Curse of the Dream Witch (12 page)

‘Let’s hope we never see Leo again,’ Milo said as he and Olivia made their way out of the garden. ‘I’ll keep an eye out in case he follows us.’

Olivia nodded quietly. Her mind was far away – on those mornings when the sun would peek through the cracks of her turret shutters and she’d wake to see Ephemia staring solemnly at her from the next pillow. Or the times when she was little, playing court with her dolls and the nutcracker, Count Ostroff; she was queen and Ephemia was her lady-in-waiting wearing a doll’s apron as a robe. It was a magical time, and now –

‘Are you all right?’ Milo asked.

Olivia shook her head. ‘Ephemia. She’ll
never
. . . we’ll never . . .’ Her eyes swam; she took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be all right. Once this is over I can grieve.’

She looked over her shoulder one last time, to see the garden where she’d lost her oldest friend. ‘Milo.’

He turned as well. ‘What?’

The garden behind them was now of normal size; the tallest tulip would hardly touch their knees and the lilac bushes were trimmed the height of their waists.

‘I recognise this garden,’ Olivia said. ‘The bushes, the flowers, they’re all arranged as in my castle courtyard. Good heavens, do you see the ivy growing on the walls behind it. It’s all the same except that Gardener would never have allowed those dandelions.’

‘What dandelions?’ Milo asked.

Indeed, the dandelions were gone, as were all the weeds. Milo and Olivia looked in wonder at the immaculate beds of colour.

‘So there you are,’ a familiar voice called out behind them. ‘You had us so worried.’

‘Mother?’

‘Who else?’ the spell-queen laughed. She ran to the princess, held her tight, and wept tears of joy. ‘Your father and I never thought we’d see you again. I still can’t believe it, though it’s been a whole day since you’ve been back. Milo, dear boy, once again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. What you endured to bring our girl home safe to us – the village children, too – and to spare this kingdom the evil of the Dream Witch now and forever – it’s beyond all gratitude.’

Olivia and Milo looked at each other in shock.

‘Is this a dream?’ Olivia asked.

‘The most wonderful dream in the world,’ the spell-queen beamed. ‘Our dream come true.’ She gave her another hug.

‘What are you talking about? How did we get here? What’s going on?’

The spell-queen’s face filled with concern. She held Olivia by the shoulders. ‘Wait. You still don’t remember? Either of you.’

‘No,’ Olivia shook her head.

‘Still?’ Milo said.

‘It must be the shock.’ The spell-queen touched their foreheads. ‘Why, your fevers haven’t gone down, poor dears. You need to be back in your beds. I’ll fetch the doctor. I was right to be worried when the servants said you’d left your bedrooms.’

Olivia felt dizzy. The spell-queen eased her to the ground. For the first time, Olivia realised she was wearing her silk nightgown and slippers. Milo found himself in a linen nightshirt and a velvet robe.

‘What happened?’ Olivia asked. ‘Where are the duke, Leo, and the Pretonians?’

‘Gone,’ her spell-mother said. ‘Yesterday, at dawn, the Dream Witch’s forest burst into flames. The two of you ran from the fire, leading all the lost children to safety. The Dream Witch flew high on her cleaver, blazing like an inferno. Flames shot from her nose. She let loose a cry of rage and exploded, turning the sky to night.’

‘Can it be?’ Olivia asked, barely daring to believe.

‘At once, the duke and his soldiers fled in terror back to Pretonia,’ the spell-queen nodded. ‘The two of you told such stories: about a dead girl turning into a monster under the marsh ice, about giant insects and flesh-eating moles, and about dear old Ephemia being a mouse all these years and then being snatched by the witch’s owl.’

‘Yes, it’s all true, it all happened,’ Olivia said. ‘But after that—’

 ‘After that you remembered nothing,’ the spell-queen said. ‘You couldn’t say how you rescued the children, indeed had no memory of it happening. You said you felt like you’d wakened from a nightmare. Then the two of you passed out from exhaustion and terror, burning up with fever. You’ve slept a day and a night and here you are.’

‘So it seems,’ Milo said. He pinched himself. ‘Then we’re alive. We’ve left the dream world.’

‘It feels so strange,’ Olivia said. ‘Like waking from a dream that felt real.’

‘It
was
real, while you were in it,’ the spell-queen said. ‘But now you’re safe and sound.’

Servants began to spill into the courtyard. ‘They’re here. All’s well,’ they called back to others inside.

‘Olivia,’ the spell-queen said, ‘we’ve set up a bed for you in our room. We’ll be right there if you ever cry out in your sleep. It’s for our sake, too. We’ve had such dreams of you being lost to us forever. Being able to open our eyes and see you – I can’t tell you how much that means.’

