Charmed Life - Diana Wynne Jones [33]
When Cat arrived wearily in the playroom, it was even darker there. In the deep greenish light, he could see that Gwendolen was, understandably, white and tired. But she looked satisfied enough.
“I don’t think I like these trees,” Cat whispered to her when Roger and Julia had gone through to the schoolroom. “Why couldn’t you do something smaller and funnier?”
“Because I’m not a laughingstock!” Gwendolen hissed back. “And I needed to do it. I had to know how much power I could draw on.”
“Quite a lot, I should think,” Cat said, looking at the mass of horse-chestnut leaves pressed against the window.
Gwendolen smiled. “Better still when I’ve got my dragons’ blood.”
Cat nearly blurted out that he had seen dragons’ blood in Mr. Saunders’ workshop. But he stopped himself in time. He did not care for mighty works like this.
They spent another morning with the lights on, and at lunchtime, Cat, Julia, and Roger went out to have a look at the trees. They were disappointed to find that it was quite easy to get out of their private door. The rhododendrons were three feet away from it. Cat thought Gwendolen must intentionally have left them a way out, until he looked up and saw, from their bent branches and mashed leaves, that the bushes had indeed been squashed against the door earlier. It looked as if the trees were retreating.
Beyond the rhododendrons, they had to fight their way through something like a jungle. The trees were rammed so tight that, not only had twigs and leaves broken off by cartloads, but great branches had been torn away too, and fallen tangled with smashed roses, broken clematis, and mangled grapes. When the children tore themselves out on the other side of the jungle, blank daylight hit them like a hammer blow. They blinked. The gardens, the village, and even the hills beyond were bald. The only place where they could still see trees was above the old, gray, ruined wall of Chrestomanci’s garden.
“It must have been a strong spell,” said Roger.
“It’s like a desert,” said Julia. “I never thought I’d miss the trees so much!”
But halfway through the afternoon it became clear that the trees were going back to their proper places. They could see sky through the schoolroom window. A little later the trees had spread out and retreated so much that Mr. Saunders turned the light off. Shortly after that Cat and Roger noticed the ruins of the tree house, smashed to bits in the crowding, dangling-out of a chestnut tree.
“Now what are you staring at?” said Mr. Saunders.
“The tree house is broken,” Roger said, looking moodily at Gwendolen.
“Perhaps Gwendolen would be kind enough to mend it again,” Mr. Saunders suggested sarcastically.
If he was trying to goad Gwendolen into doing a kindly act, he failed. Gwendolen tossed her head. “Tree houses are stupid babyish things,” she said coldly. She was very annoyed at the way the trees were retreating. “It’s too bad!” she told Cat just before dinner. By that time the trees were almost back to their usual places. The only ones nearer than they should be were those on the hill opposite. The view looked smaller, somehow. “I hoped it would do for tomorrow too,” Gwendolen said discontentedly. “Now I shall have to think of something else.”
“Who sent them back? The garden warlocks?” Cat asked.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk nonsense,” said Gwendolen. “It’s obvious who did it.”
“You mean Mr. Saunders?” said Cat. “But couldn’t the spell have been used up just pulling all the trees here?”
“You don’t know a thing about it,” said Gwendolen.
Cat knew he knew nothing of magic, but he found it queer all the same. The next day, when he went to see, there were no fallen twigs, torn-off branches, or squashed grapes anywhere. The yew trees in the formal garden did not seem to have been