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disappeared down the back of the boy’s swimming trunks. It was Charlie Snoppit and his froggy friend, Harold.
    â€˜I’ve lost her,’ he yelled.
    Mr Frollick, the Portality and Mirrority instructor, and a Marshlin Flitterwig, raced over to the boy, his reedy frame tucked into the tightest T-shirt and shortest shorts imaginable.
    â€˜What do you mean you’ve lost her?’ the teacher shouted, his knobbly knees knocking together passionately. ‘All you had to do was tweak your ear and say the spell, dive into the stream andup you should pop a little further along! Did you mess with the rules, you naughty things?’
    â€˜Of course we didn’t!’ said Charlie, grabbing a handful of pussy willow from the ground next to the stream, tweaking his ear and passing it over himself. This Goblin Protector business was awfully hard work, especially with a Protectee as unreliable as his own. The pussy willow absorbed most of the liquid from his body at once. ‘One minute I was holding her hand as we jumped in by the waterfall, the next we were whirling through the Waters, then I couldn’t hold her hand anymore, and now here I am, without her!’ Charlie’s teeth began to chatter.
    Mr Frollick was hoicking his tight top over his bald head and running to the stream, his face set in a tight squeeze of concern. This was a simple exercise in Portality, designed to get the children used to travelling through water, the fastest way for Flitterwigs to travel long distances. It was almost impossible for the exercise to go wrong. The simple spell he had taught the children should have drawn them to the closest available Waterway, a few hundred metres further along! Mr Frollick tweaked his ear, muttered a spell and dove into the stream. Seconds later he appeared at the same spot as Charlie. He hadn’t seen her anywhere. The poor teacher scrubbed his poky face in horror as he climbed out of the stream. In all his years teaching atHedgeberry, this had never happened to him before. He picked his whistle up from where he had dropped his clothes, and tweaking his ear, Personified it.
    â€˜Go to the office and tell Ms Wheelbarrow I need her at once,’ he instructed the whistle, who had grown arms, legs, wings, eyes, a nose and a mouth. The whistle saluted the Marshlin Flitterwig and flew off in a trice.
    A splashing sound in the stream drew his attention. Everyone turned to the sound. Ella appeared, her hair flaring wildly, in spite of how wet it was. Her green eyes sparkled excitedly.
    â€˜Hi,’ she said, all eyes upon her. A strong smell of cinnamon and oranges emanated from her. She quickly squished Dixon, who had been in her hand, down the back of her swimming costume. ‘Anyone seen Charlie?’
    There was a splash and a splish and a rather indecorous slurpy sound of water sucking. Everyone turned again. The imposing figure of Annie Wheelbarrow, Hedgeberry’s long-serving headmistress (and a Dryad Flitterwig), thrust up out of the waterfall. She was an extremely tall gentlewoman, at least sixty-five years old, with long grey hair held in a low, messy, wet ponytail down her back. Her many-coloured skirts, frayed army jacket and pink and white striped top were plastered to her body, and she wore an awful lot of large, colourful rings, one of which matched thestartling ruby earrings that dangled from her droopy lobes. She hauled herself out of the stream, took off a pair of wellington boots and emptied the water from them.
    â€˜That was quick!’ said Mr Frollick. ‘Did the whistle reach you already?’ Ms Wheelbarrow looked at him, confused. For she had not received any message from a whistle. Oh no. She had been informed of Ella’s absence by a white elf. A pure Magical. Fancy that! Such behaviour had been illegal until a couple of months ago. A rather dizzy white elf, it had to be said, but still.
    â€˜Come with me, Ella,’ said Ms Wheelbarrow smartly,