Magic Ink

by Steve Cole

  The din in my ears seemed to fade a little and strength crept back into my body. “Merlin!” I breathed. “You’re alive!”

  He couldn’t hear me of course. “La-li-la-la— oh, hello, there!” He smiled at the siren, who by now seemed utterly speechless with shock. “Have you stopped that racket now? No offence, my dear, but I couldn’t hear a note. I was too busy chanting with my fingers in my ears.” He looked down at the prone female figure by his feet. “I must thank you for putting Viviane into a deathless sleep – I honestly wasn’t sure how on earth I was going to beat her!”

  “Don’t gloat yet, old man!” snarled the siren, finally finding her voice. “I’ll make you hear my song and then— OOF!” She screeched as another rock hurtled out of nowhere and whacked her right on the head. “Ow! Not. . . again. . .”

  SPLOSH! The siren flopped forwards on her face and sank to the bottom of her pool, snoring bubbles as she went.

  “Arthur’s bodkins!” Merlin exclaimed, looking about. “Who conked her on the head—?”

  “ME! Oink-oink-Oink! For the second time today!” With a thrill I saw that Posho was back on his trotters. His tights were baggy and wrinkled, his leotard soaked and his cape askew. . .

  And yet as he stood there – a proud smile hanging beneath his moustache – I had never seen him look more heroic.

  “Big Man. . . my most honoured Merlin. . . I am the peerless Power Pig.” Posho scampered over to me and gently helped me to my feet. “And this quite remarkable young fellow who has risked all to help you, is the one and only Stupendous Man.”

  “Er. . . hi,” I murmured, plucking gingerly at my soaked and ill-fitting costume.

  Merlin looked us up and down, doubtful at first – but then with a smile to warm those craggy features. “Stewart Penders. . . Descendant of Garry Penders. . . Titanic True Believer in the power of comics. . .”

  “Glad you’re OK,” I said groggily. “How did you get out?”

  “With the last of my power I deflected Viviane’s magical attack towards the limestone boulder. . .” Merlin’s eyes were like lanterns in the dim light. “Of course, had you not so ably weakened the rock with acid, it would never have burst apart like that. Truly. . . I owe the two of you my life.”

  Posho oinked quietly. “I would never have lived at all if not for you, Merlin. I know I have been a terrible burden to you in your imprisonment.”

  “I fear my unkindness to you has been a burden worse by far, pig.” He paused and smiled again. “Power Pig, I should say. Well! Know that this day you have proved to me my magic was not misspent. And know too that I consider you both to be true superheroes – yea, of the highest and most dazzling rank!”

  I felt a dizzying rush of elation. . . followed by just plain dizziness. Merlin hobbled over and placed a warm hand on my shoulder, as if to hold me up.

  “Uh, I’m really stoked that this worked out well,” I said quickly. “It so nearly didn’t.”

  “Yes, Viviane revealed her trick with the magic ink brush to me, while she was trying to kill me, back there in the cave. I should have realised, a tool for good can always be turned into a tool for evil.” Merlin smiled and nodded thoughtfully. “And yet, I feel a greater good can still come of this. . .”

  “That’s cool. I’m happy. Really.” My head throbbed harder and without Merlin’s hand to hold me up my legs began to buckle. “Uh, guys? I know that superheroes aren’t supposed to faint, but—”

  You can guess what happened next, right?

  CLONK!

  Everything went black.

  WHAT PRICE VICTORY?

  I woke up in my bed. Back in Granddad’s house. It had all been a dream.

  THE END

  NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

  Not really.

  But I did wake up in my bed, back in Granddad’s house. In my pyjamas and everything. And with a head clouded with weirdness and worry. It was three o’clock in the morning and I had no idea what was going on. Until I noticed a comic lay open on my chest. A comic made from old parchment.

  A Magic, Inc. comic.

  I snatched it up and turned to the first page. . .

  I turned the page – but the rest of the mag was blank. So I looked at the front cover. . .

  And there was Stupendous Man, looking cool and ready for action, beneath a cool-looking logo in a language I didn’t need to translate:

  “My own comic,” I breathed. “My own comics company. . .”

  A tingling thrill went through me. On the bedside table I saw a brush, and a dark bottle beside it.

  A bottle of magic ink. Full to the brim. It was darkest blue, the colour of wild oceans. The colour of the sky outside.

  As I looked through the window in a daze at the twinkling stars, the view was suddenly blocked by a short, familiar figure.

