Granny Magic, Page 8

  Will pulled the knitted boots off and stowed them in his rucksack. He took out Holly’s phone. Only one bar showed in the upper corner. He pressed 3 for Jun-Yu.

  ‘Will! Is that . . . ank heavens! . . . ophie?’ Jun-Yu sounded very fuzzy and far away.

  ‘Yes!’ said Will. ‘I have Sophie. I think we’re at the village where Gran got the wool.’

  ‘. . . ear me? I can’t . . . there?’

  ‘I have SOPHIE,’ said Will slowly. ‘We’re on the ISLE of MAN.’

  ‘. . . ow listen . . . I want you to put those boots . . . back home . . .’

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ said Will.

  ‘. . . right now!’

  ‘CAN’T HEAR YOU,’ said Will. ‘We’ll be back soon, I promise!’

  ‘Will . . . and . . . ediately!’

  And then there was nothing. Will put the phone back into the rucksack. At least the grans knew they’d made it.

  ‘Look at the stars, Will!’ said Sophie.

  They both tilted their heads back.

  ‘Wow!’ said Will. He hadn’t realized so many stars even existed. ‘Lucky it’s such a clear night,’ he said. There were no street-lights. Will wasn’t sure there was even any street. ‘I wonder where we go next.’

  He was just considering whether the loo-roll cover might be any help with that, when Sophie suddenly squeaked, ‘That cat just talked to me!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That cat there.’ Sophie pointed. In the shadow, under the overhanging thatch of one of the crofts, sat a very large tabby cat. As they watched, it stood up and stretched its front legs, then slowly walked towards them.

  ‘Can you hear it talking?’ asked Sophie. Will shook his head.

  ‘It just said, “Good evening”.’

  The cat came and rubbed itself against her boots. Like Cronk, it had no tail.

  ‘Maybe it’s because of my Kitty Hat,’ said Sophie.

  Of course! The hat was probably magic.

  ‘Sophie, could I just borrow it?’

  Sophie looked at him with one eyebrow raised. Will wished he could do that.

  ‘You want to wear my Kitty Hat?’ she asked.

  ‘Please.’

  Sophie took it off and handed it to him. Will handed her the toilet-roll cover. He watched to make sure she put it on firmly. Now he’d be able to see where it was at all times.

  The Kitty Hat was a bit small for him, but he managed to squeeze it on. Instantly, he heard a low, smooth voice in his head.

  ‘You don’t happen to be carrying any food, do you?’

  Will almost screamed. The cat was looking right up into his face.

  ‘Because you’ll have scared off the mice, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Will searched his pockets. ‘Do you like peanuts? I’ve got a handful of those.’

  The cat sauntered up to Will and sniffed his hand. ‘Mmm. No, I don’t think so,’ it said, giving its paw a shake and sitting back on its tail-less rump. ‘How is my brother?’

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘Yes. You’re from the old woman, aren’t you? The one who came and got fleece here and took my brother, back when I was a kitten. Your jumper smells of her.’

  ‘Do you mean Cronk?’ said Will. ‘Is this where Cronk came from? Sophie, this is Cronk’s brother!’

  ‘Sister,’ said the cat. ‘But whatever.’

  ‘You are lovely-lovely-lovely and I love you!’ said Sophie, bending down and scratching behind the cat’s ears.

  ‘Cronk’s living with us now, since Gran died,’ said Will. ‘Sophie, is Cronk happy?’

  ‘Yes, he likes all our beds,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Will you take him a message for me?’ asked the cat.

  ‘Of course!’ said Will.

  ‘Will you tell him: Ta fys ayd c’wooad ta my ghraih ort.’

  ‘What?’ said Will.

  The cat stared at him. ‘You don’t understand Manx?’ If the cat had been a person, Will was pretty sure she would have rolled her eyes. ‘Just tell him Hi.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Will, ‘you wouldn’t happen to know where to find a herd of magic sheep? The kind my gran was after?’

  ‘The ones your gran used are over there,’ said the cat, pointing with her nose towards a nearby fence. ‘But they’re like pets. There are better ones on the other side of the hill there.’

  ‘Better ones?’

  ‘More wild. They eat brush plants, so they turn more golden. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Will. ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Over the hill, across the lane, over the stile, and through the trees. If you fall in the sea you’ve gone too far.’

