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哈尔的移动城堡|Howl’s Moving Castle

第2章初遇荒地女巫

属类： 双语小说 【分类】魔幻小说 -[作者: 黛安娜-W-琼斯] 阅读：[6063]
Chapter 2 Sophie is compelled to seek her fortune
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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“什么？”苏菲直勾勾盯着这个坐在她对面凳子上的女孩，她看起来跟乐蒂一模一样。穿着乐蒂次好的蓝色洋装，那是最适合她的美丽蓝色。她也拥有乐蒂的黑发和蓝眼。

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“我是玛莎。”她妹妹说：“你不是逮到我割破乐蒂的丝绸衬裤吗？我可是不曾跟乐蒂提过这件事喔。你有跟她说吗？”

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“没有，”苏菲惊讶得目瞪口呆。但是现在她看得出来眼前的人确实是玛莎了。脸孔虽是乐蒂的脸孔，但是头微侧一边的姿态却完全是玛莎式的。还有玛莎那抱着膝盖，两个大拇指互绕的招牌动作。

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“为什么？”

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“我一直担心你会跑来看我，”玛莎说：“因为那一来我就必须跟你说实话。但是现在我反而觉得如释重负。答应我，你决不告诉任何人。我知道你一旦答应了就不会说出去，你一直都那么诚实。”

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“我答应你。”苏菲说：“但是，为什么？你又是怎么办到的？”

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“乐蒂跟我一道计划的。”玛莎边说边绕着两个大拇指：“因为乐蒂想学巫术，而我不想学。乐蒂脑子好，她希望以后从事的是需要用脑的工作，但是跟妈妈说这些是没用的。妈妈一直都很嫉妒乐蒂，根本不愿承认她有那个头脑。”

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苏菲无法相信芬妮会是那个样子，但是她不去辩驳，只是接着问：“那你呢？”

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“吃蛋糕啊，”玛莎劝道：“蛮好吃的。噢，是啦，我其实也不苯。我在菲菲克丝太太那儿才两个星期，就找到我们现在用的这个咒语。我半夜悄悄起床，偷读她的书，那书其实蛮容易读的。然后我问她我能不能回家看看家人？她是个好人，以为我想家。于是我带着咒语来到这儿，乐蒂则乔装成我，回到菲菲克丝太太那儿去。第一个星期最困难，因为我很多该知道的事都不知道，情况实在糟透了！但是我发现人们很喜欢我，他们是真心喜欢！你知道吗？如果你真心喜欢别人，他们也会如此待你，而事情就会变得圆满。至于乐蒂，菲菲克丝太太并未将她扫地出门，所以我想她应该是混的不错。”

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苏菲虽然吃着蛋糕，但是食而无味。

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“你们为何会想要这么做？”

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玛莎在凳子上摇晃着，酷似乐蒂的脸笑得非常灿烂，两只粉红色的大拇指快乐地飞绕着。

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“因为我想结婚，想要生十个小孩。”

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“你还不到结婚年龄啊！”苏菲叫道。

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“是还没到，”玛莎倒是同意：“但是你也可以想见，若要生上十个小孩的话，是越早开始越好。这个方法让我有时间观察我想要的人是否因为我的本质而喜欢我，因为咒语会慢慢地消失，我会越来越像回我自己。”

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苏菲实在是太吃惊了！虽然蛋糕都吃下肚了，却压根儿没注意到那到底是什么口味的蛋糕。“为什么是十个小孩？”

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“因为我想要那么多嘛！”玛莎回答道。

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“我从不知道！”

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“你一向跟妈妈同一阵线，认为我注定要成大器什么的，跟你谈也是白谈。”玛莎说：“你把他*的话当一回事，深信不疑。我本来也是的。但是爸爸去世后，我发现她根本只想要摆脱我们——让乐蒂到可以遇到很多男人，可以赶快嫁掉的地方工作。至于我，则送得越远越好。我实在气炸了！我跟乐蒂谈，她也是气的不得了。所以咯，我们就想出这么一个计谋。我们现在蛮好的。但是我们都很为你不平。你既聪明又善良，不应该一辈子被那间店绑着。但是我们虽然讨论了，却不想不出该怎么做。”

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“我没事的，”苏菲抗议道。“只不过日子过得有点无聊。”

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“没事？”玛莎大叫：“没事的话会好几个月都不上我这里来？好不容易出现了，却穿着可怕的灰衣服和灰披肩，好象连我都会让你吓一跳似的。妈妈到底对你干了什么好事？”

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“没有啊，”苏菲不按地回答：“反正我们最近就是很忙。你不应该这样说芬妮的，她可是你亲生的母亲呢！”

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“对！就是因为像她，所以我才那么了解她！”玛莎回嘴道：“这也是为什么她试图将我送得远远的原因。妈妈深谙无需对人残酷却能剥削别人之道。她知道你非常尽责，也知道你一直深信当老大注定要有失败的人生。她就是利用这两点把你吃的死死的，让你为她做牛做马，我敢打赌她根本没付你薪水。”

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“我还只是个学徒。”苏菲抗议道。

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“我也是啊！但我可是有薪水可领的。希赛利知道他们没白付我钱。”玛莎说：“多亏了你，那间店现在可是赚翻了。让市长夫人戴起来年轻的吓人，像女学生般的那顶绿色帽子是你做的吧？”

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“嫩绿色的，是我装饰的没错。”苏菲答道。

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“还有珍法丽儿遇到贵族时戴的那顶无边帽，”玛莎滔滔不绝地往下说：“你是制帽子和衣服的天才！妈妈可清楚的很。你去年五月节帮乐蒂做了那件衣服后，命运就被决定了。现在是你拼了命在赚钱，她却尽在外头闲逛。”

