01 - Pongwiffy a Witch of Dirty Habits (3 page)

Rumour had it that Dudley spent one of his nine lives as ship’s cat on a
pirate ship. This would account for the eyepatch he wore, and his habit
of growling strange, piratical sayings. Everybody was terrified of Dudley, except
Sharkadder who loved him dearly. Right now he was asleep on the hearth rug,
claws flexing as he dreamed of chasing rats in the hold and wailing sea chanties
under a tropical moon.

Pongwiffy hastily crammed the last three mustard creams into her mouth and
wondered whether Sharkadder would notice if she cut herself a piece of that
delicious looking fungus sponge hidden on the top shelf. Before she could
decide, she heard Sharkadder’s footsteps hurrying down the path. Hastily she
scuttled back to the table and re-positioned herself, humming a casual little
hum.

In came Sharkadder with the Daily Miracle under her arm. She glanced
disapprovingly at the pool of spilt bogwater, crumbs, broken egg shells and
other assorted droppings at Pongwiffy’s feet, and signalled to her Broom. It
leaped to attention and briskly proceeded to sweep the mess under the rug,
giving Pongwiffy’s ankles several sharp raps in the process.

Pongwiffy’s own Broom came hurrying up to join in. This cleaning business was
quite a novelty. Normally, it never did a thing between flights except sleep.
Pongwiffy briskly kicked it back into the corner. If there was one thing that
annoyed her, it was a domesticated Broom.

Sharkadder tutted and opened the windows to let in some fresh air. Fond as
she was of her friend, there was no denying that Pongwiffy’s odour tended to get
a bit overpowering at times. She cleared a space in the breakfast debris and
spread out the newspaper, running a finger down the FOR SALE column.

“Now then, let’s see. Here’s one:
Igloo. North Pole. Apply Yeti,
Greenland.”

“Too far,” said Pongwiffy firmly. “Too cold.”

“Hm. All right, what about this?
Pretty little cottage with roses round
door. All clean and spanky shiny. Lovely views.”

“Yuck. Sounds awful,” shuddered Pongwiffy.

“Here’s another one, then:
Cave. Goblin territory. No ceiling. Otherwise
perfect.”

“That’s where I’ve just come from! No thanks.”

“Well, that’s all there is today. Oh, wait a minute, this sounds interesting.
Listen:
Tree house for sale. Own landing platform. Ideal for high flying
witches. Every mod. con.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Really, don’t you know anything? Modern Contraptions, of course,” said
Sharkadder, who was a bit of a know-all at times. “It sounds ideal,” she
continued. “We’ll go and take a look right away.”

“What—now?” bleated Pongwiffy, eyeing the toaster sadly.

“Certainly. We must strike while the iron is hot,” replied Sharkadder, and
bustled away to put on her lipstick.

By the time Pongwiffy had exchanged her filthy old dressing gown for her
filthy old cardigan and chased the spiders from her hat, the iron had cooled
considerably—but they went anyway.

“I don’t like it,” muttered Pongwiffy, eyeing the distant tree house
doubtfully. It looked very high up indeed, and Pongwiffy is one of those Witches
who can only stand heights if there’s a Broomstick clamped firmly between her
knees.

“Nonsense. You can’t even see it from down here,” said Sharkadder.

“That’s what I mean. It’s too high. I wish I had my Broom.” Pongwiffy hadn’t
been able to persuade her Broom to come. It had become friendly with
Sharkadder’s, and wanted to stay behind and help sweep up. When Pongwiffy
argued, it merely swept away and returned with a copy of the Coven Rule Book,
pointing a bristle at the rule which said, “Daytime flying on Broomsticks is
strictly forbidden.”

“Well, you haven’t, and that’s that,” snapped Sharkadder. She was beginning
to suspect that Pongwiffy had no intention of leaving—ever. Which was true.
Pongwiffy enjoyed the breakfasts too much. “You’ll just have to climb the rope
ladder, same as anyone else,” she added.

“Can I borrow your Wand?” asked Pongwiffy hopefully. Hers was still in a
state of trauma after trying, unsuccessfully, to cancel out Wizard Magic.

