The little garden was quite charming, and we paused briefly to steady our stomachs after the Apparition. "We have to go to the right," said Amelia. "And then on our left there's the old town gate. We go through and then the shop is on our right hand. Pure Magick it is called."
"With ck," I sighed. I had seen the map, too. "Ridiculous affectation."
We left the garden. The street was lined with small cottages, a bit like Arabella's house. Here, too, there were wheelie-bins in the front gardens, and little alleys that led to back-entrances. I smiled as I remembered my successful breaking-and-entering of that morning. Well, not literally 'breaking', of course. Still, being a detective added to one's life experiences.
Amelia and I both expected a set-up like the Leaky Cauldron's: a place that only magical people could see. But, surprisingly, Pure Magick was a Muggle shop – visible to all the world, announcing its name in large white letters on a black shop front.
We went in, and all was explained. It was a shop for Muggles who are interested in witch-craft. Wicca, they call it. The place was full of crystals, semi-precious stones, amulets, beads – the kind of things that wouldn't do Muggles any good, or not the good they might have done in the hands of a capable witch, but that wouldn't harm them, either. As was to be expected, there were references to Avalon all over the place.
"May I help you?"
The shop assistant – or owner? – had given us some time to browse among the assorted objects, a courtesy I appreciated.
"We're looking for something special," Amelia said.
"Something with owls, perhaps?" I added.
The woman nodded. "I see. That part of the shop." She looked around. "There's no one else – you can go right through." She pointed at a clear space in one of the walls.
We walked through the wall and found ourselves in what was, indeed, very much that part of the shop. A miniature Diagon Alley, choc-a-block with an amazing variety of magical merchandise.
Amelia started to make inquiries about Owl prices and delivery times, and within minutes she had managed to turn the conversation into a pleasant chat on the shop, Canterbury's magical places ("My friend and I are here on a short visit – such a lovely town to explore"), and the shop's background. Her interrogation skills were truly fabulous. The owner didn't even realise she was pumped for information.
We learnt that she and the woman in the front office were a couple. Amelia had figured that out at once – there is such a thing as a gaydar, as she explained to me once. Caroline, the woman in the Wicca part, was a Muggle, and Mathilda, who ran the back-shop, a witch. "Together we manage to make a living, and it all works out very well," she told us.
Somehow Amelia brought the subject round to pets, and within minutes they were discussing cats and Kneazles. Mathilda and Caroline had a Kneazle, they said, and Amelia said she'd always wanted one, but where did one find a truly reliable breeder?
"We happen to know one," said Mathilda. "We've bought our own Kneazle from her. Mind, she doesn't come cheap, but it's totally worth it. Our little Buster is wonderful."
We carefully steered her back from Buster's marvellous qualities to the Kneazle breeder. "You won't just get one like that," Mathilda grinned. "She'll come and vet you. Wants to make sure the kittens go to good homes. Prepare yourselves for a pre-adoption visit." Clearly, she assumed Amelia and I were a couple. We didn't disabuse her.
The Kneazle breeder turned out to be Arabella, all right. I was relieved when Mathilda mentioned her first name. I had been very careful not to use Arabella's first name in front of Amelia, and it had been a strain – Amelia was too sharp by half.
Amelia carefully noted down the address. "Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging?" she exclaimed. "I've seen that address before – let me think." I admired her acting skills. It sounded perfectly natural.
Then Amelia told Mathilda she worked for the Ministry, and she had seen the address in connection with kittens – something to do with missing kittens. Was Mathilda quite sure this was a reliable address?
"I'm so glad you Ministry folk are looking into it," Mathilda exclaimed. "The poor dear was that worried. And she's such a lovely old lady. Shouldn't have worries like that. The first time she visited us she was so happy – we had a lovely, long chat, you know, and she told us she was ever so pleased with the success of her business, and she'd been lucky in her private life, too.
"Turned out the old dear has a 'gentleman friend', as she put it. All full of him, she was. She'd known him for years, and never thought much of him, but then he had helped her out with a few odd jobs around the house. And they had got along quite nicely, and then he brought her flowers and invited her for a drink in the pub. 'He's no oil painting, Mrs Figg said, 'but neither am I. And pretty is as pretty does.' I tell you, those two are positively courting. Isn't that sweet, at their age?"
Mathilda was in her late twenties at most, and she seemed agog at the idea of anyone over sixty having a love life.
On Arabella's second visit, when she'd brought the kitten, she had told them about the abductions, as she called them. The gentleman friend had helped her with a sturdy padlock, but Arabella had still been very worried. Mathilda and Caroline had advised her to contact the Ministry, but Arabella had been reluctant.
"She's a Squib, you see, and the Ministry really doesn't do much for Squibs. Shameful, if you ask me. Well, sorry, you work there, but I don't think it's right. And we felt that sorry for her, we decided to send a letter about Muggle baiting. So that someone would be looking into it. It won't get her into trouble, I hope?"
I thought Mathilda should have considered that possibility before sending anonymous letters, but, as I said, she was very young. And clearly kind-hearted, but not a particularly sharp thinker. Her faux pas about the Ministry, too, showed she was someone who acts first and thinks later, if at all.