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“她去外头进货啦！”苏菲说。

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“进货！”玛莎大叫。拇指又飞快地轮转起来：“那根本要不了半个早晨的时间。苏菲，我见过她，也听人说过。她乘着雇来的马车，穿着靠你赚来的钱买来的新衣，到山谷区拜访所有的豪宅。人家说她要买那间位于谷端的大房子，要住得气气派派的。你呢？你会在哪儿？”

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“呃，芬妮毕竟曾努力将我们抚养长大，理当享受一下。”苏菲说：“我想……我大概会继承店铺吧。”

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“那样的命运！”玛莎大叫：“你听我说……”

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但是，就在这时候，房间另一头两个空的蛋饼架被拉开，一个学徒探首进来说：“乐蒂，我就猜那是你的声音。”边说边展露出一个在极端友善中又带着调情味儿的微笑。“跟她们说，新货刚刚出炉了。”说完，这颗卷发上沾着些面粉的头又消失了。

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苏菲觉得这个男孩很不错，她想问玛莎那是不是她的意中人？但是却没机会问出口。玛莎匆忙的一跃而起，嘴里仍不停的说着：“我得叫女孩们去把东西搬到店里。你帮我搬那一头。”她将最近的一个架子拉出来，苏菲努力帮她将架子推过房门，到忙碌吵杂的前店里去。

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“苏菲，你必须为自己打算。”玛莎边喘气边叮咛：“乐蒂一直说，没有我们在旁给你打气的话，不知道你会变成什么样子。她的担心的确不是没道理。”

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店里，希赛利太太粗壮的双臂接过她们推来的架子，高声喊着指令，一票人旋即冲过玛莎身旁去推更多的架子。苏菲高声喊再见后，就由这团喧哗中开溜。她不想占用玛莎太多时间。此外，她需要独自一人思考，她一路跑回家。有人开始放烟火，就在河边的广场，原先举办市集的地方。烟火与豪尔巫师城堡射出来的蓝色火焰在天空中争辉，但苏菲的心情却是前所未有的低落。

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接下来那个星期，她大部分的时间都在思索，但是尽管想了又想，却是越想越困惑，不满。事情怎么跟她原来想的都不一样？乐蒂和玛莎真是令人吃惊！这么多年来，她都未能真正了解她们，她更不能相信芬妮会是玛莎说的那种人。

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她有许多时间可以思考，因为贝希结婚去了，大多时间只剩她一个人在店里。芬妮确实经常外出，不管是闲逛或什么的。五月节后生意也淡下来了。三天后，苏菲鼓起勇气问芬妮：“你是不是该付我一些薪水？”

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“亲爱的，那是当然咯，你做了那么多事！”芬妮边对着店里的镜子调整了一顶镶有玫瑰的帽子，一边亲切地回答：“等我今晚算过帐后再来决定。”说完她就出门去了。一直到苏菲关了店，把那天没做完的帽子都拿回家继续做，她才回来。

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起先当玛莎那样说芬妮时，她觉得光是听都不太应该。但是，当那一晚，甚至接下来整个星期芬妮提都不提薪水的事时，苏菲开始觉得玛莎说的没错。

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“也许我真是被剥削了。”她正以红色断代和一大串蜡制樱桃在装饰一顶帽子。她跟帽子说：“但是事情总得有人来做，不是吗？不然就没帽子可卖了。”她弄好那顶帽子后，开始弄另一顶漆黑、间杂着白色的帽子，很流行的样式。突然，一个不曾有过的念头闪进心头。

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“真没帽子可卖的话又怎么样呢？”她问帽子。她还目四顾，看那些已装饰好挂在架子上的，以及堆积在一块等着被装饰的帽子们。“你们有什么好的？”她问它们：“你们根本不曾给我带来半点好处！”

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就在她差点要离家出走去闯荡天下时，她突然想起自己是家里的老大，再怎么挣扎都是徒劳无功，就泄了气，拿起帽子边缝边叹气。

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第二天早上，她独自一人在店里时，心里仍充满着不满的情绪。有位其貌不扬的年轻女子突然冲进店来，手里转着一顶打有蘑菇色褶子的女帽。“你给我好好看看！”她尖叫着：“你跟我说这跟珍法丽儿和男爵见面时戴的帽子一样。你骗我！它并未带给我任何好运！”

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“我一点都不觉得惊讶！”苏菲一句话冲口而出：“如果你会愚蠢到拿那顶帽子来配你那张脸的话，就是国王来到你跟前求婚，你都会认不出他的。不过我想他光看到你，就会先吓得变成石头了！”

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那顾客一时目瞪口呆。接着她将帽子用力掷向苏菲，冲出店外。苏菲边喘着气边将帽子小心仔细地塞到垃圾桶里。生意人的铁律是：脾气失控，顾客失踪。她刚刚证明了这条铁律正确无误。令她不安的是，她发现这样做居然另她痛快无比！

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但是她还没来得及让心情平复下来，店门口就传来一阵车轮及马蹄声，马车的车身挡住了窗前的阳光。店门口悬挂的铃铛叮当作响，一位她这辈子不曾见过的、华丽无比的客人趾高气扬地走进店里。黑貂皮披肩由手肘垂坠下来，深黑色的衣服上缀满钻石，一闪一闪的。

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苏菲的视线先飘向她的宽边帽——那是真正的鸵鸟毛，经过染色，与衣服上闪烁着粉红色、绿色及蓝色的钻石相辉映，但看起来偏偏还是黑色！这顶帽子可是价值不菲哪！

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这位女士的脸修饰得很美丽。栗子色的头发让她看起来较为年轻，但是呢……苏菲注意到跟着这位女士走进来的年轻男子，这人脸的轮廓不甚明显，一头红发，穿着入时，但脸色苍白且透着不悦。

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他直勾勾地看着苏菲，眼中带着恳求与恐惧。他显然比这位女士年轻许多。苏菲觉得十分困惑。

