ACT II: SCENE 7
The Boy stirred in his bed of hay and pulled Raggles closer to him. The hard, grey light of dawn was on his closed eyes, disturbing his dreams. He was very warm. He nestled further down into the hay. Another day. But now he had Raggles. And he had Gretel. He could still smell her in his bed from the other night. And what else was there about today? There was definately something different about today. Something to do with the twins and Nettie. Something he had to do...
Nausea struck him. His eyes shot open. The kitchen was silent and still, except for a large fire which was already burning hard in the stove, and Gretel sitting by it, quietly going over a series of notes scribbled on scraps of paper. She stared at one piece, her lips moving soundlessly as she read, then pressed it, face down, against her chest and spoke silently again, frowning in concentration. She looked once more at the scrap of paper, nodded to herself and flicked it onto the fire. She picked up another note and started again.
"Did you...?"
"Before you ask," replied Gretel without looking up, "yes I did remember to put the book back and return the keys and no she didn't wake up and no I didn't even touch her wand." She indicated to a small stick tucked into one of her socks. "A good witch should have her own. Rule twelve."
"So you know magic now?" The voice from the cage in the corner indicated that Hansel was also awake.
"Some of it. There's an awful lot to learn." Gretel smiled grimly at her brother. "I had to prioritise. I know enough to fight her."
"Do you know enough to win?" The Boy frowned at her. "Enough to survive?"
"Maybe."
"Do you have to kill her?" asked Hansel.
"Probably," replied Gretel. "If I can."
"Oh."
"It's the only way, Hansel. If we're going to get out of here alive."
"We could all get out of here alive."
"No," said the Boy, "we couldn't."
There was the sound of movement in the study. The Boy hid Raggles under his pile of hay and Gretel quickly threw the rest of the notes onto the stove.
"Oh good," said the witch as she entered the kitchen, "the stove's on already." She looked worryingly good. She smiled sweetly at the world in general and took a seat, her staff lying lazily on her lap.
"Tea, Mistress Snapdragon?" asked Gretel, tidying her unkempt, scrappy hair.
Nettlewart paused for a moment, pretending to contemplate, watching her.
"No. Not yet." she smiled again. It was eerie. "I shall take tea after I have feasted. Boy!"
"Yes?" The Boy was visibly nervous, pressed in her shadow against the kitchen wall. Just like he was when I met him, thought Gretel.
"The book, Boy."
The Boy paused for a moment, then picked a large book from a shelf and took it to the witch. He put in her waiting hand and then stood behind her, refusung to make eye contact with anybody.
Nettlewart opened the book at an earmarked page.
"Three hours," she said to nobody inparticular. "Gretel, put the water on to boil."
Everybody stayed perfectly still.
"Did you not hear me, Gretel? You will put the water on."
Gretel flicked a panicked look at the Boy. He didn't meet her gaze.
"Don't worry my dear," continued the witch, "we shan't boil him alive." She held her keys up to the Boy. "Boy, I know you know which key opens the cage. You open that door, I've opened the... other door, so now you can take him out and wring his neck for me."
The Boy took the keys but didn't move.
"You know...?" he trembled.
"Yes," she smiled, watching Gretel, "I know that you've been taking my keys at night. And you know what the consequences of that would normally be. But on this occasion I am willing to forgive you. All you have to do is to kill that great hairy beast in the chicken cage."
The Boy still didn't move. He looked desperately at Gretel.
"Gretel?" whispered Hansel, "Gretel this is too big. Take the keys from the Boy and run. Save yourself."
"No..." murmured Gretel.
"No, Hansel," said Nettlewart, "your sister can't save anyone now. Not even herself."
She smiled again. That sickly sweet, fudgey smile.
Gretel snapped. A dark rage powered through her, along with something else. An old memory.
"Oh yes I can!"
"What?" the witch blinked, confused.
Gretel grabbed the stick from her sock and pointed it at Nettlewart.
"Feet!" she shouted.
Nettlewart was suddenly pulled to her feet, dropping her staff in suprise.
Gretel flicked the stick from Nettlewart towards the raging stove.
"Walk!"
Nettlewart took two faltering, uncontrolled steps towards the stove and then stopped. She looked at Gretel.
"Walk!" yelled Gretel, pointing at the stove.
The witch laughed and sat down again.
"Oh Gretel," she grinned, "you've been in my magic book, havn't you? How long have you had to study it? A week? A couple of days? A single night?" She watched Gretel's reaction. "Just one night, eh? You must be tired. My mother's writing never was very good. It took me months to get through the introduction alone. Boy, my wand."
