The Witch's Vacuum Cleaner: And Other Stories Read online

  The window of number nine shot up.

  ‘If you’re looking for Mrs Mince, she passed away on Saturday,’ said the neighbour. ‘’Ere, who are you anyway?’

  But Sir George and Lord Palmerston were already galloping away through the dark streets of Blackbury.

  Eventually they reached Blackbury cemetery, and leaped over the gates.

  ‘He’s always here,’ said Lord Palmerston, looking about. ‘Haven’t visited him in years, but he— Ah, there he is.’

  ‘He’ was carved from white marble, and was an angel in the family vault of the Lords of Gritshire. Most of the statues in there were of angels or cherubs, which rather embarrassed Lord Palmerston, used as he was to the hurly-burly of the park.fn1

  ‘Good evening, Pietro,’ he said to the angel he was looking for. He removed his hat.

  The angel nodded, and smiled. ‘It’s a long time since we’ve seen you in here,’ he said, removing nothing since he was wearing nothing.

  ‘Er – yes, well, it’s been a busy time at the park,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘Er – have you had a Mrs Mince brought in?’

  ‘Yes, plot thirty-two in row forty,’ said the angel. ‘Dear old soul.’

  ‘We were a bit worried because she stopped coming to the park,’ said Sir George. ‘I suppose there is no way of getting a statue made? I mean, I was human once, and now I’m a statue. I’m sure she’d enjoy being in the park. She used to spend nearly all her time there anyway.’

  The angel sat down and folded his wings. ‘I don’t expect she did anything to get people to make a statue of her, like shooting guns and going on and on in Parliament.’ He smiled. ‘You know her – can you think of anything?’

  ‘Only something like FOR SERVICES TO FEEDING DUCKS,’ said Sir George.

  ‘Just a moment, though,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘When she was young she used to chain herself to railings for votes for women. She was a big leader of the Suffragettesfn2 of Blackbury. Chained herself to the park railings twice, and to the park keeper once. Threw mud at Prime Minister Asquith. Oh, she really fought for the vote. I’m just glad I wasn’t Prime Minister at the time.’

  ‘Well, people have had statues made for much less,’ said the angel.

  ‘Trouble is, what can we do? We don’t look human enough to go and see the Town Clerk,’ said Lord Palmerston.

  ‘Use the public phone box by the park gates. I’ll tell you how to use it,’ said the angel. ‘You’ll need to put money in to use it – sixpence,fn3 I think – and you have to reach him during the day. You might find some coins in the park, if you look where people have dropped it. Try the wishing pool.’

  Sir George and Lord Palmerston looked at each other.

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ said Lord Palmerston.

  Lord Palmerston had trouble using the telephone box. Since he was seven foot high and carved out of marble he found it difficult to dial, for one thing. His fingers were too big.

  The statues had had a big meeting in the park the previous night, and decided that Lord Palmerston shouldn’t phone the Town Clerk but something called the British Political History Society. A statue of William Makeworthy, the twentieth Mayor of Blackbury, said that the Society were just the type to go around erecting statues.

  ‘I’ve only got one sixpence,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘And that’s worn thin.’

  Anyway, he finally got through to the Society.

  ‘This is Lord— This is Mr John Smith speaking, I mean,’ he said. ‘I think you should know that Mrs Mince has died. You know, she did a lot for votes for women.’

  ‘Mrs Mince?’ said the secretary. ‘Of course. Dear me.’

  ‘We thought a statue in the park would be appropriate,’ said Lord Palmerston. ‘She often used to visit there, you know.’

  ‘Actually, we were thinking of this ourselves,’ said the secretary. ‘What did you say your name was, sir?’

  But Lord Palmerston had put the receiver down and was hurrying back to the park, greatly surprising a young lady who was waiting to use the phone box.

  The others were waiting for him. Since it was daylight they were all standing still on their pedestals, but they moved their eyes as he rushed past waving his hands in the victory salute. Then he leaped onto his plinth while the park keeper’s back was turned, picked up the marble scroll he had been holding, and in a moment was looking as though he hadn’t moved in a hundred years.

