All three witches turned towards the voice. They recognised it instantly. It had been taunting them for the past four years.
"Billy!" they cried together.
"What are you doing here?" said Puddlebrain excitedly.
"What do you think? I've come to save you useless ninnies. Think I'm going to let you get away with someone else punishing you? Not a chance. Besides, I'm hungry, and it's about time you threw me some of that slop you call food."
"Oh, bless you, Billy!" Edna said. "You can have all the slop you ever want!"
"Oh, don't be getting all fussy and all with me. And don't be offering me a whole swill of that so-called food. You want to make me sick? Just a few bits here and there are all I can stomach, so we'll leave it at that. You hear?"
"Anything you say, Billy. Anything at all." Naturally she knew he loved the food they gave him, and was certain he'd scoff any amount they tossed his way and complain with every mouthful. But that was Billy the Gnome. That was why they liked him. Besides, none of them were going to argue with the only person who would help them.
"Right," said the gnome. "Let's get you out of there before those knuckle heads come back. Don't want me being charcoal along with you lot."
Billy pulled a knife from under his tunic. It seemed too long for his small frame, but he held it comfortably as he scrambled over the wood surrounding the stake. Even though it shifted under his weight, he was sure-footed and in an instant was standing next to the witches.
"Now, I don't want you thanking me for none of this. I'm just thinking of myself here. Got that?"
"Got it," said Puddlebrain.
With a flick that was almost too fast to see, Billy cut the ropes that held the witches against the stake. Another couple of flicks severed the cords that bound their hands and feet. The sisters, once they had climbed down to more solid ground, rubbed their wrists and stamped their feet to get the feeling back. Gemini went to hug the gnome but he held his knife up in warning.
"We'll not have any of that foolishness," he snarled.
"Oh yes. Sorry." Gemini backed away.
"How did you know what was happening?" asked Edna.
"Yes," added Gemini. "And why did you help us? I thought you didn't like us."
"Well, I don't have any feelings either way, truth be told. As for the why-fore of it all, I've already explained myself there," said Billy, sliding his long knife back under his tunic. "As for the how-fore of it, I don't have ears like this for nowt!" He pulled on his large ears, stuck to the side his head like teacups – the big china ones that Brenda served her best tea to her best customers in. "Your welcoming party was making enough noise to wake a mish-mish bairn!"
The mish-mish was a small tribe of creatures vaguely resembling people with a little lizard thrown in for good measure. They lived in the mountains beyond the Aren Rush, a river that was so long it 'fair split the world in two' as some claimed. They had a thick coating of fur, which was shed during the three weeks of summer which blessed their mountain habitat. The mish-mish kept themselves to themselves and rarely ventured far from home, although many visitors passed through their village buying the coats and other knick-knacks woven from their discarded hair.
The mish-mish children had the unpleasant habit of crying constantly. Their voices were shrill and piercing and penetrated the thickest of earmuffs, causing the parents to take extreme measures to 'help' their young sleep. It meant they had developed extremely tough skulls, but the children certainly slept well.
"Anyway," said Billy. "We want to be getting our little butt-butts out of here unless you'd like to be first course on a barbecue menu. No telling when that lot will dare to come crawling back."
"He's right," said Edna. "We need to move."
"But where do we go?" asked Gemini. "We can't go home. They'll just come and drag us back here. We don't even know what we're supposed to have done!"
"Old Bopsidy the headmaster has gone and disappeared himself, that's what. They all think you've magicked him away somewhere, although why you'd waste your time with a fool like that, I don't know." Billy shook his head. "I'm surprised he was even on time for his own abduction."
"Quentin has disappeared?" gasped Puddlebrain. "What? Like Brenda did just then?"
"Well, not being there when it happened, I can hardly comment, now can I? But I'd hazard a decidedly non-hazardous guess that that'd be the case. Someone not in their right mind decided to take him off somewhere, and now they've done the self same thing to the old Corrigan woman. Give 'em a medal, I say."
"How do you know so much about all this, Billy?" asked Puddlebrain. "You spend all your time insulting us through our kitchen window."
"Oh, that's what I like to make you think," the gnome grinned. "I still like to know what's going on where I'm living, however grotty. Better to be prepared, don't you know." He leaned forward on tiptoes, almost managing to be nose to nose with Puddlebrain – close enough for his hot breath to make her nose want to shrivel up and hide in a corner. "But I think we'd better be discussing all this somewhere else, don't you?"
"But where?" asked Puddlebrain.
"Well, if I was you I'd be thinking like this," said the gnome. "That lot would probably expect you to stay well away from your home so that's the best place to go!"
Edna shook her head. "They're not all as daft as Peregrin, so they'd probably realise we'd think that and go there anyway."
Peregrin. A poor young lad who had never got anything right in his life. He, sadly, didn't make it past his teenage years due to an accident involving a cheese making machine and a bucket of milk. He was one of those boys who you just shook your head at because saying anything was pointless – he'd still be looking the other way when the postal wagon came down the street and he'd still forget that stepping stones were always wet and simply didn't like him and his balance was never that good anyway. Hence, he walked with a permanent limp and whistled when he talked thanks to his missing four front teeth. He was the prime example of ultimate daftness and his memorial was to forever be mentioned with regard to others of the same breed.
"There's no point in second guessing when you don't know the first guess," said Puddlebrain. "Billy is right. We should go home and quickly."
Edna and Gemini stared at her for a long moment. They were not used to their baby sister being so assertive. Bless her. Billy broke the moment with an irritated "Now?"
The sisters and their gnome set off. They took a long, roundabout route home, expecting to encounter trouble at every turn. They passed, at one point, close to the Bopsidy house. Puddlebrain paused.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered, her head cocked to one side.
"What?" hissed Edna. They didn't have time to stop. "Is it the villagers?"
Puddlebrain frowned. She wasn't sure what she could hear, or even if she could hear anything at all. It was like an echo of a sound that hadn't really been noticed. She shook her head.
"Doesn't matter," she said. "Let's go."
Their next turn brought them to the Milch Mire, a completely unappetising bog that was not quite swamp but was well past muddy puddle. It wasn't big but it was messy and smelly, and unfortunately necessary. If they tried to go around it, valuable time would be wasted, and they risked being caught. There was no option. Billy took up a position on Puddlebrain's shoulders to avoid sinking without a trace. The Mire wasn't exactly deep, but even a puddle could be too much for a gnome. The witches trudged through it as quickly as they could, trying not to notice the rancid smells and obnoxious sounds that were released as the surface bubbled like a festering sore. Thankfully, just beyond the bog was Avril Wendie's back garden with its enormous pond, home to a few dozen carp.
The witches knew Wendie had been at the Town Square so took the risk of washing their feet in the pond. The rest of them would have to wait but they didn't want telltale footprints smudging the way to their house. A few more streets and it was only a hop, skip and a mad dash to their back gate. Once back home, they locked the doors, front and back, and requested politely that the doors stayed that way. Whether or not they would be strong enough to withstand a raging mob was unknown, but the witches were at least confident the doors would try their best. When that was done, they huddled down in the cellar.