01 - Pongwiffy a Witch of Dirty Habits (5 page)

Pongwiffy stretched out a bony finger, then snatched it back hastily,
unprepared for the sudden transformation. Hugo had shot to his feet, back
arched and fur bristling. His lips were curled back in a snarl, exposing rows
of wicked-looking little teeth, and a deep growl rumbled and throbbed in his
small throat. If he had had a tail to speak of, it would have lashed. He didn’t,
so instead he lashed his whiskers. He was indeed an awesome sight. Pongwiffy eyed
him uneasily. After a moment, he gave a little shake, his fur flattened, his
whiskers subsided, and he sat down and scratched his left ear with his right
hind leg. Pongwiffy wondered if she had imagined it.

“You ’ave sumpsink to eat?” he asked. “Little bit of carrot? Apple, maybe? I
come a long vay from ’ome.”

“No,” said Pongwiffy. “Go away. The interview’s over.”

“Ow can zis be? You ’ave not asked me questions.”

Pongwiffy sighed. It was getting late, and she still hadn’t had her supper.
This pushy Hamster was beginning to get on her nerves.

“Now listen,” she snapped. “Put yourself in my place—er…”

“’Ugo. Viz an H.”

“Yes, yes, whatever your silly name is. Now, how do you think it would look
if I turned up at the next Sabbat with you in tow? I’d die of embarrassment. All
the others will be there with their Familiars…”

“Uzzers? Vat uzzers?”

“The other Witches in the Coven. Thirteen of us, including me. That’s the
right number for a Coven, you know.”

“Tell me about zem,” said Hugo, sounding interested.

“Well now, there’s Grandwitch Sourmuddle, of course, she’s Mistress of the
Coven. Her Familiar’s a Demon, name of Snoop. Then there’s Sharkadder, my best
friend, she’s got Dead Eye Dudley. Cats are always popular as Familiars.
Agglebag and Bagaggle—that’s the twins—they’ve got Cats too, Siamese ones,
IdentiKit and CopiCat. Witch Macabre, she’s got that hideous Haggis creature,
Rory. Bendyshanks, now, she’s got a Snake, and Gaga—well, she’s Bats, of course.
Sludgegooey’s got this Fiend called Filth, he plays the drums, you know. Then
there’s Bonidle, she’s got a Sloth. Scrofula’s got a Vulture, Greymatter’s got
an Owl, and Ratsnappy’s got a Rat. I think that’s everybody.”

“Except you. You ’ave nussink.”

“Yes, and I’d sooner have nussink than a Hamster, thanks very much. The very
idea!”

“Ah. But me, I am not just any ’amster.”

“All Hamsters are the same to me, kiddo. Now off you go, there’s a good
little chap. You’ve wasted enough of my time. Run away and be somebody’s pet.”

EEEEEEAAAAAOOOOERRGROO!!

A piercing scream of anguish shattered the peace of the night. Twirling
around on the spot, Pongwiffy clamped her hand to her left earlobe, which had
developed a sharp, agonising pain. It was the sort of pain you might get if a
small Hamster was attached by its teeth to your ear. That sort of pain.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!” gasped Pongwiffy in breathless little screams, hopping
on the spot and flapping vainly at the small dangling bundle of fur just outside
her vision. “Ah, ah, AH! LEGGO! GERROFF! GERROFF!”

Hugo hung on.

“LEGGO, I say! LET GO, OR I’LL PUT YOU THROUGH THE MINCER! I WILL, I’M
WARNING YOUUUUUUUU…”

Hugo hung on.

“DO YOU WANT TO BE A HAMSTER-BURGER? DO YOU? AH, AH, AH, AH!” Pongwiffy
danced around, braying piteously through gritted teeth.

Hugo hung on.

“Please!” whimpered Pongwiffy, changing tack, begging now. “Let go and I’ll
give you crumbs! Hundreds of ’em. I’ll give you an apple core, promise!
PROMISE!”

Hugo hung on.

Pongwiffy danced around the room a bit more. The Toad-in-the-Hole clapped,
enjoying her performance.

“I’LL PUT A SPELL ON YOU! I WILL! JUST YOU WAIT!” raged Pongwiffy, and
searched her brains for a spell to dislodge Hamsters from earlobes. The search
was in vain. Her brain was empty of all but one word. The word said PAIN.

“What is it you want? What? WHAT?” snivelled Pongwiffy with tears in her
eyes.

“Trial,” said Hugo, as distinctly as he could through a mouthful of earlobe.
“Proper trial. Zen you decide if I goot or not.”

“All right, all
right!
You’ve got it! Pax! I give in.”

To her intense relief, Hugo’s jaws unclenched and he plopped lightly on to
her shoulder.

