A Witch In Time

A Witch In Time-2

“Here they are,” she said. “My lovely boys. How are we all this evening? Ready for a fun night? Hello, Flug love, are you hungry?”

“Is Jocular a bloodthirsty fiend with the decorative sense of a near sighted slab of granite?” said Ronnie.

“Yeah, Mrs. L. Me hungry. Have you got cakes and sweeties?” said Flug.

“Better than that,” said the witch. “I've combined them. I've made sweetie cakes.”

Flug clapped his hands like a child on Christmas morning, squeezed past their host and disappeared inside.

“If I may, and please understand that I'm not complaining about what Flug eats when he's here because I'm sure it's all delightful,” said Ollie, as he and the others stepped into the house. He spoke in as friendly a manner as possible because even though he was delicately insulting Mrs Ladle's culinary endeavours, he didn't want to come across as if he were delicately insulting Mrs. Ladle's culinary endeavours when that was exactly what he was doing, albeit delicately. “But do you think you could limit his intake this evening. You know what he's like when he gets too much sugar in his system. It wasn't that long ago that we had to get Dr. Zoltan to flush him out. He was so wired that he didn't sleep for a week.”

“Well, he is getting on a bit,” said Mrs. Ladle.

“I meant Flug, not the doctor,” said Ollie.

“I know, you silly boy. Anyway, you don't have to worry because it won't be a problem this time. I've used a sugar substitute.”

“I see. And that would be?” asked Ollie with a heavy note of scepticism. (The last time that Mrs. Ladle had substituted something was when she'd gone to visit her maiden aunt for her two hundred and thirty seventh birthday. She was going to take a box of chocolatey, chewy things but couldn't find the ones she wanted so took her a suit of armour instead. Her auntie had loved it, well, who wouldn't, although she did break her remaining teeth on the chain mail vest).

“Oh, nothing too horrendous,” she said, showing the boys inside and shutting the door. “It's just a bit of spider web ground up into a fine powder. It's actually surprisingly sweet but it's got none of the calories and doesn't have any adverse after effects.”

“Okay, fine. As long as it's nothing weird. So, what are we playing tonight then?” asked Ollie.

“Come on through to the kitchen then, dears and I'll show you,” said Mrs. Ladle. “The tables all clear so let's sit down so that we can begin.”

A short time later, with drinks served, Ollie, Stitches, and Ronnie were sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs. Ladle in preparation for the nights activity. Flug wasn't there of course. He was far too busy. Currently, he was sitting on a chair by the larder and steadily working his way through a pile of cakey sweets that would have filled up a giraffe suffering from Prader Willi Syndrome.

Anyhoo, Ollie had a cup of Earl Grey, Stitches had a tall glass of water, and Ronnie had a couple of fingers of whiskey. For her part, Mrs. Ladle had a mug of something green that looked like it belonged in the handkerchief of someone suffering from double pneumonia.

“So,” said Stitches. “Do tell.”

Mrs. Ladle pointed to a wooden box that had been sitting in the middle of the table the whole time. It was made of dark wood and was covered in elaborate etchings. It looked a bit like a fancy tea caddy.

“It looks a bit like a fancy tea caddy,” said Ollie.

“Oh no. We're not playing guess the smell are we?” said Stitches.

“Nope. But Ollie's right. It is a tea caddy,” said Mrs. Ladle, now determined to seek out the stinkiest substances known to man for their next visit.

“So it's competitive tea drinking then. Don't think I'll be very good at that,” said the zombie.

The witch reached over, opened the lid, removed the contents of the box, and put them down in front of her.

“Oh, cards!” said Ronnie, happily. “Now we're talking. I haven't had a decent hand for ages. What's the game?”

“It's called Tempus fugit c*m ludis,” said Mrs. Ladle, shuffling the pack like a seasoned, professional card sharp.

“It's called what?” said Ollie.

“Tempus fugit c*m ludis,” repeated the witch.

“Careful you don't dislocate your tongue,” said Stitches.

“If it causes that maybe you should try saying it a few times,” suggested Ollie.

Stitches only reply was to poke out the very item just mentioned. “Wha' languith ith tha'?” he asked, wishing he hadn't poked out the very item just mentioned because it got caught in his teeth.

“I don't rightly know,” said the witch. “I thought it sounded a bit Dwarfish at first but now I'm not so sure. Not that it matters. It's really old though. I picked it up at a convention last weekend.”

She was talking about the Jasperian Natural Beings Convention, an annual dose of weirdness where many, far too many, supernatural beings of whatever description gathered together and masqueraded as non-supernatural types. To the uninitiated this involves them dressing up in costumes, pretending to be normal everyday beings, and living the life of the non-supernatural for a few hours. No one knows why they do this of course, in the same way that no one knows why ordinary people travel long distances to show off their latest Dr. Who costume or to garner praise for their Superman outfit. (Of course the reality of this phenomenon is far from spectacular as you can no doubt imagine. Instead of being able to gaze in wonder at a gathering of marvellously inventive doppelgängers, you're usually subjected to a teenager carrying a bag of Jelly Babies, a shiny pencil, and wearing a scarf knitted by his nan, and a fat bloke squeezed into a protesting, lycra body stocking who couldn't have leapt over a building in a single bound if he was fired from a cannon. And the less that's said about the plus size Princess Leia the better. Still, good luck to them all. They're good for a laugh if nothing else).