She held her hand out. The Boy, behind her, looked from woman to woman.
"No."
"Come along now, be a good Boy..."
The Boy walked around her chair to face her.
"I'm not your Boy any more."
Nettlewart stood up and looked down at the Boy. Gretel was suddenly aware of how much taller the witch was than either of them.
"So, what, you're her Boy now?" asked Nettlewart, "and you think she'll set you free, make you good, that you'll live happily ever after? What about her? What about her dreams? Don't you know that somebody else will come galloping into view, some handsome prince, somebody she can fall in love with. And then you'll be out on your ear again and back at the gingerbread door in the Western Woods, begging to be taken back, to be my worm again. Just as long as you can belong to somebody, because that's the only way you can survive, by belonging to somebody!"
"I don't belong to you!" shouted the Boy.
"And he doesn't belong to me either" added Gretel. "And he needn't worry about any handsome princes because there aren't any anymore. You know that, you witch. So I can do my own saving and I can fall in love with real people. He is real. He is not your Boy any more. He is a man. He's a good man and I do love him."
Gretel fell silent. She was shaking, still pointing the obviously useless stick at Nettlewart. The witch was glaring at her. The Boy still had his back to Gretel but she could see his head was lowered. He turned to face her, slowly. His sad, noble, beautiful eyes were plump with tears. Suddenly he broke free from his spot and walked swiftly to her side. He took her free hand.
The witch picked up her own staff. Magic crackled over her fingers. She looked calmly at the couple.
"It was a good introduction my mother wrote," she said eventually, "if lengthy. I tell you this because since you only had one night to learn magic I'm going to take it is read that you skipped it and went straight to the spells."
Gretel lowered her stick. "Why?"
The witch shrugged. "No reason, no reason. Just that it had some very interesting comments in it."
"Such as?" Gretel was starting to feel a yawning, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Never show your greatest weakness."
Gretel had just enough time to say "wha...?" before Nettlewart snapped her glowing staff towards the Boy. For the second time, Gretel felt the magic wrench the hand of somebody she loved from her grasp. She fell against a wall but managed to find her feet. Gasping and winded she watched the Boy get hauled onto his tiptoes by invisible hands on his throat. He choked.
"Heart of glass," commanded the witch, "lungs of stone."
The Boy began to make panicked little gurgling noises. His lips were turning blue.
"Stop it!" screamed Gretel, pointing her little wand at the Boy.
Nothing happened. The Boy dropped the keys and clutched at his chest in agony.
"She's too powerful, Gretel. You can't fight her with magic. Take the keys. Free Hansel and get out of here. She's got all her magic concentrated on me, so you can escape now. Run away and make sure nobody ever goes into the Western Woods ever again..." he ran out of breath. His eyes rolled back. His legs started to shake and his fingers tightened into claws.
"He's telling the truth," said Nettlewart. "You could leave me to kill him if you wanted. Or you could destroy your wand."
"What?"
"It's not as if it's a very good wand. Break it, give in to me, and I'll let him live."
Gretel hesitated.
"I tell you what," added Nettlewart, "I'll even set Hansel free. How's that for a deal? But you have to succumb to me entirely. You will become my new apprentice. There's a lot of potential in you, my Girl."
Gretel paused, her hands shaking.
The Boy stopped struggling and hung limply by his throat.
Gretel broke her stick over her knee.
"Good Girl."
But the magic is still there!
Nettlewart let her staff relax and turned from the Boy, who sagged to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.
All the magic, all the rage... it's still within her even without her wand. It just has nothing to go through now.
Nettlewart stood staring at Gretel, her staff humming excitedly.
"And now, my Girl, I think it's high time you were taught a little lesson in respect."
She pointed the staff at Gretel.
"Knees!"
Gretel felt the magic, sharp and heavy, pounding through her body as it dropped her to her knees.
"Back!"
The witch started to slowly move towards her. Gretel's skull became like lead and her spine began to twist back on itself. She gasped in pain. She could feel the magic of the staff mixing with her own. She could vaguely hear Hansel and the Boy screaming.
"Please stop it," cried Hansel, "you'll kill her!"
"Back!" yelled the witch, "Back!"
Gretel's forehead was on the floor by now, her back arching in almost a complete circle. Her body strained at every joint. Something was going to have to give.
