“Morning, Carol!” says Win cheerfully.

The bear scowls and continues wiping a cloth around a smeared glass. I’d assumed Hati must have tied her up or locked her away somewhere, but I get the feeling she’s been down here the whole time. It just goes to show that all pirates, even ones called Carol who wear flowery dresses, are totally untrustworthy.

Chapter 47

Outside the air is so cold it’s like breathing ice, but we don’t hesitate. We run to the edge of the village and duck down below a low wall. Then we start gathering snow and patting it into balls.

We stack them on the wall, working as fast as we possibly can. Better than nothing, I keep telling myself, all the time glancing up in the sky, looking out for Mitch’s rainbow. I imagine the golden letters appearing on the Box and Crowky’s hand reaching to open it, then SPLAT! He gets a snowball in the face. It could work, maybe, and this thought is enough to keep me scooping up handfuls of snow.

Soon we have a decent collection of snowballs and when we peer over the wall we see Crowky is a few minutes away. That’s when Win comes up with the idea of doing his hanky paws spell.

“It’s nothing special,” he admits, “but it works every time. Basically it gives things a nice crust. I usually use it on toast or marshmallows but I reckon it would work on snow.”

We agree that he should do a test and he places one snowball on an abandoned cart.

“Hanky paws!” he says, thrusting his wand forward. Purple smoke pours from the wand and the snowball trembles, then falls still. He runs forward and picks it up.

“Did it work?” I say.

“Let’s see.” He turns and chucks it straight at me.

It’s like a rock smacking me on the cheek. “Yeah . . . It worked,” I say, rubbing my face.

Win gleefully starts hanky paws-ing every snowball we’ve made and soon a thick purple smog hangs over the entrance to the village. It’s bright, but at least it hides us from view and we’ll be able to launch a surprise attack on Crowky.

Then I spot the old cart and I have an idea. One end rests on the ground so that the bed forms a slope . . . a slope that leads directly toward the path that Crowky and his scarecrows are coming along.

Instead of adding the snowball in my hands to the pile, I roll it along the ground. It quickly picks up more snow, and I pack it down until it’s as big as a football.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” says Win.

“I’m making a surprise for Crowky,” I say, then I explain my plan, all the time glancing back to the shore, looking for any sign of the rainbow.