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“海特小姐吗？”这女人悦耳的声音透着权威。

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“是的，”苏菲答道。那位男士的脸看起来更加不快乐了。也许这女人是他妈妈？苏菲想着。

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“我听说你在卖最能令人幸福的帽子。”那女人说：“让我看看。”

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苏菲不太确定以她现在的心情会说出什么样的话来，就直接进去拿帽子出来给她看。这些都不是她那种身份的人会买的，但是苏菲可以感觉到那男人的眼光一直跟着她，这令她非常不舒服。等这个女人发现这些帽子都不合她意之后，这对奇怪的男女就会马上离开了。她依照芬妮教过她的推销方法，先拿最不适合的给她。

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这女人马上开始批评。“酒窝！”她对粉红色的无边帽说。“青春呢！”她看着嫩绿色的帽子说。至于有亮片及面纱的那顶，她说是：“神秘的迷人风采。这么明显的事！还有没有别的？”

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苏菲拿出那顶漆黑、间杂有白色的帽子。这是唯一有一点点可能会让她看上眼的。但是那女人眼中透着轻蔑：“这顶不会带给任何人任何东西！海特小姐，我看你是在浪费我的时间！”

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“是你自己跑进来要看帽子的！”苏菲顶她：“夫人，我们不过是小镇上的一家小店，你干嘛——”那女人身后的男士倒吸了一口气，似乎想警告她些什么。“自己眼巴巴地跑来！”苏菲把句子说完，心里想着：接下来呢？

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“当有人想跟荒地女巫竞争时我就会跑来！”那女人说：“海特小姐，我听人谈起你，我不喜欢你跟我竞争，我也不喜欢你的态度。我是来阻止你的。来！”她伸出一只手，对苏菲的脸做了一个抛掷的动作。

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“你是说，你是荒地女巫？”苏菲颤声问道，声音因害怕与惊讶而变的很奇怪。

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“没错，”那女人回答道：“这是给你的教训，看你还敢不敢捞过界，侵犯到我的领域。”

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“我没有啊！你一定是搞错了。”苏菲哑着声音抗议。那个男子紧瞪着她的眼神中露出非常恐怖的神情，苏菲不明白他为何会这样。

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“错不了的，海特小姐。”女巫说：“格斯顿，咱们走。”她转身往店门走去。

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格斯顿很恭谨的为她开门，她突然转过身跟苏菲说：“还有，你将无法告诉别人你受了诅咒。”说完就走了，门上的铃铛在她走后仍响个不停，彷若葬礼上的丧钟。

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苏菲想知道那男人到底看到了什么？她伸出双手往脸上摸去，摸到的是柔软像皮革似的皱纹。她低头看手，手也同样布满皱纹，而且瘦瘦的，手背上满是隆起的青筋，指关节也变得很粗大。她把灰裙子提高，看自己的脚。足踝和脚都又瘦又老，这让鞋子看起来像长了疙瘩似的，它们看起来就像九十岁老太太的脚，偏又那么真实！

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苏菲往镜子走去，却发现自己脚步蹒跚。但是，镜中的脸倒是显得很沉着，因为她告诉自己一定要镇定。那是一张被白发包围，瘦削的老妇的脸，脸色憔悴而枯黄。眼睛则黄黄的、水汪汪的瞪着她瞧，看来十分可怜。

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“别担心，老家伙，”苏菲对镜中的脸说：“你看来挺健康的。何况，这不是更接近真实的你吗？”

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她很镇定地思索自己的处境，所有一切似乎都变得平静而遥远，她甚至不怎么生荒地女巫的气。

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“当然啦，有机会的话我还是要报复的，”她跟自己这么说。“但是就目前而言，如果乐蒂和玛莎可以忍受变成对方来生活，我当然也可以忍受自己变成这个样子。不过，我不能待在这里，芬妮会吓坏的。让我想想，这件灰色洋装还挺合适的。不过我还需要我的披肩跟一些食物。”

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她蹒跚地走到店门口，小心地放上『本店关门』的牌子。当她移动时，全身关节都嘎嘎作响。她必须弯着腰，慢慢行走。但是她发现自己其实还蛮强健的，因此安心不少。她并不觉得衰弱或有病痛，只是觉得浑身僵硬。她蹒跚地走过去拿起披肩，学着老妇人一般，将头和肩膀都包了起来，然后慢慢走会家里，将只放有几个铜板的钱包和面包、乳酪等一起打包。她走出房门，将钥匙藏在平日的藏匿地点，就沿着街道蹒跚地走下去，连自己都惊讶心情竟能如此平静！

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她考虑过是否要跟玛莎道别，但她想到玛莎若认不出她，她心里大概会很不舒服，所以，就这么离开应该是最好的，她决定等确定自己的居留处后再给两位妹妹写信。她就是这么走着，通过举办市集的草地，越过桥，往乡村道路走去。那是一个温暖的春天。苏菲发现，即使变成老太婆，还是可以欣赏景色，并享受灌木树篱里飘来的春日芳香。虽然景色看来可能稍稍模糊了些。走着走着，她的背开始发痛。她虽然可以走得不错，但还是需要一根拐杖。她在灌木丛里搜寻，希望能找到像是松脱的棍状物之类的东西。

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她的眼力显然不大如前。走了约莫一哩路后，她以为自己看到了一根木棍。但是当她弯身去拉的时候，却发现那其实是一个被扔到树丛里的，旧稻草人的剩余部分。苏菲将它立起来，它的脸是一个枯萎的萝卜。苏菲觉得它蛮可怜的，所以，不仅没将它拆开来，取它的身体为拐杖，反而将它立在树篱的两根枝干之间，让它隐隐约约潇洒地站在山楂花之间，两只破旧的袖子则在树篱上方随风飞扬。