  They waited all that summer, and through to the following spring. It was late in February, when Lord Palmerston was dozing under a light coating of snow, that the packing case arrived. A new pedestal was set up down by the ornamental fountain and something shrouded in a cloth was cemented to it.

  The Mayor and the President of the British Political History Society turned up, with photographers and a crowd of people. There were several speeches . . . and then the Mayor unveiled Mrs Mince.

  The statues gasped, and the crowd clapped politely.

  ‘Of course!’ said Lord Palmerston to himself. ‘The sculptor’s shown her as she was when she was a Suffragette!’

  The statue was of a much younger Mrs Mince in an Edwardian dress and a gigantic hat, chained to a piece of railing and wearing a defiant expression.

  When everyone else had gone home the statues rushed to greet her.

  Lord Palmerston broke the handcuffs and helped her down.

  ‘Here, I recognize you!’ the Suffragette said in delight. ‘All of you. Isn’t this the park?’

  ‘Dear Mrs Mince, let me explain,’ said Lord Palmerston.

  And he did. Then, as the moon came up, the statue of Pan and the statue of Menuenchi the violinistfn4 turned up and started to play a waltz, Lord Palmerston swept up Mrs Mince in his arms and they swirled out among the dancing statues over the park keeper’s carefully mown, snow-dusted grass.

  WIZARD WAR

  Jack was walking through the wood when a spell passed him, heading south.

  Now it’s easy to see spells, if you’ve been trained to do so, and since Jack was a wizard’s apprentice he knew a spell when he saw it. This one looked like – well, if I say it looked like a small red cloud of fog, full of little twinkling lights, that’s about as close as you’ll get.

  Oh dear, it’s Mallebor sending spells again, thought Jack, and he hurried after the spell.

  He followed it through the wood and up the hill. On top of the hill was a stone tower, and just as Jack reached its big oak door the spell popped in through the window. There was a pop! from inside, a heavy thud, and someone started to swear in a loud voice.

  ‘Newt’s teeth! I’ll give him collapsing magic—!’

  Jack pushed open the door. There, on the floor, was a chair. But all its legs were broken. And sitting on the floor was a furious wizard.

  His name was Robellam, and his face was red with anger. In fact his anger had turned white with rage, and then his rage turned purple with fury, because he realized that his arch-enemy Mallebor had struck again.

  To understand the great war between the two wizards it’s necessary to know about wizards in general. Wizards are very proud. The better they are the prouder they become, until they can’t stand other wizards.

  Well, Robellam lived in a tower above the little village of Chepping Outfeathers, and everything had been peaceful until Mallebor moved into another tower across the valley (wizards always live in towers).

  From then on there had been nothing but trouble. Sometimes it was just a Grade Four spell, to sour the milk or turn the other wizard’s nose green, but when one of them became really angry . . .

  ‘Jack!’ bawled Robellam. ‘Bring me my wand, my book and my cauldron! I’ll show him who he’s dealing with! A Grade Three spell, I think.’

  Oh dear, thought Jack again.

  Soon he had to open a window to let the Grade Three spell out. It hovered just outside, a blue ball flashing with green lights.

  ‘Go and turn his front door to cheese!’ thundered Robellam.

  ‘He’ll only send
back a Grade Two, sir. He always does,’ said Jack. ‘And you know what a Grade Two does. It turns—’

  ‘Go down to the village again and buy a dozen eggs, boy,’ said the wizard coldly. ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with any spells that ridiculous charlatan can make, thank you.’

  Jack was glad to get out of the tower. It was always best to leave the two wizards alone until they got fed up. Usually they resorted to threatening letters after the first exchange of Grade Two spells.

  As he entered the grocer’s he met a ginger cat with a particularly fine tail. It was Geryboam, Mallebor’s assistant.

  ‘G’morning, Jack. I see they’re at it again,’ said the cat.

  ‘Second time this week,’ agreed Jack. ‘We ought to do something about it. It’s ruining my education.’

