TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang (2 page)

Then – finally – Filth showed up. He had no luggage other than a drum kit, stowed in a number of round boxes that he towed on a handcart. He didn’t say where he’d been. When Sludgegooey demanded an explanation, he just shrugged and muttered something about having to see a dude about a thing, then asked to see his bedroom, which he immediately set about painting black and covering with music posters.

That had been a long time ago. And he hadn’t changed.

In vain Sludgegooey waited for Filth to whizz, but he didn’t. He stood around and leaned against things. He didn’t scuttle, he sauntered. He didn’t chat, he mumbled. He wasn’t at all domestic and his DIY skills were non-existent. You couldn’t trust him with the Magical stuff either. He was usually found collapsed in a chair, tapping out rhythms with his eyes closed while cakes caught fire, shelves collapsed and the Brew he was supposed to be watching boiled away to nothing.

He forgot the words to incantations. When he danced round the cauldron, he always added little improvisations of his own, which mucked up the recipe. He got all the herbs wrong because his mind was elsewhere. No, he wasn’t a great Familiar. But . . .

Despite everything, Sludgegooey was fond of him. And secretly rather proud. After all, no other Witch could boast of having a Familiar in an actual band.

‘Remember me to the Boys!’ she shouted as he disappeared into the trees. She felt a bit rotten about giving him a hard time. She knew he lived for rehearsals. He couldn’t wait to be reunited with his drum kit, which he wasn’t allowed to keep in the cottage. He would have liked to rehearse every night, but Sludgegooey drew the line at that. As she told him, being a Familiar is not a part-time job. She got tired of making excuses for him in front of the other Witches, who felt she should get a better grip. But . . .

She was fond of him. And she didn’t want to stifle his creativity. For when Filth played the drums, he became – well,
Fiendish
. He sparkled. He shone. He whacked, he tapped, he boomed, he smashed, he juggled with his drumsticks. He exploded with rhythm and energy. He was on fire. As Sludgegooey said to a friend of hers, if only he put that amount of effort into his other duties, she’d be laughing.

He didn’t, though. The friend had been quick to point that out. The friend had gone on to say other negative things about the wisdom of choosing a Fiend for a Familiar. She was that sort of friend. But then,
her
Familiar was a Hamster, so what did she know?

Arthur

Arthur was in his garden shed, practising scales on his piano. The shed contained a range of garden equipment, all clean and polished and arranged in a tidy row because Arthur was fussy about things like that.

People assume that Dragons live in dirty old caves, but this is not the case. Arthur had no time for caves. Arthur preferred neat bungalows. Properly made-up beds with envelope corners. An orderly kitchen. A table laid with a white cloth and crisp napkins. That’s what he liked.

Arthur himself is not that interesting to look at. He is purplish in colour, with a short, green scaly tail, neatly clipped claws and a set of smallish wings. He has glasses for reading and wears a woolly scarf on cold evenings. Just your average Dragon. The piano, however, is something else. It is Arthur’s pride and joy, so let’s pause a moment to examine it.

The original instrument had been acquired some years ago from a rubbish dump. The Witch who owned the Dump – Sludgegooey’s friend, actually, the one with the Hamster – was fiercely protective of her junk and none too pleased when people helped themselves. She had sent the Hamster round to demand payment. Arthur had had to cough up a fiver, which was far too much, considering the state the piano was in. It was scratched, missing a leg, no pedals, no lid, hopelessly out of tune, half the keys sticking – so Arthur had gone to the library and taken out a book called
Make Your Own Piano
. Sadly, when he arrived home, he realised it was a book about origami. So he had returned it to the library, who made a fuss and claimed that he had scorched one of the pages. Arthur denied this – although, actually, he
had
accidentally dropped a couple of sparks on it. Sparking Up is a Dragon hazard. It can happen at any time. Sneezing can bring it on. Hiccups. Excitement. Or just annoyance at getting out a really useless library book.

Arthur and the librarian had an argument that became quite loud. Readers had looked up from their books and muttered ‘
Sshh!
’ and pointed crossly to the SILENCE sign. The whole unpleasant incident ended with Arthur stumping up yet more money to pay for the damage and marching home, where he set about building a piano from scratch, using only his own brain.

He had hauled the wrecked piano into the shed. He took out the innards and combined them in interesting new ways, using wire and glue and a lot of string. It was fiddly work, but Arthur was patient.

He had gathered up the dismembered piano carcass and glued it back together. He made a new lid for the keyboard. He fashioned a cunning new pair of foot pedals from an old frying pan. He made a little shelf to hold the music. He hung a bucket of water from a hook on the side in case of fire. He made a cart with stout wheels and a cunning little fold-up ramp in order to make the piano easily transportable. He made a stool with a hinged lid to keep the music in. It took
weeks
.