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“好了！”她跟稻草人说，但随即被自己沙哑苍老的声音吓了一跳，发出一串苍老的笑声。“朋友，我们两个好象都不怎么成材啊！像这样让别人能看见你，也许你还有机会回到田里去。”说完她就上路了。

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但是走没几步，她突然想到什么，停下脚步，转身对稻草人说：“要不是因为我身为家里的老大而注定要有个失败人生的话，你就可以活过来，帮忙我赚大钱了。总之，祝你好运呀。”

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她边走边咯咯笑。或许她有些不正常吧？但老女人不常都是这个样子的吗？

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约一小时后，她在河岸边坐下来休息吃面包和乳酪时，找到了一根拐杖。她先是听到身后的树篱里有狗吠声，声音很奇怪：先是仿佛要窒息般的细声尖叫，接着是剧烈到足以摇落山楂花花瓣的喘息声。苏菲在地上匍匐前行，试着在落叶、花朵与荆棘的间隙间，寻找来自树篱深处声音的来源。最后终于给她看到一只瘦瘦的灰狗，很无助地陷在那里。它脖子上绑着绳子，但是不知为什么，有一根强韧的枯枝居然和这绳子卷在一起。枯枝的两端各卡在旁边的树干上，这只狗因此动弹不得。看到苏菲的脸时，它只能拼命地转动它的眼睛。

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从小苏菲就怕狗，各种各类的狗。即使变成了老妇人，看到那家伙张开的嘴里两排白森森的狗牙，还是令她非常紧张的，但她一再告诉自己：“人都变成这副模样了，还有什么好担忧的！”便伸手到缝纫盒里摸出剪刀，探手到树篱里，开始去锯那只狗脖子上的绳子。

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那只狗很狂野，忙着避开她不说，还咆哮着，但苏菲勇敢地继续锯下去。“除非你让我将这绳子锯开，”她以沙哑苍老的声音跟狗说：“不然哪，你不是会饿死就是会窒息而死。依我看来，是有人存心要让你窒息而死。是因为这样你才对我这么凶吗？”绳子缚得很紧，枯枝更是恶毒地紧紧缠绕住绳子，苏菲花了好大的工夫才将绳子锯断，让狗可以由枯枝挣脱出来。

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“你要吃点面包跟乳酪吗？”苏菲问它，但那狗对着她咆哮，由树篱另一边挤出去，一溜烟跑了。

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“你可真懂得感激呀！”苏菲叹口气，揉揉自己酸痛的手臂。“不过你无意间到是给我留下了一份礼物啊。”她将那支卡住狗的枯枝由树篱里拉出来，发现拿来当拐杖正好。杖身经过修饰，顶端还镶了铁。她吃过面包和乳酪之后，再度上路。路越来越陡峭。她发现这根拐杖还挺有用的。它还可以是谈话的对象哩！苏菲边用力地执杖而行，边跟她的拐杖说话。反正，老年人常会自言自语。

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“到目前为止我遭逢了两桩事件，”她说：“两个对象都没半句感谢的话。不过，你可真是根好拐杖！不是我爱发牢骚，事不过三嘛，一定会有第三次的，神不神奇且不去管他，反正，一定要再来一次，这点我很坚持。不过，不知道会是什么样的事喔。”

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第三桩遭遇发生在近傍晚的时候，当时苏菲已走到山岗上相当高的地方了，一个乡下人吹着口哨朝她走下来。这是个牧羊人，苏菲想着，把羊安顿好后要下山回家了。这年轻人看来不过四十上下，经济似乎颇宽裕。“天哪！”苏菲自言自语道：“如果我是今天早上看到他的话，我一定觉得他很老。人的看法怎会变这么快！”

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那牧羊人看到苏菲在自言自语时，马上很小心地移到小路的另一边行走，同时非常热情地打招呼：“大妈，晚安啊。您上哪儿去呀？”

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“大妈？”苏菲斥道：“年轻人，我可不是你妈妈！”

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“不过是一种措辞嘛。”牧羊人边说边贴着另一边的树篱行走：“看到您日头都快下山了还往山上走，客气地问候您一下罢了。您不会想在天黑前赶到上福而丁去吧？”

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苏菲压根儿没想过这个问题。她停在路上思考。“真的无所谓，”她回道，其实有一半是说给自己听的。“既然要外出赚钱，就不能太挑剔。”

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“是嘛，大妈，”牧羊人现在已通过苏菲往下走了，他很明显地松了一口气。

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“那么，祝您好运。希望您用以赚钱的方式不包括对人们的牲畜下咒。”说完他就大踏步，几乎是用跑的快快下山去了。

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苏菲没好气地瞪着他的背影。“他以为我是女巫呢！”她跟拐杖抱怨。她很想对着那牧羊的背后喊些坏话，故意吓吓他，不过那样似乎太坏心肠了些。她继续往上走，同时自顾自的说着话。不久，树篱消失了，出现在眼前的是光秃的堤岸，再往前是石楠丛生的高地，而再过去，走上一大段陡峭的山路后是一片草地，覆盖着黄色的草，被风吹得沙沙作响。苏菲绷着脸继续前进。她瘦骨嶙峋的脚痛着，背和膝盖也都吃不消。她累得无法再自言自语，只是继续走着，喘着气。知道太阳快沉到地平线下了，她才突然发现，她连再走一步的力气也没有了。

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她瘫在路边的石头上，想着接下来该怎么办。她喘着气说：“我唯一能想到的财富，是一张舒服的椅子！”

