The Witch Who Mysteries Box Set 2 Page 3

  Felix took a deep breath and fixed the Chief Witch with a searching look. “In that case, your Ladyship, may I ask why you haven’t done anything about her dyslexia?”

  The Chief Witch jerked back in her seat and her fellow witches tutted and shook their heads at Felix’s effrontery in challenging their chairman.

  Felix pushed his chin forwards to emphasize his challenge.

  The Chief Witch laid down her wand and leant her elbows forwards on the table, steepling her fingers in an echo of Monsieur Bonhomie.

  “Young man, you are confusing magic, the stock-in-trade of witches, with miracles, the performance of which is reserved to a higher power. Where would we be if witches were able to magic away the difficulties with which we are born? Where would be the challenge to face life and build character? Take the oyster. If a witch could magic the irritating grit out of oysters all over the world where would our pearls come from?

  “We have made allowances for Mpenzi’s dyslexia by allowing you to help her. Mpenzi has done well for herself in spite of her reading disability. She has raised her two brothers with negligible parental help and qualified as a barrister along the way. Do you see?”

  Felix bowed his head while he considered what the Chief Witch had said. Raising his head again, he looked back at her and nodded. “Forgive me, your Ladyship, for overstepping the mark.”

  A broad smile broke out across the Chief Witch’s face. “Good. That’s why we white witches are forbidden from using magic for our own benefit. That way lies corruption. Now, can we get back to the business of this meeting?”

  Felix inclined his head and took a step back.

  The Chief Witch turned her attention to me. “Mpenzi Munro, our intelligence about the situation in the Middle Congo is not good news. The whole country is in turmoil as the government forces try to combat the evil of the cult of the Leopardmen. Strange forces are abroad. It is unfortunate that your father made an enemy of the witch doctor of the Wazini. We have a dire warning for you: if the witch doctor can harm you, he will. He is out for revenge for Sir Archibald’s meddling in his plan to terrorize the country and gain absolute power.”

  “What am I to do, your Ladyship?” I asked her. “The semper tuens spell, even at Level Four, doesn’t keep him away.”

  “You are not maintaining your protective apricot aura, my dear, are you? There are dents in it. Didn’t I suggest you cast the spell again to repair the damage caused by use?”

  The Secretary began flipping through the pages of her minute book. She stopped and pointed out an item to the Chief Witch.

  “Well, Mpenzi, I’m waiting for an answer.”

  “Yes, you did, but we’ve been so busy. I haven’t had time to worry about myself. We only finished investigating the blues case a few days ago.”

  “Mpenzi Munro, your duty as a white witch is to fight evil and promote good. How can you do that if you are injured or enchanted, or at worst killed? The first duty of any white witch is to take care of herself. I want a promise from you that you will cast the semper tuens spell every week from now on until we can come up with more powerful protection for you. Do I have your promise?”

  “Yes, your Ladyship. We’ll do it as soon as we get back home.”

  The Chief Witch turned to Felix. “Young man?”

  “Yes, your Ladyship, but Penzi can be awfully stubborn.”

  The Chief Witch laughed. “You must prevail in your job as Mpenzi’s colleague in the fight against the wickedness of this world.” She bent her regard my way again. “And Mpenzi, those reports? I’m still waiting for them. I want to see mention of the renewal of the semper tuens spell each week in your reports.”

  “Your Ladyship,” I said nodding a promise.

  “Good,” she said. “And you might consider picking up this litter.”

  Before I had time to reply, the High Council disappeared into the night.

  Felix chuckled. “If she thinks I’m clearing this lot up, she’s got another think coming. We did it once, and that’s it.”

  He put the silver chalice back in his bag and clicked his tongue for Zag to come out of his hiding place under the dolmen.

  “Coward,” he said to the poor dog as Zag scrabbled out.

  “Not at all,” Zag replied. “With you it’s bees. With me it’s the High Council. And at least I came with you and stayed. I didn’t run away.”

