Class Six and the Nits of Doom Read online

  Winsome frowned thoughtfully. ‘I think I’ve read somewhere that woo-woo-woo—magic people hate rowan twigs.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Slacker.

  ‘Not who, what,’ Winsome explained. ‘A rowan’s a sort of tree. It has bunches of red berries on in the autumn. And wik-wik—oh, bother—wickets are supposed to hate it.’

  Jack’s nose twitched. ‘I think my granddad’s got one in his garden,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ asked Emily, quite hopeful. ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Canada,’ said Jack.

  Everyone stopped looking hopeful.

  ‘But aren’t there any rowan trees near here?’ asked Serise.

  Anil rolled his eyes. ‘Of course not. We wouldn’t have a wer-wer-wer-wiggle in the school if there was, would we?’

  Emily looked as if she was going to start crying again.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Winsome, hastily. She went over to the rubbish bin and pulled something out.

  ‘Errgh!’ said Serise. ‘That’s disgusting! Someone’s drunk out of that water bottle. Eergh!’

  ‘What’s it for?’ asked Slacker, scratching his head.

  ‘It’s to make into a wer-wer-wer-widget bottle,’ said

  Winsome, mysteriously.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A wer-wer-wer, a wer-wer-wer, a—oh, blow it! A cauldron-owner’s bottle. To keep cauldron-owners away,’ said Winsome. ‘And if it keeps them away then it’ll probably wipe out other sorts of magic, too.’

  ‘A plastic water bottle?’ said Anil, doubtfully.

  ‘Well, we have to fill it up, first,’ said Winsome.

  And she led the way to the long jump pit.

  A witch bottle had to be filled with sand, which was easy, and rosemary, which was easy too. It grew in the wildlife garden because it was good for the bees.

  ‘What else do we need?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Pins,’ said Winsome.

  ‘Hm,’ said everybody. But then Anil said how about drawing pins? and then it was just a matter of getting Slacker Punchkin to stand in front of the notice board on the way back along the corridor to class so that Jack, who was skinny and little, could borrow a few without anyone noticing.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Serise, when Anil had poked the drawing pins down into the sand-and-rosemary mixture inside the bottle and screwed the top back on. Miss Broom hadn’t arrived in class yet.

  ‘Put it up the chimney,’ said Winsome. ‘That’s what it said in the wer-wer-wer-winkle book I read once.’

  Everyone looked round hurriedly. The classroom was mostly windows, and the bits that weren’t windows were cupboards or display boards.

  ‘Well, inside a wall will do,’ said Winsome.

  Slacker Punchkin thumped on the wall beside him with a vast meaty fist.

  ‘I think I could punch a hole through this,’ he said. ‘We could take down this poster of a werewolf and then stick it up again once we’ve hidden the wer-wer-wer-welly bottle.’

  ‘Idiot,’ snapped Serise. ‘Knocking a hole in that wall will take you straight through to Mr Bloodsworth’s class. And he’s a vampire.’

  Class Six had never been taught by Mr Bloodsworth, but there had been rumours about him ever since he’d arrived last year.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ Jack advised Slacker. ‘I mean, just think about the amount of blood you’ve got in you. I bet you look like a walking feast to Mr Bloodsworth. Like a big pile of doughnuts.’

  ‘Slacker looks like a big pile of doughnuts to everyone,’ muttered Serise.

  ‘Quick!’ said Emily, as footsteps sounded in the corridor. ‘She’s coming! Quick!’

  Anil hastily shoved the witch bottle into a drawer and then joined everyone in rushing to sit down and fold their arms.

  ‘That was really brave putting the wer-wer-wer-wolf bottle in your drawer,’ whispered Winsome to Anil, as Miss Broom’s bosom appeared in the doorway. ‘If Miss Broom finds it she might cast a spell on you!’

  Anil looked at Winsome as if she was mad.

  ‘I didn’t put the bottle in my drawer,’ he told her. ‘Do you think I’m nuts? I put it in Rodney’s.’

  ‘What?’ said Winsome.

  ‘Well, he’s under a spell anyway. And he doesn’t even believe in wer-wer-wer-wigwams, does he?’