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那块石头恰好位在突起的高地上，苏菲因此可以清楚俯瞰她来时的路径，大部分的山谷尽收眼底。她可以俯瞰那映照在夕阳余辉下的山谷、田野、墙垣与树篱、蜿蜒的河流，还有富裕人家的豪宅由树丛间鲜明地突显出来，还可以一路远眺到远处的蓝色山脉。在她的正底下是马克奇平镇。苏菲可以清楚看到它著名的街道，还有方形市场和希赛利糕饼店。她甚至可以瞄准位于帽店旁，家里的那根烟囱，仍颗石头下去。

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“怎么还这么近！”她不悦地跟拐杖抱怨：“走了那么多路，结果不过走到自家的屋顶而已。”

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太阳下山后，石头开始变冷。还有一股令人不舒服的冷风，不论苏菲转到哪个方向都躲不开它。现在，‘在外头露天过夜’看来不再是毫不重要的问题了，她的思绪越来越被一把舒服的椅子、火炉旁、黑暗、野兽等事占据，但是她若要回马克奇平镇的话，起码要走到半夜才能走到。所以，最好还是往前走吧！她叹口气，站起来，全身都嘎嘎作响，实在糟透了！她全身都在痛。

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“我以前从不知道老年人必须忍受些什么。”她一边吃力地往上走一边叹气：“不过，我想野狼不会吃我的。对它们而言，我是太干太硬了！这点蛮另人安慰的。”

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夜降临得很快，石楠丛生的高地成为蓝灰色，风更锐利了。苏菲的喘息声和四肢骨头嘎嘎响的声音，听在她自己耳朵里只觉得震天介响。因此，过了好一会儿她才注意到，她所听到的喘息与嘎嘎声，有一部分其实是出自别出。她实现模糊地往上看。

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豪尔巫师的城堡正越过荒地，颠簸地对着她隆隆飞来。黑烟从后头黑色的城垛往上喷出，成朵朵黑云。整座城堡看来又高又瘦，很重很丑陋，而且带着邪气。苏菲倚着拐杖看着，她并不怎么觉得害怕，只是奇怪它是怎么移动的。更重要的是，她脑袋里想着：有烟就有火，这么多的烟就表示，那高高的黑色城墙之后藏有熊熊的烈火。

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“咦，那有什么不可以？”她跟拐杖说：“豪尔巫师应该不会想要收集我的灵魂的！他只要年轻女孩的呀。”

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她举起拐杖，对着城堡急切地挥舞。尖叫道：“停下来！”

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城堡依言，在离她五十尺处的高地轰隆隆地停下来了。苏菲对着他蹒跚走去，心中满是喜悦。

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“What?” Sophie stared at the girl on the stool opposite her. She looked just like Lettie. She was wearing Lettie’s second-best blue dress, a wonderful blue that suited her perfectly. She had Lettie’s dark hair and blue eyes.

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“I am Martha,” said her sister. “Who did you catch cutting up Lettie’s silk drawers? I never told Lettie that. Did you?”

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“No,” said Sophie, quite stunned. She could see it was Martha now. There was Martha’s tilt to Lettie’s head, and Martha’s way of clasping her hands round her knees with her thumbs twiddling. “Why?”

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“I’ve been dreading you coming to see me,” Martha said, “because I knew I’d have to tell you. It’s a relief now I have. Promise you won’t tell anyone. I know you won’t tell if you promise. You’re so honorable.”

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“I promise,” Sophie said. “But why? How?”

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“Lettie and I arranged it,” Martha said, twiddling her thumbs, “because Lettie wanted to learn witchcraft and I didn’t. Lettie’s got brains, and she wants a future where she can use them-only try telling that to Mother! Mother’s too jealous of Lettie even to admit she has brains!”

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Sophie could not believe Fanny was like that, but she let it pass. “But what about you?”

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“Eat your cake,” said Martha. “It’s good. Oh, yes, I can be clever too. It only took me two weeks at Mrs. Fairfax’s to find the spell we’re using. I got up at night and read her books secretly, and it was easy really. Then I asked if I could visit my family and Mrs. Fairfax said yes. She’s a dear. She thought I was homesick. So I took the spell and came here, and Lettie went back to Mrs. Fairfax pretending to be me. The difficult part was the first week, when I didn’t know all the things I was supposed to know. It was awful. But I discovered that people like me-they do, you know, if you like them-and then it was all right. And Mrs. Fairfax hasn’t kicked Lettie out, so I suppose she managed too.”

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Sophie chomped at cake she was not really tasting. “But what made you want to do this?”

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Martha rocked on her stool, grinning all over Lettie’s face, twirling her thumbs in a happy pink whirl. “I want to get married and have ten children.”

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“You’re not quite old enough!” said Sophie.

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“Not quite,” Martha agreed. “But you can see I’ve got to start quite soon in order to fit ten children in. And this way gives me time to wait and see if the person I want likes me for being me. The spell’s going to wear off gradually, and I shall get more and more like myself, you see.”

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Sophie was so astonished that she finished her cake without noticing what kind it had been. “Why ten children?”

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“Because that’s how many I want,” Said Martha.

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“I never knew!”

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“Well, it wasn’t much good going on about it when you were so busy backing Mother up about me making my fortune,” Martha said. “You thought Mother meant it. I did too, until Father died and I saw she was just trying to get rid of us- putting Lettie where she was bound to meet a lot of men and get married off, and sending me as far away as she could! I was so angry I thought, Why not? And I spoke to Lettie and she was just as angry and we fixed it up. We’re fine now. But we both feel bad about you. You’re far too clever and nice to be stuck in that shop for the rest of your life. We talked about it, but we couldn’t see what to do.”

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“I’m all right,” Sophie protested. “Just a bit dull.”

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“All right?” Martha exclaimed. “Yes, you prove you’re all right by not coming near here for months, and then turning up in a frightful gray dress and shawl, looking as if even I scare you! What’s Mother been doing to you?”

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“Nothing,” Sophie said uncomfortably. “We’ve been rather busy. You shouldn’t talk about Fanny that way, Martha. She is your mother.”

