“It was my fault,” said Cat. “I shouldn’t have lied about Euphemia. That’s what got me in this mess, not Gwendolen.”
“Mess is not a strong enough word,” said Janet. “On Sunday, you get mauled by a tiger. On Monday, it comes out that you can’t do magic. And if the whole story doesn’t come out then, it will on Wednesday, when Mr Bedlam calls for his money. Do you think Fate has something up its sleeve for Tuesday too? I suppose if you go to meet him on Sunday in the form of yourself, he can’t hurt you much, can he? It’s better than waiting to be turned into a frog.”
“I’d better do that,” Cat agreed, looking at the ominous lump of dough. “I wish I really could turn into things, though. I’d go as a flea. He’d scratch himself to bits trying to find me.”
Janet laughed. “Let’s see if there’s a spell for it.” She turned round to fetch Magic for Beginners and hit her head on the mirror. It was hanging in the air, level with her forehead. “Cat! One of us did it! Look!”
Cat looked, without much interest. He had too much on his mind. “I expect it was you. You’re the same as Gwendolen, so you’re bound to be able to work spells. But changing into things won’t be in either of these books. That’s Advanced Magic.”
“Then I’ll do the spell to get the mirror down,” said Janet. “Not that I want to be a witch. The more I see of witchcraft, the more it seems just an easy way to be nasty.”
She had opened the book, when there was a knock at the door. Janet seized the chair beside Cat’s bed and stood on it, so as to hide the mirror. Cat hastily dropped to one knee on top of the lump of dough. Neither of them wanted any more trouble.
Janet doubled Magic for Beginners inside out so that it could have been any book, and waved it at Cat. “Come into the garden, Maud,” she proclaimed.
Taking this as an invitation, Miss Bessemer opened the door and came in. She was carrying an armful of things, with a chipped teapot hanging off one finger. “The furnishings I promised you, loves,” she said.
“Oh,” said Janet. “Oh, thanks very much. We were just having a poetry reading, you know.”
“And I made sure you were talking to me!” Miss Bessemer said, laughing. “My name’s Maud. Will these be all right on the bed?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Cat.
Neither of them dared move. They twisted round to watch Miss Bessemer dump the armful on the bed, and, still twisted, they thanked her profusely. As soon as Miss Bessemer had gone, they dived to see if, by any blessed chance, any of the pile was valuable. Nothing was. As Janet said, if they really had wanted to play houses, two stools and an old carpet would have been just the thing, but from a selling point of view, they were just a dead loss.
“It was kind of her to remember,” Cat said, as he packed the heap into his cupboard.
“Except that now we’ll have to remember to play houses with them,” Janet said morosely. “As if we hadn’t enough to do. Now, I will get this mirror down. I will!”
But the mirror refused to come down. Janet tried all three spells in both books, and it still stayed hanging in the air level with her head.
“You try, Cat,” said Janet. “We can’t leave it there.”
Cat roused himself from gloomily staring at the ball of dough. It was still round. There was no sign that he had knelt on it, and that alarmed him. He knew it must be a very strong charm. But when Janet appealed to him, he sighed and reached up to pull the mirror down. His experience with Julia had taught him that a simple spell could usually be broken quite simply.
The mirror refused to descend an inch. But it slid about in the air. Cat was interested. He hung on to it with both hands, pushed off with his feet, and went travelling across the room in a most agreeable way.
“That looks fun,” said Janet.
“It is,” said Cat. “You try.”
They played with the mirror for some time after that. It could go as fast as they could push it, and it took the weight of both of them easily. Janet discovered that the best ride was to be had by standing on the chest of drawers and jumping. Then, provided you kept your feet up, you could swing across the room and land on Cat’s bed. They were whirling together across the carpet, tangled up and laughing a good deal, when Roger knocked at the door and came in.
“I say, that’s a good idea!” he said. “We’ve never thought of that. Can I have a go? And I met a peculiar cross-eyed man in the village, Gwendolen, and he gave me this letter for you.”
Cat dropped off on to the carpet and took the letter. It was from Mr Nostrum. Cat recognised the writing. He was so pleased that he said to Roger, “Have twenty goes if you want!” and rushed up to Janet with the letter. “Read it, quick! What does it say?”
Mr Nostrum could get them out of their troubles. He might not be much of a necromancer, but he was surely able to turn Cat into a flea, if Janet asked him nicely. He would certainly have a charm that could make Cat look as if he could do magic.
And though Mr Nostrum was not rich, his brother William was. He could lend Cat twenty pounds, if he thought he was helping Gwendolen.
Cat sat on the bed beside Janet and they read the letter, while Roger trundled about the room dangling from the mirror and chuckling placidly at what fun it was. Mr Nostrum wrote:
My dear and favourite pupil,
I am here, domiciled at the White Hart Inn. It is most important – I repeat, of the utmost importance – that you come to me here on Saturday afternoon, bringing your brother to be briefed by me.
Your affectionate and proud teacher,
Henry Nostrum
At this, Janet looked nervous and mystified and moaned gently.
“I hope it’s not bad news,” Roger said, sailing past with his feet hooked up behind him.
“No, it’s the best news we could have had!” Cat said. He dug Janet in the ribs to make her smile. She smiled dutifully, but he could not make her see that it was good news, even when he had a chance to explain.
“If he taught Gwendolen, he’ll know I’m not her,” she said. “And if he doesn’t know, he won’t understand why you want to be turned into a flea. It is an odd thing to go and ask, even in this world. And he’d want to know why I couldn’t do it to you. Couldn’t we tell him the truth?”
“No, because it’s Gwendolen he’s fond of,” Cat explained. Something told him that Mr Nostrum would be almost as little pleased as Chrestomanci to find that Gwendolen had departed for another world. “And he’s got some kind of plans for her.”
“Yes, this briefing,” Janet said irritably. “He obviously thinks I know all about it. If you ask me, Cat, it’s just one more damned thing!”
Nothing could convince Janet that salvation was at hand. Cat was quite sure it was. He went to sleep rejoicing, and woke up happy. He still felt happy, even when he trod on the lump of dough and it was cold and frog-like under his foot. He covered it up with Magic for Beginners. Then he had to turn his attention to the mirror. It would keep drifting into the middle of the room. Cat had to tether it to the bookcase with his Sunday bootlace in the end.
He found Janet less happy than ever. Julia’s latest idea was a mosquito. It met Janet as she came into breakfast, and it kept with her, whining in and biting, all through lessons, until Cat swatted it with his arithmetic book.
What with this, and nasty looks from both Julia and Mary, and then having to meet Mr Nostrum, Janet