Witch Silver (2 page)

Far away, in a small, heavily wooded country on the fringes of Central Europe, Lady Merial’s father, Lord Jezail, sat in the
top-most
tower of his great citadel. Hunched over a glowing crystal ball, he listened with a stony face to the threats of the witches and watched as they disappeared amid the rising storm.

Gorgeously dressed in velvet robes, he was an impressive
figure
despite his age. A mane of dark hair hung to his shoulders, bushy eyebrows flared above shrewd black eyes and a beak of a nose towered above lips that could smile charmingly when it suited him. This air of somewhat austere kindliness, however, hid a cruel, vindictive nature and although he was generally regarded as a wizard of integrity, he was, actually, nothing of the sort. Indeed, he had quite successfully hidden his true
character
from the world of magic for more years than he cared to remember.

Leaning back in his chair, he raised his eyes briefly to meet those of the other occupant of the room and together they looked on in silence as his daughter’s car, half hidden by what was now a raging blizzard, moved slowly down the driveway towards the main road.

Had he held the eye of the crystal on the house for just a few seconds longer, he would have seen the shambling figure of the old man as he approached the house — and would, most certainly, have recognized him, perhaps even have hexed him. But, as it happened, he didn’t. The crystal followed the car and the moment was lost.

“Well, Vassili,” Lord Jezail muttered a few minutes later as the crystal dimmed and became misty, “what do you make of that, then?”

His aide, Count Vassili, dark-haired and slim in the elegant robes of his calling, inclined his head. Years of serving his master had taught him to choose his words carefully and although he’d been asked for his opinion in quite a few tight situations, nothing quite compared to the enormity of this one.

“Milord, what can I say? I … I am terribly, terribly sorry. To lose your daughter like this …” he gestured vaguely and his voice petered out as his master looked at him in surprise.

“Sorry?” Lord Jezail seemed puzzled. “Sorry? Oh, I see,” he waved his hand irritably, “yes, well, it
is
a pity, I suppose, but then she always knew that this was going to happen to her, didn’t she?” His face darkened and anger gleamed once more in his black eyes. “Serves her right for marrying a human!” he added coldly. “But that isn’t what I meant!” he leant forward, frowning darkly. “I want to know what you think of her hiding the silver talisman!!” His voice rose in anger. “
Hiding it,
Vassili!” he repeated.

Vassili tried not to look shocked and it was only with a great effort that he managed to keep his face blank. He’d always known that Lord Jezail had a pretty cold heart but, until now, hadn’t realized just how frozen it must be — for incredible as it seemed, it was obvious that even at a time like this, all he could think of was the talisman!

“I … er, I can’t believe it, milord,” Vassili looked at him helplessly, throwing his hands out in disbelief.

Lord Jezail eyed him sourly, drawing his fur-lined cloak around him with a sweeping gesture that all but knocked the crystal off its stand.

Noting the twitching eyebrows and tight set of his master’s
lips, the count bowed low and eyed him watchfully as he rose angrily to his feet and started to pace the floor.

“How could she
do
this to me?” Lord Jezail muttered, his voice rising. “My own daughter,” he said, “hiding the talisman not only from the eyes of the world of magic but from
me,
her own father.”

Vassili made a vague noise that could have meant anything.

“She knew perfectly well what was going to happen to her!” his master added. “Why the devil didn’t she send it back here?” He turned round and glowered accusingly at the count as though it were all his fault.

“I’m sure …” Vassili attempted to soothe his master’s anger but wasn’t given the chance to finish his sentence.

“I should
never
have given it to her in the first place!” Lord Jezail continued. “I must have been mad to even
think
of it!”

“Forgive me for asking,” Vassili ventured as his master
continued
to pace the room, “but what is it that’s so … well, special about the talisman?”

Lord Jezail turned and looked at him through hooded eyes. “Well, to begin with, its magic is extremely powerful and it protects its owner from danger of any sort,” he explained. “That was the reason I gave it to Merial in the first place; to protect her from harm. But it has many other magical properties; it can cure evil spells and has great power over nature. That’s one
reason
why the witches must never have it, for in the wrong hands they could, and would, use it to cause earthquakes, tidal waves and hurricanes; to say nothing of drought, flood and famine.”

