Bed-Knob and Broomstick (7 page)

   
After a moment there was a rattle of drums. The circle of eyes turned expectantly
toward a path that wound between the trees. Then there was a weird inhuman shout,
and a curious figure whirled into the firelight. If it had a face, you
couldn't see it for paint. Daubs of scarlet and white hid the features. A great
tail of shimmering feathers was attached to his belt at the back, and, as he
whirled about, it shook as if he wagged it. He wore anklets of monkey's fur,
and in one hand he carried a shinbone and in the other-of all things- Miss Price's
broomstick!
"It's the witch doctor," said Charles in Carey's ear. Carey shivered.
As she looked round at the seated dancers, it seemed as if they had all drawn
into themselves, as if they, too, were afraid. The weird object, his legs apart
and knees bent, came jumping toward Miss Price. Every jump or so, he would whirl
completely round. Each time he shook his feathers Paul laughed.

   
"Be quiet, Paul," Carey urged him. "You'll make him angry."
Paul put his hand over his mouth, but he laughed just the same.

   
At last the witch doctor stopped, just in front of Miss Price. He threw back
his head and made a weird howl, a howl that seemed to echo across the island.
Miss Price looked back at him through her dark glasses. The children could not
see her expression.

   
Suddenly, after a moment, there was another howl, higher, weirder, more piercing.
The witch doctor lowered the broomstick. There was something about his attitude
that seemed bewildered.

   
Suddenly Carey laughed. She gripped her hands together. "Charles,"
she whispered excitedly, "Miss Price did it. She did that last one."
The witch doctor recovered from his surprise. He gave two jumps in the air,
and then he howled again. It was a howl to end all howls. It went on and on.
Carey imagined it
echoing out across the reef, across the lagoon, across the darkening sea. Then
the witch doctor stopped. He stared at Miss Price. He seemed to be saying, "Beat
that if you can."
Miss Price moistened her lips. She wriggled her shoulders as if her bonds constrained
her. Then she pursed up her mouth.

   
This time it was a whistle-a whistle so agonizingly piercing that it hurt one
to hear it. It was like a steam engine in anguish, a needlepoint of aching shrillness.
The audience began to move, Carey gasped, and the witch doctor clapped his hands
to his ears and hopped round as if he were in pain.

   
When it stopped, there was a murmur among the dancers. The witch doctor swung
round. He glared at them angrily.

   
"Hrrmph!" he grunted, and approached Miss Price once more.

   
She looked back at him impassively. The dark glasses were a great help. Carey
crossed her thumbs. She remembered all Miss Price had said in the garden, about
how few spells she knew by heart, how everything went out of her head if she
were fussed, how you had to have something to turn into something and something
to turn it 'with. "Oh, Miss Price!" she breathed, "Miss Price!"
as people call the name of their side at a football match.

   
The witch doctor held up the broomstick; with a twist he flung it into the air.
It circled up into the darkness and came down turning slowly. He caught it with
his other hand without looking at it.

   
There was a murmur of approbation among the crowd. They thought that was clever.
The witch doctor did a few satisfied jumps.

   
Miss Price laughed. (Good, thought Carey, she isn't fussed.)
The witch doctor glared at her. She sat quite still; curiously still, thought
Carey-but something was happening. The children stared hard. There was a space
between Miss Price and the ground-a space that grew. Miss Price, still in a
sitting position, had risen three feet in the air.

   
There was a murmur of amazement. Miss Price held her position. Carey could see
her teeth were clenched and her face had become red. "Go it, Miss Price,"
she murmured. "Hold it." She gripped Charles's arm. Miss Price came
down, plonk, rather suddenly. From her pained expression Carey guessed she had
bitten her tongue, but the shock had broken the creepers that bound her hands.
Miss Price put her fingers in her mouth as if to feel if her tongue were still
there; then she rubbed her wrists and glanced sideways at the children.

   
The witch doctor did a'few wild turns round the circle. He leaped into the air.
He shouted, he twirled the broomstick. Carey noticed that every time he came
too near the audience, they shrank back a little. When he felt the onlookers
were sufficiently subdued and suitably impressed, he stopped his caperings and
flung Miss Price's broomstick away from him. He then sat down on his heels and
stared at the broomstick. Nothing seemed to happen. The man was still. And so
was the broomstick. But there was a waiting feeling in the air, something that
prevented Carey from turning her eyes away toward Miss Price.

