3. Rocky mountains

"Bert? It's me, William. I am making tracks. If all keeps going as well as it does now, I should make it in time."

Bert Bantrey, bookshop-owner, was pleased to hear William's voice. "William, good to hear that. I am looking forward to seeing you again. As I said before, I have some real treasures here, you will be very happy to get your hands on them."

William Connoley was driving down the road, his face slightly burnt from the sunshine. The break he had taken, sitting in the sunshine and eating his lunch, had left its traces.

"I'll have a look after dinner, Bert, for now it is still quite a number of miles I have to travel. Would you care to reveal where or what we are going to eat?"

Bert laughed. "Of course, since you ask. There is a new Greek restaurant in town since a while, and I have been sampling their menu. It is exquisite, as is their wine chart."

That was William's cue to laugh, recognising one of the small vices of his friend. "Well, you'd better make sure you do not drink them dry before we've been there, Bert. I'll call you again when I am able to tell you more precisely when I will arrive."

"That's fine, William. We'll talk again. Drive carefully."

William grinned. Bert never changed.

Hilda had spoken to several witches. All fine women. She had spoken with the few warlocks she knew that might have tips for her. The list with ideas was well-filled, but she had not scratched away the double ones. Or the ridiculous ones. Okay, the ridiculous ones could stay for a while, as she was in a very strange situation once again.

As she read the list once more, a feeling of unease came over her. It was unease mixed with feeling underpowered. And that was a bad combination.

"Isn't there fucking no one who can help me?", she shouted out to the crystal ball. In a suddenly manifesting frenzy Hilda the witch jumped up from her chair and cast an enraged ball of magical fire towards one of the far steep mountainsides. "I can't face this crap alone!"

Her words were lost in the thunder that erupted from the rocks as her spell, cast in anger and fear, hit. The mere impact already made the mountain shake, but the blast of fire and magic that were comprised in the bolt had an even greater effect. Several hundred yards high, the top of the mountain trembled.

The pressure of the blast lashed back to where there was space. It did not mind that there was also Hilda who was not paying attention. The witch was pushed away as if she was a feather, as were the chair and the table including its contents. Cupcakes flew everywhere. The large pillar of massive stone moaned as chipped-off fragments weighing several tons came thrashing downwards, making the solid ground shake even more.

Hilda covered her head with her hands. This was no time to bring up a wand, because there simply was no time for that. "Umbrae!", she shouted, "give me friggin' umbrae!"

The odd combination of English and Latin decided that there was more need for action than for the drama of the delayed effect of the English. A protective layer of solid air formed around the witch, which brought the agonising rain of rubble and stones on her body to an end.

"Crap, crap, crappedy crap," Hilda cursed as she dared to lift her head and look at what she had wreaked. The work of the Angel of the Abyss would have been less devastating.

Just when she thought it was over, a roaring sound hit her ears. "Oh no," Hilda groaned. She did not know the sound, but it was loud enough to mean even more trouble.

Smoke billowed up and the roar changed a bit. Then a large 4x4 pickup truck shot out of the smoke, the man behind the wheel doing all he could to avoid the boulders that were in his way. The fast trip over the rocky plateau came to an end when the truck smashed into the rock on the other side of it. The roar ended.

Hilda had watched the roaring contraption with its large wheels and high speed do its slalom through the boulders. The whack that echoed over the plateau as it hit the granite side of the mountain made her squeeze her eyes. "Ouch. That must have hurt," she was certain.

The wicked witch remained on her belly, her eyes shut, her nose in the dust and her protective layer of solid air over her until she was absolutely sure that this strange wagon was the last thing that would happen.

As finally the sounds had gone back to the soft blowing of the wind, she removed the protection and got to her feet. She inspected herself. "Damn. Another tear in the skirt." She sighed. Then she looked at the cart. It was blue and silver. And huge. It stood proud on black wheels, in their centre what had been gleaming silver caps. Now they were mere caps, somehow hanging on.

Hilda frowned. There had not been a horse in front of it. Then her eyes became large: she remembered where she had seen such a thing before! It had been at that weirdest of times when she had been sucked into that insane world, where people did not recognise a witch if she spit them in the eyes!

"Impossible," she mumbled. Her wand appeared in her hand, as one could never be too careful with this kind of close encounters.

As she approached the vehicle, she saw that there were indeed glass windows everywhere around it. None of them allowed a peek inside, as there was dust all over them, and not a square inch of glass had remained unscratched. The front of the thing was very warm. Hilda used her wand on it, to cool it down. Then she slowly reached out to the handle of the door and pulled it. The door did not move. She pulled harder. The door moved just as little.

"Open up, you stupid thing," Hilda said, pointing the wand at the door. A few seconds later the door clicked out of its lock and slowly swung open. From inside the vehicle came a groaning, moaning sound. There was someone inside it.

Hilda carefully pulled the door open, her wand aimed and ready.

A man pushed himself up from the round thing he had been leaning against, moaning some more. Then he looked at Hilda.

Hilda looked at him. He looked at Hilda.

Two voices at the same time said: "You?!"