There was a dull crack, and Gretel collapsed. There was then a sigh, and a thud. Gretel looked up. Nettlewart was lying prone on the floor, her dropped staff gently rolling away. The Boy stood over her, a large frying pan still vibrating with the force of hitting the back of the witch's head.
"Are you OK?" he asked.
Gretel felt herself for broken bones. "I think so. Is that witch dead?"
Nettlewart moaned softly.
"No," replied the Boy, "just concussed." He tossed her the keys. "Come on! We don't have long at all."
Gretel got up, achingly. She was about to go to the cage when something caught her eye.
"Her staff," she said, "it's still glowing."
"Gretel, no!"
"I felt its power," she murmured, "I know what it can do."
"So do I!" cried the Boy, "That thing's evil. Don't touch it."
Gretel reached out to the glowing staff. It radiated warmth. "I can handle it. I'll take it. I'll break it. It's how her power comes out of her, without it the magic's all locked up inside."
"No, Gretel. You've got it all wrong. It tells her what to do!"
"Take it..." whispered Gretel, "...break it... break all her spells..."
Gretel grabbed the staff.
The magic erupted. It flowed like molasses over the surface of the staff and over her fingers, up her arms, into her mouth, her heart, her eyes, her mind. There was electricity in every nerve end and fire, a great, white hot fire raging inside her. And inside the fire was a voice, bitter and old and laughing.
"Gretel!!!"
The Boy fell back in astonishment and fear. The tiny, skinny girl had been raised to six feet, so that her pointed toes hung several inches from the ground. Her short hair whipped about her in an invisible maelstrom and extended into tendrils of smoke. But the worst was her face. Her eyes! There was that darkness in them, the darkness that he had learnt to fear in Nettlewart, that only the staff could bring out. She was laughing. An ancient, evil cackle.
"No..." The moan was Nettlewart's, who had dragged herself onto all fours and was trying to back away.
"Yes!" The voice was almost Gretel's, but not quite. There was a hard, spiky edge to it. Gretel pointed not the staff, but one index finger at Nettlewart, who was stopped in her tracks.
"Ah, Nettie," grinned the girl, "remember the witches with real power? The ones who didn't need to rely on books and staffs and hearsay? The ones who weren't worse than useless when left to rely on their natural powers? Of course you do." She lowered her finger. Nettlewart still remained trapped. "Now here's something I didn't realise before. These things let power come out but they also let it in. I also didn't realise quite how much of herself your mother managed to pour into this thing before she died..."
"Gretel?" Hansel was close to tears. "Please stop."
"...And still you managed to mess things up!"
"Mummy?" cowered Nettlewart, "Mummy, if that's you, I'm sorry, I..."
"It's not Raven, you useless, snivelling, talentless brat. It's me. But she's talking to me, Nettlewart. She's telling me how much you've always dissapointed her, how she's despaired in life and death of what the Witch of the Western Woods has become."
"Tell her I'm sorry."
"She knows you're sorry. And it's just too bad."
"But I did all this. I found the Narrator. I killed Pantomime!"
"You didn't kill it. You put it in a jam jar. That was easy. There was little enough of it left after what she did to the prince."
"I had my part in that too!"
Gretel laughed. "But it was her idea. Just like everything else. Like Hansel and Gretel. That was her idea too."
"It was mine!"
"It was hers. She knew you'd fail in killing us, Nettlewart. She knew how useless you were. But she had spied this girl in the town. A girl who was sensible, sharp..." Gretel shot a look at the Boy, "...enchanting. With a belief in magic and the old values. With so much potential for talent. So Raven made up this little ruse to get you to bring us here..."
"No..."
"...and all it was for was to find a better heir, pass the powers on to somebody better than you."
Nettlewart opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out but sobs.
"Oh stop crying," snapped Gretel. "You'll be put out of your misery soon enough. First I need to see to my own family. Somebody's lost."
She clicked her fingers. Mrs Trellis and Mayor Naize barged through the front door.
"Hang about," said the Mayor, "this wasn't here a second ago... Oh my, what's the to-do here?"
"Hansel? Gretel? What happened to you?" Mrs Trellis stood rooted to the spot and shaking, not sure whether to go to the child who was locked in a tiny cage or the one who was visibly posessed.
"They've been searching for us in the haunted woods for a week," said Gretel, "my poor widowed mother and a man who isn't even our father. You see, Nettlewart? You see what love parents are capable of when you make them proud?"
"Gretel," said Mrs Trellis, "who is this Nettlewart, who put Hansel in that cage, who is that unkempt young man and why are you floating? Come down this instant, young lady!"