   
"LOOK," said Charles suddenly. There was a gasp among the spectators,
an amazed murmur. The broomstick was moving, in little jerks as if pulled by
a string, toward the witch doctor.

   
"Goodness!" said Charles. A funny feeling was creeping down his spine.
This stirred him more than anything Miss
Price had done. Miss Price, too, leaned forward. She pushed her dark glasses
up on her forehead. Carey could see her expression. It was the face of one who
was deeply and absorb-edly interested. Steadily the broomstick moved on toward
the witch doctor, who sat as still as a statue made of stone. Silently he seemed
to be calling it. If there had been pins on the island, you could have heard
one drop.

   
Miss Price stared a little longer at the broomstick, and then she pulled her
glasses down over her eyes again and bent her head. She looked almost as though
she had fallen into a doze. The broomstick stopped within a few feet of the
witch doctor. It moved no further.

   
After a moment, the witch doctor raised his head. He looked round the circle,
and then he looked back again at Miss Price. She still sat with head sunk forward
on her chest. The witch doctor edged himself forward, on his behind, a little
closer to the broomstick. "Cheating," whispered Carey furiously.

   
The broomstick again began to move, but this time it moved away from the witch
doctor; not in little jerks, but steadily, surely, it slid toward Miss Price.
The witch doctor hurriedly resumed his old position. The broomstick stopped.

   
"Oh, dear," exclaimed Carey. "I can't bear it!"
Then reluctantly, in jerks, it began to move once more toward the witch doctor.
Miss Price bent her head still lower and clenched her hands. Carey could see
her knuckles shining in the firelight. The broomstick hesitated; then, with
a rush, it slid across the sandy ground straight into Miss Price's lap. She
gripped it firmly. She threw up her head. The witch doctor leapt to his feet.
He gave three jumps, one awful howl, and moved toward Miss Price; in his hand
gleamed something long and sharp. Gripping the broomstick, Miss Price faced
him sternly. Her feet were tied; she could not move.

   
Carey cried out and hid her eyes, but Paul, sitting up on his heels, shouted
excitedly: "A frog! A yellow frog! Miss Price! You did that lying down!"
Miss Price glanced at Paul, a sideways thankful look. She gasped. Then she held
out her two arms toward the witch doctor as if to ward him off with the broomstick.
He stopped, with knees bent, about to jump. Then he seemed to shrink and dwindle.
He sank downwards into his legs as if the heat of the fire was melting him.
The children held their breaths as they watched. Every part of him was shrinking
at the same time. It reminded Carey of what happened to a lead soldier when
you threw it on the fire, but instead of a blob of silver, the witch doctor
melted into a minute blob of gold, a tiny yellowish object, barely distinguishable
upon the sandy ground.

   
"You see!" screamed Paul. "She did it! She couldn't do it quickly,
but she did it!"
Carey leaned forward, trying to see better. Suddenly the blob jumped. Carey
shrieked. Paul laughed. He was very excited. "It's only a frog," he
crowed, "a tuppenny-ha'-penny little frog ... a silly old frog." Carey
slapped him.

   
"Be quiet," she hissed. "We're not safe yet."
There was a strange silence among the dancers. They seemed afraid-afraid of
the frog, afraid of Miss Price, afraid even of the children.

   
"Carey!" called Miss Price. She was untying the creepers that bound
her feet. Carey ran to her. Charles and Paul followed.

   
"You'll all have to hold on to the broomstick. It will be
hard, but it won't be for long. We must get to the bed. When I shriek, you must
all shriek, and that will help the broomstick to rise."
"Four people on a broomstick," gasped Carey.

   
"I know. It's dangerous, but it's our only hope. Paul can come on my knee,
but you and Charles must just hang on. Now don't forget: when I shriek, you
all shriek."
Miss Price took Paul on her knee. She gripped the tip of the broomstick with
both hands. Carey and Paul took hold of the wood. Miss Price shut her eyes a
moment as if she were trying to recall the spell. The frog had disappeared,
but the dancers, watching them suspiciously, suddenly began to move forward.
Hurriedly Miss Price gabbled her verse:
"Frog's spawn; toad's eye. Newts swim, bats FLY .