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“Yes, and I’m enough like her to understand her,” Martha retorted. “That’s why she sent me so far away, or tried to. Mother knows you don’t have to be unkind to someone in order to exploit them. She knows how dutiful you are. She knows you have this thing about being a failure because you’re only the eldest. She’s managed you perfectly and got you slaving away for her. I bet she doesn’t pay you.”

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“I’m still an apprentice,” Sophie protested.

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“So am I, but I get a wage. The Cesaris know I’m worth it,” said Martha. “That hat shop is making a mint these days, and all because of you! You made that green hat that makes the Mayor’s wife look like a stunning schoolgirl, didn’t you?”

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“Caterpillar green. I trimmed it,” said Sophie.

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“And the bonnet Jane Farrier was wearing when she met that nobleman,” Martha swept on. “You’re a genius with hats and clothes, and Mother knows it! You sealed your fate when you made Lettie that outfit last May Day. Now you earn the money while she goes off gadding-“

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“She’s out doing the buying,” Sophie said.

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“Buying!” Martha cried. Her thumbs whirled. “That takes her half a morning. I’ve seen her, Sophie, and heard the talk. She’s off in a hired carriage and new clothes on your earnings, visiting all the mansions down the valley! They’re saying she’s going to buy that big place down at Vale End and set up in style. And where are you?”

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“Well, Fanny’s entitled to some pleasure after all her hard work bringing us up,” Sophie said. “I suppose I’ll inherit the shop.”

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“What a fate!” Martha exclaimed. “Listen-“

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But at that moment two empty cake racks were pulled away at the other end of the room, and an apprentice stuck his head through from the back somewhere “Thought I heard your voice, Lettie,” he said, grinning in the most friendly and flirtatious way. “The new baking’s just up. Tell them.” His head, curly and somewhat floury, disappeared again. Sophie thought he looked a nice lad. She longed to ask if he was the one Martha really liked, but she did not get a chance. Martha sprang up in a hurry, still talking.

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“I must get the girls to carry all these through to the shop.” She said. “Help me with the end of this one.” She dragged out the nearest rack and Sophie helped her hump it past the door into the roaring, busy shop. “You must do something about yourself, Sophie,” Martha panted as they went. “Lettie kept saying she didn’t know what would happen to you when we weren’t around to give you some self-respect. She was right to be worried.”

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In the shop Mrs. Cesari seized the rack from them in both massive arms, yelling instructions, and a line of people rushed away past Martha to fetch more. Sophie yelled goodbye and slipped away in the bustle. It did not seem right to take up more of Martha’s time. Besides, she wanted to be alone to think. She ran home. There were fireworks now, going up from the field by the river where the Fair was, competing with the blue bangs from Howl’s castle. Sophie felt more like an invalid than ever.

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She thought and thought, and most of the following week, and all that happened was that she became confused and discontented. Things just did not seem to be the way she thought they were. She was amazed at Lettie and Martha. She had misunderstood them for years. But she could not believe Fanny was the kind of woman Martha said.

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There was a lot of time for thinking, because Bessie duly left to be married and Sophie was mostly alone in the shop. Fanny did seem to be out a lot, gadding or not, and trade was slack after May Day. After three days Sophie plucked up enough courage to ask Fanny, “Shouldn’t I be earning a wage?”

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“Of course, my love, with all you do!” Fanny answered warmly, fixing on a rose-trimmed hat in front of the shop mirror. “We’ll see about it as soon as I’ve done the accounts this evening.” Then she went out and did not come back until Sophie had shut the shop and taken that day’s hats through to the house to trim.

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Sophie at first felt mean to have listened to Martha, but when Fanny did not mention a wage, either that evening or any time later that week, Sophie began to think that Martha had been right.

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“Maybe I am being exploited,” she told a hat she was trimming with red silk and a bunch of wax cherries, “but someone has to do this or there will be no hats at all to sell.” She finished that hat and started on a stark black-and-white one, very modish, and a quite new thought came to her. “Does it matter if there are no hats to sell?” she asked it. She looked round at the assembled hats, on stands or waiting in a heap to be trimmed. “What good are you all?” she asked them. “You certainly aren’t doing me a scrap of good.”

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And she was within an ace of leaving the house and settling out to seek her fortune, until she remembered she was the eldest and there was no point. She took up the hat again, sighing.

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She was still discontented, alone in the shop next morning, when a very plain young woman customer stormed in, whirling a pleated mushroom bonnet by its ribbons. “Look at this!” the young lady shrieked. “You told me this was the same as the bonnet Jane Farrier was wearing when she met the Count. And you lied. Nothing has happened to me at all!”

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“I’m not surprised,” Sophie said, before she had caught up with herself. “If you’re fool enough to wear that bonnet with a face like that, you wouldn’t have the wit to spot the King himself if he came a begging- if he hadn’t turned to stone first just at the sight of you.”

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The customer glared. Then she threw the bonnet at Sophie and stormed out of the shop. Sophie carefully crammed the bonnet into the wastebasket, panting rather. The rule was : Lose your temper, lose a customer. She had just proven that rule. It troubled her to realize how very enjoyable it had been.

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Sophie had no time to recover. There was the sound of wheels and horse hoofs and a carriage darkened the window. The shop bell clanged and the grandest customer she had ever seen sailed in, with a sable wrap drooping from her elbows and diamonds winking all over her dense black dress. Sophie’s eyes went to the lady’s wide hat first- real ostrich plume dyed to reflect the pinks and greens and blues winking in the diamonds and yet still look black. This was a wealthy hat. The lady’s face was carefully beautiful. The chestnut brown hair made her seem young, but…Sophie’s eyes took in the young man who followed the lady in, a slightly formless-faced person with reddish hair, quite well dressed, but pale and obviously upset. He stared at Sophie with a kind of beseeching horror. He was clearly younger than the lady. Sophie was puzzled.