Anyway, back to the supernaturals and their convention. Some went as accountants, others as secretaries, and there was even the odd milkman or postie. It wasn't always plain sailing though. Last year a phantom caused a major controversy when he turned up dressed like a traffic warden, a costume that was deemed to be far from natural. Such was the shock of the other attendees that he wasn't allowed in. He got in eventually though. He returned half an hour later dressed up as a member of The BNP, and everyone agreed that was a far more acceptable person to pretend to be.

Mrs. Ladle had gone as an Avon Lady; although there was no way in the world that anyone would have wanted to sample what was in her wicker basket. Not unless you had a complexion like a rhino's scrotum and a death wish anyway.

Another popular thing to do at these little get togethers, besides dressing up like a knob and talking in a stupid voice, was you could buy 'normal' souvenirs, things that ordinary people might use in their day to day lives. You could get a packet of crisps actually made from potatoes for instance, or a bar of chocolate that didn't smell like the contents of an ogre's dustbin.

There was, however, always someone selling something considered to be not entirely normal, which meant that it was normal if you were from the supernatural world, but for the purposes of the convention it wasn't because the intention was to have normal things be not normal and not normal things be normal. Of course all this depended on what world you came from. A supernatural being would consider something not normal to be entirely normal and vice versa, but again that depended on whether he was attending the convention as a guest or a seller, because a seller would see the not normal item as entirely normal. Well, he normally would because during his break he might dress up as something normal, in which case the items that he was selling would be not normal. That's how it normally works anyway. I think. Good lord I've got a headache after all that. Is that normal?

Anyway, it was from one such vendor that Mrs. Ladle had purchased the deck of cards.

“So how do we play it then?” asked Ollie. He raised a placatory hand. “But do go slowly please, if you don't mind. I'm not much good at card games.”

“It's easy really,” said the witch. “First off, we get forty seven cards each.”

“Forty seven!” said Stitches.

“Yes, dear. Forty seven. And then three each of the Tree cards.”

“What are the Tree cards for?” asked Ronnie.

“You can play a Tree card if you've got four hats, but only if two of the hats are the same,” said Mrs. Ladle.

“Righto,” said Ronnie, who was rather adept at cards and picked up any sort of gambling related pastime quicker than a zoo-keeper fills his shovel whilst on diarrhoea watch in the elephant house.

(On a side note did you know that many people in Third World countries actually have elephants living in their houses with them? Thought not. It's got something to do with culture, lack of affordable grazing land, and an open door policy to rival that of the most approachable of managers. And in case you're wondering how they cope with the smell, the elephants just have to get used to it, ha ha).

“So,” she continued, whilst dealing, “we start with the player on my left. That'd be you, Ollie dear. You lay a card down. Then the next player tries to lay one that's the same. If they can't then they lay one that's opposite. So, say for instance that you play the Fifteen of Cauldrons, then Stitches would also try to play a cauldron you see?”

“Right you are,” said the zombie. “But if I haven't got one, what do I put down? I'm not entirely sure what the opposite of a cauldron is.”

“Well,” said the witch, “a cauldron is for putting things in isn't it, so you'd need to find a card representing something that you can't put things into. Like the Six of Carrots for example.”

“Ah,” said Ronnie, “but you can put a carrot into a cauldron.”

“Well spotted,” Mrs. Ladle. “And that would be a legitimate move called a Sideways Set. Two things that you might not think go together but do.”

“Like peanut butter and Marmite,” said Ronnie.

“Exactly.”

“Or fishfingers and gravy,” said Ollie.

“Correct.”

“Or Flugs head and information,” said Stitches. “Oh, wait. Those are two things that should go together but definitely don't.”

Ollie was having a close look at his cards as they were dealt to him.

“You know you mentioned the Fifteen of Cauldrons and the Six of Carrots,” he said.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Ladle.

“Well, there don't seem to be many others of those particular suits. Where are all the other cauldrons and carrots. Look, Stitches hasn't got any either.”

“I see what you're saying,” said Mrs. Ladle, “but that's because there's about eighty suits in total and they've only got two or three cards in each. That's what makes each and every game so different.”

Whilst staring at his cards, Stitches waxed lyrical to himself about all the various ways that this game could be different. So far, boring, tedious, monotonous, uneventful, and insipid were just a few of the terms that he'd come up with, but he was sure there were plenty more. He wouldn't dare share any of his thoughts with Mrs. Ladle of course. Not if he wanted his legs to remain where they were anyway.

“So what's the actual aim of the game?” asked Ronnie. “There has to be some outcome to all of this because at the moment it sounds like a game of Snap with delusions of grandeur.”