Free Witch Week by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

concert, and Brian had unwisely agreed. Everyone else knew that it was Simon’s right to sing solo.
    This meant that hitting Brian would be sucking up to Simon. That Charles would not do. He went back to his desperate wonderings. There was no way of keeping Mr. Wentworth’s disappearance secret that he could see. But there was quite a chance that no one would realize Charles had done it. So, if only he could think of some surefire way of stopping himself working magic by accident—that was it! Sure fire. It hurts to be burned.
    Charles got out of bed. He unhooked his glasses from his bedrail, hooked them on his ears, and thumped across to the flurry of pillows.
    “Can I borrow the emergency candle for five minutes?” he said loudly to Simon.
    Simon of course was dormitory monitor. He paused in belaboring Brian and became official. “The candle’s only for emergencies. What do you want it for?”
    “You’ll see if you give it to me,” said Charles.
    Simon hesitated, torn between curiosity and his usual desire never to give anyone anything. “You’ll have to tell me what you want it for first. I can’t let you have it for no reason.”
    “I’m not going to tell you,” said Charles. “Just give it to me.”
    Simon considered. Long experience of Charles Morgan had shown him that when Charles said he was not going to tell, nothing would make him tell, not pillows or even wild horses. His curiosity, as Charles had hoped, was thoroughly aroused. “If I give it to you,” he said righteously, “I shall be breaking the rules. You owe me compensation for risking getting into trouble, you know.”
    This was only to be expected. “What do you want?” said Charles.
    Simon smiled graciously, wondering how great Charles’s need was. “Your pocket money every week for the rest of term,” he said. “How about that?”
    “Too much,” said Charles.
    Simon turned away and picked up his pillow again. “Take it or leave it,” he said. “That’s my final offer.”
    “I’ll take it,” said Charles, hating Simon.
    Simon turned back to him in astonishment. He had expected Charles either to protest or give up asking. His friends stared at Charles, equally astonished. In fact, by this time, nobody was hitting Brian anymore. Here was something really odd going on. Even Brian was staring at Charles. How could anyone want a candle that much? “Very well,” Simon said. “I’ll accept your offer, Charles. But remember you promised in front of witnesses. You’d better pay up.”
    “I’ll pay up,” said Charles. “Every week when Mr. Crossley gives us our money. Now give me the candle.”
    Simon, with busy efficiency, fetched his key ring from his blazer and unlocked the cupboard on the wall where the first-aid kit and the candle were kept. If a miracle happened, Charles thought, and the inquisitors did not come for him after all, he had put himself in a true mess now. No pocket money until Christmas. That meant he could not pay for new running shoes. He would have to write five hundred lines every day for Mr. Towers. But he did not really believe he would be around to do that very long. Everyone said the inquisitors found witches whatever they did.
    Simon put the candle in his hands. It was unlit, in a white enamel candle holder. Charles looked at it. He looked up to see Simon and all the other boys, even Brian, grinning.
    “You forgot to ask for matches,” Simon pointed out.
    Charles looked at him. He glared. He did more than glare. It was the nastiest look he had ever given anyone. He hoped it would shrivel Simon on the spot.
    All that happened was that Simon stepped backward from him. Even so, he looked as superior as ever. “But I’ll give you the matches free,” he said. “It’s all part of the service.” He tossed a box of matches toward Charles.
    Charles put the candlestick down on the floor. With everyone staring at him, he struck a match and lit the candle. He knelt down beside it. It hurts to be