Glubbslyme by Wilson Jacqueline

Author:Wilson, Jacqueline [Wilson, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: RHCB
Published: 2009-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Rebecca idly spooned up a mouthful straight from the syrup tin for herself.

‘I don’t want to do any more bad magic, Glubbsiyme,’ she said decidedly.

‘As you wish,’ said Glubbslyme huffily. ‘If you do not require my services pray return me to my pond.’

‘Of course I require them,’ said Rebecca, quickly giving him another spoonful of syrup to sweeten him up. ‘I just want to do some nice harmless magic, that’s all. Will you teach me?’

‘If I must,’ sighed Glubbslyme, licking his sticky lips. ‘Well? Which magical art do you wish to master?’

Rebecca wasn’t too sure. She didn’t have much experience of witchcraft. The only witch she’d ever come across was Samantha in the television programme ‘Bewitched.’ She tried to think what Samantha could do.

‘Will you teach me how to wiggle my nose and disappear?’ asked Rebecca.

Glubbslyme stared at her.

‘Why do you wish to wiggle your nose and disappear?’ he enquired.

Rebecca thought about it. She couldn’t see much advantage in it, certainly. She decided to try something else. She could get Glubbslyme to teach her how to make the sun come out – although the sun was already out and shining strongly of its own accord, so perhaps that wasn’t a very good idea either. So what else did good – or goodish – witches do?

‘I know!’ said Rebecca. ‘Teach me how to fly!’

Glubbslyme had forgotten his impeccable manners. His head was right inside the syrup tin. He edged it out again with difficulty, flicking out his long tongue to lick up all the syrup round his ears.

‘Glubbslyme!’ said Rebecca severely.

He looked a little embarrassed. She had to wet a J-cloth and give him a good mopping. It was tempting to play around with the washing up bowl but Rebecca had only to lift her head to see the stain on the ceiling from yesterday’s bathroom flood. Dad had stayed very cross for most of the evening. Rebecca towelled Glubbslyme dry and set him in the soap rack.

‘Will you teach me how to fly?’ she asked again.

Glubbslyme swung his legs and sighed.

‘I do not care for flying,’ he said. ‘I suffer from vertigo.’

‘What’s that?’ said Rebecca, wondering if it might be a dread seventeenth-century disease.

But it was only dizziness.

‘Only!’ said Glubbslyme, closing his eyes. ‘Once I fell from the broomstick when we did fly to attend a Great Sabbat and I hurtled downwards like a hawk. I was certain I would spatter the ground with my chill blood but my dear Rebecca swooped after me and rescued me just in time.’

‘I won’t let you fall, Glubbslyme, I promise. Oh please, I’d give anything to be able to fly. Please. Please.’

Glubbslyme sighed irritably.

‘Very well. One very brief flying lesson. First you will need to concoct a flying ointment. My Rebecca used the strongest ointment possible because she ventured far and wide. A weaker lotion will be sufficient for your purposes. Now, as to ingredients. Of course Rebecca varied hers according to her needs. When we did fly over three counties on All

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