Eva Ibbotson - Not Just a Witch

He scooped some up, felt it between his fingers, put it to his nose. Not breadcrumbs. Goldfish food. He knew because the only pet his parents had allowed him to keep was a goldfish he’d won in a fair, and it had died almost at once because of fungus on its fins. And he knew too where the goldfish food came from: the corner pet shop, two streets away from his house. The old man who kept it made it himself; it had red flecks in it and always smelled very odd.

Daniel stood there and his forehead was almost as wrinkled as the little dog’s. For the pet shop had been sold a week ago to a queer-looking woman. Daniel had seen her moving about among the animals and talking to herself. She’d been quite alone, just the sort of woman who might snatch a baby to keep her company. He’d read about women like that taking babies from their prams while their mothers were inside a supermarket. The police usually caught them — they weren’t so much evil as crazy.

Daniel gave the puppy a last pat and went downstairs. Sumi was still asleep, one hand trailing over the side of the sofa. For a moment he wondered whether to wake her. Then he let himself very quietly out of the house and began to run.

He ran across the bridge, turned into Park Avenue where his house was, then plunged into the maze of small streets that led between the river and the market place. Sumi’s parents’ shop was in one of these, and close by, on the corner, was the pet shop.

Daniel had been inside it often when the old man owned it, but now he stood in front of it, badly out of breath and very frightened. It was dusk, the street-lamps had just been lit and he could see the notice above the door.

UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT, it said. PROPRIETOR; MISS H. TENBURY-SMITH.

There was no one downstairs; the blinds were drawn, but upstairs, he could see one lighted window.

Daniel put his hand up to ring the bell and dropped it again. His knees shook, his heart was pounding. Suddenly it seemed to him that he was quite mad coming here. If the woman in the shop had taken Basil, she was certainly not going to hand him over to a schoolboy. She was much more likely to kidnap him too or even murder him so that he couldn’t tell the police.

He was just turning away, ready to run for it, when the door suddenly opened and a woman stood in the hallway. She was tall with frizzy hair and looked brisk and eager like a hockey mistress in an old-fashioned girls’ school. And she was smiling!

‘Come in, come in,’ said Miss Tenbury-Smith. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

Daniel stared at her. ‘But how…’ he stammered. ‘I mean, I’ve come—’

‘I know why you’ve come, dear boy. You’ve come to thank me. How people can say that children nowadays are not polite, I cannot understand. I expect you’d like some tea?’

Quite stunned by all this, Daniel followed her through the dark shop, with its rustlings and squeakings, and up a narrow flight of stairs. Miss Tenbury-Smith’s flat was cosy. A gas fire hissed in the grate, there were pictures of middle-aged ladies in school blazers, and on the mantelpiece, a framed photograph with its face turned to the wall.

‘Unless you’d rather have fruit juice?’ she went on. And as Daniel continued to stare at her, ‘You’re admiring my dressing-gown. It’s pure batskin — a thousand bats went into its making. And in case you’re wondering — every single one of those bats died in its sleep . I would never, never wear the skin of an animal that had not passed away peacefully from old age. Never!’

But now Daniel felt he had to get to the point. ‘Actually, it’s about the Boothroyd baby that I’ve come,’ he said urgently.

‘Well, of course it is, dear boy. What else?’ said Miss Tenbury-Smith. ‘You’re quite certain that tea would suit you?’

‘Yes… tea would be fine. Only, please, Miss Tenbury-Smith, my friend is in such trouble. We’re babysitting and the Boothroyds are due back any minute and there’ll be such a row, so could you possibly give Basil back? Just this once?’

‘Give him back? Give him back ?’ Her voice had risen to an outraged squeak.

‘Well, you swapped him… didn’t you? You kidnapped him?’ But Daniel’s voice trailed away, suddenly uncertain.

Miss Tenbury-Smith put down the teapot. Her slightly protruding eyes had turned stony. Her eyebrows rose. ‘I… kidnapped … Basil Boothroyd?’ she repeated, stunned. Her long nose twitched and she looked very sad. ‘I was so sure we were going to be friends, Daniel,’ she said, and he looked up, amazed that she should know his name. ‘And now this!’ She sighed. ‘Now listen carefully. When you have kidnapped somebody you have got him. You agree with that? He is with you. He is part of your life.’

‘Yes.’

‘And would you imagine that a person in their right mind would want to have Basil? Even for five minutes? Or are you suggesting that I am not in my right mind?’

‘No… no… But—’

‘I came to Wellbridge to Do Good, Daniel. It’s my mission in life to make the world a better place.’ She tapped the side of her long nose. ‘It hurts, you know, to be misunderstood.’

‘So you didn’t swap Basil for the little dog?’

‘Swapped him? Of course I didn’t swap him. Oh, I had so hoped that you would be my friend. I’m really very fond of boys with thin faces and big eyes. Some people would say your ears are on the large side, but personally I like large ears. But I can’t be doing with a friend who is stupid.’

‘I want to be your friend,’ said Daniel, who did indeed want it very much. ‘But I don’t understand. You’re… Are you…? Yes, of course; I see. You’re a witch!’

Miss Tenbury-Smith began to pour out the tea, but she had forgotten the tea-bags.

‘Well, I’m glad you see something,’ she said. ‘But the point is, I’m not just a witch; I’m a witch who means to make the world a better place. Now let me ask you a question. Have you ever seen a kangaroo throwing a bomb into a supermarket, killing little children?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Good. Have you ever seen an anteater hijack an aeroplane?’

‘No.’

‘Or a hamster go round knocking old ladies on the head and stealing their handbags? Have you ever seen a coshing hamster?’

‘No.’

‘Exactly. It’s very simple. Animals are not wicked. It is people who are wicked. So you might think wicked people should be killed.’

‘Yes… I suppose so.’

‘However, killing is bad. It is wicked. And I’m not a wicked witch, I’m a good witch. And I do good by turning wicked people into animals.’

She leant back, pleased with herself, and took a sip of hot water.

Daniel stared at her. ‘You mean… you changed Basil into a dog? Into that lovely dog?’

‘Yes, I did. I’m so glad you liked it. I adore bulldogs; the way they snuffle and snort, and those deep chests. When you take a bulldog on a ship, you have to face them upwind because their noses are so flat. It’s the only way they can breathe. Of course, when I changed that dreadful baby, I was just limbering up. Wellbridge is a little damp, being so low-lying, and I wasn’t sure how it would affect my Knuckle of Power.’ She stuck out her left hand and showed him a purple swelling on the joint. ‘If you get rheumatism on your knuckle it can make things very tricky. But it all went like a dream. I really did it for that pretty friend of yours — so polite, and such a nice shop her parents keep with everything higgledy-piggledy, not like those boring supermarkets. Poor children, I thought, they’re going to have such a horrible evening.’

‘Yes, but you see it’s going to be much more horrible if the Boothroyds come and find Basil gone. There’ll be such trouble. So, please, could you change Basil back? If you can?’