Free Catweazle by Richard Carpenter

to make a clean breast of it. ‘Listen Dad,’ he said, ‘I know it’s going
to sound fantastic, but you’d better know the truth.’ Before he could get any
further, there was a ring at the door and Miss Bonnington burst into the room
in triumph.
    ‘George,’
she said happily, ‘you can start building next week.’
    Carrot
stared at her. She didn’t have a single spot.
    ‘Susan,’
said his father, ‘you’re a brick. Isn’t she Carrot?’
    ‘Yes,’
stammered the boy, still staring at her.
    ‘What
did you call him?’ said Susan.
    ‘Carrot.’
    ‘That’s
nice,’ she said. ‘Suits him much better than Edward.’
    ‘Was it
a tough meeting?’ said Mr Bennet, bringing her a drink.
    ‘Would’ve
been. Luckily my arch-enemy Mrs Willoughby was taken ill and had to go home.
They think it’s measles.’
    ‘Measles!’
said Carrot.
    ‘Yes.
Funny thing for a adult to catch. She seemed perfectly well in the
hairdresser’s this afternoon.’
    Carrot
could hardly wait to tell Catweazle how the spell had worked out. The two
sorcerers sat side by side in Castle Saburac, their familiars on their laps, in
front of the Sacred Fire.
    Carrot
handed over the matches in silence.
    ‘Lucky
I picked up the wrong hair. You really did make it work,’ he said.
    ‘Together,
we did it together, my brother,’ said Catweazle magnanimously. ‘And Rapkyn’s
magic is very strong.’
    ‘We
must be careful next time, Catweazle. It could have been disaster.’ Carrot held
out his hand for the doll. ‘I’d better have Miss Bonn - I mean Mrs Willoughby,’
he corrected. ‘Just in case you feel like having a practice.’
    ‘Next
time, hex time. From thy time to my time,’ said Catweazle, making a magic sign.
    ‘What
d’you mean by that?’ said Carrot, curiously.
    The old
man’s eyes shone in the firelight, and, smiling his crooked smile, he struck
another match with a flourish.

THE EYE OF TIME
     
    Carrot and Catweazle sat fishing from
an old punt in the middle of Kingfisher lake. It was a warm, still, summer
morning. It had taken Carrot a long time to persuade Catweazle that it was safe
in the punt, and now they sat, one at each end, watching the smooth black water
for tell-tale bubbles.
    Catweazle,
fishing with a willow twig, a piece of string and a bent pin, occasionally
sprang into action as he pulled another tench from the lake with expert ease.
Carrot, however, had a shining new rod and had caught nothing.
    ‘They’re
all up your end,’ he muttered as Catweazle, giving a little chuckle, swung
another fish on to the pile at his feet.
    ‘I have
done,’ said the old sorcerer. ‘ ’Tis the thirteenth fish.’
    ‘You
mean it’s unlucky?’ said Carrot.
    Catweazle
snorted angrily. ‘Always you mock me, brother in magic,’ he said. ‘Thou knowest
full well, that for us of the Dark Path thirteen is great good luck. And the
power of the Thirteenth Fish ...’ He paused and tapped the side of his nose,
‘well, thou knowest!’
    Carrot,
who had not the slightest idea what he was talking about, nodded wisely. ‘Oh,
yes, of course,’ he said hurriedly. He opened a biscuit tin and passed
Catweazle a sandwich.
    Touchwood
sat on the end of the punt catching flies and breathing heavily. Occasionally Catweazle
splashed water over him to keep him cool.
    ‘Luck’s
a funny thing,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Ay,
’tis most strange,’ muttered Catweazle, crumbs falling from his beard.
    ‘Sam’s
lucky, for instance. Well, sometimes. He bets on horses.’
    ‘Bets
on horses?’
    Carrot
sighed. He seemed to spend hours explaining things to Catweazle.
    ‘You
have to guess which horse will win a race,’ he said slowly and carefully. ‘They
all get in a line, you see, and then they run towards a white post, and the
first one past it is the winner. If you guessed the right horse you get some
money.’
    ‘Dost
thou not know?’ asked Catweazle with surprise.
    ‘Know
what?’
    ‘The
horses that will win.’
    ‘Don’t
be silly,’