   
As she said "FLY," her voice rose to a resounding shriek. The children
joined in. The broomstick rose a little off the ground. Carey and Charles were
hanging by their hands.

   
"Bats FLY-Y-Y," shrieked Miss Price again as a hint to the broomstick.
It made a valiant effort. It wobbled slowly upward. The natives ran forward.
Knives flashed, but Carey and Charles were just out of reach, dangling. Then
Carey saw a man was fitting an arrow to a bow.

   
"FLY-Y-Y," shrieked Miss Price again.

   
"For goodness' sake!" added Charles. His pajama trousers were slipping
off. He felt very vulnerable.

   
Whether or not this unexpected addition to the spell acted as a spur, it is
hard to say, but the broomstick gave a sudden leap forward and upward.

   
The circle of firelight and the gesticulating dancers dropped away below them,
and they were above the moonlit trees, and there ahead lay the glimmer of the
sea. The broomstick swayed and plunged but kept its course, making for the point
of the reef. Carey and Charles hung on for dear life. Their arms felt numb and
almost pulled from their sockets, and a cold wind whistled through their night
clothes.

   
Above the lagoon, the broomstick swerved; sickeningly it began to circle downwards.
Carey and Charles floated up sideways as the broomstick dived. Carey strained
her eyes. She could only see breakers, breakers and spray and moonlit waters.
Was the bed submerged? "Oh," she cried, as the broomstick gathered
speed, making straight for the waves. Then suddenly she saw the bed. It was
not yet under water. It stood just where they had left it on the rising strip
of sand.

   
But as they landed, she saw a great wave swell up, gather height, and curl.

   
"Wish, Paul, wish," shrieked Carey madly. Then the wave broke over
them. Gasping, spluttering, soaked to the skin, they clung to the slippery bed
rails.

   
Paul must have wished. The bed rolled and lurched, then spun into space. The
darkness thinned as they whistled through it. A pale light grew around them,
deepening to gold, and rose and blue and yellow-flowers, twisted into nosegays
and tied with blue ribbon. . . . Carey stared, and then she recognized the pattern.
It was the early sunlight shining on Paul's wallpaper. . . .

   
9 ACCOUNT RENDERED
They were home, but what a mess! All their pajamas were ragged and dirty, their
dressing gowns lost, and the bed was soaked. Poor Miss Price was a sorry sight.
Her sun helmet was soft and soggy. She had no shoes or stockings, and her coat
and skirt dripped puddles on the floor. Of her belongings, all she had left
was the broomstick. Haggardly, she peered out of the window.

   
"It's too light to fly," she muttered. Then an awful thought seemed
to strike her. "It must be after nine o'clock." She sat down limply
on a chair. As she sat, she squelched. "Goodness me, Carey, here's a nice
to-do!"
Charles went to the window. It was open, just as they had left it.

   
"There's no one about," he said. "Just use the broomstick as
far as the ground and then make a run for it."
Miss Price stared at him blankly. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "this
is terrible."
"Yes, Miss Price, you must," urged Carey, "make a run for it."
Miss Price looked at her naked bony feet. "If I should meet the gardener
. . ." she pointed out helplessly.

   
"You must risk it," said Carey.

   
"Listen!" whispered Charles, raising his head.

   
Yes. Unmistakably there were footsteps coming upstairs.

   
"Quick, Miss Price." Carey pushed the broomstick into Miss Price's
unwilling hand. They helped her over the sill.

   
"Oh, dear," Miss Price muttered to herself as gingerly she clung to
the coping. "This is not the way to do things."
"I know," whispered Carey, giving Miss Price a little shove, "but
it can't be helped."
They watched Miss Price float slowly down; then they watched her pick up her
skirts and the broomstick and make for the shelter of the bushes. They drew
a sharp breath of relief as she reached cover, and then they turned-to face
the eyes of Elizabeth.

   
"Breakfast," said Elizabeth, standing in the doorway, "has been
on the table this half-hour-" She paused. Then her mouth fell open. She
was staring at the floor. Carey, looking downwards, saw a large black puddle
spreading slowly from the bed towards Elizabeth's feet. Elizabeth's eyes followed
the stream to its source. Her mouth opened wider, and her gaze traveled slowly
from the bed to the children. It took in their appearance from top to toe, the
smudged faces, the wet hair, the peeling noses, the torn pajamas clinging limply
to the sun-scorched limbs.