Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg
Page 1
Miss Terry Charm,
Merry Kris Mouse
&
The Silver Egg
Jon Jacks
Other New Adult and Children’s books by Jon Jacks
The Caught
The Rules
Chapter One
The Changes
Sleeping Ugly
The Barking Detective Agency
The Healing
The Lost Fairy Tale
A Horse for a Kingdom
Charity
The Most Beautiful Things
The Last Train
The Dream Swallowers
Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night
Jonah and the Alligator
Glastonbury Sirens
Dr Jekyll’s Maid
The 500-Year Circus
P
The Endless Game
DoriaN A
Wyrd Girl
Heartache High (Vol I)
Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II)
Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)
Coming Soon
Seecrets
The Wicker Slippers
Text copyright© 2013 Jon Jacks
All rights reserved
Chapter 1
‘Aaarrgghh, I can’t do even the simplest magic! How am I ever going to be the Queendom’s Witch Minder General?’
It’s my one-hundredth attempt to turn a pair of pince-nez spectacles into a frog.
Well, just think of the mess you could make if you were practising with a real prince!
The Queendom and Kingdoms and Princessdoms would be forever at war, wouldn’t they?
(There wouldn’t be any Princedoms of course; just Frogdoms.)
‘Hmn, it’s not even the slightest bit promising, is it?’ Kris agrees, peering over the top of his newspaper at the unchanged spectacles.
What makes all this worse, of course, is that I shouldn’t have to practise at all, should I?
I mean, I come from a very long, well-established line of witches.
Every one of whom has appeared in Debby Rett’s Which Witch?.
Even mum, who was the first to find that her powers were beginning to wane a bit.
That’s why she’s gone on holiday for a while. To ‘recuperate and recharge magical skills’, leaving me ‘in charge of the fort’.
It was only supposed to be for a few days.
But first she couldn’t get her broom to work.
Then, as she told me in a letter – posted via one of the two albatrosses making up Roy & Al Mail, rather than by magic – she couldn’t conjure up the winds to make her ship sail faster.
Just great, eh?
Leaving me as the Queendom’s Witch Minder General.
Even though I’m not really a witch at all!
*
Chapter 2
With a bored sigh, Kris finally puts down his paper and – much more carefully – his cup of tea. (He always has a biscuit delicately balanced on the saucer’s edge.)
His little pink nose twitching, his long whiskers bristling, he carefully inspects the pince-nez glasses.
Although he’s a mouse, Kris very rarely acts like you’d expect a mouse to behave. But when it comes to carefully inspecting things, he says that his mouse’s nose and whiskers are unbeatable for detecting things the eye alone might miss.
‘Well?’ I ask hopefully, wondering if he’s discovered some change I’ve missed.
He shakes his head sadly.
‘Let’s put it this way, Terry,’ he replies calmly, ‘I now realise I was wasting my time keeping my distance from the glasses you were experimenting on.’
Worried that my spells might uncontrollably fly around the room, Kris had placed his small rocking chair and footstool as far away as he could from the prince-nez.
‘You were?’ I say hopefully once more. ‘Then my spells were on target?’
He shakes his head again as he makes his way back to his chair.
‘Your aiming of your wand may well have been perfect,’ he says, calmly taking a sip of his tea. ‘But it’s hard to tell, as there were obviously no spells coming out of it.’
Drat!
‘No change at all then?’ I ask forlornly.
He shakes his head.
‘Not even the slightest sign of a transformation. Not even into a drog or a frug!’
He shakes his head again.
Double drat!
I couldn’t even make the typical beginner’s mistakes!
A drog, of course, is a mix between a dragon and dog. Which no one wants at all!
But far, far worse – take it from me – is a frug!
When mum was losing her own powers, and she was practising her own skills, we ended up with one; a French rug!
‘Ohh, I wouldn’t be seen dead in such a dress!’ it would say imperiously.
Mum got rid of it as soon as she could. She sold it to Aladdin, telling him that it was always flying out of the window.
Which it was. But only because mum used to throw it out every time it insulted her dress sense.
As that was every day, I suppose it had gained quite a lot of flying experience.
Now, I’d be more than happy if I’d managed to produce a frug from the pince-nez.
But my hocus pocus isn’t just out of focus; it’s bogus.
My abracadabra is a-bad-and-badder.
My open sesame is oh-pe-lease-help-me!
Sure, I’ve got the double trouble, boil and bubble cauldron on the fire – but thankfully there’s not an eye of newt in sight, as it’s my lunchtime stew, see?
And when it comes to trying spinning hay into gold – well, that was the last straw, wasn’t it, for poor little Kris when it brought on his hay fever?
He wouldn’t talk to me for ages. Just sneezed very madly at me every now and again.
‘Well, you are supposed to be a field mouse!’ I’d pointed out.
‘And so it hasn’t – attishoooo! – come to your attention – attishoooo! – yet that I’ve lived with– attishoooo! – you for most of my life?’ he’d retorted between his sneezing.
‘So,’ I say to him now, before he settles back into reading his paper, ‘you don’t think I’m making much progress?’
