TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang (5 page)

A Proposal

‘Really?’ said Arthur. He was somewhat taken aback. The Studio was in a remote part of the Wood. The few visitors who showed up at the door had usually walked miles to demand that they keep the noise down. ‘You liked it?’

‘Liked it?’ cried TT, stepping in and closing the door behind him. ‘I loved it! I was just passing by, feeling a bit fed up, you know? But you’ve perked me up, you have. You and your wild and crazy sounds. Wow. You boys are
good
.’

‘Oh. Well, thanks very much,’ said Arthur. ‘Much appreciated. We call it Crash ’n’ Bang. It’s not for everybody. Er – can I help you?’

‘Actually,’ said TT, ‘I was thinking that I might be able to help
you
.’

‘If you want us to do a gig, we’re booked up for the next month,’ said Arthur. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said TT. ‘Skeleton weddings, Zombie dinner dances, Witch pantomimes. Do ’em all, don’t you?’

‘Worse luck,’ said Filth under his breath. Arthur shot him an impatient look and he gave a little shrug and began picking at his nail varnish again.

‘They should pay you more,’ said TT. ‘Talent like yours shouldn’t come cheap.’

‘I get the best rate I can,’ said Arthur rather stiffly.

‘Of course you do,’ agreed TT hastily. ‘I’m just saying you deserve more. I’m a big fan of you boys. I was at your first ever gig. When everything went wrong and all the drums got punctured.’

Filth gave a little shudder. He didn’t want to be reminded of their first gig – a Witch Talent Contest that had ended in a full-scale riot. Come to think of it, a lot of their gigs ended in riots. People seemed to enjoy the fighting more than the music.

‘I asked for your autographs,’ went on TT. ‘You might remember.’

Everyone looked blank. Their memories of the disastrous occasion included nothing as flattering as being asked for an autograph.

‘You’ve improved a lot since then,’ said TT. ‘I mean, a
lot
. Of course, it’s a pity about the sort of rubbish they make you play. Old-fashioned, isn’t it? Marches and jigs and whatnot.’

‘Yes, well, that’s what’s popular, I’m afraid,’ said Arthur.

‘I know,’ agreed TT sympathetically. ‘No taste at all, the types who live around here. Cloth-eared, every last one of ’em.’

‘Right!’ chorused the Boys.

‘All that boring old stuff. You’re better than that.’

‘We are!’

‘You know what you’ve got? Raw talent. With decent management, you could go far.’

‘Right!’ yelled Filth and O’Brian. Only Arthur didn’t join in.

‘Actually,’ he said shortly, ‘
I
manage us.’

‘Oh, I know,’ soothed TT. ‘And you do a great job, I can see that. As far as it goes. You get the gigs, collect the money, all that. Somebody’s got to do it. Must eat into your creative time, though. Your essential
piano-playing
time.’

‘Well – yes, it does, a bit,’ agreed Arthur. It did. The band generated a lot of paperwork.

‘You’re a musician, right?’

‘Well, yes, but someone has to –’

‘You just want to make Crash ’n’ Bang music. Live the dream.’

‘Yes, but –’

‘A big stage. A wild crowd. That’s what you boys live for.’

‘Yes, but –’

‘Arthur.’ TT held up a small hairy hand, stopping him in his tracks. ‘You’re not seeing the big picture. Hear me out.’ He pulled
The Daily Miracle
from under his arm. ‘There’s an interesting piece in the paper you might like to see. And I’ve got a little proposal I’d like to put to you . . .’

A branch snaps, some bushes rustle – and the tall dark shape emerges from the trees. Crouching low, it creeps towards the weeping willow tree that grows next to the Studio. It parts the branches and ducks beneath . . .

Time Off

It was the following morning and Sludgegooey sat in her kitchen, surrounded by the wreckage from the day before. Things were even worse because the mess from breakfast was now added to it. She was irritably eating an egg while her Broom barged about the place, sweeping up in a slapdash fashion and looking put out.

Filth came shuffling into the room in his nightshirt. The Broom swept a pile of dirt into his path on purpose, then banged itself up against the wall.

‘You’re up, then,’ snapped Sludgegooey. ‘I put your egg on to boil an hour ago.’

‘Cool,’ yawned Filth.

‘No. Hot, actually. It exploded. You’ll have to scrape it off the walls. What time did you get in last night?’

‘Dunno.’

‘It was past midnight, wasn’t it? No wonder you’re up so late. I thought you said you’d clear up the kitchen.’

‘I will,’ said Filth. ‘I
will
.’