“But the witches have that power already,” Vassili pointed out, “and so do you,” he added reasonably. “Why, even I can call up storms
and
the like and,” he deftly slipped in the
compliment
, “I’m nowhere
near
as great a magician as you are, milord!”

“Ah, but the talisman can control the witches and the storm carriers,” Jezail answered. “It works for the good of the earth. That’s why Merial couldn’t …” he stopped in mid-sentence “… that was why she couldn’t leave it to any of the witches.”

“You said that before,” Vassili acknowledged.

“Yes, but the point is that she
must
have known that in so doing she was virtually leaving the talisman to
me
.” Lord Jezail replied.

Vassili eyed him warily.

“Think about it,” his master smiled, rubbing his hands together almost gleefully. “She’s hidden it! It has no owner now that she’s gone; which means, Vassili, that as I gave it to her as a gift, it is mine by right! It must return to
me
!”

Vassili nodded, his mind working swiftly. “Yes,” he agreed, “yes, it
would
work like that, milord. But … what if the witches find it? I mean …”

“Let them find it,” Lord Jezail said, smiling nastily. Vassili looked at him, startled. “It will save us the trouble of looking for it,” he pointed out coldly, “and if we keep an eye on the witches through the crystal, we can take it from them whenever it’s found!”

“It’s strange being here without Auntie Muriel and Uncle David, isn’t it?” Neil said wistfully to Clara, as they entered the hall. His father, elbowing the heavy door shut, dumped a pile of carrier bags on the black and white tiles and put his car keys on a side table. “I can remember Auntie Muriel giving me a real telling off for sliding down the banisters.”

“Quite right, too,” his father said. “You ought to have had more sense!”

Neil grinned unrepentantly. “Uncle David thought it was funny. He said it was a pity he was too old to join in!”

A look of sadness shaded John MacLean’s eyes. He missed his only brother and was glad that over the years they’d
managed
to visit quite often. Edinburgh wasn’t that far away and they’d driven down frequently for the odd weekend. And now the house was his. He couldn’t quite believe it. Losing David had been bad enough but Muriel’s death in a car crash had been totally unexpected.

Clara looked at the wooden staircase that curved gracefully up to the first floor. “I still can’t believe we’re going to live here, Dad,” she said, her face shining happily. “I’ve always loved Craiglaw House. Auntie Muriel knew I did.” Tears blurred her eyes suddenly. “I just can’t believe she’s gone …”

Her mother appeared from the living room. “I thought I heard the car,” she said, hugging them all. “How was the drive down, John?”

“Dad got stuck behind a couple of combine harvesters!” Neil
grinned.

“It was fine,” her husband answered, cuffing Neil playfully. “We stopped off for ten minutes at Blackriggs Farm on the way. You remember, Jimmy MacFarlane’s place?”

“Mmm,” Janet MacLean nodded. “How’s the farm doing?”

“Not too well, I gather. He didn’t have time to say much but his kids have fairly grown. The youngest has just started school.”

“They’re really into horses, these days,” Clara said
enthusiastically.
“I wouldn’t mind a pony. Once we’ve settled in, that is,” she added hastily.

“Once we’ve settled in, we’ll talk about it,” her mother said, smiling at her enthusiasm. Moving from a busy, bustling city like Edinburgh to a remote country house was a big step and she hadn’t quite known how the children would take it. She didn’t have to look at Neil’s face to know that he had
reservations
since it wasn’t only the city he’d miss; it was the world of magic.

If the truth be told, she was secretly quite relieved that they had left Edinburgh — for the MacArthurs, the magic people who live inside Arthur’s Seat, the huge hill that dominates the city, had, over the years, succeeded in dragging the family into all sorts of hair-raising adventures involving magicians, magic mirrors and flying horses to say nothing of some
particularly
nasty goblins. She was, in actual fact, very fond of the MacArthurs; enjoyed their company and loved Arthur, their great red dragon, but …

“Won’t you miss Edinburgh, Clara?” Neil queried doubtfully. “Not school particularly, I mean the MacArthurs and Arthur and … and our magic carpets and all. We’re really too far away from Edinburgh to call them like we used to. I mean, it’d take ages for them to arrive, for a start.”

“You’ll soon get used to living in the country,” his father interrupted cheerfully, “and you’ll still be able to visit the MacArthurs from time to time, you know.”

