‘Look here, I’ve got something to show you. Where can we go that’s quiet and private?’
‘What about the Cathedral where we had our sandwiches the other day?’
‘Good idea,’ said John.
20
The Book
[????????: _3.jpg]
They set off for the Cathedral, John humming a tune to himself. Rosemary looked at him suspiciously. He seemed to mind remarkably little that they had no money left and had failed in their attempts to get Mrs Cantrip to tell them the Silent Magic.
‘You look awfully fat!’ she said. ‘What have you got inside your coat?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ said John in an irritating voice.
‘Not particularly!’ said Rosemary untruthfully.
They walked in silence to the top of the High Street. It was a strain for Rosemary because it was rather a long way and she was bursting with curiosity. The rooks were cawing noisily in the tops of the swaying elm trees, and the fat little angels on either side of the clock were striking three o’clock as they made their way to the same seat as before.
‘Now then, do you want to see?’ said John. Luckily Carbonel said ‘Of course we do!’ which relieved Rosemary of the problem of how to say she did, and yet keep her dignity.
‘Well,’ said John. ‘When I had locked the door behind the nice woman, I was just going to follow you when I remembered that before you got Mrs Cantrip to go out of the room, she ran to the end of the counter, as though she was going to do something, and then thought better of it and turned back again. Well, Sherlock Holmes says that in any emergency women always rush to the thing that they value most. It’s a first class story, that, it’s the one where…’
‘Oh, never mind about Sherlock Holmes!’ interrupted Rosemary, her dignity forgotten. ‘Do go on!’
‘Well,’ said John again. He was evidently enjoying himself. ‘I went to the end of the counter, and all I could see were three little drawers underneath. One was empty except for a candle-end and a piece of string, the middle one was full of bills, and the third…’
‘Yes?’ breathed Rosemary.
John was unbuttoning his jacket. From inside he took out a battered, ancient-looking book. Only one of its powdery leather covers was there, and that hung by a single strand of thread. The pages were thick and yellow, and covered with cramped writing and curious diagrams in red and black ink.
Carbonel was standing with his front paws on John’s knee, with his ears pricked and his great eyes intent on the writing.
‘Oh, wise young human!’ he said. ‘Oh, Prince among Boys! Through your wisdom and perspicacity we have found the book of spells with the Silent Magic!’
For one pardonable minute Rosemary wrestled with a feeling of the unfairness of things. After all that she had done for Carbonel the highest praise she had been given was that she‘knew how to stroke’. But it was only for a minute. Even if she had known about Sherlock Holmes she had to admit that she would never have thought of applying what she had read to Mrs Cantrip.
‘I think you are the cleverest boy I know!’ she said, and she really meant it. John went quite pink at all this praise.
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ he said modestly. But Carbonel was oblivious of everything but the book. He was trying to turn the pages with his paw.
‘Every witch has a book like this. They’re handed down from one to another, and each one adds what new spells she has discovered.’
‘Like cookery recipes,’ said Rosemary.
‘This is the right book, sure enough. I’d know it anywhere, though of course SHE would never let me look inside it. Search about halfway through.’
John flipped over the pages at random.
‘What is this… “To ensure the blight on a neighbouring garden. Increase ingredients according to distance away required!”… hm. That’s not it. What’s this? “An infallible love potion…” Oh, who cares about love potions? Here, what is this? “A Silent Magic for the Use of…” Hi, Carbonel, look what you’ve done!’
As John began to read this last title the cat had said‘Hush!’ and in a desperate effort to cover the words with his paws had knocked the precious book off John’s knees on to the pavement.
‘Whatever did you do that for?’ asked John crossly.
‘Don’t you see?’ said Carbonel. ‘It is a Silent Magic, and if you say it aloud it is broken and spoilt!’
They picked up the book and dusted it carefully. It seemed none the worse. But nobody noticed that something had fallen from between the pages. They found the place again with some difficulty, and craning over John’s shoulder this is what Rosemary read:
‘SHE WHO WOULD UNDO A BINDING MAGIC must take the plait of Binding Plants which was twisted when the Magic was first made. This will probably be Dry as Tinder but no matter. Fill the Cauldron with Seven Pipkins of Puddle Water. When the water comes to the boil she must drop in the Plait of Weeds without delay and ride widdershins seven times round the Boiling Pot. This done, she must take the Binding Plants from the cauldron (these will now be found green and lush), and must untwist the Plait, being sure that she make no sound or complaint, though they tear her fingers. With the unbinding of the weeds the One bound will for ever be made free. The following words must be said Silently as the Plait is Unwound…’
‘Yes, but look here,’ said John. ‘Where on earth is this wretched plait?’
The three looked at each other blankly. For a minute they none of them said anything, but their thoughts were very much the same. It was too bad when the final piece of the puzzle seemed to be falling into place to find that, after all, they were as far as ever from completing it.
At last Rosemary spoke.‘We don’t seem to be any nearer the end than before,’ she said gloomily.
They sat in a row on the seat staring before them at the brilliant green of the grass, at the flagged path with here and there a fallen leaf, and at the sparrows that hopped with maddening cheerfulness round their feet. But they were none of them aware of what they were looking at. Rosemary, with her mind intent on where to find a seven-year-old plait of withered creepers, idly watched an old man in a green apron sweeping up the leaves and bits of paper that untidy people had dropped on the path. Somewhere near he had a bonfire; she could tell by the smell. He swept the rubbish into a little pile by the seat, and just as he bent down to load it into his wheelbarrow by scooping it up with two bits of board, she jumped up and pounced on the pile.
‘Oh, please don’t sweep it up!’ she said desperately. ‘You have got something valuable of ours here. I’m sure I saw you sweep it up!’
To the astonishment of John, Carbonel, and the old man, she began scrabbling frantically among the leaves and bits of paper and bus tickets. Suddenly she made a pounce.
‘I’ve got it!’ she said, and rose triumphantly to her feet. John was staring at her with his mouth open, and even Carbonel looked surprised.
‘Is she all right in the head?’ asked the gardener.
‘Of course I am!’ said Rosemary indignantly. ‘I say, I am awfully sorry I have messed up your path again, but I will sweep it up for you if you will lend me your broom.’
But, muttering that‘he didn’t know what children were coming to!’ the old man collected the rubbish together once more and trundled it away in his barrow, still muttering darkly to himself. Rosemary was too excited to notice what he did.
‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ she said. ‘I remember that something fell out of the book when we dropped it. I thought vaguely it was a piece of paper, but I was so anxious to see the spell I never thought any more about it; and just as I was watching the rubbish being swept up, I suddenly thought what it must have been. Why, in a minute or two it would have been on the bonfire! Look here!’
In the palm of her hand lay a coil of roughly plaited twigs, dry and brittle as tinder. There was still a withered leaf attached to one of the strands, which might once have been ivy.