  I patted Zag on his head and stroked him all the way down to his tail. “You’re a good dog, Zag. We couldn’t do without you.”

  I linked my arm through Felix’s and we made our way out of the clearing and down the slope back to the car. On the way he suggested I learn a spell for clearing up rubbish.

  I agreed. “If we’re to do more of this magic stuff, it will come in handy.”

  *

  Tired as we were when we returned to Les Dragons, Felix insisted I cast the semper tuens spell, and I felt much safer when I’d done so.

  Chapter 4

  We had agreed to meet Izzy and Garth at the oyster farm at 10.30. I’m ashamed to say our party arrived ten minutes late to find our friends waiting for us. Our midnight tryst with the High Council had caused me to oversleep and Felix hadn’t wanted to wake me up. He’d had to argue the point with an excited Jimbo who didn’t want to miss the trip to the oyster farm. Sam had chosen not to come with us as he had a date with Emmanuelle.

  To reach the Marins’s farm we had to cross over a long bridge to the oyster pans on the bank of the River Seudre. We turned off the main road leading to Darennes. On our right shallow ponds had been cut into the marshy terrain. Irrigation channels ran down to the mudflats and the river beyond.

  Half a mile along, we came to the premises of Éts. Frères Marin. As I drew up and parked, Izzy and Garth broke off their conversation with a tall gaunt man with graying hair and a serious expression. I took him to be in his late fifties but up close I realized he was probably only about forty-five or so. He came forward to greet us, a wide smile breaking across the severity of his features, and a welcoming light in his dark almost black eyes.

  We shook hands and followed him into the building which was part office, part oyster packing factory with a terrace built out over the water for visitors to dine on oysters. He insisted on giving us a tot of cognac and a coffee to ward off the early morning chill in the mist that still clung to the riverbank.

  “Not for you, young man,” he said to Jimbo. “Would you like a glass of milk or a soda?”

  “A soda, please,” Jimbo answered in French.

  “Bien. You are learning to speak our beautiful language?”

  Jimbo pointed at his chest and said, “École Primaire St. Justin—moi.”

  Monsieur Marin ruffled Jimbo’s hair. “My sister-in-law, Désirée Marin, is a teacher at that school. It’s a while since my sons attended primary school, but I’ve heard it’s great.”

  “Madame Marin is to be Jimbo’s class teacher,” I said.

  “You’ll like her. She’s a gentle person, but firm. She must be a good teacher.”

  Marin took our cups from us and ushered us out of the door.

  “Let me show you around and explain a little of our business.”

  “Do you breed the oysters in the pans we passed on the way in?” I asked knowing little about the reproductive system of mollusks.

  Marin gestured for us to follow him. “Our oysters start their life in the sea. In the spring we go out in our boat, out into the deep sea four to five miles from the coast, and we trawl for the babies with our small gauge nets.”

  Jimbo hopped and skipped a step or two to catch up with Marin. “Is your boat here, monsieur? I’d love to see it.”

  A glimmer of a smile touched Marin’s severe features. “No young man. Our boat, the Princesse, is at the fishing harbor two miles down the coast. It’s too shallow here for her at low tide like now.”

  We’d reached the first of the pans which was filled with stacks of Roman tiles.

  Marin held up his hand to stop
us. “This is where we put the baby oysters. They attach themselves to the tiles and grow in our nutrient rich water.

  “Follow me.”

  He led past similar pans until we came to one housing iron tables about eighteen inches off the bottom. Pockets of recognizable oysters sat on the tables.

  “When the oysters are about eighteen months old, we take them off the tiles—gently, mind you—and put them in these pockets. We leave them for two to three years to mature. The ponds are called claires. That’s what gives the oysters from our region their special appellation. They get their particular flavor from the mixture of fresh water from the river and the salt water that rushes into the estuary.”

  Jimbo had wandered off, bored with Monsieur Marin’s technical explanation. I dashed after him and brought him back to the group. I’d missed a large part of the description but caught the tail end. Apparently, the oysters were washed in fresh water before they were packed and sold.