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Geryboam. ‘I can only make a Grade Five spell, and only on certain days of the week at that. What do you suggest?’

  ‘We can’t stop them fighting,’ said Jack. ‘No one – well, except for the Great Wizard himself, of course – can make a wizard do anything he doesn’t want to do. I’ve got to buy a dozen eggs, and I know that’s part of the recipe for a Roof and Ceiling Enchantment, so you’d better hide in the coalhouse.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to buy a bag of pepper,’ said Geryboam, ‘and that’s part of my master’s Floors and Doors Spell, so you’d better hide in the attic.’

  There was a crackling sound, and a ball of green fire zipped overhead in the direction of Robellam’s tower. A second later a small flock of golden stars passed the other way, heading for Mallebor. At the same time the window of the grocer’s shop turned to pink ice, and began to melt.

  ‘Oh dear, side effects,’ said Geryboam.

  ‘I think we owe it to the community to put a stop to this,’ said Jack importantly. He concentrated on the window, and with a great effort turned it back to glass again before the grocer noticed.

  When Jack got back to Robellam’s tower it was in a terrible state. Several badly aimed spells had landed in the garden, and inside the tower not one stick of furniture was in one piece. The carpets had rolled themselves up, and there was a smell of burning boots, broomsticks, bookshelves and beams. Robellam was striding up and down muttering to himself. He snatched the eggs from Jack and disappeared into his study.

  Then Jack threw all his possessions into a bag and hurried back out, slamming the door behind him just as it turned to treacle.

  He met Geryboam, as they had agreed, in the wood. The cat had a small bag of fish heads tied to his collar.

  ‘You realize, of course, that an apprentice who leaves his wizard without notice is subject to Being Turned into a Beetle under the Wizards and Warlocks Act of 1872?’ asked Geryboam, with a wave of his tail.

  ‘I’m trying to do a Grade Four spell,’ said Jack. ‘Be quiet for a minute.’

  ‘I just want you to know that if your plan doesn’t work I want no part of it—’

  Suddenly there was a flash! and a bang! The next moment they were standing on a bleak mountain. Strange stars of unheard-of colours shone overhead, and on top of the mountain was the house of the Great Wizard. They were in the Land of Lume, the magic place that is as far and near our time as the other side of a shadow.

  ‘You’ve done it now,’ hissed Geryboam.

  ‘No one can make a wizard do anything he doesn’t want to do, except the Great Wizard,’ said Jack. ‘We have to see him.’

  He hurried up the path towards the bleak house, and presently Geryboam followed him. There didn’t seem to be any choice.

  They came to the door of the Great Wizard’s house. It was made of iron, and studded with uncut diamonds. There was a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, and when Jack used it the door shook with a noise like thunder.

  The brass lion said, ‘Well, what do you want?’

  ‘The door knocker spoke!’ whispered Geryboam.

  ‘We want the Great Wizard to help us end the battle between Robellam and Mallebor,’ said Jack. ‘If he doesn’t mind, that is.’

  The lion said nothing, but the door swung open, and the two apprentices found themselves in a large hallway. A grandfather clock ticked slowly in one corner, and there were wands and broomsticks in an umbrella stand.

  It was very dark. Finally the grandfather clock said, ‘Don’t just stand there.’

  Jack jumped. ‘S-sorry,’ he gasped.

  ‘I should think so,’ said the clock. ‘Now then, these wizards – we agree they should be stopped. It’s bad for trade. On the hall table you will find a bag containing two Grade One spells. That should put a stop to all this.’

  ‘W-where’s the Great Wizard?’ asked Geryboam.

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t bother himself with spells. He lets us furniture deal with them. I hope you know how to deal with spells,’ the clock added. ‘Of course, you yourself can’t make spells any greater than Grade Four ones, I know, but you can use these as a special gift from the Great Wizard – one each, one for each wizard. We’ve been watching those two for some time, you know. In fact, Robellam’s clock is a cousin of mine. They are very good spellmakers but that fighting gives the profession a bad name. Now then, step on the doormat.’

