‘Now!’ whispered John with his mouth so close to Rosemary’s ear that it tickled.
They crept from the shadow of the bush, thankful for the covering noise of the little stream, and once around the rock they ran to the shelter of the thicket. Just as they reached it, Rosemary stumbled.
‘Ow!’ she exclaimed.
‘Shut up!’ hissed John.
‘It’s all very well!’ whispered Rosemary indignantly, hopping up and down and holding her shin. ‘I stepped on something crackly, and it bit me!’
They looked down. There on the grass was a broom. It was made from a bundle of twigs bound on to a handle, the sort that is used by gardeners – and witches. It was tethered to one of the little trees.
‘It must be the new broom Miss Dibdin made, and they must have both ridden on it after all!’ said Rosemary.
The voices sounded very close now. John and Rosemary crept from tree to tree, hardly daring to breathe, until John put out a warning hand. Looking over his shoulder, Rosemary saw a small open space in the middle of the thicket. In the centre was a tree stump, and on it sat what was clearly Her Royal Greyness. She was a beautiful, grey Persian cat with brilliant green eyes. There were several other animals grouped around her, sitting among the plants which grew thickly in the little clearing. The green eyes turned restlessly from one to the other of the two women seated on a low rock in front of her.
Mrs Cantrip and Miss Dibdin, quite undisturbed by their royal company, were arguing hotly. Mrs Cantrip had lost a shoe again, and her lank hair had escaped from the very large pins which usually kept it fairly tidy, but she seemed quite unruffled. Miss Dibdin, on the other hand, was clearly in a bad temper. Her hat was crooked and her trim suit was rumpled and untidy. While the children watched, she took off her hat and tried to readjust her bun.
‘If you didn’t enjoy it, it’s your own fault,’ Mrs Cantrip was saying. ‘You would come, though I warned you, and you made the broom yourself, so I don’t see you’ve anything to grumble about. As I told you, it takes years to train a broomstick to fly smooth and obedient with only one person up, let alone two!’
Miss Dibdin muttered something indistinctly because her mouth was full of hairpins.
‘Ah, I’ve known some broomsticks in my time,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘I had one once – McShuttle it was called – made of the best Scottish heather. A beautiful, smooth movement it had.’ Her eyes had a faraway look in them, and she went on in a singsong voice, ‘From Pole to Pole we went once, in a single night, without so much as a jolt or jar, and obedient –’
‘Oh, I know!’ interrupted Miss Dibdin crossly. ‘It singed its tail in the Northern Lights, and you never knew till you got home again. You’ve told me dozens of times. I’m sure I said all the things over my broom you told me to, when I bound the twigs on, and I used all the Flying Philtre there was. There’s not a drop left. Now if only the rocking chair –’
‘The rocking chair!’ said Mrs Cantrip with withering scorn. ‘Armchair flying! Soft, all you young witches nowadays! Do you think I’d be seen dead in it if I had not gone out of business? Not I! Now, when I was young –!’
‘Ladies, ladies!’ broke in the voice of Queen Grisana. It was a soft languid voice. ‘Let us have no unpleasantness! There is nothing I dislike so much. Now let us have a cosy little chat together and I will tell you why I have summoned you.’
The voice seemed always to have a slight purr behind it, but the green eyes flashed hard and brilliant from one to the other.
‘It seemed to me that we might strike a bargain. I can be frank, because there is no danger of our being overheard. I have forbidden my people to use this high place tonight. It can be reached only by two paths which are closely guarded. My sentries will give instant warning if they see anything unusual. These children you mentioned, have you any reason to suspect that they know anything of our meeting?’
‘The meddlesome brats are the only ones who could get here. They’ve stolen my Flying Chair. I’m uneasy in my bones. Reliable my bones is, as a rule,’ said Mrs Cantrip.
‘Then let us be quick in what we have to say,’ purred the grey cat. She lowered her voice, so that the children had to lean forward to hear her. ‘And what we say must never go further than this clump of trees. Now listen carefully!’
Mrs Cantrip and Miss Dibdin, their argument forgotten, craned forward. Grisana continued, ‘My dear husband is getting old. A better king and husband you could never find, but he has no ambition. Ambition!’ she repeated, lingering lovingly on the word. ‘My son, my handsome Gracilis for whom this scheme is planned, is in many ways like his dear father – he must hear no whisper of this – but I, I have enough ambition for the three of us.’
There was no purr behind her words now. Rosemary blinked. It was hard to believe that the steely voice they heard belonged to the same animal.
‘Fallowhithe and Broomhurst in a few days will be as one town,’ she rapped out. ‘One town, one King! And that shall not be Carbonel but Castrum, and I shall be Queen!’
She threw back her head, and a strangely triumphant, wailing cry rose on the night air, and sank again to a throaty murmur.
‘For your dear son’s sake, of course!’ said Mrs Cantrip dryly.
‘For my dear son’s sake!’ repeated Grisana, and once more her voice was soft and purring.
‘Well, I’m with you on anything that means trouble for Carbonel. We’re old enemies!’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘I hate him!’
‘I rather thought you did!’ said the grey cat sweetly.
The old woman rubbed the side of her nose with a bony finger.
‘What do you want us to do?’
‘Just this,’ went on Grisana. ‘If, on the day that the last wall of the last house goes up between the two towns, you could see to it that Queen Blandamour – disappears – no violence of course – there will be such confusion in Fallowhithe that, when my armies pour into the town, they will meet with little or no resistance. No bloodshed, and a minimum of unpleasantness. I do so dislike unpleasantness.’
‘It’s lucky for you that the Kings are out of the way answering the Summons. If you succeed, what will your husband do when he returns?’
‘What I tell him!’ purred Grisana very sweetly. ‘I told you he was growing old!’
‘And Carbonel’s kittens? I hear there are two of ’em,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘They might prove a rallying point for the Fallowhithe cats even without Blandamour.’
‘True,’ said Grisana. ‘Perhaps they too had better… disappear! The sooner the better. That will spread a little alarm in advance. Most useful. The dear little things!’
John could hear Rosemary breathing hard with indignation, and he put out a restraining hand.
Mrs Cantrip chuckled. It was not a nice noise. She clapped her hands on her bony knees. ‘It’s as nice a bit of mischief as I’ve come across in a week of wet Wednesdays. In plain English, you want the three of them kidnapped? All right. We’ll do it!’ said Mrs Cantrip.
‘That’s all very well, but what do I get out of it?’ said Miss Dibdin huffily. ‘I haven’t been consulted!’
‘Ah, but just think, dear!’ the old woman wheedled. ‘You’ll maybe put all you’ve learned into practice! What a chance! Poor old Mother Cantrip can do no more magic now!’
‘And you shall have your pick of all the kittens in the two towns to bring up as your cat!’ said Queen Grisana.
‘That’s generous, dear! Don’t turn it down. I always say a good cat can make or mar a young witch’s magic.’
‘Very well,’ said Miss Dibdin grudgingly. ‘I’ll help. But I think you might have consulted me a little sooner.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘Well, we’d better be off.’
‘I do hope the broom will behave better on the return journey,’ said Miss Dibdin, licking her lips nervously.