  Class Six sat, agog to see what effect the magic bottle would have.

  Miss Broom went and sat at her desk. She opened the register.

  And then she twitched.

  She looked round searchingly. Class Six did their traffic cone impersonations.

  ‘That’s very odd,’ Miss Broom said. ‘I’ve got ever such a funny feeling as if…’

  She sniffed the air.

  ‘… as if someone’s put me in a plastic bubble,’ she went on. ‘As if I can’t breathe properly.’

  Her desk drawer slid itself open and Algernon’s head appeared. He slid smoothly up her arm and draped himself round her neck like a fat scarf.

  Miss Broom stroked Algernon thoughtfully.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘They’ve done what? Really? Where? Great mushrooms of Basingstoke! No wonder, then. Would you mind, Algernon, dear?’

  Algernon rippled down Miss Broom’s other arm and powerfully across her desk towards Class Six.

  ‘Do keep quite still, dears,’ said Miss Broom, kindly. ‘We don’t want Algernon to bite you.’

  Algernon was on Winsome’s desk, now. Winsome kept as still as a frozen fish finger as he crawled up her arm and across her shoulders. Then Algernon crawled down her other arm and onto Emily’s desk.

  Emily was a real cry-baby. She was frightened of everything, even paper clips. Emily was going to panic and scream and then Algernon would bite her with his sharp bright fangs, and…

  Emily gulped in a huge deep breath, opened her mouth wide—and then closed it again. Class Six could actually see the screams bulging about inside her tummy, but none of them came out. Not one. Not even when Algernon slid up her front and gazed into her eyes before aiming under her left ear and onwards towards the other side of the classroom.

  Algernon made his way straight over the desks to Rodney’s drawer and slid into it through the cut-out handle. He was too big to do that, but he did it anyway. The next thing Class Six knew, Algernon was coming out again with the witch bottle held between his jaws.

  Then, almost too quickly to see, Algernon threw the bottle into the air, and as it came down again the snake’s head struck out so fast that all Class Six saw was a blur of orange. And then the bottle was on the floor in pieces, and all the sand and rosemary and drawing pins were scattered all over the carpet.

  Miss Broom heaved a huge sigh.

  ‘Thank you, Algernon,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, though, what a dreadful thing to find in the classroom. I wonder how it got here.’

  Her orange eyes swept round the class. Everyone tried their hardest to shrink down behind their desks. It was much harder for Slacker than any of the others, but Slacker wasn’t where Miss Broom’s eyes stopped.

  They stopped on Anil, whose teeth started to chatter like icicles in an earthquake.

  Miss Broom looked at Anil very carefully, and as she did, Anil began to change. First of all Class Six found they could see the veins under his skin wriggling through his muscles; and then they found they could see his bones; and then they could see all his insides. His heart was pumping away like anything. Class Six could even see the mixture of pizza and custard that was being squeezed gently backwards and forwards in his stomach.

  Everyone opened their mouths to say eeergh—and then didn’t dare.

  Now Anil’s skull had changed to something like ripply glass, and inside there was a grey thing like a giant curled-up prawn. There were lots of tiny bits of forked lightning flicking through it, and just sometimes, like a cloud, you could see the shape of a football, or a laptop, or a stuffed rabbit.

  And then Miss Broom gave a sharp I-thought-so sniff and Anil was back to normal, except for being a bit pa
le and cross-eyed.

  ‘I see,’ said Miss Broom. ‘This is very clever of you, my dears, but really, you mustn’t worry. Why, you should be delighted and overjoyed. Just think, you’ve got a teacher who’s a witch. That’s wonderful. Magical. Remember all those boring lessons where you’ve sat there trying to learn the capital of Outer Mongolia, or when Richard the Third died, or how to use capital letters? Why, with a small spell, I can make it so you never make a mistake with capital letters again. I can make it so you never forget about Ulan Bator, or what happened in 1485. Yes, being a witch is the best thing ever. Being a witch means I can do anything at all! Anything I like!’

  Class Six sank as far as they could get behind their desks.

  Miss Broom could do anything she liked?

  Yes. That was what they were all afraid of.