"Oh yes," sighed Gretel, "Hansel." She clicked her fingers again. The cage turned to ash and crumbled about her brother. Mrs Trellis ran over and helped him to his feet.
"You served your purpose, Hansel." Gretel gave her twin a sideways look. "A little too well, perhaps. Don't get too close to that witch. I won't let anything or anyone stand in my way."
"So she's the witch?" Mrs Trellis asked her son. "That lass on the floor?"
"What are you going to do to her?" asked Hansel.
"Never you mind," replied Gretel. "The door is open. The sun is up. The woods will be easy to walk through. You will find that you are not as far from home as you believed. I release the three of you. Go home and never try to find me again."
"Gretel?" Mrs Trellis tried to touch her daughter but was met with a shock of electricity.
"Gretel, please," said the Boy, "this isn't you. Break out of the spell."
Gretel looked down at the Boy.
"You, Boy, will stay with me." She took his arm and lifted him up next to him, as though he were as light as a feather. "You will be mine now. Forever."
She pulled him close and pressed him to her. The Boy winced. Her nails dug into his arm. And she didn't smell like Gretel. She smelt of soot and blood and tomcat.
"But I... I don't think I want to..."
"You love me, don't you? You'll love me no matter what." She slid her hand down his arm and touched his hip under his shirt. Her fingers were freezing. "Be cheerful, Boy. You have a new mistress now. And this one will be far more tender than the last. Providing you're obedient."
The Boy tried to break out of Gretel's grip, but she held fast. Gretel turned back to face Nettlewart, still stuck on the floor on her hands and knees.
"So now there's just you to deal with, Nettlewart."
"Gretel, please. She betrayed her own daughter, she'll betray you soon enough."
"Whatever shall I do with you? Shall I turn you into a mermaid tree? Or maybe a great big fat gingerbread witch that the birdies can peck at?" With one arm still slung around the Boy, she lifted the staff horizontally, with one hand at each end. Sparks lit up all over it, as well as over her. Nettlewart gasped and curled into a ball, her arms over her face. "No," said Gretel, "I think I'll just kill you."
Hansel yelled and tried to run to Nettlewart but the Mayor and Mrs Trellis held him back.
The staff began to shake uncontrolably. Swirling tendrils of magical energy began to crawl towards Nettlewart. The woman screamed.
"Don't do this, Gretel." The Boy's face was pressed right up against Gretel's. "Break the staff. I've seen what it does. It's telling you what to do. You're not a witch. You're not a killer."
Gretel turned and looked at him. Her teeth were gritted and her eyes were black with fury.
"You're right about me loving you no matter what," he continued, "I'd go on being the slave of a wicked witch all my life for you. I'd carry on degrading myself, I'd take your beatings and clean my blood off your clothes and at night I'd let you touch the parts of me that you'd bruised the day before and I'd pretend my life was wonderful. That's more than I ever did for her. But you said you loved me too. And if you do love me, I only ask one thing of you. Don't kill her." He leaned into her and kissed her hateful, twisted lips. They tasted of ash and death. To begin with. Then her mouth relaxed, and he could taste Gretel. And he could smell Gretel. And when he pulled away, her eyes were clear.
Gretel looked from the Boy to the screaming woman, cowering on the floor. She gripped the staff tighter. Her face began to darken again. She concentrated all of her energy and let out a great cry.
She snapped the staff in two.
She and the Boy dropped to the floor along with the two halves of the broken staff. Magic fell out of it like dark smoke and was quickly sucked into the flue. She felt it leave her as well. Even the magic she had learnt overnight - that magic had belonged to Raven Snapdragon too. She sighed and turned to her family.
"It's all right," she said, "it's over."
"What was that?" asked the Mayor.
"The ghost of Raven Snapdragon," explained Gretel, "the original Wicked Witch. She poured herself into her magic staff when she found out she was dying, as a way of keeping control even beyond death. She's gone now, along with all her magic. All Nettlewart's left with is what nature gave her, so unless there's somebody around here with a serious gluten allergy I don't think she's particularily dangerous to anyone anymore."
"No, no, no, no." They all looked at Nettlewart. She was still trembling in a corner. "What have you done?"
"She's taken a big toy away from a silly girl who never knew how to use it properly," replied Mrs Trellis, "now get up. I want a word with you, Madam."
"She didn't destroy my mother's ghost, you daft ginger tranny..."