Finally, when it was all finished, he called his mother out to the shed to have a look. She thought it was wonderful.

So. That’s Arthur’s piano. Be impressed.

Knowing that practice makes perfect, Arthur dutifully ran through his scales every single day. Only when he’d done each one fast, slow, loud, soft and backwards did he finally allow himself to have fun. That meant flexing his claws, plonking his foot on the loud pedal and bursting into something loud, fast and crashy with a stonking boogie left hand.

This particular evening he was just finishing the hardest scale – the one with all the black notes – when there came a tap at the door.

‘Arthur? Can you hear me, lovey?’

‘Yes, I can hear you. What is it, Mam?’

‘It’s gone six, you know.’

‘Oh my! Already? I must have got a bit carried away there.’

‘I’ve made us some lovely chilli soup. It’s just reached boiling point.’

‘Thanks, Mam,’ shouted Arthur.

‘What about pudding? Would you like some mustard crumble?’

‘No time. I’ve got extra rehearsal tonight, remember?’

‘Oh, so you have. Just the soup then?’

‘Just the soup. I’ll load up the piano and be right in.’

‘All right, I’ll set out the napkins.’

Arthur liked living with his mother. It was a happy arrangement, as they got on really well. They pottered around the kitchen, chatting and washing up as they went along. Both of them enjoyed good hot meals. Some people have a sweet tooth, but Dragons have a hot tooth. Mustard, chilli, molten lava, roast coal, curry – the hotter the better.

Arthur stood up, closed the lid and set about preparing the piano for its trip through the Wood to the Studio. He did this regularly, so it didn’t take long. He had a proper system. It involved pushing it up the ramp on to the cart, securing it with ropes and covering it with a protective blanket, which he fussily secured with clothes pegs.

There. It was all tucked up and ready to go. He would just have time for the soup, then it was off to rehearsal. Tonight, the intention was to review the pad and discuss forthcoming gigs. He hoped the others would be in a good mood. Filth in particular got bored easily when they talked too much instead of playing.

Arthur gave the piano an affectionate pat, shut the shed door and hurried up the path, whistling as he went.

O’Brian

O’Brian sat at his workbench, hammering nails into the sole of a large battered boot. His small hands were a blur. The sound of the hammer had no pauses, like hail on a flat tin roof.

Taptaptaptapataptaptaptaptaptap . . .

The boot’s owner – a big dozy Zombie – stood over him, wiggling the toes of one bare dirty foot, watching the process in admiration. There is something humbling about watching an expert at work.

‘There you go, sir,’ said O’Brian, slowing down into real time. He held up the mended boot. ‘All done.’

‘Cor,’ said the Zombie. ‘That was quick.’

‘I’m a Leprechaun. We’re fast workers.’

‘Yeah? Always thought you was a Pixie.’

‘Similar hats,’ said O’Brian shortly. ‘Common mistake.’ There was another blur of activity, and the boot was suddenly neatly wrapped in brown paper and secured with string. ‘That’ll be one pound.’

‘Amazin’,’ marvelled the Zombie, taking it. His right thumb came off and dropped on the floor. ‘Oops! There she goes again!’

Chuckling ruefully, he bent down, picked it up and dropped it into a pocket to sew back on later. That’s the trouble with being a Zombie. Bits fall off.

‘Don’t want to hurry you,’ said O’Brian, ‘but I’m closing early. Rehearsal.’

‘You boys are playin’ for our Reunion Dinner Dance in a coupla weeks,’ the Zombie informed him. ‘I’m goin’, if me legs stay on.’

‘Is that so? Well, that’ll be something for us both to look forward to, won’t it? The pound, if you please.’

After a lot of rummaging, the Zombie finally produced the coin. O’Brian popped it into the left pocket of his red trousers and snatched open the door. The Zombie lurched off down the path.

O’Brian moved out on to the doorstep. His eyes narrowed as the Zombie trod heavily on the wobbly flagstone by the gate – the flagstone that wobbled because
O’Brian kept taking it up to check that his secret pot of gold was still there
.

You need to know about the Pot. In fact, now is a good time to tell you a few things about Leprechauns in general. Here is a useful list.

1. All Leprechauns are a load of cobblers. They traditionally go into shoemaking as a trade. They stay open all hours and never turn a job down. They don’t take time off and never go on holiday. Their motto is
The Shoes Won’t Wait
.

2. Leprechauns go in for huge families. O’Brian himself has fourteen brothers. Each lives alone in his own workshop. They are forever ringing each other on the spellophone to talk about leather samples and where to go for quality nails.