Olivia had a twinge of worry. ‘But if I’m in your room, what about my pysanka, keeping it safe? Will we all be barred up as I was before?’

The spell-queen smoothed a hair from Olivia’s forehead. ‘No, my love. The Dream Witch is gone. The Great Dread is over. You can live like a normal child again.’

‘And what about me? When can I see Mama and Papa?’ Milo asked.

‘As soon as you’d like. You collapsed before you could tell us where you lived.’

‘In a burnt-out home at the foot of a hill between the marsh and the cornfield by the forest. You’ll spot my father; he has a wooden foot.’

The spell-queen turned to a footman. ‘Fetch them here in our finest coach.’ She turned back to Milo. ‘For your services to our girl and to our kingdom, your family will henceforth live at court.’

Milo leapt for joy. ‘That was my dream when I took the witch’s gold coins. Now here it is! It’s happened!’

‘Don’t exert yourself,’ the spell-queen warned. ‘You still haven’t properly recovered, and need your rest. We’ll put you in Olivia’s old turret room until your family’s suite is ready. As you know, it has the best view of the countryside.’

Olivia and Milo looked to each other in happy confusion, as smiling servants wrapped them in blankets, and put them on golden litters to be carried to their quarters.

‘Mother, can this really be?’ Olivia asked, eyes welling with joy.

‘It can,’ the spell-queen said. She kissed her forehead. ‘Welcome home.’ 

So this is what it’s like to be important
, Milo thought, as he was carried up the staircase. It was certainly more fun than being dragged down to the dungeon by armed guards.

Once in the turret room, the servants tucked him into bed under fresh linen sheets, but he was too excited to stay there. As soon as they left, he raced to the window to breathe in the view of the countryside. To his delight, he saw his home beyond the hills.

But something was strange. He could still see the witch’s forest; it looked unchanged. Hadn’t Olivia’s mother said it had suffered a great fire?

Milo wondered where the coach was, too, that was supposed to be going to pick up his parents. There was no sign of it below in the courtyard or on the cobblestoned road leading from the castle.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tickle of laughter, high and otherworldly. He turned around. There was no one there.

Little voices whispered his name in sing-song from inside the armoire:
Milo
. . .
Milo
. . .
Milo 
. . .

Milo smiled. It must be the servant children hiding from him. Now that he’d be living in the castle they’d be new friends. He went to the armoire and threw open the doors. It was just as it was when he’d been transported here through the bats’ wing parchment: a cupboard with dolls and toys hanging from its walls and sitting on its shelves. But where were the children?

Milo . . .  Milo . . .

Was there a secret compartment somewhere at the back? There must be, Milo thought. He went inside and stepped forward. The door slammed shut behind him. Milo jumped with fright, then laughed at himself. His nerves were on edge after everything he’d been through, but, truly, what was there to be afraid of now? Surely a little breeze from the window had blown the door shut. He groped around for an inside handle. There wasn’t one.

He knocked on the door. ‘Hello? Can anyone hear me? Can someone let me out?’

There were titters all around him in the dark.

Milo didn’t know whether to be scared or angry. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You.’ The voice was that of a little girl, maybe five or six.

Milo relaxed. ‘All right. Now that you and your friends have had your fun, please open the door?’

‘We can’t,’ the little girl laughed.

Milo was annoyed. Still, he didn’t want the servant children to think he was a cry-baby. ‘I don’t want to spoil your joke,’ he said, ‘but I’ve just gone through the worst time of my life. So, really, unlock the door. I’d like us to be friends. I’m going to be living here, after all.’

‘Oh you’re going to be living here all right,’ a strange voice clacked. ‘You’ll be here forever and ever.’

Milo froze. This wasn’t the voice of a child. It was the voice of an old man. And what was that clacking sound when he spoke? ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘Guess,’ said a woman, slyly.

More titters.

‘At least let me see you.’

‘As you wish.’ A light went on. It came from a tiny lamp held by a tiny lady standing on the shelf by his head. Milo gasped; he’d seen her before. She was one of Olivia’s dolls.

Milo looked around in panic. There were stuffed dolls circled all around him, with heads of brightly painted papier maché, birchwood, and china. Only the faces weren’t as friendly as he’d remembered. Instead, they had a surly look, with sneaky smiles and shifty eyes.

‘He looks surprised,’ said a milkmaid with a cracked chin.

‘Very surprised,’ echoed an acrobat.

A commanding figure stepped out of the shadows. He was made of solid oak, with a military uniform decorated with gold leaf, and a chiselled face with pink cheeks, red lips, and black eyes. His jaw had been carved separately; it had a white beard and was hinged to a sturdy lever that ran out of his back.

Milo’s eyes went wider yet. He suddenly understood the clacking sound he’d heard. It was Olivia’s nutcracker. ‘Count Ostroff!’