“So sorry,” he said politely, then scuttled down her arm and jumped to the
floor where he nosed about looking for more crumbs.

Pongwiffy leapt to the sink and began dabbing at her smarting ear with a
dirty rag. Her cheeks were flushed with the shame of it. She was glad there had
been no witnesses. She wouldn’t like it spread about that Pongwiffy had been
attacked by a crazed Hamster. She didn’t count the Toad. She should have. He
spread it around something shocking when he recovered from his ordeal some time
later.

Meanwhile, Hugo went snuffling about beneath the piles of broken crockery,
stuffing his pouches with any food he could find.

The Toad took advantage of the situation, escaping through a crack in the door
and hopping off into the night leaving small puddles of batter.

“Blackmail. Blackmailed by a Hamster!” snarled Pongwiffy, dabbing at the
teeth marks.

“Ya,” agreed Hugo cheerfully, emerging from beneath a cracked plate with a
blackened toast crust in his paw. “But is your own fault. You say zat vord I no
like.”

“What word?”

“Pet. ’Ugo is not Pet. Let me tell you sumsink.” Hugo settled himself
comfortably on the rug in front of the fire and gnawed at the toast as he
talked.

“Vere I come from, all ze ’amsters is pets. Ze ’ole of mine family become ze
pets. Bruzzers, sisters, muzzer, fazzer, pets, pets, all of zem pets. Is
disgrace. Make me mad.”

“Where do you come from?” asked Pongwiffy curiously.

“Amsterdam. Vere you sink? Anyway, all my family are livink in ze cage,
running around on ze stupid veel all day. Vat a life. Sometimes zey get taken out
for cuddle. Not me. Zey try to cuddle me, zey get bite, no problem. I not pet
material.”

“You can say that again,” muttered Pongwiffy, searching for a tube of Instant
Cure-All.

“So, I make plans,” continued Hugo. “I vork on ze muscles, plenty nuts,
push-ups, vork-outs on ze veel, you know. Zen, von night, I am strong. Bend back
bars and set out to seek ze fortune. I ’ave many adventures. You vant to ’ear?”

“No,” said Pongwiffy sulkily, still rummaging. “I am in great pain.”

“Is goot story. You vill like. Ze Champion ’Amster escapes from ze cage to
fight for ze Great Cause.”

“What Great Cause?”

“’Amsters Are Angry.”

“Are they? I can’t say I’ve noticed.”

“Zey vill be. Soon as zey ’ear about ze missed job opportunities.”

“What job opportunities?”

“Vitch Familiar.”

“Now look. About that…”

“Look, I vant no arguments, okay? I ’ave—ow you say—set my ’eart on it. Trial
is agreed. Tell me about ze job.”

Pongwiffy sighed. She had just noticed that her supper was missing its vital
ingredient, her ear hurt, the Instant Cure-All was missing and she was too tired
to argue anymore.

“Oh—all right. If I must. Well, you’ll have to help me with my spells, of
course. And run messages. Bit of spying, that sort of thing. Telling on people.”

“Vonderful!” said Hugo enthusiastically. “’Ugo like to squeal.”

“But I’m only trying you out, mind. And you’ll have to do exactly as I say.
You’re not at all what I had in mind, you know.”

“You not ’ave big choice. I ze only applicant, ya?”

“Ah,” replied Pongwiffy. “But I expect loads will turn up tomorrow.”

“Zat I doubt,” said Hugo. “You are most smelly, if you don’t mind me
mentionink it.”

“Not at all. Thanks,” said Pongwiffy, flattered.

“Vat I call you? Pong?”

“Certainly not. That’s much too over-familiar for a Familiar. You’re not much
more than a servant really, you know. You must call me O Mistress.”

“Okay,” agreed Hugo cheerfully. “Now. Vere I am goink to sleep, O Mistress?”

“How should I know? Somewhere where I’ll step on you when I get out of bed
tomorrow morning,” said Pongwiffy spitefully.

Secretly, though, she rather liked being called O Mistress. It had a certain
ring to it.

Hugo’s Trial was, to Pongwiffy’s surprise, not as big a trial as she thought
it was going to be. He made himself useful in a dozen different ways, and didn’t
take up much room. He took to Magic like a duck takes to water, having a good
nose for where to find the right ingredients and shouting encouraging, admiring
things like, “Ya! Zat vas a corker, zat vas!” when Pongwiffy conjured up pink
explosions in the air or turned herself into a jar of Marmite. He was thrilled
with the simplest spells, and Making Magic was more fun, somehow, when he was
around.

Pongwiffy found herself beginning to enjoy his company in the evenings. He
was a born story-teller—some might say fibber—and would entertain her for hours
with his tales of Ze Escape From Ze Cage, Ze Fight Viz Ze Mountain Lion, Ze
Voyage Around Ze Cape Of Death, and so on. In fact, by the end of the week, she
had grown rather attached to him and found herself thinking that Hamsters made
rather good Familiars, if Hugo was anything to go by.

