When the enchanted animals of Hexwood discover they soon won't be magical anymore, they have to concoct an unlikely plan to save their village and themselves.
'Last Christmas in Hexwood' is a seasonal story of witches, enchanted animals and a series of unlikely plans to save Christmas.
Chapter 20
Madame Befana thought that the knock at her hotel door must be her dry cleaning, the dress she would be wearing to the Christmas Eve dinner at the ladies’ college. But it wasn’t. It was two animals, a rabbit and a fox, both out of breath. The fox was doubled over, apparently in pain, and the rabbit was wild-eyed and trembling.
Even if she hadn’t recognised the fox, she would have known immediately that these were animals from Hexwood because the fox was wearing a green velvet jacket and the rabbit said, through his panting. "Please, my friend…”
“Get in here at once, you foolish little animals,” said Madame Befana, ushering them into her sitting room. "In, in. There, by the fire. Martin! Martin: food and drink. Something made with the mushrooms, quick.”
“Madam?” Martin appeared in a doorway, holding a selection of earrings. "Well I never. Master Buck. And Mister Reynard.”
“Yes, Martin, Master and Mister from Hexwood,” said the witch. "But only just Master and Mister still; almost rabbit and fox. Sit down little creatures. This room is full of my magic; you’ll start to feel more yourselves soon enough, although how you managed to stay even a bit yourselves is remarkable. I must make a note of this. I need a full account of everything that’s happened to you. Martin, a notebook and a map of the area, large scale. And a pen.”
“No time,” gasped Buck, who had stopped trembling and was no longer staring about him so desperately. "We need your help.”
“I’ll say you do,” said Madame Befana. "Martin, belay that request. The last request, not the one before that, go back to the one before that, the one about the food and drink and the mushrooms. These animals must have something made of the Hexwood mushrooms. Actually, wait again, Martin. Both requests Martin. The notebook and the food and drink. I must observe the effects of the mushrooms. And a pen. Thank you.”
“Yes, madam,” said Martin, who was evidently used to this sort of confusion, and disappeared next door again.
“There’s no time for food,” said Buck again. "We have to save Christmas.”
“Save Christmas?” said Madame Befana. "What on earth are you talking about?”
So they told her.
By the time they had finished telling her all that had happened since she left Hexwood, the animals had eaten mushrooms on toast and drunk mushroom tea provided by Martin and were feeling much more normal. Reynard even went so far as to fetch his pipe out of his pocket and start stuffing it with tobacco.
“Well, this is fascinating,” said Madame Befana.
“It’s terrifying,” said Buck. "We have to save Father Christmas from the children.”
“Oh, I meant your friend here with his pipe,” said Madame Befana. "You made a note of the amount of mushrooms you gave them, didn’t you Martin? And let’s note the time of the observation too. Very much back to his old self now. Although if he lights that thing in my sitting room, he’ll find himself back out in the cold again.”
“There’s no time for mushrooms,” said Buck. "We have to get back to Hexwood and stop Greta.”
“Oh, but that’s precisely why there’s time for mushrooms,” said Befana. "All of this is because of them, after all. They’re why I was ever in Hexwood, why Father Christmas was ever there too and why you’re here.
“They’re Father Christmas’s mushrooms. That’s where they come from, originally: Lapland, where he lives. They grow there quite naturally. There’s some disagreement about whether they’re magical because he is, or whether he’s magical because they are, or whether they’re both magical because the place is. But what I have proved now, thanks to you animals of Hexwood, is that the mushrooms are certainly why the reindeer are magical.
“I thought being the first person to cultivate the mushrooms outside of Lapland would be achievement enough, but when you all began to talk and to wear such smart clothes and smoke such filthy pipes… well, as you might imagine, I was quite delighted. You see why, of course. You lived in an environment together with the mushrooms and you become magical; the reindeer live in an environment together with the mushrooms and they became magical too. I flatter myself that the paper will make quite a splash when it comes out. Which reminds me, Martin: I ought to take a draft to share with the college. Can you set one aside?”
“Already done, madam,” said Martin.
“This is all very fascinating indeed,” said Reynard. "And does actually answer some questions that had occurred to me about Hexwood. But there is one slightly more pressing question, if I may, which is…”
“How are we going to save Father Christmas,” said Buck, who was growing impatient.
“Poor man,” said Madame Befana. "Although not strictly a ‘man’, of course. Not entirely human, really; though just as prone as humans to forgetfulness, it seems. I met him, of course, on my field trip to Lapland to research the mushrooms, and he had got into the habit of dropping in on Christmas Eve, when he was out and about anyway, to see how my experiments were going. And now he finds himself trapped in Hexwood because of it. Awful business.”
“Which is why you have to help us,” said Buck.
“Me?” said Madame Befana. "Why? This all rather sounds like your mess, not mine.”
“Madame, please,” said Reynard. "We might be technically magical animals, thanks to your mushrooms, but we cannot actually do magic and Greta has hold of one of your spell books.”
“No she doesn’t,” said Madame Befana. "I’d know if we’d left anything behind and we haven’t, have we Martin?”
“No, ma’am, everything accounted for,” said Martin.
“There,” said Madame Befana. "Oh dear, I’d be in the most tremendous trouble if I had, but I haven’t, I can assure you of that. The girl is, how can I put this, lying. Dissembling. Duping you. She is very much not a witch, although she does show promise. Very clever little thing, but, no,” she caught sight of the animals’ expressions, "definitely not a good little girl, I think we can say that.”
“So she can’t do magic?” said Reynard.
“No, she cannot,” said Madame Befana. "She is just an ordinary -- no, I lie -- a remarkably clever but otherwise ordinary little girl whom you little animals managed to take by surprise once. I don’t doubt you could do it again. And you’d better hurry up. It is Christmas Eve, and the night draws on. Father Christmas has to be out and about soon, bringing presents to all the good little boys and girls on his list, and that’s not going to happen if you little animals don’t fix this mess you’ve made.”
“You’re not going to help us?” said Buck, incredulous.
“No, I am not,” said Madame Befana, definitely. "It is a muddle of your doing, and you must unmuddle it. Besides, I’m not technically allowed. My work in Hexwood is finished and I’m not supposed to return to it. And besides, I don’t want to mess with my experiment. No. No, I’m not going to help you, little rabbit. You are going to have to help yourself. And you’re going to have to get a wiggle on to do it; it’s a way back to Inkstone. Speaking of which, Martin, rustle them up a thermos of that tea. We don’t want anything untoward to happen to them on the way back. And now we must all shift. I have a dinner to get to and you animals have a Christmas to save.”
“Of all the…” Buck started to express his opinions but Reynard jumped in.
“Buck, old man,” he said. "We tried, and perhaps we might try again. Madame, thank you for saving us from ourselves, I hope it might prove to be worth it. Let’s go, old chap; I want a pipe.”
Madame Befana and Martin watched from their window as the two animals scurried across the road in front of the hotel and disappeared into the back streets of Stone Magna.
“Ma’am,” said Martin, hesitantly. "Do you think this is wise? What if they can’t save Father Christmas?”
“An ancient magical being, on the night of his greatest power, when all the world thinks and believes and dreams of him?” said Madame Befana. "What on earth makes you think Father Christmas needs saving?
“Besides, I rather think they might, you know. Think of this as a last final test of the mushrooms and their magic. It could be a whole other paper, Martin; just think! Now, where’s that dress? Can you get on to the dry cleaning people?”
And they turned away from the window. Outside snow fell on the darkening town, and somewhere beyond two little animals were running on their way to save the season.
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