  “Posho!” I almost yelled it out in delight as I opened the window catch. “Posho, come inside!”

  “Thank you, old chap, I will. Oink!” The pig entered with a flourish and I hugged him tight. “But I’ve told you before, when I’m in costume the name’s not Posho – it’s Power Pig!”

  And, as I took him in properly, to my amazement, I couldn’t think of a better name to describe him. Gone was the rubbishy old homemade outfit, the little girl leotards and middle-aged lady tights. He was wearing a cool, all-in-one lycra number in mauve and purple, with thick gauntlets and a dynamic PP on his chest.

  I grinned. “So. . . Merlin gave you this gear for your part in his rescue?”

  “He did.” Posho preened himself. “Rather splendid, don’t you think?”

  “Not bad.” I nodded approvingly. “So, what special powers did you get with it?”

  “None that I didn’t have already,” said Posho proudly. “And now that I’ve got a taste for daring rescues, I’m off to perform some more of them – wherever my trotters take me.”

  “Ah. . .” A little wetness stung the backs of my eyes. “You’re leaving, then?”

  “I’ve stayed in this house for twenty years. Oink! I think it’s time I moved on, don’t you?” Posho smiled up at me. “Thank you, old bean. If you hadn’t believed in me, I could have been stuck here for ever.”

  “You believed in me too. And in Stupendous Man.” I smiled back. “Made a pretty good team, didn’t we?”

  Posho nodded proudly, and pointed to the ink and brush on the table. “And now you’re the boss of Magic, Inc., old boy, you’ll be hatching all sorts of far-fetched exploits – from the safety of your own home.” He pointed to a small, fold-away drawing board that had appeared in the corner of my bedroom. “That looks like a good place to get started. The Big Man said it was fully charged with artistic vibes from some of the top names in comics. . .”

  I rubbed my eyes in amazement – but the drawing board stayed solid and real. “Been a busy boy, that Merlin, hasn’t he?” I murmured, with a smile.

  “He’s got all the time and freedom in the world, now,” said Posho. “Thanks to us.” The pig crossed to the window, then looked back and gave a sort of bashful salute. “Pip, pip, old chap. I shall miss you.”

  “Then learn to aim straight,” I muttered, “you’re a superhero now.” I grabbed him close in a final farewell hug. “Come back and visit sometime – promise?”

  “Naturally!” Posho winked. “I wonder how high up you’ll be in the world of comics by then?”

  “Mmm. I wonder that too.” I turned and gazed at the magic ink. Such a powerful tool. Such an incredible prize.

  But after the risks I’d taken to earn it, to draw perfectly every time felt somehow. . . safe. I didn’t know if I wanted to let that brush and ink do all the work for me. Not any more.

  “What do you think, Power Pig?” I began, turning towards him. “Do you think I should . . .?”

  But I saw only curtains catching in the breeze from the open window. Posho was already seeking answers to his own questions in the best possible way – by running out into the night and taking chances as they came. By living life
to the fullest.

  “Bye for now, Posho,” I called softly.

  “STEW!” Mum complained from the bedroom next door. “Will you stop mumbling and go to sleep?”

  “It’s half-three in the morning,” Dad added.

  “Is it time to get up?” Lib speculated – to two resounding grown-up ‘NO!’s.

  “It’s time to sleep on things,” I decided, plumping up my pillow.

  There was no need for quick decisions. I’d suss it out in time. Just like I’d suss out my new school, new friends, new clubs and all the rest. It would all fall into place. I’d make sure of it.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Massive thanks go to everyone who has worked so hard on making Magic Ink into the book you now hold in your hands, but especially the following:

  To Venetia Gosling and Ingrid Selberg for wanting me to write for them.

  To Jane Buckley for tireless perfectionism on the look of the book.

  To Emma Young, for peerless editing.

  To Jim Field, who not only coped with my demands for multiple illustration personalities but who made it look effortless.

  To Philippa Milnes-Smith, my agent, for all she does.

  Thanks also to Paul Cornell for modern comics advice!

  And, of course, to Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, John Romita Jr, Roy Thomas and so many others, whose superheroes and villains captured a small boy’s imagination and never let it go.

  STEVE COLE

  Steve Cole spent a happy childhood dreaming of being a superhero and being silly and loud whenever he wasn’t sleeping. At school his teachers often despaired of him – one of them went so far as to ban him from her English lessons, which enhanced his reputation no end.