"...you're not helping yourself, sister..." interjected the strawberry-blonde Dame.
"Magic wands and staffs are only conduits. Focuses for the magic. She didn't put herself in there when she died."
"Where did she go, then?" Gretel searched Nettlewart's terrified, hurting eyes. Together, they both looked at the roaring stove.
"There are always so many fires burning in this little cottage," said Gretel, "flickering candles in the window, the hearth in the study, the stove in the kitchen..."
"Hansel!" yelled the Boy, running to the study,"we've got to put out all the fires and the candles in this house."
Nettlewart stopped him. "I didn't light a new fire in the study this morning. And there aren't any candles burning." She pointed at the stove. "That's the only one. I wanted her concentrated in the kitchen when I... did what she had told me to do."
Everybody started to back away from the stove.
"Do you mean to say," trembled the Mayor, "that that... whatever you were, Gretel, is in... there?"
"No," replied Gretel, "I was only a small part of what she was capable of being. She's all in there. And now she has no focus. No control."
The stove suddenly exploded into flames. Hot metal was sent spinning round the kitchen. Everybody hit the ground. Everybody but Nettlewart.
The flames were beginning to take shape. A tall, spiky old woman rose up in ashes. A skirt of fire cascaded to the floor. The figure reached its natural six feet, and kept growing. Nettlewart used the wall behind her to push herself to her feet.
The figure's pointy hat brushed the ceiling with soot. Its flame skirt was making its way towards the others. It was laughing with a hundred million voices. That vile, evil cackle. Blood on the poker. Golden hair in the sack. Slaps across her face, water in her lungs...
"Kill it!"
"I don't want to, Mummy."
"Kill it, child. It's only a baby."
"You do it."
"I will not. And I won't take it back. You'll have to do it. Do it for me, Nettlewart. Kill."
Nettlewart ran forwards. She barged into the water barrel. It toppled and fell. Wood splintered and water cascaded everywhere, putting out the fire skirt wherever it touched it. The figure hissed and screamed. Nettlewart grabbed the kettle and flung the water in the spectre's face. The scream became a sizzle, and then silence.
"Shut up, Mother," said Nettlewart as the smoke slowly disolved into the air.
The others got up, coughing. The Boy went over to his singed nest of hay and patted it worriedly. Sighing with relief, he pulled out a small, bedraggled teddy bear and clutched it to himself.
Nettlewart inspected the wet, black embers of the stove.
"Now she's dead," she said. She shot everybody a sad smile. "But that's going to save me from getting lynched, about as much as saying I'm sorry, isn't it?"
"Oh, now don't jump to conclusions, Missy," soothed the Mayor, "nobody said anything about a lynching."
Mrs Trellis sighed in dissapointment.
"No," continued the Mayor, "Pantoland is a fair place. You'll be arrested and tried, although since there's several cases of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, Actual Bodily Harm and attempted murder against you, you're almost definately going to hang anyways."
"Hang on," interrupted Hansel, "this isn't the way it's supposed to go. She's had her bad influence taken away, and her wicked powers. She saved our lives and she's said she's sorry for all the bad things she's done. I thought we were supposed to forgive her and let her become a reformed character."
"Who's been filling your head with nonsense, child?" snapped Mrs Trellis, "what sort of crazy world would it be where we were that ready to forgive and forget?"
"And let's not forget the most terrible crime of all," added Gretel, "Nettlewart, you admitted that you had a part to play in the murder of the baby prince of Pantoland."
Mrs Trellis and the Mayor gasped.
"She did that?" cried Mrs Trellis, "I'll kill her myself!"
"But I didn't..."
"Not only did you admit it," Gretel continued, "but the Boy and I found your sick little hoard of his treasures in your safe last night."
"But I didn't kill him!"
"Oh yes you did!" chimed the chorus.
"Oh... oh no I..." Nettlewart petered out. There should be something to say here, but she just couldn't remember it. "I... I'll go quietly."
Hansel frowned as he watched Mrs Trellis and the Mayor take one of Nettlewarts arms each and escort her towards the door. She turned around to give her cottage a farewell look and caught his gaze. She was so lost, so hopelessly lost and sad and sorry.
It shouldn't be this way. There's something that everyone's forgetting. A ghost in a jam jar.
"Wait," he said, and dashed into the study.
The others stopped at the door.
"What is that boy up to now?" tutted Mrs Trellis.
There was an almighty smash in the study.
"Hansel!" cried Gretel, and ran after him.