The Mud-witch - a short story collaboration | Page 16

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sagging stripes, but as she nears the bridge
she feels the twinge of something like relief.

The Mud-witch sees people up ahead. It

The shadow under its nearest arch is dark but

has been many years since she has seen

somehow inviting.

one up close, not squinting from a deck as
they glide by. Two women perch on a wall,

Her finger tips remember the feel of the toy

pink as flowers, and pinch their noses as she

boat’s flaking varnish. She bends to peer into

stamps by. ‘Urgh, eau de tramp,’ one says

the shadow and there, right below her, she

behind her. From a huge white boat moored

sees a rowing boat bobbing up against the

just beyond them, as big as a house with

green stone. Her feet sing. She slithers down

gleaming windows, a man gestures at her.

the slope, unties the rope from its iron ring,

‘Get out of here. Scare my customers,’ he yells.

and with a wobbly lurch steps into the boat.

On the roof of the boat faces peer down,
their mouths making ‘o’s. ‘Scram,’ the man

Can this be right? she wonders, as she pushes

shouts as a drink carton hits her shoulder and

out and away from the dank chill of the

bounces away, into the dark between the

bridge. She turns about, and puffs down onto

boat and bank. ‘Leave her alone, you rat,’ a

the board seat, stretching her legs, so that

voice calls as the Mud-witch hurries along, as

her feet nudge the dark bump in the middle

fast as her feet will carry her, for they will not

of the boat. It unfolds before her, and a small

stop. Silly people, silly wishes.

face appears. She gasps, and the face gasps
back. The wish is granted.

There is nowhere to go but onwards. Dusk is
muddying the sky, and the scrapheap outline
of the town is dotting with orange lights
that wink as she follows t H