size of the rest of it. Evidently he had stolen a dog as well as a car.
“Grrrrr,” repeated the dog. It bent its great head until the noise vibrated the Willing Warlock’s skull like a road drill, and sniffed his face loudly.
“Get off,” said the Willing Warlock tremulously.
Worse followed. Something surged in the back seat beside the huge dog. A small, shrill voice, sounding very sleepy, said, “Why have we stopped for, Daddy?”
“Oh my gawd!” said the Willing Warlock. He turned his eyes gently sideways under the great dog’s face. Sure enough, there was a child on the back seat beside the dog, a rather small child with reddish hair and a slobbery sleepy face.
“You’re not my Daddy,” this child said accusingly.
The Willing Warlock rather liked children on the whole, but he knew he would have to get rid of this one somehow. To steal a car and a dog and a child would probably put him in prison for life. People really did not like you stealing children.
Frantically he reached forward and pushed knobs. Lights lit, wipers swatted and unswatted, voices spoke, a hooter sounded, but at last he pushed the right one and the seat rose gracefully upright again. He used his magic on the rear door and it sprang open.
“Out,” he said. “Both of you. Get out and wait and your Daddy will find you.”
Dog and child turned and stared at the open door. Their faces turned back to the Willing Warlock, puzzled and slightly indignant. It was their car, after all.
The Willing Warlock tried a bit of coaxing. “Get out. Nice dog. Good boy.”
“Grrrr,” said the dog, and the child said, “I’m not a boy.”
“I meant the dog,” the Willing Warlock said hastily. The dog’s growl enlarged to a rumble that shook the car. Perhaps the dog was not a boy either. The Willing Warlock knew when he was beaten. It was a pity, when it was such a nice car, but this world was full of cars. Provided he made sure the next one was empty, he could steal one any time he liked. He slammed the rear door shut and started to open his own.
The dog was too quick for him. Before he had reached the handle, its great teeth were fastened into the shoulder of his jacket, right through the cloth. He could feel them digging into his skin underneath. And it growled harder than ever. “Let go,” the Willing Warlock said, without hope, and sat very still.
“Go on driving,” commanded the child.
“Why?” said the Willing Warlock.
“Because I like driving in cars,” said the child. “Towser will let you go when you drive.”
“I don’t know how to make the car go,” the Willing Warlock said sullenly.
“Stupid,” said the child. “Daddy uses those keys there, and he pushes on the pedals with his feet.”
Towser backed this up with another growl, and dug his teeth in a little. Towser clearly knew his job, and his job seemed to be to back up anything the child said. The Willing Warlock sighed, thinking of years in prison, but he found the keys and located the pedals. He turned the keys. He pushed on the pedals. The engine started with a roar.
Then another voice spoke. “You have forgotten to fasten your seatbelt,” it said. “I cannot proceed until you do so.”
It was here that the Willing Warlock realised that his troubles had only just begun. The car was bullying him now. He had no idea where the seatbelt was, but it is amazing what you can do if a mouthful of white fangs are fastened into your shoulder. The Willing Warlock found the seatbelt. He did it up. He found a lever that said forwards and pushed it. He pressed on pedals. The engine roared, but nothing else happened.
“You are wasting petrol,” the car told him acidly. “Release the handbrake. I cannot pro—”
The Willing Warlock found a sort of stick in the floor and moved it. It snapped like a crocodile and the car jerked. “You are wasting petrol,” the car said, boringly. “Release the footbrake. I cannot proceed—”
Luckily, since Towser was growling even louder than the car, the Willing Warlock took his left foot off a pedal first. They shot off down the road. “You are wasting petrol,” the car told him.
“Oh shut up,” the Willing Warlock said. But nothing shut the car up, he discovered, except not pressing so hard on the right-hand pedal. Towser, on the other hand, seemed satisfied as soon as the car moved. He let go of the Willing Warlock and loomed behind him on the back seat, while the child sat and chanted, “Go on, go on, go on driving.”
The Willing Warlock kept on driving. There is nothing else you can do if a child, a dog the size of Towser, and a car, all combine to make you. At least the car was easy to drive. All the Willing Warlock had to do was sit there not pressing the pedal too much and keep turning into the emptiest streets. He had time to think. He knew the dog’s name. If he could find out the child’s name, then he could work a spell on them both to make them let him go.
“What’s your name?” he asked, turning into a wide straight road with room for three cars abreast in it.
“Jemima Jane,” said the child. “Go on, go on, go on driving.”
The Willing Warlock drove, muttering a spell. While he did, Towser made a flowing sort of jump and landed in the passenger seat beside him, where he sat in a royal way, staring out at the road. The Willing Warlock cowered away from him and finished the spell in a gabble. The beast was as big as a lion!
“You are wasting petrol,” remarked the car.
Perhaps these things caused the Willing Warlock to muddle the spell. All that happened was that Towser turned invisible.
There was an instant shriek from the back seat. “Where’s Towser?”
The invisible space on the front passenger seat growled horribly. The Willing Warlock did not know where its teeth were. He hurriedly revoked the spell. Towser loomed beside him, looking reproachful.
“You’re not to do that again!” said Jemima Jane.
“I won’t if we all get out and walk,” the Willing Warlock said cunningly.
A silence met this suggestion, with an undercurrent of snarl to it. The Willing Warlock gave up for the moment and kept on driving. There were no houses by the road any more, only trees, grass and a few cows, and the road stretched into the distance, endlessly. The nice grey car, labelled WW100 in front and XYZ123 behind, zoomed gently onwards for nearly an hour. The sun began setting in gory clouds, behind some low green hills.
“I want my supper,” announced Jemima Jane. At the word supper, Towser yawned and started to dribble. He turned to look thoughtfully at the Willing Warlock, obviously wondering which bits of him tasted best. “Towser’s hungry too,” said Jemima Jane.
The Willing Warlock turned his eyes sideways to look at Towser’s great pink tongue draped over Towser’s large white fangs. “I’ll stop at the first place we see,” he said obligingly. He began turning over schemes for giving both of them – not to speak of the car – the slip the moment they allowed
