The Marvellous Land of Snergs by Veronica Cossanteli

Author:Veronica Cossanteli [Cossanteli, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicken House

Some houses look pleased to see you. Others don’t. Widow Meldrum’s cottage crouched low, frowning under the thatch that straggled over its windows like a badly cut fringe. Buddleia stalks sprayed out of the roof and black bryony grew over the arched doorway, which had the unfriendly look of a downturned mouth. A signpost was planted in front of it, its wooden fingers pointing in opposite directions. Gorbo ducked his head between his legs, puzzling over the scratched letters.

‘SESRUC,’ he read. ‘Or SGNISSELB. Very helpful, I don’t think.’

‘CURSES.’ Flora was looking at them the right way up. ‘Or BLESSINGS.’ She peered at a sheet of paper nailed between them. ‘M. Meldrum, Musical Instruction in the Bladder Pipe, Beginner to Advanced, Enquire Within.’

‘Curses?’ Gorbo looked accusingly at Baldry. ‘I thought you said she was a good witch.’

Baldry shrugged. ‘The old dear has to earn her bread somehow – and Kelps are very fond of quarrelling with each other. Why shouldn’t she sell a few curses, if that’s what people want?’

‘We don’t want one,’ said Gorbo firmly. ‘We’ll go the Blessings way.’

Rounding the corner of the cottage, they came to a gate in a thick and thorny hedge. Pushing it open, they stepped through into a patch of tall stinging nettles and spiked thistles. A dying apple tree raised its bare branches to the sky. As they picked their way between nettle and thistle towards the rickety porch, something shot out from behind the apple tree. Hurtling towards them with the speed of one of Captain Vanderdecken’s cannon balls, it lowered its horned head and caught Gorbo in the seat of his breeches, tossing him into the air. Gorbo’s shout of surprise was cut off, turning to bubbles as he landed, headfirst, in a barrel of rainwater.

‘Gorbo!’ Looking anxiously at his kicking legs, the children rushed to help but the big black goat had swung around. Yellow-eyed, it raked the ground with one cloven hoof. Nimble Baldry was already halfway up the apple tree.

The cottage door creaked open. A bundle of old rags stood there, bent with age, holding a cooking pot and a picked bone.

‘Mr Horniman, come for your dinner.’ Her voice was as frail as the rest of her, cracked and quavering. She banged the bone against the metal pan and the goat turned and trotted up to her, meek as a lamb. From beneath the hood of her tattered gown, she considered her visitors.

‘You’re an odd lot,’ she commented, watching Pip and Flora turn a dripping Gorbo the right way up. ‘Must you drown your fleas in my water barrel, Mr Snerg?’

‘You have an odd notion of blessings,’ declared Gorbo when he had finished spluttering.

The old woman smiled. ‘Few come this far through the woods just to ask for a blessing. Most of my visitors come wanting curses.’

‘Not us,’ said Gorbo. ‘We don’t want to cause any trouble. All we’re looking for is a nice happy ending.’

The woman shook her head. ‘I can’t help you with that. Happy endings are not for sale.

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