  “We need new concrete tanks for this process,” Marin was saying, “but we can’t afford the investment at the moment.”

  “Does your brother work with you in the business?” Felix asked.

  “My younger brother, Ben? Yes, he does, but he also runs a scuba diving business at the weekends so he isn’t here today.”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn to scuba dive,” I said nudging Felix. “Haven’t you?”

  “Oh, I have and I did. Your father took me for a holiday down to the East African coast and I learned there. Exploring the tropical reefs was a wonderful experience.”

  “What about you, Izzy?”

  “I had to learn to dive for a film I was in, Danger in the Depths. It was my main reason for doing the film. We had lessons in Florida and the film was shot on the Australian Great Barrier Reef. One of my greatest memories.”

  I asked Marin if he was a diver.

  “No, I leave that to my brother Ben. He likes to explore the wrecks around here. This is a savage coast with a vicious riptide running out of the Gironde estuary. Ships have sunk here throughout the centuries, right back to pre-Roman days. Then, there are all the wrecks from the Second World War.”

  Garth had been listening to the conversation with interest. “We also sank a few ships in the Gironde. We, being the Special Boat Service, the SBS. The SBS is still trained for sabotage, hostage rescue and the like.”

  “So you can dive?” I asked him.

  He smiled. “Actually, I’m a certified instructor. That’s how Izzy and I met, on the set of Danger in the Depths.”

  “He’s a good teacher,” said Izzy clapping Garth on the back.

  “You’re a dark horse,” said Felix.

  “Very dark. I helped set up the training system for the US Navy Seals, but as they say in all the films, if I tell you any more, I’ll have to shoot you.”

  “Looks as if I’m in exalted company,” I said. “I’m the only one who can’t dive.”

  “Yet,” said Felix giving me a friendly shove. “You’d pick it up quickly. You can swim can’t you?”

  “Of course, I can,” I answered giving him a shove back.

  Marin had been watching this friendly horseplay with a bemused look on his face.

  “Monsieur Marin, is your brother taking any new students?” I asked him.

  “I would think so, but you must ask him. I’ll give you the address of his diving school when we return to the office. It’s close to the fishing port where we keep our boat.”

  I clapped my hands. “Good. If I have lessons, we can all go out together and dive around here, and you three can keep an eye on me.”

  “What about me?” asked Jimbo.

  “Your turn will come,” said Felix. “For now work hard at your swimming lessons.”

  Jimbo tossed his head and stalked off towards the factory and office.

  “Time for your lunch,” said Marin holding out his arms to shepherd us towards the dining area.

  We skirted the building and climbed a flight of steps up onto the terrace where four tables awaited visitors. We chose the one closest to the sea and took our places. The wind hadn’t abated, but it wasn’t cold enough to ask for the glass doors to be closed. The vast stretches of sand uncovered by the low tide sent the smell of the mud dwellers our way putting us in the mood for our feast.

  Marin offered us apéritifs and returned bearing a tray with ice, pineau both red and white, and glasses plus the usual bowl of peanuts.

  “Please, help yourselves. I must give my wife a hand with the oysters. We don’t prepare them in advance. How many dozen would you like and what size?”

  “We could probably eat eighteen each, so six dozen of your largest, and do you have something for children?” I asked him as I set the glasses round the table.

  “Why can’t I have oysters, too?” asked Jimbo.

  “You didn’t like them much the other day. It’s a taste you have to grow into.”

  Monsieur Marin ruffled Jimbo’s hair again.

  “We have pizza for you, if you want it.”

  “Yes, please,” Jimbo said relaxing back into his chair.

  Felix poured out the pineau, and we all clinked glasses to good friendship. I had missed Izzy over the past few days while she’d been in LA. It was good to have this opportunity to spend time with her and Garth.

  We chatted about this and that. Izzy told us about her trip and about how much she hated having to return without her husband.