  The cat trotted off across the grass, like a fur-covered shadow.

  ‘Thanks!’ called Will softly.

  Of course, the Locator Hat wouldn’t work for them now, since these were different sheep. But he had directions from the cat. He laughed softly. If you’d told him a month ago that he’d be looking for a herd of magic sheep following advice from a cat . . .

  ‘Has that ever happened to you before, Soph?’ Will asked as they walked towards the hill. ‘That you could hear a cat talking when you were wearing your Kitty Hat?’

  ‘I keep telling you!’ said Sophie. ‘I can hear Cronk.’ So she’d been telling the truth.

  ‘But no other cats?’

  ‘Only that one.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Will. ‘So maybe this is a Manx Kitty Hat.’

  They were quiet as they pumped themselves up the side of the hill.

  ‘I can see the sea!’ said Sophie as they came to the top. Far off, beyond Sophie’s pointing finger, moonlight made a white path on the glinting black water. In front of them, the hill sloped down into tree-shaded darkness.

  Just as the cat had said, they came to a lane at the bottom of the hill, and then went over a stile. Will switched his torch on as the trees closed overhead. The path was wide and clear, but pitch black. The leaves whispered above them, and there was a smell of wet sticks and salad.

  When they came out of the trees they could see the sea again, even closer now. There was a breeze on Will’s face. The path looked white and the grass grey. The sky was changing from black to deep blue.

  ‘I don’t see anything yet,’ said Will. His feet were tired, he’d eaten all the peanuts, and pricky-sticky gorse and thistles scratched his ankles. He was impressed that Sophie hadn’t complained.

  The sky was lightening gently as they walked, the grass turning from grey to green. Birds began singing from every corner of the meadow.

  ‘What’s that sound?’ asked Sophie.

  Will stopped. He could hear it too. A soft meh-eh-eh-eh. Suddenly Sophie grabbed Will’s sleeve. ‘Will, look!’

  The edge of the sky was glowing with the first light of dawn. Where a moment before there had been nothing but shadow and scrub, they could now see sheep spread before them along the slope. Some were standing up, some were lying down, and some were staring at Will and Sophie.

  All of them were gold.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Will. Was it just the pinkening sky and the early sun? Every one of the sheep was sparkling.

  Will and Sophie ran a few steps closer. It was as if the insides of a treasure chest had been spread all across the grass. The sheep were soft brown, the colour of walnut coffee cake, but tipped with sparkling rose gold, like Mum and Dad’s wedding rings. Each one had four horns, two on either side. Some of them curled down by their ears, others stuck straight up in the air.

  ‘They look prehistoric,’ said Will.

  ‘They’re lovely-lovely-lovely and I love them!’ said Sophie. ‘I want to squeeze them!’

  ‘Go on, then. I dare you!’ said Will.

  Sophie ran forward and dived at the nearest sheep, which bobbed off just out of reach. Meh-eh-eh-eh. The other sheep rippled away.

  ‘Roaw! Roaw!’ An echoing bark sounded from somewhere to the left. Will swung his head round. A large white shape was bounding towar
ds them across the thistled slope. ‘Roaw! Roaw!’

  ‘Dog!’ said Sophie, and clapped her hands.

  It looked more like a polar bear to Will. Only it was faster. And it was growling.

  ‘Sophie,’ said Will, trying to keep his voice steady, ‘we’ve got to get out of here.’ He’d already pulled his rucksack round and unzipped it to search for the slipper-boots.

  But Sophie laughed.

  ‘No, we don’t!’ she said. ‘I have a juckie in my pocket.’ She did, of course. ‘As long as I squeeze it when I meet them, dogs just think I’m the boss dog.’ Before Will could stop her, Sophie stepped out towards the dog, left hand in her pocket, right hand extended.

  ‘Good boy! Good boy! What sort of doggie are you, then?’

  ‘Sophie, no!’ said Will, plunging forward to grab her, just as the giant thing stopped in front of them. It was so close Will could smell dog breath. It rolled over on to the grass with its feet in the air.

  ‘I’ll scratch your stomach, shall I?’ said Sophie, walking up to it and reaching down to scratch the dog’s white underbelly. ‘Good boy. Good boy. I think you are a Great Peer-a-knees.’