“Certainly not!” Sharkadder was shocked at the request. Wands are not to be
used lightly. Serious Magic is what they are intended for, and planting lazy
Witches in tree tops could not be considered as Serious. Besides, they weren’t
supposed to borrow Wands. It was against The Rules, like daytime flying of
Broomsticks.

“You go first, then,” said Pongwiffy.

“No,” said Sharkadder, who didn’t like the look of the rope ladder either.
“No, I’ll spoil my make-up. I’ll stay down here and catch you if you
fall.”

“Thanks very much,” Pongwiffy snapped, nastily.

“Not at all,” snapped back Sharkadder, even more nastily, and made a note to
break friends as soon as Pongwiffy was settled.

Swallowing hard, Pongwiffy caught hold of the flimsy ladder, and set her foot
on the bottom rung. It swayed alarmingly.

“What’s the matter? Scared?” jeered Sharkadder, seeing her hesitate.

“Who, me? Certainly not,” said Pongwiffy, and started up the lower rungs at a
bold run.

She had only scrambled some ten feet when she began to slow down. She already
sensed that she was unnaturally high. The air felt colder already. A chilly gust
of wind blew up her cardigan, and she gripped the thin ropes more firmly.

“How much further?” she called down, not liking to look up.

“Lots,” came Sharkadder’s voice from below. She sounded shockingly far away.
“Keep going, you’ve hardly started!” Pongwiffy gulped and forced herself to move
on up. Her knees scraped on the tree trunk as she climbed, bits of moss and tree
bark fell in her eyes and her cardigan kept getting hooked up on the smaller
branches.

A fat wood pigeon flew past her head, staring in puzzlement before flying
away. Pongwiffy risked a glance up. The tree house seemed even further away now
than it did from the ground.

“Hurry up!” called Sharkadder. “I can’t wait all day, I’ve got important
things to do!”

Her voice rang with a worrying new echo. Pongwiffy looked down, and trembled
at what she saw. Sharkadder had turned into a midget. From this angle, her body
had disappeared, and only her small, upturned white face with the slash of green
lipstick could be seen.

Pongwiffy’s hat fell off, and she stifled a squawk as she watched it drop
dizzyingly through space. Her arms ached, her stomach churned, and she felt sure
she was catching a cold. The wind blew stronger, and a hoarse cooing filled the
air. The wood pigeon had returned with a gang of friends in order to watch her
ordeal. They settled on the outlying branches of the tree and watched with keen
interest as Pongwiffy hoisted herself still higher.

“Mustn’t look down. Mustn’t look down,” Pongwiffy mumbled through dry lips as
the wind dragged at her rags. The tree, which looked so stout from the ground,
suddenly felt very unstable, as though it might topple over at any minute.

“Yoo—hoo! Pong!” Sharkadder’s voice floated up. It might be important.
Perhaps she was trying to warn Pongwiffy of some hazard she hadn’t yet seen.
Unwillingly, Pongwiffy looked down.

“I’ve got your hat, Pong! It’s quite safe!” called Sharkadder, waving it
merrily. Pongwiffy nearly wept.

“You’re nearly there now. Keep going!”

Pongwiffy was now so high that it was hard to make out Sharkadder’s words.
Snivelling, she dragged herself up a few more rungs while the posse of wood
pigeons sniggered unsympathetically. One of them took off, hovered just above
her head and dropped something rather unkind on her shoulder. The rest thought
that was hysterically funny. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Pongwiffy.

All too aware that she was running out of steam, she looked up. To her
relief, Sharkadder was right. She had nearly gained the top rung. The sturdy
tree house platform was only another few feet away. Desperately, she clawed at
the ropes. One step… two steps… three… nearly there… almost… another rung…

“BOO!” said a voice. Inches away was the grinning face of a small green Tree
Demon. It was crouched on all fours, looking down over the platform edge. In its
hand was a sharp knife. Pongwiffy very,
very
nearly let go with the
shock—but not quite.

“What d’you want, Witch?” hissed the Tree Demon, waving the knife.

“A rest,” said Pongwiffy.