  “But the filming’s going well and it isn’t long to Chris—”

  Crash! Bang! It sounded as if a Greek wedding was taking place in the kitchen behind the terrace. Marin’s voice shouted out in incomprehensibly rapid French followed by a higher pitched voice equally angry and which we took to be Madame Marin’s.

  The battle went on until it became embarrassing.

  “Do you think we should leave?” whispered Izzy.

  “No need to whisper,” said Garth. “Those two aren’t going to hear you above the noise they’re making.”

  “Relax,” said Felix. “Another round everyone? Enjoy the drinks and the landscape. The oysters aren’t going to spoil.”

  The row in the kitchen died down and a woman came out onto the terrace to lay the table. Red blotches marked her cheeks and the French roll binding up her dark hair had come adrift with long wisps clinging around her ears. She kept her head down, not looking us in the eye, until she had to at the last minute.

  “So sorry,” she murmured as she placed silverware, a basket of fresh smelling bread and a plate of lemons on the table. “Mariage! You know, it is difficult sometimes. No?”

  Felix patted her hand. “Madame, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re all enjoying the scenery.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “So kind, monsieur, but I’m sure you are not that deaf. Such a gentleman. Now, would you like chopped shallots with your oysters?”

  “Please,” we answered.

  When she’d left, Garth said, “I guess that was Madame Marin.”

  “Feisty couple,” Felix said.

  *

  When at last the oysters arrived we all dug in and easily managed our quota of eighteen each. Jimbo said his pizza was ace. Madame Marin offered us coffee, and we accepted. She came out with the tray followed by Monsieur Marin with a bottle of cognac and brandy glasses. He pulled over a chair for his wife and poured us each a generous tot.

  “I offer you the cognac to make up for the disturbance,” he said fetching a chair for himself and joining us.

  Felix gave me a nudge. “Penzi, this is your chance to show Monsieur Marin your pearl.”

  My goodness! I’d forgotten all about it, what with the tour of the farm, the pineau and the side-show of Punch and Judy in the kitchen. I took it out of my pocket and unwrapped the paper towel.

  I held it out to him saying, “Look what I found in one of your oysters the other day.”

  “That’s wonderful,” he said, “And so rare. It’s a sign of good fortune to come.”

&nbs
p; I hoped so although I would settle for a few weeks of peace and quiet. We paid for our lunch and left amid invitations to return soon.

  Chapter 5

  I’d been apprehensive on the Monday morning about Jimbo’s first day at his new school but not as scared as Jimbo was. Gwinny and I were up early to make sure everything was in order for his important debut. We wanted to take away any unnecessary stress and send him off in good spirits. It would be his first day at school without having to wear a uniform since his days at kindergarten. Choosing what he would wear the next day had cheered him up on the Sunday night.

  Gwinny made him scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast. Jimbo was upset that he had to give up his trip down to Brioche’s bakery for our breakfast croissants. Gwinny had hoped Sam would take over but after waiting for him to surface, I decided I’d collect the croissants when I escorted Jimbo down to the school bus collection point outside The Union Jack.

  Wilfred had a tight hold of Audrey’s hand when we arrived. Although Wilfred was French and so wouldn’t have the language difficulties that faced Jimbo, it was his first day at a real school.

  As I chatted to Audrey, Jimbo shook with nervousness. He clung to my hand transferring his tremors to me. I had to do something to take his mind off his fear without drawing attention to it.

  I let go his hand and drew him over to Wilfred.

  “Why don’t you take Wilfred’s hand and give him your support?” I whispered to him. “He’s a bit scared of this his first day at school.”

  Jimbo cocked his head to the side and gave me a questioning look, but followed my suggestion and moved close to Wilfred taking hold of his spare hand saying, “Don’t be frightened. School is fun. You’ll see.”

  By this time several other children had joined us from the surrounding houses. The bus arrived on time and the children pushed forward in a scrum.