Glubbslyme Read online

  Rebecca stared at him. He spoke clearly enough, although he did tend to croak every now and then. But he spoke in such an odd old-fashioned way that it was hard for her to understand exactly what he was saying.

  But she understood one thing. She really had hurt his feelings.

  ‘I don’t think I’m so scared of you now,’ she said.

  The toad huffed a little but didn’t deign to reply.

  ‘And I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,’ she went on. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Would you not be outraged if I called you . . . ugly?’ He winced as he whispered the word.

  ‘I’ve been called far worse than that,’ said Rebecca. ‘Just now a girl called me Parrot Face. And Stupid and Silly Baby.’

  ‘A parrot has a large hooked bill. Your nose is but a small protuberance. But perhaps I would not care to dispute the other two nicknames,’ the toad muttered.

  ‘There’s no need to be spiteful,’ said Rebecca. ‘I was trying to make friends.’

  ‘I was the one who determined to befriend you. I woke from one of my lengthy sleeps to hear you speaking of witches. I was surprised by your knowledge. Moved to tears by bitter memories. And then I heard them calling your name. I could scarce believe it! Rebecca. The very same name as my own dearest long-lost Rebecca. It seemed too great an omen to ignore. I determined to address you. And then you plunged into my watery abode as if actively seeking me out. My broken heart healed! I leaped upwards. With the tenderest affection I attached myself to your person – only to have you attack and insult me.’ He croaked mournfully, his limbs twitching.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Rebecca said humbly.

  ‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘I am not a vain amphibian. I have adopted solitary habits during my long, long period of mourning but I have not been able to avoid overhearing the admiring remarks of other lesser toads and inferior frogs. I repeat, I am not vain, but I do have eyes, and whilst circling the pond by moonlight I have observed my own reflection. It is a wonder I am not vain, because I have never seen a Bufo bufo as beautiful.’

  ‘A Bufo bufo?’ said Rebecca. ‘I thought you were a toad.’

  He croaked contemptuously.

  ‘And I thought you were knowledgeable! A Bufo bufo is the correct Latin term for the species common toad. Although badness knows I am not common. I, the Great Glubbslyme, familiar to the wise and wicked witch Rebecca Cockgoldde, the largest, wartiest, moistest, and most magical of toads.’

  ‘You belong to a real witch?’ said Rebecca. ‘But I didn’t think there were any left.’

  ‘Alas! You are correct,’ said Glubbslyme, and his hideous head drooped right onto his knobbly knees. There was no mistaking his tears now. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. ‘Oh how I miss my wonderful weird witch, my own Rebecca. But they seized her, in spite of all my most venomous efforts, they tortured and tormented her, and then they threw her down into the depths of this very pond.’

  ‘But she should have floated if she was a real witch.’

  ‘She had a seizure at the shock of the cold water and expired,’ Glubbslyme sobbed.

  ‘I knew it was horribly unfair,’ said Rebecca. ‘But my Dad said it was hundreds of years ago.’

  ‘He is correct,’ said Glubbslyme. ‘My Rebecca was cast down to the depths in the seventeenth century. I am not certain of the exact date. No matter, all days have been black since dear Rebecca departed this world. I will show you her memorial tablet.’

  He puffed up a little and hopped down the bank of the pond. He scrabbled at the overhanging ferns and managed to push them aside. There was a large stone embedded in the earth and when Rebecca hung precariously over the edge she saw that someone had scored the stone with rather shaky lettering. Rebecca Cockgoldde, R.I.P.

  ‘Rebecca Cockgoldde, Rest In Peace,’ she read.

  ‘Rebecca Cockgoldde, Rotting In Pond,’ Glubbslyme corrected her. He traced the letters lovingly with his little black fingers. ‘At first I did cast myself down into the dark depths with my poor mistress and determined to rot there too. I lay motionless for many years, mourning bitterly. But I could not die. Magical toads are notorious for their longevity. And then my mistress slowly sank down into the deep mud and the pond dried out and became unpleasantly overcrowded and I could no longer languish in solitude. Eventually a fool of a female frog festooned me with frog-spawn and no one can mourn immobile whilst tormented by tickling tadpoles. So I swam to the surface and carved the memorial, and whenever I do catch a particularly tempting morsel of dragonfly or whatever, I leave it in front of the tablet as a small token of respect.’

  ‘How nice,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Your vocabulary seems very impoverished,’ said Glubbslyme severely. ‘Although I am not surprised. I read the potato crisp packets and comic papers carelessly cast into the pond.’ He shook his head in disgust. He sounded like a little old man. But then he was old – hundreds of years old. Rebecca’s Dad told her she should try to be extra polite and patient with elderly people. Glubbslyme was very elderly indeed – and she hadn’t treated him with the right sort of respect.

  ‘I don’t think you’re a bit u-g-l-y now,’ she said, trying to make amends. ‘I think you look very . . .’ She tried hard to think of the right word. ‘Very distinguished.’

  It was exactly the right word. Glubbslyme puffed and preened, practically doubling his size.

  ‘Quite’, he said. ‘I do so agree. You will never see a toad even half as distinguished.’ He hopped up to her, showing himself off, bouncing about like a ball. He bounced nearer and nearer, bobbing right up in Rebecca’s face and back again. She hoped very hard that he wouldn’t land on her head. He reached out in mid-air and she flinched, but he was simply deftly extracting something from her hair. A green ribbon of pondweed.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Rebecca. She felt in her hair herself, combing it with her fingers. And then there was her dress.

  ‘My dress!’ Rebecca cried.

  She had been so involved with Glubbslyme that she’d forgotten all about her best dress. She’d been dimly aware that she was shivering but she hadn’t quite worked out why. Her dress was soaked. She stood up and it clung to her limply, little trickles of water dribbling down her legs onto her toes.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ Rebecca said, and she started to cry.

  Glubbslyme blinked up at her, stretching his own watertight limbs thoughtfully.

  ‘I have always considered clothing an encumbrance. My own Rebecca cast off her garments on the night of a full moon. Perhaps you might care to do likewise?’

  ‘I can’t go home without any clothes!’ Rebecca sobbed. Then she looked down at her soaked dress. ‘But I can’t go home like this either. Oh what am I going to do? I look such a sight and I’ve ruined my best dress and my Dad’s going to be so cross.’ Rebecca cried harder.

  ‘Desist!’ said Glubbslyme. ‘There is no need for all this wailing and gnashing of teeth. I will solve your trivial problem. Kindly remember I am Glubbslyme, ex magical familiar to the great Rebecca Cockgoldde.’

  ‘Can you really do magic?’ said Rebecca. ‘Can you make my dress as good as new?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Glubbslyme. ‘If you utter the correct magical command.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Rebecca asked eagerly.

  ‘Repeat my illustrious name seven times.’

  ‘Glubbslyme, Glubbslyme, Glubbslyme—’ Rebecca began.

  ‘Desist!’ said Glubbslyme, sighing irritably. ‘It is not quite that simple.’

  ‘I didn’t think you could,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘You dare to doubt me?’ said Glubbslyme.

  ‘Well,’ said Rebecca. She took hold of her sodden hem and squeezed. The trickles merged and became a minor waterfall. ‘I don’t see how anyone could dry my dress just like that.’

  ‘I can. In my own way. Magic is a science as well as an art. One must work it out logically. Now, your strange shift-like garment is soaking wet, agreed? So we have to find a magical me