a little.
Cat had been thinking. “I think it’s a good idea,” he said dolefully. “We’d better go to the garden. But I think you need some kind of magic to go to another world.”
“Thus we find ourselves stumped,” said Janet. “It’s dangerous, and we can’t anyway. But they’d taken Gwendolen’s witchcraft away, and she did it. How? That’s been puzzling me a lot.”
“I expect she used dragon’s blood,” said Cat. “She still had that. Mr Saunders has a whole jar of dragon’s blood up in his workshop.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Janet yelled, jumping round on her stool.
She really might have been Gwendolen. At the sight of her fierce face Cat missed Gwendolen more than ever. He resented Janet. She had been ordering him about all day. Then she tried to make out it was all Gwendolen’s fault. He shrugged mulishly and went very unhelpful. “You didn’t ask.”
“But can you get some?”
“Maybe. But,” Cat added, “I don’t want to go to another world really.”
Janet drew a long, quiet breath and managed not to tell him to stay and be turned into a frog then. She made a very ingenious face at the mirror and counted up to ten. “Cat,” she said carefully, “we really are in such a mess here that I can’t see any other way out. Can you?”
“No,” Cat admitted grudgingly. “I said I’d go.”
“And thank you, dear Janet, for your kind invitation, I notice,” Janet said. To her relief, Cat grinned. “But we’ll have to be hideously careful about going,” she said, “because I suspect that if Chrestomanci doesn’t know what we’re doing, Millie will.”
“Millie?” said Cat.
“Millie,” said Janet. “I think she’s a witch.” She ducked her head down and fiddled with the gold-backed hairbrush. “I know you think I go around seeing sorcery everywhere with my nasty suspicious mind, like you did about Chrestomanci, but I really am sure, Cat. A sweet, kind honey of a witch if you like. But she is one. How else did she know we were running away this afternoon?”
“Because Mrs Sharp came and they wanted us,” Cat said, puzzled.
“But we’d only been gone for an hour or so, and we could have been just going blackberrying. We hadn’t even taken our nightclothes,” Janet explained. “Now do you see?”
Though Cat was indeed sure that Janet had an obsession about witchcraft, and he was still feeling sulky and unhelpful, he could not help seeing that Janet had a point. “A very nice witch, then,” he conceded. “I don’t mind.”
“But, Cat, you do see how difficult she’s going to make it,” Janet said. “Do you? You know, you should be called Mule, not Cat. If you don’t want to know a thing, you don’t. How did you get to be called Cat anyway?”
“That was just a joke Gwendolen made,” said Cat. “She always said I’d got nine lives.”
“Gwendolen made jokes?” Janet asked unbelievingly. She stopped, with an arrested look, and turned stiffly away from the mirror.
“Not usually,” said Cat.
“Great heavens! I wonder!” said Janet. “In this place, where every other thing turns out to be enchanted, it almost must be! In which case, how horrible!” She pushed the mirror up until the glass faced the ceiling, jumped off the stool and raced to the wardrobe. She dragged Gwendolen’s box out of it and sorted fiercely through it. “Oh, I do hope I’m wrong! But I’m almost sure there were nine.”
“Nine what?” asked Cat.
Janet had found the bundle of letters addressed to Miss Caroline Chant. The red book of matches was tucked in front of it. Janet took the little book carefully out and chucked the letters back in the box. “Nine matches,” she said, as she opened the book. “And there are, too! Oh, good Lord, Cat! Five of them are burnt. Look.”
She held the book out to Cat. He saw there were indeed nine matches in it. The heads of the first two were black. The third was charred right down to the base. The fourth had a black head again. But the fifth had burnt so fiercely that the paper behind was singed and there was a hole in the sandpaper beneath it. It was a wonder the whole book had not caught fire – or at least the last four matches. They were as new, however. Their heads were bright red, with yellowish oily paper below, and bright white cardboard below that.
“It does look like a charm of some kind,” Cat said.
“I know it is,” said Janet. “These are your nine lives, Cat. How did you come to lose so many?”
Cat simply could not believe her. He was feeling surly and resistant anyway, and this was too much. “They can’t be,” he said. Even if he had nine lives, he knew he could only have lost three, and that was counting the time Gwendolen gave him cramps. The other two would be when he was born and on the paddle boat. But, as he thought this, Cat found he was remembering those four apparitions coming from the flaming bowl to join Gwendolen’s gruesome procession. One had been a baby, one wet. The crippled one had seemed to have cramps. But why had there been four of them, when five matches were burnt?
Cat began shivering, and this made him all the more determined to prove Janet wrong.
“You couldn’t have died in the night once or twice without noticing?” Janet wondered.
“Of course I didn’t.” Cat reached down and took the book. “Look, I’ll prove it to you.” He tore the sixth match off and dragged it along the sandpaper.
Janet leapt up, shrieking to him to stop. The match burst into flame.
So, almost at the same instant, did Cat himself.
Cat screamed. Flames burst out of him all over. He screamed again, and beat at himself with flaming hands, and went on screaming. They were pale, shimmering, transparent flames. They burst out through his clothes, and his shoes, his hair, across his face, so that, in seconds, he was wrapped in pale flame from head to foot. He fell to the floor, still screaming, and rolled there, blazing.
Janet kept her presence of mind. She dragged up the nearest corner of the carpet and threw it over Cat. She had heard that this smothered flames. But it did not smother these. To Janet’s horror, the pale ghostly flames came straight through the carpet as if it was not there, and played on the black underside of it more fiercely than ever. They did not burn the carpet, nor did they burn Janet’s hands as she frantically rolled Cat over in the carpet, and then over again. But no matter how much carpet she wrapped round Cat, the flames still came through, and Cat went on blazing and screaming. His head was half outside the flaming bundle she had made of him, and it was a sheaf of flames. She could see his screaming face inside the fire.
Janet did the only thing she could think of. She jumped up and screamed herself. “Chrestomanci, Chrestomanci! Come quickly!”
The door