  Will’s heart started working again. It was true, then: Sophie’s knitted juckies were magic too. Sophie was giggling and pounding the sides of the dog’s huge chest. The dog’s paws were curled over coyly, and its tongue was lolling out of its mouth.

  Finally the dog rolled back over and stood on its feet, giving itself a shake. Sophie only came up as high as its back, and it stood nearly eye to eye with Will. Its massive tail swept back and forth like an industrial feather duster.

  ‘I’m glad you had your Gran-dog, Soph.’

  Will looked round them. The sheep had cleared away when the dog had come, and they were surrounded by sheep-less scrub. How were they going to get any fleece if the sheep just ran away when you got near them?

  But then the sun rose a centimetre higher, lighting the ground around them, and Will saw that the thorns and thistles were covered with sparkling golden wool.

  ‘Sophie! It’s Fluff-in-the Faddle! Let’s race!’

  Quickly, carefully, they picked bits of fluff from the pointy leaves around their feet, and stuffed it into the bags. When they’d hoovered up everything nearby they spread out over the meadow, and then to the brambles in the hedge where it clung like golden snow. Their fingers got pricked and their clothes got stuck, but they kept going. When the three bags were full, they stuffed fleece into Will’s rucksack, and into the little rucksack that Sophie wore on her back. Finally they had as much fleece as they could carry.

  ‘We should get back.’ Will couldn’t imagine what time it must be.

  ‘I love you, sheepies!’ Sophie called.

  ‘Thank you, er, sheepies,’ said Will, putting his rucksack on his front to make room for Sophie on his back. ‘Now, Soph, I’m going to put the slippers on. I want you to keep the hat on until you’ve jumped up, and then put it on my head when you’re on my back. Just to make sure I don’t accidentally step off without you.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Oh pants!’ said Will.

  Heading towards them across the field was a person. Farmers got up at dawn, Will remembered. He and Sophie were probably trespassing. Did these sheep belong to someone?

  Will looked around quickly. ‘Let’s try for those trees over there.’

  They ran across the grass to the edge of the wood, and Will put the slippers on. Then he turned his back and crouched low.

  ‘OK, Soph. Flying mount! And then put the hat on my head!’

  He waited to feel the thump on his back. It didn’t come. Instead he heard Sophie squeal. Will’s heart skipped four beats, and then gave a massive pound as he whirled around to see Sophie in the air, tucked under the arm of Jasper Fitchet.

  ‘Don’t move,’ said the man, his wolf-tail eyebrows drawn together fiercely. ‘Either of you!’

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Will, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. He wasn’t at all sure that Fitchet wouldn’t hurt Sophie.

  ‘Let’s start with those bags of wool. Put them down on the grass here and then step backwards – further. There’s a good chap. Now, let’s have you kneel down so you won’t run off – yes, good – and let’s have those slippers you were about to put on. Why don’t you make them into a ball for me? – you know how, I’m sure – nice and toss-able. Good. Now if you’ll use an easy underarm throw and – OW!’

  Sophie had bitten him. A second later she was running.

  ‘Sophie! Catch!’ Will tossed her the balled-up boots and dived at Jasper Fitchet’s knees. It wasn’t what you’d call an elegant tackle, but the man fell and Will gripped him round his legs. For a second he saw stars, but when his eyes cleared he could see Sophie still running, her little backpack bobbing.

  ‘Sophie, go! Put the slippers on!’ Will shouted.

  Mr Fitchet was kicking hard and his sharp knees were digging into Will’s chest. He couldn’t hold on much longer. But Sophie had dropped to the ground and pulled the slippers on over her wellies.

  ‘Think of the grans! Think of The Knittery!’

  Just then Fitchet managed to wriggle free. He lunged towards Sophie, who was standing still with her eyes squeezed shut. Her head swung round and she took a step towards the man’s open arms. He dived for her, but found himself grabbing thin air. With a rush of wind, Sophie had disappeared.

  Will’s heart started beating again. At least Sophie was safe. And one rucksack of wool has made it to the grans, he thought.

  ‘You disappoint me, Will.’ Mr Fitchet was panting, his muddy hands hanging at his side, his trouser knees torn. ‘Someone as clever as you should never have to stoop to violence.’ He pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped mud from his hands. ‘We could work together, you know. It would be much the best solution. I could use an apprentice.’