  Having grown up liking stories, he went to university to read more of them before working as an editor of books and magazines for both children and grown-ups (including his childhood favourite, Doctor Who). He wrote books in his spare time until 2002 when he decided to make his living as a writer. Since then he has created several successful book series including Astrosaurs, Cows In Action, The Slime Squad, Thieves Like Us and Z. Rex.

  He lives in Buckinghamshire with his family, and still secretly hopes to be bitten by something radioactive that will give him superpowers.

  JIM FIELD

  Jim grew up in Farnborough and drew from a very early age (just like Stew) with a burning ambition to ‘make cartoons’, possibly due to Tony Hart and Rolf’s Cartoon Time, which were on telly at the time. In his early teens he was a big fan of Marvel comics and made his own superhero series of comics called Extres.

  He studied animation at Hull School of Art and Design, graduating in 2002, before starting work in the animation industry as a director for Partizan in London. Meanwhile, he was also penning his way as a freelance illustrator. Jim illustrated the two-book series Quentin Quirk’s Magic Works, written by Kelly McKain, and his first picture book, Cats Ahoy!, written by Peter Bently, won the Booktrust Roald Dahl Funny Prize in 2011 and was nominated for the Kate Greenaway award. Since then Jim has worked on several more picture books, and umpteen fiction books. He lives in London with his three bikes and three guitars, and is happiest when he’s drawing.

  Coming in 2014. . .

  by Steve Cole

  Some seriously weird stuff is happening on Planet Earth.

  Pollution is cleaned up overnight. A sweet smell fills the air. Strange lights are seen in the skies. . . Could they possibly be UFOs? Have aliens come to fix our world?

  Only one boy and his dad – and possibly his goldfish – know that the truth is stranger, scarier – and a whole lot smellier. . .

  But what the hecking flip are they going to do abou t it?

  Turn over for a sneaky peek at the first chapter . . .

  CHAPTER ZERO

  I’m writing this on a plane.

  Not, like, a holiday plane. It’s a private plane, big and flashy. Destination unknown, but I’m guessing it’s somewhere remote. There’s nothing but snow to look at through the window, only I can’t look ‘cos it’s blinding bright in the sunshine.

  I don’t know who owns this plane. I don’t know who’s flying it. I don’t know who the guys are in the seats beside me or even what country they come from.

  I certainly don’t know what kind of guns they’re carrying. They’re chunky and big. The guns, I mean.

  And the guys too, come to think of it.

  All of which is freaking me out just a little.

  I’m hoping my fish, Herbert, is OK. He’s locked away in the luggage hold. . . in his bowl, obviously. What if his water spills everywhere – or starts to freeze? What if his bowl cracks?

  In the seat opposite, Dad’s freaking out too, I can tell – though he’s trying not to show it.

  It’s not just the fact we’ve been forced onto this flight going who-knows-where. Dad thinks flying is evil at the best of times: noise pollution, air pollution, greenhouse gases. . . For him, the flight must be passing like a giant, petrified poo – slow and painful, with one hell of a stink brewing.

  Where will we end up? No one’s saying. Squinting outside, there’s still only snow.

  A plate of cold pizza sits in front of me. It’s the only food on board, they say. Dad won’t touch it ‘cos it’s got meat on it. Pepperoni. Actual PEPPERONI.

  If I picked up a slice I could taste meat for the first time in my life. . . But I’m so scared, I can’t eat a thing.

  A part of me thinks, what a waste of a perfect opportunity! A bigger part of me thinks, how can you even be thinking about your stomach at a time like this? A slightly smaller part of me thinks, how can you even be thinking about how you can be thinking about your stomach at a time like this?

  Everyone knows that some seriously freaky stuff’s been going on in the world lately – unless you’ve been asleep or locked up or meditating in a cave for the last few months. And if you have, then LUCKY YOU. Ignorance is bliss, right?

  Well, ignorance is also dangerous.

  If Planet Earth’s in as much doo-doo as I think it is, someone needs to find us a new planet to rent.

  And meantime, ‘cos I’m closer to the action than you are – the real, top secret action – I can give you the lowdown on what’s really going on. It’ll help me to distract myself. ‘Cos. . . remember what I told you about there being nothing to see through the window but snow and sun-glare?

  That just changed.

  And what I’m looking at now, you would not believe.

  So while Dad and everyone else on board are shouting and swearing and the guys with guns are jumping around in the aisle like someone weed on their shoes, putting my story down in words will at least give me something to do for the next little while.

  ‘Cos – WHOA!!! – no way am I ever looking out of this plane window again. . .