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“Miss Hatter?” the lady asked in a musical but commanding voice.

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“Yes,” said Sophie. The man looked more upset than ever. Perhaps the lady was his mother.

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“I hear you sell the most heavenly hats,” said the lady. “Show me.”

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Sophie did not trust herself to answer in her present mood. She went and got out hats. None of them were in this lady’s class, but she could feel the man’s eyes following her and that made her uncomfortable. The sooner that lady discovered the hats were all wrong for her, the sooner this odd pair would go. She followed Fanny’s advice and got out the wrongest first.

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The lady began rejecting hats instantly. “Dimples,” she said to the pink bonnet, and “Youth” to the caterpillar-green one. To the one of twinkles and veils she said, “Mysterious allure. How very obvious. What else have you?”

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Sophie got out the modish black-and-white, which was the only hat even remotely likely to interest this lady.

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The lady looked at it with contempt. “This one doesn’t do anything for anybody. You’re wasting my time, Miss Hatter.”

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“Only because you came in and asked for hats” Sophie said. “This is only a small shop in a small town, Madam. Why did you-“ Behind the lady, the man gasped and seemed to be trying to signal warningly. “- bother to come in?” Sophie finished, wondering what was going on.

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“I always bother when someone tries to set themselves up against the Witch of the Waste,” said the lady. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Hatter, and I don’t care for your competition or your attitude. I came to put a stop to you. There.” She spread out her hand in a flinging motion towards Sophie’s face.

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“You mean you’re the Witch of the Waste?” Sophie quavered. Her voice seemed to have gone strange with fear and astonishment.

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“I am,” said the lady. “And let that teach you to meddle with things that belong to me.”

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“I don’t think I did. There must be some mistake,” Sophie croaked. The man was now staring at her in utter horror, though she could not see why.

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“No mistake, Miss Hatter,” said the Witch. “Come, Gaston.” She turned and swept to the shop door. While the man was humbly opening it for her, she turned back to Sophie. “By the way, you won’t be able to tell anyone you’re under a spell,” she said. The shop door tolled like a funeral bell as she left.

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Sophie put her hands to her face, wondering what the man had stared at. She felt soft, leathery wrinkles. She looked at her hands. They were wrinkled too, and skinny, with large veins in the back and knuckles like knobs. She pulled her gray skirt against her legs and looked down at skinny, decrepit ankles and feet which had made her shoes all knobbly. They were the legs of someone about ninety and they seemed to be real.

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Sophie got herself to the mirror, and found she had to hobble. The face in the mirror was quite calm, because it was what she expected to see. It was the face of a gaunt old woman, withered and brownish, surrounded by wispy white hair. Her own eyes, yellow and watery, stared out at her, looking rather tragic.

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“Don’t worry, old thing,” Sophie said to the face. “You look quite healthy. Besides, this is much more like you really are.”

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She thought about her situation, quite calmly. Everything seemed to have gone calm and remote. She was not even particularly angry with the Witch of the Waste.

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“Well, of course I shall have to do for her when I get the chance,” she told herself, “but meanwhile, if Lettie and Martha can stand being one another, I can stand being like this. But I can’t stay here. Fanny would have a fit. Let’s see. This gray dress is quite suitable, but I shall need my shawl and some food.”

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She hobbled over to the shop door and carefully put up the CLOSED notice. Her joints creaked as she moved. She had to walk bowed and slow. But she was relieved to discover that she was quite a hale old woman. She did not feel weak or ill, just stiff. She hobbled to collect her shawl, and wrapped it over her head and shoulders, as old women did. Then she shuffled through into the house, where she collected her purse with a few coins in it and a parcel or bread and cheese. She let herself out of the house, carefully hiding the key in the usual place, and hobbled away down the street, surprised at how calm she still felt.

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She did wonder if she should say goodbye to Martha. But she did not like the idea of Martha not knowing her. It was best just to go. Sophie decided she would write to both her sisters when she got wherever she was going, and shuffled on, though the field where the Fair had been, over the bridge, and on into the country lanes beyond. It was a warm spring day. Sophie discovered that being a crone did not stop her from enjoying the sight and smell of may in the hedgerows, though her sight was a little blurred. Her back began to ache. She hobbled sturdily enough, but she needed a stick. She searched the hedges as she went for a loose stake of some kind.

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Evidently, her eyes were not as good as they had been. She thought she saw a stick, a mile or so on, but when she hauled on it, it proved to be the bottom end of an old scarecrow someone had thrown into the hedge. Sophie heaved the thing upright. It had a withered turnip for a face. Sophie found she had some fellow feeling for it. Instead of pulling it to pieces and taking the stick, she stuck it between two branches of the hedge, so that it stood looming rakishly above the may, with the tattered sleeves on its stick arms fluttering over the hedge.

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“There,” she said, and her crackled old voice surprised her into giving a cracked old cackle of laughter. “Neither of us are up to much, are we, my friend? Maybe you’ll get back to your field if I leave you where people can see you.” She set off up the lane again, but a thought struck her and she turned back. “Now if I wasn’t doomed to failure because of my position in the family,” she told the scarecrow, “you could come to life and offer me help in making my fortune. But I wish you luck anyway.”

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She cackled again as she walked on. Perhaps she was a little mad, but old women often were.

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She found a stick an hour or so later when she sat down on the bank to rest and eat her bread and cheese. There were noises in the hedge behind her: little strangled squeakings, followed by heavings that shook may petals off the hedge. Sophie crawled on her bony knees to peer past leaves and flowers and thorns into the inside of the hedge, and discovered a thin gray dog in there. It was hopelessly trapped by a stout stick which had somehow got twisted into a rope that was tied around its neck. The stick had wedged itself between two branches on the hedge so that the dog could barely move. It rolled its eyes wildly at Sophie’s peering face.

