Catweazle Read Free Page A

Farm. This is private property, and you’re trespassing.’
Carrot was as pleasant as he could be about it, but he knew that if his father
found a tramp in the barn he would be furious.
    Catweazle pointed at the tractor. ‘I fear it,’ he said, trembling.
    ‘What, Lulu?’ Carrot laughed. ‘You’re not scared of a tractor, are you?’
    ‘It roars like the damned.’
    ‘Noise can’t hurt you,’ said Carrot. ‘Now come on out!’
    Slowly, Catweazle came out of his hiding-place. He stared at the tractor
and blew on his magician’s ring.
    ‘Roar not, O magic chariot,’ he said.
    Carrot looked at the old tramp. He was obviously a little mad. Then he
noticed the puddles underneath Catweazle’s feet.
    ‘You’re soaking wet,’ he said, but Catweazle was too absorbed in the
magic chariot to hear him. ‘Canst thou command it?’ he asked. ‘Hast thou the Power?’
    Carrot climbed up into the driving seat. ‘Look, it’s only a tractor,’ he
said, and switched on the engine. With a cry of fear, Catweazle scrambled into
an empty barrel and disappeared. Carrot was still laughing and revving the
engine, when his father, the owner of the farm, came into the barn.
    ‘How many times have I told you not to play with the tractor,’ said Mr
Bennet angrily. ‘Switch it off.’ He was in a bad mood. The wrong turkey feed
had been delivered from Hoopers and it meant further delays. Carrot climbed down, casting a
glance at the barrel.

    ‘Just leave it alone, otherwise no trip to London, d’you understand?’
Carrot looked at his father’s angry face. ‘Yes, Dad,’ he said quietly, handing
him the keys.
    ‘Sam’s gone, has he?’ said Mr Bennet, looking round. Winston, his dog,
was sniffing round the barrel. ‘There’s a rat in there,’ he continued, and
grasped his stick.
    Carrot ran past him to get to the barrel first, and peered down at the
cowering Catweazle. ‘No rats, Dad,’ he said.
    ‘What’s that terrible pong, then?’ said Mr Bennet, sniffing.
    ‘What pong, Dad?’ asked Carrot innocently. It was Catweazle of course.
    ‘Can’t you smell it?’ said Mr Bennet, screwing up his nose. ‘We’d better
have a good clean out tomorrow. Next thing’s to move the birds from No. Two
shed,’ and Mr Bennet left the barn.
    Catweazle poked his head out of the barrel and looked at Carrot.
    ‘I starve, boy,’ he said, and his belly rumbled loudly.
    Carrot didn’t know what to do. He had got into trouble the previous week
for feeding a tramp, and when four of them had turned up the next day, Mr
Bennet had told him that they were trying to run a farm not a soup kitchen and
that Carrot wasn’t to give food to anyone. Catweazle certainly looked very hungry,
though, and eventually Carrot said, ‘All right, but you mustn’t come to the
house. You stay here, and I’ll bring you something.’
    Catweazle nodded. He would take the food, find his way back to the
forest, wait for night and then go back to his cave. He ducked down again as Mr
Bennet came back. ‘Come on, Carrot,’ he said.
    ‘Coming Dad,’ Carrot called after his father. ‘Don’t go out of here!’ he
hissed at the barrel as he went to the door.
    Catweazle surfaced again. ‘Is this place known to the Normans?’ he asked
anxiously.
    ‘The Normans?’ said Carrot.
    ‘Ay, boy, the Norman invaders.’
    ‘What are you talking about? The Normans were hundreds of years ago.’
    Catweazle looked at the boy. What did he mean? He began to feel
something was very wrong.
    ‘Hundreds of years?’ his voice quavered.
    ‘Yes, of course. Round about nine hundred,’ said the boy, and ran out of
the barn after his father.
    For a long time Catweazle stood transfixed, staring at the barn doors,
then slowly he clutched his head.
    ‘Nine hundred years,’ he whispered to himself, and holding his fingers
in front of his face, he slowly counted to nine.
    ‘Nine hundred years since the Normans?’ he muttered. ‘Nine hundred years
since this morning?’ Then