Tom blinked and soared and watched.
And from all the roads the mobs ran to stand alone on farms, or at crossroads, in harvest fields, in towns. Old men. Old women. Toothless and raving, yelling to the sky as the brooms swept down.
"Why," said Henry-Hank, stunned. "Those are witches!"
"Dry-clean my soul and hang it out to dry if you're not right, boy," agreed Moundshroud.
"There are witches jumping fires," said J.J.
"And witches stirring cauldrons!" said Tom.
"And witches drawing symbols in farmyard dust!" said Ralph. "Are they real? I mean, I always thought--"
"Real?" Moundshroud, insulted, almost fell from his bramblecat broom. "Ye little gods and fishes, lad, every town has its resident witch. Every town hides some old Greek pagan priest, some Roman worshiper of tiny gods who ran up the roads, hid in culverts, sank in caves to escape the Christians! In every tiny village, boy, in every scrubby farm the old religions hide out. You saw the druids cut and chopped, eh? They hid from the Romans. And now the Romans, who fed Christians to lions, run themselves to hide. So all the little lollygaggin' cults, all flavors and types, scramble to survive. See how they run, boys!"
And it was true.
Fires burned all over Europe. At every crossroad and by every haystack dark forms jumped in cats across flames. Cauldrons bubbled. Old hags cursed. Dogs frolicked red-hot coals.
"Witches, witches, everywhere," said Tom, amazed. "I never knew there were so many!"
"Mobs and multitudes, Tom. Europe was flooded to the dikes. Witches underfoot, under bed, in the cellars and high attics."
"Boy oh boy," said Henry-Hank, proud in his Witch costume. "Real witches! Could they talk to the dead?"
"No," said Moundshroud.
"Jump up devils?"
"No."
"Keep demons in door hinges and squeal them out at midnight?"
"No."
"Ride broomsticks?"
"Nope."
"Put sneezing spells on people?"
"Sorry."
"Kill folks by sticking pins in dolls?"
"No."
"Well, heck, what could they do?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing!" cried all the boys, affronted.
"Oh, they thought they could, boys!"
Moundshroud led the Team down on their brooms over the farms where witches dropped frogs in cauldrons and stomped toads and snuffed mummy dust and cavorted in cackles.
"But, stop and think. What does the word 'witch' truly mean?"