“And you have to remember, too, that we’ve been very lucky, Neil,” his mother added. “If your Uncle David and Aunt Muriel hadn’t left the house to us, we would never have been able to afford anything as grand as this,” she pointed out gently.

“I know,” Neil muttered, “it’s just that we don’t know
anybody
here.”

“It’ll work out fine, Neil,” his father smiled, “and once you start at Netherfield, you’ll get to know lots of boys your own age.”

“And girls,” Clara added. “It’ll be funny being boarders, though.”

“That won’t be for long,” her mother assured her, with a quick look at her husband. “Dad’s contract finishes at Christmas so you’ll only be boarders for a term. And since your old school’s marked down for closure, it’s pointless, really, starting at a new school in Edinburgh for just one term, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Clara admitted.

“Don’t forget that you’ll be spending Saturdays and Sundays here with us,” her father smiled, ruffling her hair. “We’ll be down more or less every weekend to check up on the builders, and sort out any problems.”

“Why don’t you both go upstairs and have a look at your rooms,” their mother suggested with a twinkle in her eyes. “I forgot to tell you that the painter finished them yesterday. Oh, and I’ve left some carpet samples on the chest in the upstairs hall so that you can choose a colour you like,” she called after them as both children raced up the stairs in sudden excitement.

“How have you been managing on your own then, Janet?” John MacLean asked as he followed his wife into the living room and looked round appreciatively at the polished woodwork,
gleaming windows and cheerful chintz sofas grouped round the huge fireplace. It was a comfortable room and he could imagine relaxing in front of a roaring blaze of logs when winter came and snow blocked the roads.

His wife put her finger to her lips and, walking over to the door, shut it carefully.

John raised his eyebrows. “Why the secrecy?” he asked, half laughing.

“Can I ask you a question first?” she asked seriously.

“Of course! Fire away!”

“Are you wearing your firestone?”

“Wearing my firestone!” he repeated blankly. Of all the
questions
she could have asked, this was the last he’d have thought of; for firestones were the magic stones the MacArthurs had given them so that they could fly on magic carpets and merge with people, birds and animals.

“Are you?” she insisted.

“Well, no,” he replied. “I’m not. You know perfectly well that I don’t wear it all the time. Neither do you, for that matter.”

“I know,” she said, wringing her hands. “I wish I’d thought of it before. I’d have asked you to bring mine down with you today.”

“Whatever for?” Her husband looked baffled. “There’s no magic here … is there?”

“Well, there might be. I hate to say it, John,” she said
hesitantly
, for she knew how much he loved the house, “but there’s something really strange going on.”

“Strange?” he frowned questioningly. “What, here? In the house?”

Janet nodded. “I think it’s haunted,” she said firmly. “I’m not imagining it,” she added quickly as he opened his mouth to scoff at the notion. “There are definitely ghosts around. They’re not in the room at the moment,” she added. “I can tell
when they’re nearby. There’s a … sort of a different feel to the atmosphere whenever they come in.”

“Ghosts?” her husband repeated. “Are you sure? I mean, David and Muriel never said anything about the house being haunted.”

“Quite sure. It’s weird, really. They … they seem to realize that I can feel them in the room and when I come in they … well, they slip away and go somewhere else. I get the impression that they’re looking for something.”

“How very odd,” he frowned, putting an arm round her. “Bear up, Janet. We’ll sort it out, don’t worry. Now, tell me all about it.”

“It started when you left last week with the children. I thought I was imagining things at first and … what on earth was that?” She froze as a scream rang through the house.

“That’s Clara’s voice!” John MacLean was out of the room and halfway up the stairs when Clara ran onto the landing. “Stop her, Dad!” she yelled. “Stop her!”

“Stop who?” her father asked, genuinely puzzled.

“There! Can’t you see her?”

“I can’t see anyone apart from the pair of you,” her father answered, reaching the landing and turning to peer down the stairs. “What’s going on? Who did you see?”

“Chill, Clara! She’s gone now,” Neil said, his eyes alight with excitement. “Straight through the front door like a bat out of hell!”

As the front door, a massive piece of solid oak, was firmly shut, his father raised his eyebrows. “What went through the door like a bat out of hell?”

“You’ll never believe it, Dad,” Clara said, shivering suddenly as she gripped the banister tightly, “but it was a witch! A horrible, nasty, evil-looking witch!”