  ‘What have you stuck on your face?’ demanded Rodney’s gran irritably that evening. ‘You look like something from outer space!’

  Rodney looked at himself in the mirror. He had antennae with scarlet pom-poms on the ends growing out of his forehead. Gran was right. He did look like something from outer space.

  ‘That’s funny,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember ever going in a space ship. I suppose it must have been ages ago, when I was too young to remember.’

  ‘And stop making your eyes spin round in circles!’ snapped Gran. ‘It’s enough to put me off my tea.’

  ‘Is it?’ asked Rodney, brightening. ‘So can I eat your piece of cake, then?’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Gran.

  ‘My mum put gunky stuff all over my head last night to get rid of the nits,’ Jack reported glumly in the playground the next morning. ‘It stank like anything. And then my mum didn’t find any nits in the comb afterwards, so it was all a waste of time.’

  ‘These nits are bound to be immune to ordinary nit-gunk,’ said Winsome.

  ‘They’re probably immune to everything,’ said Anil, who was looking as if he hadn’t slept much.

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Jack. ‘It’d probably take a nuclear explosion to wipe out these wer-wer-wer—oh blast it, these whatever nits.’

  Serise was giving Anil a suspicious look.

  ‘Your voice is beginning to sound a bit deep,’ she said. ‘You haven’t caught it too, have you?’

  ‘No I haven’t!’ snapped Anil—but his voice boomed on the last word like an owl in an oil drum and made everyone jump.

  ‘Oh all right, all right,’ he went on, crossly. ‘Last night I sounded as if I’d got a man-sized frog in my throat, but I haven’t got nits, any more than Jack has. I combed through my hair three times over a sheet of paper and not one single nit fell out.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, you can keep away from me,’ said Serise. ‘I don’t want them, thank you very much.’

  Emily looked round anxiously.

  ‘Where’s Rodney?’ she asked. ‘Do you think his mum’s taken him back to the doctor’s?’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Slacker Punchkin. ‘He’s gone to check himself out in the loos.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Anil, sharply. ‘What’s happened to him now?’

  Slacker shrugged. ‘Nothing really bad.’

  ‘What’s happened to him?’ asked Anil again, his voice booming round the playground like an anguished tuba.

  ‘Well, apparently he grew antennae last night, but they’ve mostly gone, now. The thing is…’

  ‘He’s coming out!’ gasped Winsome.

  And, sure enough, there was Rodney coming out of the school building.

  At least, it was someone wearing Rodney’s coat. And carrying Rodney’s bag. But…

  Serise gulped.

  ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘Not that. Please. Anything. Anything but that!’

  Beside him, Anil went the colour of vanilla fudge.

  Because Rodney had come out in huge brown spots.

  Rodney slunk across the playground in long powerful strides. When he got closer the others could see that his face had gone all velvety and golden.

  ‘Are you growing hair all over?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Well, you do as you get older,’ said Rodney.

  ‘Men are hairy,’ pointed out Anil. ‘They aren’t furry with big brown spots.’

  Rodney shrugged. ‘I suppose I must be special, then.’

  Miss Broom didn’t seem to notice that the person who answered to Rodney’s name in the register had a developed an all-over coat of shining velvet fur.

  That wasn’t all that had changed about Rodney, either. It was difficult to pin down exactly what else was different, but suddenly Rodney was almost…graceful.

  At least his trunk had shrunk overnight until all that was left was a thing like a peach-flavour wine gum, so that was something. ‘I expect he’ll be back to normal soon,’ said Anil, as bravely as he could. He was speaking in a whisper that fooled no-one. ‘I mean, his voice went back, didn’t it. By tomorrow he’ll probably be completely all right.’

  ‘Unless he’s dead,’ put in Serise, spitefully.

  And then she reached up and scratched her head hard.

  Class Six had PE that morning. They trudged grimly into the hall—all except for Rodney, who showed a surprising tendency to pounce on people’s shoe laces. But Miss Broom was so busy unwinding the ropes and pulling out the vaulting horse that she didn’t notice.

  Miss Broom dusted off her hands and turned to the class.

