Charmed Life - Diana Wynne Jones [4]
Cat knew Mrs. Sharp was probably right. He was a little sorry for her, for she had certainly been kind, and he knew by now that she was not a very good witch herself. The Certified Witch which the notice in Mrs. Sharp’s parlor window claimed her to be was, in fact, the very lowest qualification. People only came to Mrs. Sharp for charms when they could not afford the three Accredited Witches farther down the street. Mrs. Sharp eked out her earnings by acting as an agent for Mr. Larkins at the junk shop. She got him Exotic Supplies—that is to say, the stranger ingredients needed for spells—from as far away as London. She was very proud of her contacts in London. “Oh yes,” she often said to Gwendolen, “I’ve got the contacts, I have. I know those that can get me a pound of dragons’ blood any time I ask, for all it’s illegal. While you have me, you’ll never be in need.”
Perhaps, in spite of having no illusions about Gwendolen, Mrs. Sharp was really hoping to become Gwendolen’s manager when Gwendolen grew up. Cat suspected she was, anyway. And he was sorry for Mrs. Sharp. He was sure that Gwendolen would cast her off like an old coat when she became famous—like Mrs. Sharp, Cat had no doubt that Gwendolen would be famous. So he said, “There’s me to look after you, though.” He did not fancy the idea, but he felt he ought to say it.
Mrs. Sharp was warmly grateful. As a reward, she arranged for Cat to have real music lessons. “Then that Mayor will have nothing to complain of,” she said. She believed in killing two birds with one stone.
Cat started to learn the violin. He thought he was making good progress. He practiced diligently. He never could understand why the new people living upstairs always banged on the floor when he started to play. Mrs. Sharp, being tone-deaf herself, nodded and smiled while he played, and encouraged him greatly.
He was practicing away one evening when Gwendolen stormed in and shrieked a spell in his face. Cat found, to his dismay, that he was holding a large striped cat by the tail. He had its head tucked under his chin, and he was sawing at its back with the violin bow. He dropped it hurriedly. Even so, it bit him under the chin and scratched him painfully.
“What did you do that for?” he said. The cat stood in an arch, glaring at him.
“Because that’s just what it sounded like!” said Gwendolen. “I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. Here, pussy, pussy!” The cat did not like Gwendolen either. It scratched the hand she held out to it. Gwendolen smacked it. It ran away, with Cat in hot pursuit, shouting, “Stop it! That’s my fiddle! Stop it!” But the cat escaped, and that was the end of the violin lessons.
Mrs. Sharp was very impressed with this display of talent from Gwendolen. She climbed on a chair in the yard and told Mr. Nostrum about it over the wall. From there, the story spread to every witch and necromancer in the neighborhood.
That neighborhood was full of witches. People in the same trade like to cluster together. If Cat came out of Mrs. Sharp’s front door and turned right down Coven Street, he passed, besides the three Accredited Witches, two Necromancy Offereds, a Soothsayer, a Diviner, and a Willing Warlock. If he turned left, he passed MR. HENRY NOSTRUM A.R.C.M. Tuition in Necromancy, a Fortune-Teller, a Sorcery For All Occasions, a Clairvoyant, and lastly Mr. Larkins’ shop. The air in the street, and for several streets around, was heavy with the scent of magic being done.
All these people took a great and friendly interest in Gwendolen. The story of the cat impressed them enormously. They made a great pet of the creature—naturally, it was called Fiddle. Though it remained bad-tempered, captious, and unfriendly, it never went short of food. They made an even greater pet of Gwendolen. Mr. Larkins gave her presents. The Willing Warlock, who was a muscular young man always in need of a shave, popped out of his