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As a girl, Sophie was scared of all dogs. Even as an old woman, she was quite alarmed by the two rows of white fangs in the creature’s open jaws. But she said to herself, “The way I am now, it’s scarcely worth worrying about,” and felt in her sewing pocket for her scissors. She reached into the hedge with the scissors and sawed away at the rope around the dog’s neck.

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The dog was very wild. It flinched away from her and growled. But Sophie sawed bravely on. “You’ll starve or throttle to death, my friend,” she told the dog in her cracked old voice, “unless you let me cut you loose. In fact, I think someone has tried to throttle you already. Maybe that accounts for your wildness.” The rope had been tied quite tightly around the dog’s neck and the stick had been twisted viciously into it. It took a lot of sawing before the rope parted and the dog was able to drag itself out from under the stick.

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“Would you like some bread and cheese?” Sophie asked it then. But the dog growled at her, forced its way out through the opposite side of the hedge, and slunk away. “There’s gratitude for you!” Sophie said, rubbing her prickled arms. “But you left me a gift in spite of yourself.” She pulled the stick that had trapped the dog out of the hedge and found it was a proper walking stick, well trimmed and tipped with iron. Sophie finished her bread and cheese and set off walking again. The lane became steeper and steeper and she found the stick a great help. It was also something to talk to. Sophie thumped along with a will, chatting to her stick. After all, old people often talk to themselves.

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“There’s two encounters,” she said, “and not a scrap of magical gratitude from either. Still, you’re a good stick. I’ m not grumbling. But I’m surely due to have a third encounter, magical or not. In fact, I insist on one. I wonder what it will be.”

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The third encounter came towards the end of the afternoon when Sophie had worked her way quite high into the hills. A countryman came whistling down the lane toward her. A shepherd, Sophie thought, going home after seeing to his sheep. He was a well-set-up young fellow of forty or so. “Gracious!” Sophie said to herself. “This morning I’d have seen him as an old man. How one’s point of view does alter!”

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When the shepherd saw Sophie mumbling to herself, he moved rather carefully over to the other side of the lane and called out with great heartiness, “Good evening to you, Mother! Where are you off to?”

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“Mother?” said Sophie. “I’m not your mother, young man!”

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“A manner of speaking,” the shepherd said, edging along against the opposite hedge. “I was only meaning a polite inquiry, seeing you walk into the hills at the end of the day. You won’t get down into Upper Folding before nightfall, will you?”

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Sophie had not considered this. She stood in the road and thought about it. “It doesn’t matter really,” she said, half to herself. “You can’t be fussy when you’re off to seek your fortune.”

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“Can’t you indeed, Mother?” said the shepherd. He had now edged himself downhill of Sophie and seemed to feel better for it. “Then I wish you good luck, Mother, provided your fortune don’t have nothing to do with charming folks’ cattle.” And he took off down the road in great strides, almost running, but not quite.

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Sophie stared after him indignantly. “He thought I was a witch!” she said to her stick. She had half a mind to scare the shepherd by shouting nasty things after him, but that seemed a little unkind. She plugged on uphill, mumbling. Shortly, the hedges gave way to bare banks and the land beyond became heathery upland, with a lot of steepness beyond that covered with yellow, rattling grass. Sophie kept grimly on. By now her knobby old feet ached, and her back, and her knees. She became too tired to mumble and simply plugged on, panting, until the sun was quite low. And all at once it became quite clear to Sophie that she could not walk a step further.

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She collapsed onto a stone by the wayside, wondering what she would do now. “The only fortune I can think of is a comfortable chair!” she gasped.

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The stone proved to be on a sort of headland, which gave Sophie a magnificent view of the way she had come. There was most of the valley spread out beneath her in the setting sun, all fields and walls and hedges, the winding of the river, and the fine mansions of rich people glowing our from clumps of trees, right down to blue mountains in the far distance. Just below her was Market Chipping. Sophie could look down into its well-known streets. There was Market Square and Cesari’s. She could have tossed a stone down the chimney pots of the house next to the hat shop.

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“How near it still is!” Sophie told her stick in dismay. “All that walking just to get above my own rooftop!”

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It got cold on the stone as the sun went down. An unpleasant wind blew whichever way Sophie turned to avoid it. Now it no longer seemed so unimportant that she would be out on the hills during the night. She found herself thinking more and more of a comfortable chair and a fireside, and also of darkness and wild animals. But if she went back to Market Chipping, it would be the middle of the night before she got there. She might just as well go on. She sighed and stood up, creaking. It was awful. She ached all over.

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“I never realized before what old people had to put up with!” she panted as she labored uphill. “Still, I don’t think wolves will eat me. I must be far too dry and tough. That’s one comfort.”

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Night was coming down fast now and the heathery uplands were blue-gray. The wind was also sharper. Sophie’s panting and the creaking of her limbs were so loud in her ears that it took her a while to notice that some of the grinding and puffing was not coming from herself at all. She looked up blurrily.

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Wizard Howl’s castle was rumbling and bumping toward her across the moorland. Black smoke was blowing up in clouds from behind its black battlements. It looked tall and thin and heavy and ugly and very sinister indeed. Sophie leaned on her stick and watched it. She was not particularly frightened. She wondered how it moved. But the main thing in her mind was that all that smoke must mean a large fireside somewhere inside those tall black walls.

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“Well, why not?” she said to her stick. “Wizard Howl is not likely to want my soul for his collection. He only takes young girls.”

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She raised her stick and waved it imperiously at the castle.

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“Stop!” she shrieked.

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The castle obediently came to a rumbling, grinding halt about fifty feet uphill from her. Sophie felt rather gratified as she hobbled toward it.

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