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scroll at Gertrude.
    “That’s it. The one on the
left.”
    “Oh, I know where that is!”
said Gertrude. “Thank you, Seneca. Come along everyone!”
    And she was off again, out of
the doors and down the garden.
    “I wonder if she had this
much energy when she was alive,” muttered Steve.
    “Probably,” said Elsie. “She
was telling me how many gardens she’d done. It made me tired just thinking
about it.”
    They finally caught up with
her at the far end of the garden in a sunny spot near a gurgling stream.
Gertrude pointed to a clump of sturdy green plants near the water’s edge.
    “That’s it,” she said.
    Belladonna bent down and
started picking leaves.
    “I don’t think that’s what
you need, dear. I’ve read that the ancient Romans valued it for its resin. You’ll
need to cut through the stalk.”
    Belladonna tried pulling one
of the plants out of the ground, but it didn’t budge. Gertrude smiled, moved
Belladonna gently aside, then reached into her pocket, took out a pair of
clippers and went to work on the stalk.
    “My goodness!” she said,
stepping back. “That is a very tough plant!”
    Belladonna turned and looked
at Steve.
    “This is so weird,” he said,
stepping forward and taking the ruler out of his pocket. It instantly turned
into the secateurs again. He leaned down and snipped through the stalk as if it
were nothing more than a dandelion.
    “Wait a minute,” gasped
Gertrude. “Is that the Rod of Gram?”
    “Yes,” said Steve, pocketing
the ruler once again.
    “So you’re the Paladin? Then
that must mean…”
    “Yes,” said Belladonna, a
little sheepishly. “I’m the Spellbinder.”
    “Well, I never! What an
honor! And in my garden, too!”
    “Thanks for helping us,” said
Belladonna. “The garden is lovely.”
    “Not at all. I’ll walk with
you back to the lift.”
    She set off more slowly this
time, showing off her garden and explaining her plantings and why she’d chosen
the different flowers and shrubs. By the time they reached the House of Mists
again, Belladonna was so enchanted with the tour that she’d almost forgotten
why they’d come.
    “Thank you so much,” she
said, really meaning it and shaking Gertrude’s hand.
    “Not at all. You must go and
see some of my gardens. I believe quite a few still exist.”
    “We will.”
    Elsie pushed the button for
the elevator and the doors slid open.
    “See you later!”

 
     
    As usual, the elevator didn’t
return them to the oracle, but to the groundsman’s shed near the football
pitch. It was almost completely dark, but they were able to find the nettles
and burdock with Steve’s flashlight. Belladonna wrapped the stinging nettles in
a tissue from her pocket and they returned to the school to retrieve their
coats and bags, which they managed to do without being caught, much to their
amazement.
    “There must be a staff
meeting or something,” said Steve, as they slipped outside and walked up the
steps to the convent.
    Belladonna rang the doorbell,
which was answered by a rather surprised nun. Steve explained that they needed
some crabapples for a class project and that someone had told them the convent
had a tree.
    “We were wondering if we could
have a few?”
    “Why, certainly,” said the
nun.
    She asked them to step
inside, then disappeared down a long corridor, reappearing a moment later, from
a completely different direction, with a small plastic bag of crabapples.
    “Will that be enough?”
    “Yes,” said Belladonna,
smiling. “Thank you very much!”
    They picked up the rest of
the herbs on the way back to Lychgate Lane, buying the fennel and apple juice at
the green grocers, and plucking a few leaves of mugwort and hosta from the
garden next door.
    “I’m home!” yelled Belladonna
as they walked into the house. “Steve is here!”
    “Hello, Steve!” said Mr. Johnson
cheerily as he floated an inch or two above his easy chair, watching the news.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
    “No