“Not a chance. Not in my house. I don’t like Witches.”

“What do you mean,
your
house? This isn’t
your
house. It’s for sale.”

“Not anymore it ain’t. Bought it this morning. Paid a deposit. Early Tree
Demon gets the worm, eh? Now, if you’d just move your hand a bit…”

And so saying, the Tree Demon took its sharp knife and cut through the rope
ladder.

* * *

There was silence over the breakfast table the following morning. Sharkadder
was daintily sipping her newt juice and picking at a plateful of scrambled ant
eggs. Pongwiffy had her right arm in a sling, and was staring gloomily at the
stale crust which had been set before her. The standard of breakfast was
definitely declining.

There was no doubt about it—she had outstayed her welcome. Sullenness hung in
the air like a cloud. Dead Eye Dudley was sitting with his back to everybody,
and even the Brooms were sulking. Pongwiffy had lectured hers at great length
about its refusal to leave the house the previous day, never mind The Rules—who
was the boss round there anyway—and Sharkadder’s had come out in sympathy. At
length, Pongwiffy broke the silence. Somebody had to.

“Are we going to look at any more houses today, then?”

Sharkadder shrugged. “You are. I’m not.
Hours
we wasted at the Witch
doctor’s yesterday. All for a little bruise on your elbow. You made me late back
for Dudley’s tea.”

“Oh dear! Did I? Did I
really?
What about you, then? You almost had me
killed! Call yourself a friend.”

“What are you complaining about? I saved you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, when I was about two inches from the ground!”

“I keep telling you, I only remembered the spell at the last minute. Wish I
hadn’t remembered it at all now. Here.” Sharkadder threw the Daily Miracle at
Pongwiffy. “Look for yourself. I’m tired of doing all the work.”

Pongwiffy, without looking, declared that she didn’t like the sound of any of
them. Sharkadder pointed out that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Pongwiffy said
that her arm still hurt and she couldn’t be bothered. Sharkadder remarked that
she had better be bothered.

“Because,” she said spitefully. “Because you’re not staying with me any
longer.”

Pongwiffy scowled. Things were heading for a crisis. She picked at her piece
of dry bread and hummed mournfully to herself. Sharkadder finished her breakfast
in silence, cleared away, painted her face, put on her hat and went out
shopping. When she came back, Pongwiffy was slumped in the same position,
looking forlorn and pulling threads from her sling.

Sharkadder cooked lunch and ate the lot in full view of Pongwiffy, who looked
even sadder. Finally, Sharkadder could bear it no longer.

“All right!” she screamed. “All right! I’ll come with you, just this once!
Anything to get rid of you. But I claim the right to break friends first
thing tomorrow morning. And that’s when you go, Pongwiffy, whether you’ve found a
house or not. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Pongwiffy sniffily. “Never liked you much anyway.”

* * *

What an awful day they had. They tried every single place that the Daily
Miracle had to offer. They saw warrens, lairs and holes in the ground. They
trailed through caverns, caves and cowsheds. They inspected a log cabin, a
caravan and even a wigwam. They trooped tiredly around sheds, shacks and
shanties. None of them, for one reason or another, was quite right. In
desperation, Pongwiffy even agreed to look over the pretty little cottage with
the lovely views. It was every bit as charming as the advertisement said it was.
Pongwiffy loathed it.

The moon was beginning to rise as they wended their way back to Sharkadder’s
place. They were quarrelling loudly.

“I’ve never known such a fuss-pot,” Sharkadder yelled.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t like any of them,” Pongwiffy yelled back.

“Well, just don’t blame me when you’re homeless tomorrow.”

“Certainly I shall blame you. How you could throw out a homeless friend with
a bad arm I just don’t know.”

“I’m not throwing a friend out. I’m throwing
you
out.”

“I thought we weren’t breaking friends till tomorrow,” muttered Pongwiffy.

“That’s when I’m throwing you out!”

“How you could throw out a homeless friend with a bad arm I just don’t
know…”

And so on.

Suddenly, Pongwiffy stopped and sniffed. Sharkadder went marching on in a
very bad temper indeed.