  Jack picked up the bag of spells, stepped backwards, and whump! They were standing in the woods again. The Land of Lume had completely disappeared.

  ‘Talking furniture!’ said Geryboam. ‘I’m glad our furniture knows its place!’

  ‘Two Grade One spells,’ said Jack. ‘They’re very powerful! Even Robellam has to work hard to make one! I hope nothing happens to the wizards – old Robellam’s quite a good master when he hasn’t lost his temper.’

  ‘So is Mallebor,’ said Geryboam. ‘When you think that a Grade One spell could turn him into a button, well, it’s not right.’

  ‘I don’t think the Great Wizard will do that,’ said Jack. ‘Anyway, if they don’t stop soon one of them will get hurt.’

  ‘If you let those spells out of the bag we’ll all be better off in Australia,’ said Geryboam.

  Jack and Geryboam crept quietly up the hill towards Robellam’s tower, clutching the bag of spells. High above them something whizzed across the sky and knocked some tiles off the roof. It looked like a ball of red smoke.

  ‘They’re still at it,’ said Geryboam. ‘I must say, my master Mallebor conjures up a good Bowers and Towers Spell.’

  The garden was full of craters where spells had fallen. The lawn had turned an odd purply-green. The rockery had disappeared completely, leaving a blue haze, while the greenhouse – well, something very, very strange had happened to the greenhouse. And the crazy paving was definitely crazier than it had been before.

  ‘Jack! Stop consorting with the enemy!’ came a voice from the window, and they looked up to see Robellam in a tin helmet.

  ‘Now?’ said Jack.

  ‘Why not?’ said Geryboam, looking anxiously at the greenhouse.

  Jack unfastened the string round the mouth of the bag and stood back.

  For a moment nothing happened. Then the sack bulged, and two small black globes floated up. They grew bigger and bigger, and it seemed to Jack that they weren’t so much black as colourless – they seemed to suck in all the light around them. They hung above the tower, and then one of them drifted off across the valley, heading towards Mallebor’s tower. The other sank through the roof of Robellam’s tower.

  ‘Oh, help,’ croaked Jack. There was a howl, and Robellam whizzed through the door. He dodged the greenhouses, leaped the fence and disappeared down the valley with the spell after him, and Jack and Geryboam running after the spell.

  They ran through the village street and there, coming the other way with his magic robes flying, was Mallebor. The two wizards met in the middle of the road, turned, and started casting spells at the black globes behind them. But the weaker spells just got sucked in.

  The Grade One spells seemed to grow too, as they absorbed the magic.

  Jack saw Mallebor
turn to Robellam and say something, and then the wizards joined hands and started to spin round. Faster and faster they turned, until they were just a blur – and above them a white flame grew.

  It spread until the air looked as though it was burning, and wrapped itself around the black spells. There was a pop! a sound like faraway thunder, and the two wizards sprawled in the dust.

  ‘By Jove, that gave me a fright,’ said Mallebor, dusting himself off and giving Robellam a helping hand. ‘Thank goodness we could combine our forces to see them off. How are you?’

  Robellam dusted off his robes. ‘I am fine, thank you,’ he said. ‘What has always puzzled me is what happens to the magic after the Flame of Cigam burns it,’ he mused. ‘I was surprised it worked just now – but I’d never have been able to do it without you.’

  ‘Well now, I’ve got a few books which might be able to help,’ said Mallebor. ‘Shall we go and discuss this further?’

  And they wandered off happily together.

  ‘Cuppa tea?’ said Jack, turning to the cat with a smile.

  ‘I’ll have a saucer of milk,’ said Geryboam.

  And they hurried after their masters.

  THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES OF DOGGINS

  Doggins lay on his stomach, sucking a straw and listening to the bees. It was summer time in the Dandoloone mountains, and a very peaceful day.

  Suddenly he heard singing far off, and a sound like an angry wasp buzzing. Then he saw a curious zeppelin emerging from a small white cloud above the mountain. Doggins looked up at it in amazement. It was the first time he had seen anything like it.