‘Let’s just say,’ he says haughtily, ‘that I’m afraid even Sara Casam would be ashamed of your attempts.’
Oh just great.
As we all know, Sara Casam is the lowest form of witch.
*
Chapter 3
‘Actually, comparing me to Sara Casam is a bit strong, Kris!’
Yes, I admit it; being compared to Sara has got me a little bit riled.
‘I mean, we do have some powers! Remember that door to door tinker who sold me that dodgy lamp? I warned him he’d come to a bad end, didn’t I? And he crashed his cart!’
‘Well, you did cut his brakes.’
‘Ah, but whose idea was that then? Your dungarees, that’s whose!’
I point accusingly at the magic dungarees that Kris always wears. (Well, apart from when both he and them are getting washed, obviously.)
Kris’s dungarees sound amazing.
Reach into their top pocket, and you’ll find yourself holding an object that should help you resolve any problem you’re facing.
Problem is, the object doesn’t come with any instructions on how it’s supposed to help.
Hence, on the occasion of the tinker selling me a ridiculously dim lamp, they came up with a pair of wire cutters, see?
Hah! Wonderful, I’d thought! Good old dungarees!
Just what I need to cut the brakes of his cart!
Well, who wouldn’t think that’s what they were for, eh?
‘Well, as I explained to you after the poor man ended up in hospital,’ Kris says, ‘I think you were supposed to use them to repair the lamp.’
He nods over to the lamp which, I admit, now works perfectly fine, thank you.
Kris had simply cut away the wire mesh holding the lamp’s fireflies. It gave them more room to move around inside the glass casing, allowing them to glow much brighter once more.
‘Ah, but if we ever break the glass, they’ll escape now,’ I say defensively. ‘That’s why they have the mesh.’
Kris gives a ‘whatever’ shrug.
‘Besides,’ I continue, ‘my way was far more satisfying.’
Kris looks up from his paper and his cup of tea.
‘Allow me to point out the fallacy of that argument by–’
Thankfully, his ‘pointing out’ is cut short by a delicate rapping at the door.
‘Just a moment,’ I cry out as I make my way across the room.
I open the door.
And I’m almost blinded as hundreds of incredibly bright lights flash in my face.
*
Chapter 4
‘That’s it love, just one more pose!’
‘Great, great – and another one!’
‘Gives us a nice pout too – like you really mean it! Wonderful, wonderful!’
It’s the paparazzi; the news reporters and their photographers.
The cameras’ flash lamps go off with angry pops. That’s because the fireflies inside are being deliberately agitated and over excited with prodding, waggling sticks.
The exhausted flashes are quickly discarded and replaced with fresh ones by the photographers’ assistants.
The paparazzi?
For me?
They’re here for me? I almost gasp in surprise.
No, they’re not here for me.
As my eyes adjust to the popping, bright lights, I finally make out the slender form of Princess Pea standing between my door and the encircling photographers.
Well, I say standing. What I really mean is enthusiastically posing for the cameras.
Raising an arm. Placing her hands on her hips. Bending a knee. Blowing a kiss.
She loves it.
She’s always in the papers.
In the sections Kris studiously avoids.
‘Oh, here she is,’ she trills, having finally noticed that I’ve answered the door.
She places an arm around my shoulders. She poses a few more times, with pouts and kisses.
Finally, she gives everyone a wave.
‘Well, that’s it for now boys,’ she says breathlessly to the admiring crowd. ‘Business calls! See you all later!’
She spins me around, pushes me back inside, nips through after me, then closes the door behind her.
Suddenly, it all seems so incredibly quiet back inside my house, away from the clamouring reporters.
The Princess glances down at me.
Her dazzling smile instantly transforms into a disappointed, puzzled frown.
‘Wait a minute! You’re not – where’s your, er, gran? Or mum?’
‘Oh, er, they’re not around anymore.’
‘Not around?’
She looks about the room, like she thinks I might be lying and my gran and mum are going to leap out and ambush her any moment now.
Kris raises his cup of tea to her in greeting.
She ignores him.
‘Aren’t you a bit young to be left on your own?’ she asks.
‘Ah, well, what can possibly go wrong when you’re a witch, eh?’ I say brightly.
I raise and wiggle the wand I’ve been using on the still untransformed spectacles, as if it could solve any problem I’m faced with.
‘You’re the witch?’
She doesn’t bother trying to hide the incredible disappointment in either her voice or her expression.
‘I…I was expecting someone a little more experienced.’
‘Hah, happens all the time,’ I say.
Actually, this is the only time anyone’s called. And therefore it’s the only time it’s ever happened.
‘You were expecting some grizzled old crone, right?’
I hunch my back, reach out a gnarled hand, grimace evilly and put a croak in my voice.
‘Now what can I do for you my dearie?’
‘Yes, that’s more like it!’ the Princess chuckles.
I continue my act, even adding the odd cackle.
‘Would you like some fairy cakes, my dear? Made with real fairies, of course.’
‘Oh, yes, yes please. They’re my favourites!’
She licks her lips as she says it.