  ‘Now, Class Six,’ she said, ‘I think we’ll start with a short warm-up. All of you place yourselves so you can’t touch the person next to you.’

  Class Six were as spread out as they could be anyway, but they shuffled quietly sideways, trying not to meet Miss Broom’s eyes. They were reflecting swooping pterodactyls at that moment, though, and it was hard to look away.

  ‘Good. Now, I want you all to copy me. Ready? One! Two! A one two three!’

  Class Six did their best to follow Miss Broom. To start with she held up one hand up like a policeman trying to stop traffic, and then she wound her other hand round in the air like someone twirling a sparkler.

  Three little stamps with the left foot, then hop onto the right. Repeat twice. Waddle forward seven steps with the toes turned outwards, point your elbows forward as far as you could, twitch your mouth right–left–right–centre and then left again.

  Hop up and down on the left foot while chanting after Miss Broom:

  ‘Hocus-pocus

  Custard pie

  A bird can fly

  And so can—EEEEK!’

  The last bit wasn’t anything to do with Miss Broom. The last bit was the screech everyone made when the floor got suddenly lighter under their feet and they found themselves shooting upwards, away from the polished parquet tiles.

  Class Six came to a stop about half a metre up, and all you could hear after the echo of the scream had died away was the soft thudding of people’s gym shoes falling down to the floor.

  ‘That’s right, dears,’ said Miss Broom, smiling round at them. ‘Do kick your shoes off. We don’t want them falling down and hurting anyone, do we?’

  Class Six stared at each other. They all had pale faces and a hanging-from-a-coathanger look. Everyone’s hair, affected by Miss Broom’s spell, was standing on end, so that they looked like toilet brushes.

  Miss Broom looked round with great satisfaction.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Now. Right arm up in the air, everyone and then, scoop downwards. That’s it. Now the other arm. Good. Good. Watch where you’re going, Slacker, dear!’

  And Class Six were having their first ever flying lesson.

  It was scary for about twenty seconds, until they worked out how to stop themselves rolling giddily round and round. And then they got the hang of scooping themselves along, and suddenly they were having the most fun they’d ever had, including that time in Year Two when Mr Holiday spilled glue all down his trousers.

  The whole room was filled with great big grins, and children swooping through the air going whee
eeee!

  Miss Broom sat herself down on a window sill and began to drink a cup of tea that had appeared from somewhere or other, and Class Six did every flying experiment they could think of. What they couldn’t do was land—when you got to within about half a metre of the floor the air went all thick, like sponge cake, and you sort of bounced back off it. It was the same with the ceiling and the walls. All in all, it was like being on a huge bouncy castle where you never came down to earth.

  Only better. Much, much better.

  Emily found she could use one of the curtain rods as a barre for aerial ballet, and some of the boys discovered that they could use the vaulting horse to do the sort of somersaults and spins that would have won them Olympic gold medals in no time flat. Winsome flew determined, fast circuits of the room, and Slacker lay back on the air and managed to find a way to rock himself gently from side to side just as if he were in a hammock.

  Serise and some of the other girls raced each other in slaloms through the gym ropes, moving as easily as a shoal of fish.

  It was brilliant. It was tremendous. It was wonderful. It was out of this…

  Miss Broom stood up, threw her cup and saucer over her shoulder, where it vanished, and beamed round at them all.

  ‘Standing up straight, now, all of you,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid it’s time to go back to class.’

  At once everyone in Class Six felt an odd feeling in their insides as if something had been punctured. And they began to sink. Down and down and down…

  The floor felt very hard under their feet.

  ‘Now, find your gym shoes, please,’ said Miss Broom. ‘We’ve got to go across the playground.’

  The children’s arms and legs felt heavy. Pulling on their gym shoes was really hard work.

  ‘Yes, flying is very tiring, at first,’ said Miss Broom, as if she had read their minds. ‘You’ve been using muscles that have never been used in that way before. But you’ll soon get used to it. Now, line up, all of you!’

  Rodney ended up next to Winsome.

  ‘Do you still believe there’s no such thing as wer-wer-wer?’ she asked him, grinning like a watermelon. ‘As a…you know! As a pointy-hatted magic lady?’