Bump

14.1: NEVER TRUST A BROOMSTICK THAT MOVES BY ITSELF (part 1)

In which there is much that is beautiful and much that is suspicious.

#

Harriet felt sick. It was a loopy kind of sick. If that sounds like a strange description, it is because by this time Harriet had exhausted all other words in her vocabulary that could possibly be applied to the sensation of nausea. Clinging onto Rupert's waist, she wished fervently that he wasn't so skinny; at least then she'd have the illusion she was holding something with stability. As it was, Rupert felt as twiglike as the broomstick she was sitting on. It didn't help that he was trembling.

In an attempt to take her mind off the vertigo, Harriet tried to decide which part of the flight had been worst. She concluded that it was probably the take-off. Miss Caw had led them up yet another narrow set of stairs to an attic room at the back of the house. A window was set in the sloping ceiling, which opened wide enough to admit Rupert and Harriet out onto the slated rooftop. They stood quivering in the early morning sunlight, looking over the jumble of Barthane's roofscape. It was much like any small town's roofscape, only with more crooked chimneys, more tiles missing, and more burglars-those who had stayed slightly too long-slipping out of top-storey windows and scampering out of sight.

Miss Caw passed the broomstick out to Rupert, who took it gingerly. Juggalug took one look at it and hid himself in the pocket of Rupert's waistcoat.

"Now remember, dears, be firm with it! Just like you would a horse."

Harriet and Rupert, neither of whom had ever ridden a horse, both nodded. They had slipped over the edge of nervousness into outright terror and were in no position to argue.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Your vampire friend is getting further away every moment you stand there dithering. Mount, mount!"

They mounted, feeling ridiculous. A fresh wave of fear swept through them when they realised the broomstick was wriggling, eager to get away.

"You have to be closer to the edge, m'dears."

They shuffled forwards.

"Now, dears-jump!"

They didn't jump. The broomstick, however, did. It launched itself off the rooftop with a terrific lurch, carrying Rupert and Harriet with it. Rupert clutched the broom with both hands, his arms braced, knuckles white. Harriet, who had been perilously close to falling backwards off the broom in a flurry of skirts, dived forward to wrap her arms around Rupert and bury her face into his back.

The broomstick began its flight by... not flying. After the initial jump, it shot straight down the side of the house, so that the tips of their shoes almost brushed the bricks. This was the point at which Harriet decided she felt heart-wrenchingly sick, and that was only the start of a string of adverbs that would take far too long to record. Suffice to say that from that moment onward, Harriet felt sick.

Yes, that part had been the worst. But the rest of the flight had not improved much. The broomstick seemed intent on torturing its riders by any means possible, and at many times during the long, terrifying ride they were in mortal danger of being thrown off. They certainly had little leisure to enjoy the scenery, although Harriet had the vague impression that the landscape beneath them (although sometimes it was beside them, or above their heads, depending on what the broom was doing) was growing greener, the fields more fertile, and the woodland less dark and brooding. The mountains dwindled and rounded off into rolling hillside. Towns and villages became more frequent, though these rushed by in a blur of red-slate, thatch, and white walls. Occasionally, Harriet caught a glimpse of a face gaping up at them as they zoomed past.