‘Oh, er,’ I say nervously, returning to my natural voice, ‘I was, er, only joking about the fairy cakes.’
The Princess manages to look disappointed, surprised and embarrassed all at the same time.
‘Oh, er, yes – of course! Me too! I was only joking too!’
Her eyes are wide, like she’s been caught out. They’re flitting nervously around the room, like she’s looking for something to change the conversation.
They land on the broom leant against the room’s far corner.
‘Oh a broom, a witch’s broom! How absolutely wonderful.’
She steps towards the broom, reaching out for it as if she’s about to pick it up. Thinking better of it, she lets her hands fall back by her sides.
‘Oh, I suppose it might be, er, dangerous to touch, yes?’
‘Oh yes, yes.’
Yeah, it’s a lie. But I’ve got to try and give the impression I have some magic powers, right?
‘I’ll be using it tonight, that’s for sure!’
Yeah, to sweep up the mess I’ll make, after more failed attempts to mix the potions a Sorcery School kid should be able to put together.
Still, the Princess looks suitably impressed. No doubt she’s imagining me flying on my broom tonight, silhouetted against a full moon.
‘You might be able to help me after all then as–’
She stops in mid-sentence as she spots the prince-nez on the table top.
Just how well known is it outside of sorcery circles that they’re used for practising spells?
Someone of royal blood like a princess might well know that they’re used instead of a prince.
‘Oh, er, good, good,’ I say as sagely as I can in reply to the Princess’s comment. ‘I just, er, need my glasses.’
I reach for the prince-nez.
I try and balance them on my nose.
I succeed on the fourth attempt, but only by slightly tilting my head back.
Looking through the thick lenses is like seeing everything through a couple of goldfish bowls.
‘So, er, your highness, what can I do for you?’
Oops.
It’s only as I say ‘your highness’ that I realise I haven’t treated her with anything like the respect and politeness she’d normally expect from one of her subjects.
Thing is, she doesn’t seem to have noticed this herself either.
Whatever’s troubling her, it must be quite serious, right?
She takes my hand in hers.
She looks at me pleadingly.
‘I desperately need a silver egg…’
*
Chapter 5
‘A silver egg? But couldn’t you just have one made?’ I ask innocently.
I’m filling the kettle, as I’m hoping to make a pot of tea.
It’s not easy, though, when you’re seeing everything through glass so thick that my eyes might as well have been heavily smeared with butter.
‘Well yes, we obviously thought of that,’ the Princess replies. ‘But so did mummy. So she’s instructed all the Queendom’s jewellers and shopkeepers – and in any nearby Kingdoms too – to immediately
inform her of anyone purchasing silver over the next few days. Or even silver paint!’
‘Why would she do that?’
I’ve just about drenched myself, more or less completely missing the kettle.
Kris could help, of course. He loves his tea.
But he’s just sitting there watching me make a fool of myself, a big smirk on his face.
Yeah, thanks Kris. I’ll remember this!
‘Well, because mummy doesn’t want us making one of course. Otherwise, what sort of challenge would it be?’
‘Us? Challenge?’
‘My intended and I. I intend to marry him but, as usual, mummy has insisted that he prove himself worthy of me by giving him a challenge.’
‘Oh yes, I remember reading about him in the papers. Prince Heddon, right?’
It takes me three attempts to put the kettle’s lid on, five attempts to hang it over the fire.
‘I’m afraid you’re a little behind the times,’ the Princess says. ‘That all came to nothing, thanks to that awful, ugly rumour.’
‘Really? That’s a dreadful thought; that someone’s marriage can be spoilt so easily.’
‘Oh no no; there weren’t any Thawts involved. Though yes, they are dreadful creatures, aren’t they? I mean it was the ugly Ruemore that ate him; mummy had set him the challenge of bringing a Ruemore back in a cage.’
‘Sorry; of course you mean Ruemores. Was the Ruemore wild?’
‘He was furious. That’s why he ate poor Heddon.’
‘Hmn, I remember reports of that in the newspapers.’ Kris speaks at last. ‘Some pretty crass jokes about not keeping his head on, yes?’
I think the Princess nods in reply, but it’s a bit hard to tell through these glasses. She might be shedding a tear too.
‘It’s the fifth one,’ she whimpers. ‘The fifth prince to die so far this year, anyway.’
‘Ohh?’ says Kris. ‘I thought it was just that some of them don’t come back, which might mean tha–’
‘Are you saying they don’t think I’m worth the trouble?’ the Princess suddenly snaps.
‘I’ll soon have a nice cup of tea ready,’ I say jovially, trying to calm matters.
I say this even though I’m having difficulty finding the tea caddy in the cupboard.
‘So, what’s this silver egg got to do with this new prince?’ I ask.
‘Mummy realised I was never going to get married off if she continued setting quests that the princes were going to die on. So she said she’d set an easier one. She started talking about the goose that lays all those golden eggs, but Darius – that’s my betrothed – had to go and spoil it, didn’t he? He said that he’d pay the goose whatever she wanted. So mummy suddenly said she wanted a silver egg!’