‘You said that yesterday. The Broom’s fed up with you, and so am I. This won’t do. It won’t do at all.’

‘Something came up,’ muttered Filth. He reached for a spoon and began tapping on the table edge. Sludgegooey stared at him. He seemed a bit tense. Not quite himself. Like he had something to say but was reluctant to come out with it.

‘What?’ demanded Sludgegooey. ‘Come on, spit it out.’

‘Got ourselves a new manager.’

‘A
new manager
?
I thought Arthur did all that sort of thing. Stop tapping – it’s driving me mad.’ Sludgegooey leaned across and snatched away the spoon.

‘He does. Did. Not any more.’

‘Well, come on then, tell me. Who is this new manager?’

‘The Thing.’

‘What – in the Moonmad T-shirt?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’d be careful,’ said Sludgegooey darkly. ‘Never holds a job for more than two minutes, that one. Plenty of enthusiasm but no staying power. What does the Thing do that Arthur doesn’t?’

‘Gotta lotta new ideas. New gear for a start. New image.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Publicity. Posters. Going to start up a fan club. Dolls, maybe.’

‘Dolls? What – of
you
?
’

‘Yeah. Oh, and he’s got us, like, this big gig.’ Filth announced this with a casual air that didn’t deceive Sludgegooey.

‘What big gig?’

‘Battle of the Bands. It’s a music festival. We’re, like, entering.’

‘Is that so? And where is this
Battle
to be fought?’

Filth muttered something under his breath and nervously picked up a fork.

‘Where? Speak up.’ Sludgegooey leaned over and snatched it away.

‘Sludgehaven-on-Sea.’

‘But that’s miles away!’

‘Not that far.’

‘Yes it is, it’s miles. Remember when we went there on holiday with the Coven that time? On a coach?’

‘Yeah,’ said Filth, who did. It had been an eventful journey. In fact, it had been an eventful holiday. Holidays with Witches always are.

‘Remember the show on the pier?’ Sludgegooey went all nostalgic. ‘And when we turned the landlady into a chicken?’
*

‘Yeah,’ said Filth.

‘Yes, we had a good time, despite that ridiculous No Magic rule they’ve got. Nice and sunny, never a drop of rain. But I do know it took ages to get there. When is this nonsense supposed to take place?’

‘On Saturday.’

‘It’s the Cake Sale on Saturday. I hope you’re not expecting time off.’

‘Well – yeah.’ Filth looked anxious. ‘Man. Come on. It’s, like, our big break. We get to play our kinda sounds to a big crowd for once. Show what we can do.’

‘I suppose by
your kinda sounds
you mean that horrible thump and smash stuff?’

‘Crash ’n’ Bang,’ said Filth. ‘It’s called Crash ’n’ Bang. You know that.’

‘All I know is, it’s a racket. It hasn’t even got any words to sing along with. Just a lot of noise.’

Filth chose to ignore this. They had been down this road before, many times.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ll only be gone for one night. Leave on Friday, back late Saturday. Or maybe Sunday. Sunday morning at the latest.’

‘Think again,’ said Sludgegooey and went back to her egg. There was a pause. Filth said casually, ‘Yep. Back Sunday morning. With the cheque.’

‘Cheque?’ Sludgegooey sat up.

‘Yep. There’s a prize. A cheque and a recording contract with
Genie Sounds
. Ali Pali’s starting up a record label. Looking for talent. That’s what the Battle’s all about.’

‘Never mind Ali Pali, go back to the cheque. How big a cheque?’

‘A hundred pounds.’

‘What,
each
?
Or divided between you? Think carefully, this is important.’

‘I dunno. Who cares? The main thing’s the recording contract.’

Sludgegooey didn’t think so, but didn’t want to spoil his dreams. Well, not yet. If he didn’t win, him and his dreams were toast.

‘How many bands are entering?’ she asked.

‘Dunno.’

‘Reckon you’ll win?’

‘Are you serious?’ Filth stared at her, amazed. ‘Like,
yeah
.’

‘Because I could put a curse on the competition if you want. Just to make sure.’

‘
No!
’ cried Filth, horrified. ‘This is
music
!
’

‘Just a little one. They’d never know.’

‘No!
No!
’

‘Well, have it your own way. But you’d better win.’

‘So I can go?’

‘All right. Just this once, I’ll give you the time off. Of course, I’m entitled to a cut of the money for letting you go.’

‘Whatever.’ Filth shrugged. ‘Take it all, I don’t care.’

‘All right then, I will,’ said Sludgegooey quickly. ‘You can put that on paper and sign it. You leave on Friday, you say?’