However, there was one very big problem. How was she going to explain him to
the other Witches? Imagine confessing to having a Hamster as a Familiar. It
didn’t bear thinking about.

She rather hoped that Hugo wouldn’t insist on coming to the monthly Sabbat
which was to be held next Friday night on Crag Hill. She worried about it all
week, then came up with a plan. The plan was to Sneak Out Very Quietly. It might
have worked too, except that Hugo Sneaked first. He had crept into her hat,
rightly suspecting foul play. He was so small and light that Pongwiffy didn’t
even feel him sitting on her head.

Congratulating herself, she mounted her Broom and rode through the night,
chuckling as she thought of Hugo curled up fast asleep in the tea cosy he used
for a bed. She could stop worrying about the problem for another month. By then,
maybe she would have thought of something.

After a long, chilly ride, Crag Hill loomed before her. Pongwiffy zoomed in
and left her Broom gossiping with the others in the Broom park.

“Ve ’ave touched down?” demanded a familiar voice, close to her ear. “Vat
’appens now?”

Pongwiffy nearly collapsed with the shock. She snatched off her tall hat and
peered into the gloomy depths. Hugo’s beady little eyes gazed up, full of
excitement.

“Who said you could come?” she hissed furiously. “Did I say you could come?
Did I? Did I say…”

“Yoo hoo! Is that you, Pong?” That was Sharkadder.

Pongwiffy hastily rammed her hat back on.

“Stay in there and keep quiet,” she snapped. “Or else!”

“Ven I get introduced?”

“Never. Later. Maybe. We’ll see. Now SHHHH.” To her relief, Hugo shushed.
Pongwiffy walked through the trees and went to join Sharkadder, who was roasting
beetles in the embers of a merrily blazing bonfire.

Nearby, the Witches Sludgegooey and Bendyshanks were busily making sandwiches
and setting them out on trestle tables. There was a choice of three
fillings—spiderspread, frog paste or fleas and pickle. Gaga, as usual, was
hanging upside-down from a tree with her Bats, who lined the branches like rows
of old black socks. Scrofula and Ratsnappy were swapping knitting patterns,
Bonidle was asleep, and Grey, matter was composing a poem and sipping
thoughtfully from a glass of dirty pond water. That only left Grandwitch
Sourmuddle, Agglebag and Bagaggle, and Macabre to be accounted for—but they were
always the last to arrive.

Elsewhere, the Familiars were chatting in little groups. Scrofula’s Vulture
was talking about a personal problem to Filth the Fiend, who was tapping out
drum rhythms on a tree stump with his eyes closed, not really paying attention.
Bonidle’s Sloth was slumped in a pile of leaves, snoring every bit as loudly as
his mistress. He didn’t have a name—Bonidle couldn’t be bothered to give him
one—and the Sloth was too apathetic to even care.

Seething Steve, a small grass snake and Bendyshank’s Familiar, was
moonbathing on a rock, pretending not to care that he wasn’t poisonous.
Greymatter’s Owl, whose name was Speks and who was intelligent was talking to
Ratsnappy’s Rat, whose name was Vernon and who wasn’t. He was good at mazes,
though.

“Hello, Pong. Have a beetle,” said Sharkadder gaily. She was dressed up to
the nines in her smartest rags. She was wearing her greenest lipstick and her
longest spiderleg false eyelashes. Squiggly strands of greasy hair hung like
potato peelings down her back. She had evidently been at the hedgehogs again.

Dead Eye Dudley lounged at her feet, flicking his tail and giving everyone
dirty looks out of his single yellow eye. He spat rudely as Pongwiffy approached,
then wandered off to strike fear into the hearts of his fellow Familiars, who
buttered him up and called him Cap’n.

“Now then, Pong,” said Sharkadder. “Tell me. Did you get a lot of replies to
our advertisement?”

“Er… well, not a
lot
,” said Pongwiffy uncomfortably. “Actually.”

“How many?” pressed Sharkadder.

“One,” said Pongwiffy. “Actually.” She felt Hugo stir eagerly under her hat.

“Well? Did you hire it?”

“No,” said Pongwiffy, and came out in green spots. This always happened when
she told fibs. Just as well, or she’d tell them all the time.

“Well—it’s sort of on trial. Actually,” she amended hastily, and the spots
died down.

“Did you bring it with you?”

“No. OUCH!” The green spots reappeared, and Pongwiffy did an odd little hop
as Hugo gave her a warning nip. “I mean yes.”

Sharkadder stared curiously, and Pongwiffy pretended she was trying out a new
dance step.