now, before I call the Punchinello Guards.”
Haxxentrot gave a throaty cackle. “I am done here, my pretty pie-giver,” she said. “Here is the magickal gift thou didst demand of Haxxentrot.”
She held out her aged hands and presented the tambourine. Columbine stared down at it.
“It cannot be!” the girl exclaimed.
“And yet thine own eyes say it is so,” the witch replied. “They tell no lies this time.”
In the centre of the drumhead, where moments ago there had been only blank parchment, there was now a human ear. The two were fused together, with no visible seam. The ear was no longer black and shrivelled, but the same hue as the stretched skin to which it had been joined.
“What have you done?” Columbine breathed. “And why?”
“Sir Lucius Pandemian was the last to hear Deathknelly’s strident voice,” Haxxentrot told her. “Just as the final image is retained in the eyes after death, so the din of the great bell was locked inside his ears.”
She waggled the tambourine experimentally and looked very pleased with herself. “To thee and me, ’tis but a harmless jingle,” she said. “But shake this timbrel when the Jockey comes a-leching and the thunderous voice of Deathknelly shalt awake and resound in his head, for it is bonded to him by blood. One shake will send him reeling and yowling from thy presence. Another will cause his own ears to gush as freely as the fountains in the Queen of Hearts’ garden. One more and his oafish head will crack likea hen’s egg and the yoke of his brains shalt bubble forth. So, child, is this not a most marvellous recompense for pie and cheese? What say thou? Art thou not most adequately repaid for thy kindness to Granny Oakwright?”
Columbine received the instrument in amazement. She was too stunned to know what to say.
Haxxentrot nodded with pride and rubbed her bony hands together.
“You have saved me,” the girl cried at last. “He will never get close enough to touch me again!”
She was so delighted she capered around, smacking the tambourine against her hips and over her head.
“Be certain to keep the timbrel with thee always,” the witch cautioned. “Do not let it stray out of arm’s reach or thou shalt suffer the consequences.”
Columbine swore she would carry it with her wherever she went.
“Let me help you on with your pack,” the girl offered.
Haxxentrot refused. “No more kindnesses!” she said. “Or I shalt be obliged to thee for another gift, ye greedy girl. Dost thou truly…”
Her voice trailed off. She was staring into the far corner, where the salt had leaked freely over the floor.
“Mistress Slab will be in such a rage!” Columbine cried when she saw the mess. “Its value is great! I must sweep it into another sack and hope she…”
The witch grabbed at her arm. “Hold, child!” she snapped. “Canst thou not see? What marks are those?”
Then Columbine noticed the shapes sunken into the spilt salt.
“They are footprints,” she murmured in astonishment.
“Just so,” Haxxentrot said. “Yet neither of us hath ventured thither this whole while.”
The girl turned a frightened face to her. “Then what made them?” she asked.
“’Twould seem the mouse I heard was no mouse. There is an eavesdropper here. A trespasser who veils himself from our eyes.”
“But who in Mooncaster can do such a thing? Is this some new tormentof the Bad Shepherd? Is he here now? Are we to be butchered and slain?”
“That is what I shalt discover!” the witch declared. “Jub! Crik! Rott! Hak! Jump out! Hunt down the unseen spy!”
The lid of the basket flew up and the four Bogey Boys leaped out.
“Arm thyselves with knife and skewer!” the witch commanded. “Sniff out the shadow-wrapped sneak. Bring it down! Kill it!”
The Bogey Boys gave frenzied yells and dashed about the kitchen, snatching up weapons. Then they began questing the air and, one by one, their yellow eyes turned towards the pantry
Haxxentrot gave a throaty cackle. “I am done here, my pretty pie-giver,” she said. “Here is the magickal gift thou didst demand of Haxxentrot.”
She held out her aged hands and presented the tambourine. Columbine stared down at it.
“It cannot be!” the girl exclaimed.
“And yet thine own eyes say it is so,” the witch replied. “They tell no lies this time.”
In the centre of the drumhead, where moments ago there had been only blank parchment, there was now a human ear. The two were fused together, with no visible seam. The ear was no longer black and shrivelled, but the same hue as the stretched skin to which it had been joined.
“What have you done?” Columbine breathed. “And why?”
“Sir Lucius Pandemian was the last to hear Deathknelly’s strident voice,” Haxxentrot told her. “Just as the final image is retained in the eyes after death, so the din of the great bell was locked inside his ears.”
She waggled the tambourine experimentally and looked very pleased with herself. “To thee and me, ’tis but a harmless jingle,” she said. “But shake this timbrel when the Jockey comes a-leching and the thunderous voice of Deathknelly shalt awake and resound in his head, for it is bonded to him by blood. One shake will send him reeling and yowling from thy presence. Another will cause his own ears to gush as freely as the fountains in the Queen of Hearts’ garden. One more and his oafish head will crack likea hen’s egg and the yoke of his brains shalt bubble forth. So, child, is this not a most marvellous recompense for pie and cheese? What say thou? Art thou not most adequately repaid for thy kindness to Granny Oakwright?”
Columbine received the instrument in amazement. She was too stunned to know what to say.
Haxxentrot nodded with pride and rubbed her bony hands together.
“You have saved me,” the girl cried at last. “He will never get close enough to touch me again!”
She was so delighted she capered around, smacking the tambourine against her hips and over her head.
“Be certain to keep the timbrel with thee always,” the witch cautioned. “Do not let it stray out of arm’s reach or thou shalt suffer the consequences.”
Columbine swore she would carry it with her wherever she went.
“Let me help you on with your pack,” the girl offered.
Haxxentrot refused. “No more kindnesses!” she said. “Or I shalt be obliged to thee for another gift, ye greedy girl. Dost thou truly…”
Her voice trailed off. She was staring into the far corner, where the salt had leaked freely over the floor.
“Mistress Slab will be in such a rage!” Columbine cried when she saw the mess. “Its value is great! I must sweep it into another sack and hope she…”
The witch grabbed at her arm. “Hold, child!” she snapped. “Canst thou not see? What marks are those?”
Then Columbine noticed the shapes sunken into the spilt salt.
“They are footprints,” she murmured in astonishment.
“Just so,” Haxxentrot said. “Yet neither of us hath ventured thither this whole while.”
The girl turned a frightened face to her. “Then what made them?” she asked.
“’Twould seem the mouse I heard was no mouse. There is an eavesdropper here. A trespasser who veils himself from our eyes.”
“But who in Mooncaster can do such a thing? Is this some new tormentof the Bad Shepherd? Is he here now? Are we to be butchered and slain?”
“That is what I shalt discover!” the witch declared. “Jub! Crik! Rott! Hak! Jump out! Hunt down the unseen spy!”
The lid of the basket flew up and the four Bogey Boys leaped out.
“Arm thyselves with knife and skewer!” the witch commanded. “Sniff out the shadow-wrapped sneak. Bring it down! Kill it!”
The Bogey Boys gave frenzied yells and dashed about the kitchen, snatching up weapons. Then they began questing the air and, one by one, their yellow eyes turned towards the pantry
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