells delicious.”

“Wait, how did you know?” Cat said. “I asked Uncle Tom to keep it quiet.”

“Oh, I won't say a word to anyone, don't worry.” Edith lowered her voice. “Mrs. Plunket told me. Her son is on the force, so she heard all about it. And of course, being your grandparents, Cat, she thought we should know.”

Cat could hear her mother chuckling at the stove. “You won't say anything will you?” Cat said. “I don't want a lot of fuss being made about it.”

Granny Edith looked a touch guilty. “I did mention it to Maxine, I must admit. But she's my best friend, and she won't say a word.”

“Oh, it will be all over the Ribbald Valley in no time!” Poppy said. “Telling Maxine is like telling the world!”

Granny Edith ignored this remark. “Anyway, Catkins, has Ms. Roach been in touch yet?”

“She called at lunchtime,” Poppy said, “requesting an interview with Cat on Wednesday. We're going up after school.”

“Yes, and Mamma's coming with me,” Cat said. “Ms. Roach told her she could!”

“Well, about time they changed those silly rules up there,” Grandpa Roger said with a huff. “Our Poppy's been punished long enough.”

Cat wore her mother's old Ruthersfield sweater for good luck. It still had a butter stain down the front that wouldn't wash out, but Cat didn't care. “You look lovely,” Marie Claire told her, as Cat and her mother left the bakery.

“Yes, you do,” Poppy said, taking her daughter's hand.

A flock of geese had landed by the canal, honking and pecking at the frozen ground. Cat stopped walking and stared down the path. Then she let go of her mother's hand and started to run, sending the geese scattering. “Daddy!” Cat screamed, flinging herself onto the man striding toward them. His hair was wild and curly, and he carried an enormous backpack. Swooping Cat up in his strong arms, he swung her around.

“You're just in time for my interview,” Cat squealed.

“Tristram!” Poppy cried out, running over to her husband. Keeping a hold on Cat, Tristram swept Poppy up in his arms as well. “My two favorite girls in the world!”

“I missed you so much,” Cat said, and sighed, feeling his scratchy beard rub against her face. He smelled of high adventures, but neither Cat nor her mother minded. “Did you find the healing plant?” Cat asked.

“
Figius mantabelus
, but it took me a while,” Tristram said. “I got lost in the mountains, stuck in a bog, and had to be rescued by one of the local tribes. They helped me locate the plant, which was situated in the northernmost tip of the country and took weeks to find.” He shook his straggly hair. “Once you are out of the mountains, though, the mail service is rather good, and I sent clippings of it straight on to London for analysis, then headed home as fast as I could.” Tristram added, “But the storms were terrible getting here! Unusual for this time of year.”

“Yes, and I'll tell you why on the way, but we have to get to Ruthersfield,” Cat said.

Leaving his backpack by the canal, Tristram grasped his wife by one hand and his daughter by the other, and they walked up to the academy together, Cat and Poppy filling him in on all the exciting things that had happened.

“You're going to be great,” Poppy whispered, as they were shown into Ms. Roach's office. Cat could tell that her mother was nervous, because her hand was a little sweaty and she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast, which was most unlike her.

“Welcome,” Ms. Roach said, glancing at Cat's dad in surprise. Her nostrils quivered, and she quickly opened the window. “Thank you all for coming.”

Cat smiled eagerly and Poppy gave a small nod. Tristram Campbell pushed up his shirtsleeves and shook Ms. Roach heartily by the hand, showing off his hairy arms and compass tattoo.

“We have a lot to discuss,” the headmistress went on, gesturing for the Campbells to sit down. She moved some papers around on her desk and clicked the end of her pen a few times. “What you did was extremely brave, Catherine. Because of you, Madeline Reynolds is now back behind bars. Not in the same high security cage, but safely out of harm's way.”

“I don't think she's a threat anymore,” Poppy said quietly.

Ms. Roach nodded in agreement. “They feel the same way at Scrubs. When I talked to Boris Regal, the head guard there, this morning, he told me they have moved Madeline into a comfy new wing. She's been singing nonstop since her return, much to the enjoyment of the other prisoners and the guards. In fact, they are setting up a recording studio for her in one of the huts,” Ms. Roach said. “That way Madeline can share her music with the world.”

“Oh, that's wonderful,” Cat broke in. “She does have the most unbelievable voice.”