  ‘An apprentice worm?’ asked Will. ‘An assistant swindler?’

  ‘You’d rather make baby toys and tea cosies, would you?’ Jasper chuckled. ‘That’s for grannies. You and I can do better.’

  ‘Making ugly fake clothes that fall apart?’

  ‘People will buy ugly clothes that fall apart whether I make them or not. Why shouldn’t they buy ugly clothes made in Knittington by me!’ He chuckled again. ‘Buy local!’

  ‘But you’re making people forget who they are. They forget how to do anything when they’re wearing your jumpers. All they do is shop and get sad.’

  ‘They’re doing that anyway.’

  ‘But why not use all of this magic you’ve discovered to make things better, instead of getting better at being a nasty-jack?’

  The man pressed his thin lips into a little grin and shook his big white forehead. ‘You can’t fight the world, my boy. It’s way bigger than us. I might as well make money out of it instead of the next fellow. How about ten per cent, Will? Just for your promise to help? Wouldn’t your family like a better house? How about a BMX?’

  It was true about the house, of course. Mum and Dad were always worrying about the rising damp and the leaking roof and the pre-historic plumbing.

  ‘But the wool doesn’t like it. The wool doesn’t want you to do those things,’ said Will.

  ‘Wool doesn’t want, Will. You just have to take control. You can get used to that sick feeling – I know you’ve discovered it by now. It stops hurting after a while.’

  But Will didn’t want to get used to that feeling. Then he’d be like Mr Fitchet. And he didn’t want anyone else’s mum and dad to ever look like his mum and dad had when they were wearing those jumpers. Especially if they didn’t have Gran’s knitting to help snap them out of it.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Will. ‘Gran didn’t like what you were up to, and I guess she knew what she was on about.’

  ‘You think your precious gran was so good?’ asked Fitchet. ‘Why didn’t she tell you anything? Why didn’t she teach you? And the rest of that lot, they haven’t told you
the half of it, boy. Have they told you anything about the Knitwitch?’

  ‘Well,’ said Will, ‘I know that she’s the leader.’

  ‘The Knitwitch wants to keep all the power for herself,’ said Fitchet. ‘Well, fine. You can stay scared and ignorant and keep to your place, but I won’t. We could have been very helpful to one another, Will. But it’s nothing to me. You’ve just given me enough wool for a year, anyway.’ He picked up the woolsacks.

  From down the slope came a sound like a hurricane beating against a window. Or was it barking? A horse-shaped blur shot out of the trees.

  ‘Raow! Raow!’ It was the giant dog. The Great Thing-a-knees. It bounded towards Fitchet like the night train to Aberdeen.

  Ka-thump!

  The dog’s front paws landed on the man’s chest, knocking him and the bags of wool to the ground.

  Will plunged for the bags, wrenching them away from Fitchet. Slinging them up over his shoulders, he ran.

  ‘Thank you!’ he called, the bags bumping crazily as he ran. ‘Thank you, Thing-a-knees!’

  Down the slope, over a gate and out across another field Will charged, flying through gorse and heather, jumping over streams. He didn’t look back. Only when he couldn’t go any further did he stop. Heaving for breath, he dropped the bags and looked around him. He was in a meadow full of tall grass and dragonflies. There was no sign of Jasper Fitchet.

  Still panting, Will took the phone from his pocket. There was no signal. Maybe Sophie had found the grans, and someone could use the boots and hat to find him. Maybe one of them was on her way now. But he had no way of knowing.

  There was a narrow, unpaved lane at the bottom of the meadow. Will slung the bags of wool back over his shoulders and began walking towards it. He’d only gone a few steps when a faint roar burst out from the direction of the lane. It was the sound of a small engine, like a lawn mower . . . an old motorbike. A second roar joined it. Will ran towards it.

  As he reached the lane, two of the strangest contraptions Will had ever seen pulled up. One was an Enfield Bullet with knobbly tyres and a sidecar that looked like a piece of a very old aeroplane, the sides painted with flames. The other was a BSA Gold Scrambler. Its sidecar looked like a large basket, with a bale of hay in place of a seat. Each bike had a sparkly golden slipper over one of its handgrips, and both bikes were covered with grans! Grans riding pillion, grans stuffed into sidecars. They were wearing open-faced helmets and goggles, waving their arms and yelling.