Free The Darke Toad by Angie Sage Page A

must say, I’m impressed. You’re not as utterly pathetic as you look.”
    The Witch Mother pointedly ignored Linda. She turned to Veronica and Daphne and said, “Unlike Linda. Who is as completely vile as she looks.”
    Daphne and Veronica laughed with delight. “Yeah. Vile!” they chorused.
    Linda was speechless with fury.
    The Witch Mother chuckled—she was back in control of her Coven. She held up the Darke Toad and smiled. A lump of white makeup fell onto DomDaniel’s head, once more atop a pile of bones. The Witch Mother stared down at the head. “No one will mess with us now,” she said. “Not even you .”
    DomDaniel hurled the worst Darke swear words possible at the departing Coven, but they took no notice as they followed the Witch Mother up the street, a line of mismatched chicks trailing after their mother hen.
    With gritted teeth Simon picked up the bones and put them into the wheelbarrow, carefully balancing the head on top while DomDaniel swore at him. Simon patted the horse’s nose and wondered whether he should let him go. He decided to leave the decision to the horse.
    â€œThunder,” he whispered—for that had been the name scrawled over the stable door—“you can follow me if you want to. It’s a long way, but I’ll look after you, I promise.” The horse pawed at the ground and sniffed the early morning air. The sun would soon rise, and he wanted to be off and away from the dark and cramped stable.
    As the night sky began to lighten, Fore Street echoed to the clip-clop , clip-clop of Thunder’s hooves and the plaintive eek-eek , eek-eek of a squeaky wheel as Simon pushed the wheelbarrow and its contents along the pavement. At the end of Fore Street the wheel fell off the barrow and DomDaniel’s head rolled onto the street. “Put me on the horse, you dithering idiot,” it snarled.
    Simon had had enough insults for the night. “All right,” he said. “I will .” In one seamless, angry movement, he threw off his cloak, caught the head and the UnClothed bones up into it, bundled them up into a ball and slung it onto the horse. Then he swung himself into the saddle and rode off toward the dawn, heading along the track that wound through the dunes and would take him across the Sheeplands, up into the Badlands and back to the dark, dank Observatory.
    From its new home on the doorknocker of the Port Witch Coven, the Darke Toad blinked and watched them go.
    Septimus and Marcia emerged from Fishguts Twist onto the deserted harbor front. A somber atmosphere hung over the harbor, and a few people were sitting mournfully on the harbor wall, staring at the dark water, thick with wreckage. The Harbor Master’s house was a blaze of lights as the surviving sailors bunked down for what remained of the night.
    Marcia closed the thick oak door of the Customs House with a quiet thunk . She and Septimus headed across the entrance hall and up the wide stone stairs to the guest quarters.
    â€œIt was very nice of you to reverse the witches’ Silent ,” said Septimus as Marcia Lit a nightlight and gave it to Septimus to take into his room.
    â€œNot as nice as you might think,” Marcia said, smiling.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œIt had a twenty-four-hour Think Speak on it.”
    Septimus laughed. “You mean they will have to say exactly what they are thinking for the next twenty-four hours?”
    â€œThey will indeed,” said Marcia. “That will make life rather interesting, I should imagine. Now, Septimus, off to bed. That’s enough excitement for one night.”
    Septimus yawned. He reckoned Marcia was right. “Good night,” he said. And then, “That boy … why did he run away from us? We were only trying to help him.”
    â€œI seem to remember another boy who wanted to run away, not so long ago,” said Marcia. “It took him a while to realize that I wanted