“I really don’t want to go to England, Grandmamma.”
“Of course you don’t,” she said. “Nor do I. But I’m afraid we’ve got to.”
“Are witches different in every country?” I asked.
“Completely different,” my grandmother said. “But I don’t know much about the other countries.”
“Don’t you even know about America?” I asked.
“Not really,” she answered. “Although I have heard it said that over there the witches are able to make the grown-ups eat their own children.”
“Never!” I cried. “Oh no, Grandmamma! That couldn’t be true!”
“I don’t know whether it’s true or not,” she said. “It’s only a rumour I’ve heard.”
“But how could they possibly make them eat their own children?” I asked.
“By turning them into hot-dogs,” she said. “That wouldn’t be too difficult for a clever witch.”
“Does every single country in the world have its witches?” I asked.
“Wherever you find people, you find witches,” my grandmother said. “There is a Secret Society of Witches in every country.”
“And do they all know one another, Grandmamma?”
“They do not,” she said. “A witch only knows the witches in her own country. She is strictly forbidden to communicate with any foreign witches. But an English witch, for example, will know all the other witches in England. They are all friends. They ring each other up. They swop deadly recipes. Goodness knows what else they talk about. I hate to think.”
I sat on the floor, watching my grandmother. She put her cigar stub in the ashtray and folded her hands across her stomach. “Once a year,” she went on, “the witches of each separate country hold their own secret meeting. They all get together in one place to receive a lecture from The Grand High Witch Of All The World.”
“From who?” I cried.
“She is the ruler of them all,” my grandmother said. “She is all-powerful. She is without mercy. All other witches are petrified of her. They see her only once a year at their Annual Meeting. She goes there to whip up excitement and enthusiasm, and to give orders. The Grand High Witch travels from country to country attending these Annual Meetings.”
“Where do they have these meetings, Grandmamma?”
“There are all sorts of rumours,” my grandmother answered. “I have heard it said that they just book into an hotel like any other group of women who are holding a meeting. I have also heard it said that some very peculiar things go on in the hotels they stay in. It is rumoured that the beds are never slept in, that there are burn marks on the bedroom carpets, that toads are discovered in the bathtubs, and that down in the kitchen the cook once found a baby crocodile swimming in his saucepan of soup.”
My grandmother picked up her cigar and took another puff, inhaling the foul smoke deeply into her lungs.
“Where does The Grand High Witch live when she’s at home?” I asked.
“Nobody knows,” my grandmother said. “If we knew that, then she could be rooted out and destroyed. Witchophiles all over the world have spent their lives trying to discover the secret Headquarters of The Grand High Witch.”
“What is a witchophile, Grandmamma?”
“A person who studies witches and knows a lot about them,” my grandmother said.
“Are you a witchophile, Grandmamma?”
“I am a retired witchophile,” she said. “I am too old to be active any longer. But when I was younger, I travelled all over the globe trying to track down The Grand High Witch. I never came even close to succeeding.”
“Is she rich?” I asked.
“She’s rolling,” my grandmother said. “Simply rolling in money. Rumour has it that there is a machine in her headquarters which is exactly like the machine the government uses to print the bank-notes you and I use. After all, banknotes are only bits of paper with special designs and pictures on them. Anyone can make them who has the right machine and the right paper. My guess is that The Grand High Witch makes all the money she wants and she dishes it out to witches everywhere.”
“What about foreign money?” I asked.
“Those machines can make Chinese money if you want them to,” my grandmother said. “It’s only a question of pressing the right button.”