“Yes, and all proceeds will go to rebuilding the bottom part of Italy,” Ms. Roach said. She gave a small smile. “I'm told her first album will be released in time for Christmas.”

“I'm so pleased,” Poppy said. “She may still be in Scrubs, but at least she is doing what she loves.”

“And isn't that what life's about?” Tristram added. “Doing what we love?”

Cat wiggled anxiously in her chair, wishing Ms. Roach would hurry up and say whether she was going to offer her a place.

“The authorities at Scrubs are examining how they house and treat their prisoners,” Ms. Roach said. “Just as we are examining our entrance requirements here at Ruthersfield.” The headmistress paused for a long moment, looking at Poppy, not Cat. “In the past it has been very difficult to determine what makes a witch go over to the dark side, simply because most witches do not return from there for us to ask them. Our approach has always been to scare the girls witless, make them understand what will happen if they do use black magic. But I'm not sure this is actually the best strategy,” Ms. Roach admitted. “I think we need to address the problem at the source, before it begins, to try to understand why a witch would abuse her powers. And with you and Madeline Reynolds, we now have a much better picture as to what went wrong.”

“We both hated magic,” Poppy said bluntly. “But nobody would listen to us.” Tristram patted his wife's leg.

“Absolutely,” Ms. Roach agreed. “Which is why we have decided to introduce a new exam for potential students. It will be called the Passion Quiz, and it will determine how much passion a girl has for her craft.”

Poppy gave a short laugh. “Well, I would definitely fail that one!”

“Exactly, and so would Madeline Reynolds. Clearly this is an indicator that we can't ignore any longer.” Ms. Roach gave a soft sigh. “I'm afraid Ruthersfield will lose a lot of very gifted students because they don't show the necessary passion needed to excel at witchcraft. But, and this is my hope,” Ms. Roach said, “it should reduce the number of witches who turn evil.”

“Well, I love that idea!” Cat said, clapping her hands.

Ms. Roach smiled. “In the passion department, Catherine, I have no worries about you, but”—her face grew serious—“there are other things that concern me.”

“Like what?” Cat said, leaning forward. “I want this so much, Ms. Roach. You've no idea.”

“Oh, I know how much this means to you, Catherine, believe me. But magic requires more than passion. It needs a cool head and an understanding of our rules.” Ms. Roach leaned over her desk. “Capturing Madeline Reynolds was impressive, but it was also rash, impulsive, and quite honestly, very stupid. You put yourself in great danger, and I cannot have a student in this academy who acts with such hotheaded thoughtlessness.”

“Sounds like Cat was extremely brave,” Tristram said. “I'm proud of my daughter.”

“It was certainly brave,” Ms. Roach agreed, “but that is not the kind of courage we are looking for in our Ruthersfield girls.”

Cat stared at Ms. Roach, feeling her dream finally start to slip away. She would never be a witch. That's what the headmistress was telling her.

“You cannot take the law into your own hands, Cat. Especially where witchcraft is concerned.”

Cat tried to speak, but she knew if she opened her mouth, her voice would shake and she would cry. So she sat there, blinking and trying to swallow away the hard lump that had formed in her throat.

“Do you have any idea how hard Cat has worked on controlling her magic?” Poppy said. “Please, Ms. Roach. You are never going to find a girl more passionate about magic than the one sitting in front of you. The reason she faced Madeline Reynolds is because this means so much to her.” Poppy was trembling all over. “Please, give her a chance.”

“She would make a fantastic witch,” Tristram said, getting to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Roach, but I think you're making a big mistake.”

“If you would let me finish,” the headmistress said in her low, steady voice. She pressed a buzzer on her desk. “Could you send Ms. Bell in now, please?”

The door opened almost at once, and Clara Bell walked into the room, bringing with her the welcome scent of violets. “Clara Bell heads up the Late Bloomers program here at Ruthersfield,” Ms. Roach said. “She's a big supporter of Catherine.”

“Then it's a pleasure to meet you,” Tristram said, giving Clara Bell his warmest smile.

“I have to be honest, Catherine,” Ms. Roach continued, turning her attention back to Cat. “I was not going to give you another chance, but Ms. Bell here pleaded your case.” The headmistress leaned back in her chair and folded her hands together. “She has convinced me that you do have the sort of courage needed to become a good witch.”

“Really?” Cat glanced at Clara Bell.