Amelia reassured her. "It would be useful, though," she added, "to know whether anyone tries to sell pure-bred Kneazles at lower prices. That would be a lead, you know. Have you heard of someone? While you were looking for your own Kneazle, perhaps?"
Mathilda had. "Not that we would go in for that sort of thing," she said virtuously. "But I know someone who did – only, he didn't buy the Kneazle. Didn't care for the contact person. Well, it would be a dodgy fellow, wouldn't it?"
We agreed that it would. Mathilda gave us their friend's address. To my delight, it was a second-hand bookshop, just a few streets away. "Front is Muggle books – Wizarding books in the back," Mathilda said. Chaucer's, it's called.
She gave us instructions, we bought some magical chocolate and two bottles of Butterbeer, ("Will do nicely for our lunch," Amelia told the girl), and set off.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*
"Not that we are going to lunch on a bench in the street," said Amelia as we walked down the High Street. "Look, there's a Cornish Pasty place. Let's eat there."
I hesitated briefly.
"Come on," Amelia urged. "You can browse the second hand bookshop later. Besides, we're on an investigation, not a bookshop spree."
We were, of course. But the thought of the bookshop was alluring. After our lunch – the pasties were a bit heavy on the onions, but otherwise quite tasty – we went to the shop. This time, I would take the lead.
The shop was a book lover's delight. Full of little nooks and crannies, and books everywhere. I turned to the owner. We could take a slightly more direct approach here.
"Mathilda mentioned your shop," I said, making sure there were no Muggle customers nearby. "Mathilda from Pure Magick. I'm looking for books on Kneazles."
The owner, a man in his early fifties, took me through to a separate part of the shop. I followed Amelia's example and started a little chat – on his delightful shop, on Kneazles, and how I'd always longed to have one.
He had an excellent book on 'Care of Kneazles', and I examined it. Slowly, I steered our conversation towards the price of a pure-bred, and the possibilities to get one through other channels than a professional breeder.
"You want to be careful with that, Madam," the man said. "Dodgy folk, some of them. Mind, I see your point about prices. But there's safety, too."
I agreed that for a single woman safety was very important.
"Now, I've looked into affordable Kneazles too, once," the man told me. "Got a tip from someone, and I contacted the fellow. We met up, even. In Knockturn Alley – not a place where a lady like you would want to go. And I didn't take to the chap. Didn't take to him at all. Scrawny, dirty, smoking a foul little pipe. Had 'crook' written all over him. You don't want to do business with the likes of that Mundungus, and there's a fact."
I thanked him for his warning, bought the book, and retrieved Amelia from the Muggle Crime section. The lucky girl had had a far better chance to look around than I. Amelia paid for her pocket book, and we left.
"A lovely find," she told me. Amelia adored Muggle detectives. She had given me quite a taste for them, too. That's how I first came across the Miss Marple books.
I smiled at her enthusiasm and told her the case was all but solved. She stared at me with a look of blank surprise that was not entirely flattering.
"I may be as old-fashioned as Miss Marple in your eyes, but I do get results," I told her. I would have loved to look for one of Miss Marple's books in that shop, for there were several still missing from my collection, but duty had stopped me from browsing to my heart's content. "Let's go for a cup of decent coffee, and I'll tell you all about it."
We went back to the High Street. On our way to the bookshop I'd seen a coffee place called Nero. It had looked promising.
We went in and ordered a cappuccino for Amelia and an Americano for me. The owner asked us for our 'fidelity card'. "Erm …" I started. What was it? Did all Muggles have one? Walking around in Muggle England can be quite enchanting, but tricky, too.
But there was no danger. The owner gave us a little card with ten squares on it. "For each cup you get a stamp, and a full card will get you a free coffee," he said, putting a stamp in two of the squares.
I took the card, and Amelia smiled. "I know you're a frugal Scot, but surely …" she said.
"Who knows?" I said. "I may return to Canterbury." And, in fact, I planned to. It was a lovely town, and it would be the very place for an outing with Poppy and Rolanda. Like me, they love second hand book shops, and from what I'd seen of Canterbury, it would be heaven on a plate to spend a day there. The place is teeming with book shops. With three of us wanting a decent coffee now and then, the card might come in handy.
"The person behind those kitten thefts, for that's what they are," I told Amelia as we sat down in a quiet corner, "is Mundungus Fletcher. I know him through the Order. Albus insists it's useful to have him around, because of his dodgy contacts. He calls him a petty crook. But I can assure you there's nothing petty about it. The man's a thief, pure and simple. He is stealing those kittens, and he sells them on. And you know the worst thing?"
"Tell me," said Amelia, who looked suitably impressed.
"Remember that Mathilda said Arabella's gentleman friend was 'no oil painting'? I bet it's Mundungus Fletcher. He's ugly as sin, and he has a personal hygiene problem. Either Arabella is very much smitten, or he has cleaned himself up a bit to get at her – and at those kittens. And now what? We'll have to put a stop to it – but it will hurt poor Arabella like hell."
We looked at each other in dismay.
"You're right," Amelia said. "I'm sure you're right. And I can't put the Ministry on him. They would look into Arabella's little business, you know. If we truly want to help her, we'll have to do it by ourselves."
We decided to return to the little walled garden, for we couldn't do anything further in Canterbury. We would then each return home and think on the problem.