‘Salute, peasant,’ the nutcracker said. ‘I rule this armoire.’

‘But this is impossible,’ Milo gasped, saluting. ‘Toys can’t talk.’

‘In dreams we can,’ the milkmaid said.

‘But I’m awake.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes. I went through the witch’s dream world and woke up in the castle courtyard.’

Howls of nasty laughter.

‘Correction,’ Count Ostroff said darkly. ‘You didn’t wake up. You only
imagined
you woke up. You’re still in the witch’s world.’

Milo was filled with a sickening horror. Of course, that would explain everything: Why he couldn’t remember rescuing the village children. Why the witch’s forest looked unharmed. But if he was still in the witch’s world, then, even worse – the queen who greeted them in the courtyard wasn’t Olivia’s mother. She was a creature of the Dream Witch. He and the princess were in danger of their lives.

‘What do you want with me?’

Two clown dolls leapt out of a knitting basket with a pair of long, sharp scissors. ‘Fun,’ they giggled. ‘We want fun.’ They each took a handle of the scissors: ‘Snip, snip snip.’

Ladies-in-waiting dolls hoisted pins and needles. ‘Sew, sew, sew.’

Milo recoiled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We mean we’re going to turn you into a doll for Olivia,’ Count Ostroff explained.

‘No!’

‘Yes,’ Count Ostroff said. ‘First, we’ll cut you open and take out your meat. Then we’ll stuff you with straw and paint you bright as buttons.’

‘Pretty dolly, pretty dolly,’ the dolls sang happily.

Milo screamed and heaved himself at the four walls. They wouldn’t budge.

‘There’s no escape,’ the count clacked gleefully.

Two dolls began to crawl up Milo’s legs. He tried to shake them off, but toppled to the ground. The acrobats had tied his feet with ribbons.

Dolls swarmed Milo’s limbs, pinning him to the floor. A baby doll sat on his chest with a knitting needle in its chubby hands. ‘Can I poke out his eyes?’ it gurgled. ‘Then he won’t have to see what’s happening.’

‘Leave me alone!’ Milo howled.

‘And spoil the party?’ the count clacked.

A voice rang out from the top of the armoire: ‘If it’s a party you want, it’s a party I’ll give you!’

The tiny lady raised her lamp. There was a mouse perched in a popped-out knothole at the top of the armoire.

‘Ephemia?’ Milo exclaimed. ‘But you’re dead!’

‘Apparently not,’ Ephemia squeaked. She threw back her head and let loose a cry of the wild. It soared up from the underworld into the burrows and tunnels beneath the forest floor, its pitch beyond human hearing. The glass on the tiny lady’s lamp cracked.

Suddenly, there was a scurry in the walls around the armoire. Squirrels and chipmunks spilled in from every conceivable nook and cranny.

‘To the rescue!’ Ephemia cried in the language of the woods.

Ephemia’s troops pounced on the demon dolls. With a grand chatter, china heads cracked on the ground, and claws tore papier maché. Meanwhile, little teeth chewed through knit body socks and snipped the stitching of cotton limbs.

‘Eek!’ the acrobats shrieked, as their legs fell off.

‘Ack!’ the clowns cried, as chipmunks stuffed their cheeks with stuffing and ran off with their insides.

In no time, the dolls had vanished, taken to line the nests of the forest. Only Count Ostroff remained.

‘What shall become of me?’ he wailed as squirrels dragged him to a rat hole.

‘For all your sins, you must spend the rest of your days cracking nuts for my friends,’ Ephemia said. ‘If not, you’ll make a wonderful toy for them to gnaw on.’

The squirrels chittered their goodbyes.

‘Thank you for saving my life!’ Milo called after them, and then to Ephemia: ‘And, above all, thanks to you. But how did you survive the owl? We saw you in its talons.’

‘That was another wee mouse, alas. When I saw the owl, I ran for my life and hid for what seemed like forever.’

‘Then how did you find me?’

Ephemia wriggled her nose. ‘We beasties have a powerful sense of smell. In your case, a mixed blessing.’

‘Uh, thanks,’ Milo said. ‘Did you find Olivia, too?’

Ephemia shook her head. ‘I tried, but her scent’s been masked.’

Milo frowned. ‘The Dream Witch conjured a vision of Olivia’s mother. It told her she didn’t need her pysanka anymore. Then it led her to a dream of the royal bedroom.’

‘Oh dear, we haven’t got much time,’ Ephemia fretted. ‘But where to look? In dreamland, palace walls can shift as fast as thought.’

‘I’ve got it,’ Milo said. ‘We don’t
look
, we
smell
. Imagine the odours in a royal suite that might block Olivia’s scent, Ephemia. Then follow your nose.’