“No More! No More! My last hope – gone for ever!” he wailed.
“What on earth do you mean?” asked the King anxiously.
“Oh, how could you, of all people, bring me such terrible news!”
“But why is it terrible?”
“How did it happen?”
“She was such a mass of spells and witchcraft and black magic that when the Cijam water touched her, she – just seemed to—”
Abruptly the magician leapt into the air, grasped the King by the lapels and brought him down till they were facing each other nose to nose.
“Tell me! Tell me quickly! How did you get unmagicked? Was it anything to do with her?”
“No, no. It was the Cijam water, just as you advised.”
“No good, no good! Tried it many times. Not strong enough. Her spells are so much stronger than mine. She was a mistress of her craft, one of the most powerful witches in the world … Only one of her own antidotes could possibly work on me …”
And, out of sheer misery it seemed, the old man started to melt as before.
“Well, I do have a few drops left,” said the King doubtfully.
Nandan stopped melting. He looked very funny, partly melted, but the King didn’t laugh.
“A flew drlops … ?” he slurred in his syrupy, melting voice.
“Yes. Of this purply stuff the mumbo and I found left over in her cauldron. It restored everything I’d touched.”
Nandan sprang back into his complete unmelted self. His white eyebrows bristled, his hair stood on end. Even the Midas rose seemed to stiffen on his chest. Every inch of him was alert.
“Show me! Quickly!”
The King fished out the nearly-empty bottle.
“Ah-h-h!” breathed Nandan, and his bright eyes became brighter than ever. “I wonder … Could it be … ? Can I have that?”
“Er – well…”
“What? You hesitate?”
“It seems to be very important to you. Of course, you may have it, but …”
“BUT WHAT?”
“My rose was very important to me. If I could just have the bush back … no blooms … so it will flower next year …”
“You drive a hard bargain, Midas!”
“I learnt the skill from you,” said the King.
“Done!” He made a swift gesture, and the Midas bush, empty of flowers, appeared in its old place. “Now, quickly! The antidote!”
The King handed over the bottle. The old man snatched it, held it to the light, squinted through it, sniffed it, and at last shook one of the last drops onto his finger and carried it to his lips.
“Oh, I shouldn’t eat it!” said the King anxiously.
“You never know,” said the magician, and sucked the liquid off his finger.
The King waited breathlessly for some violent change to come over him, but apart from the slow, satisfied smile that spread over his face, the little old man remained exactly the same.
“Now,” he said, “all we need is … Ah!”
The King heard Delia calling him, and then saw her running towards him from the palace. She had something cupped in her hands, and her feet skimmed over the grass as lightly as a shadow.
“Daddy!” she called. “Daddy, you forgot – oh!” She stopped short on seeing the little magician, who was standing with feet apart and hands behind his back, his eyebrows beetling towards her and a very strange expression – half tender, half anxious – on his face.
For a moment the Princess and Nandan stared at each other.
“Hallo,” he said at last.
“Hallo,” she answered shyly. Then she turned to the King. “Daddy,” she said anxiously. “You forgot to bring my little bird back to life!” And she showed him the tiny golden figure in her hands.
“So I did!” said the King in dismay. “And now I’ve given this gentleman what’s left of the magic charm. You must ask him very nicely if he’s got a drop to spare for your bird.”
The Princess turned to the magician, but before she could speak, he bowed almost to the ground like a grand courtier.
“You need not ask me, gentle young lady,” he said. “It will be my pleasure to oblige you.” And he handed her the bottle with the last of the witch’s brew inside.
“Oh, thank you, that is kind of you!” She gave his wrinkled cheek a kiss, and, forgetting the grown-ups, sat down at once cross-legged on the grass with the bottle in her hand and the bird in her lap, intent on bringing it back to life.
“Well, well, well,” said Nandan slowly. “So small a thing … a kiss … so small a thing, to work so great a miracle.”
The Princess was so preoccupied with the bird that she didn’t see what happened next. But the King was watching. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. The old man, who was stroking his beard as he often did, suddenly gave it an extra sharp tug – and it came right off in his hand!
And that was just the beginning.
He threw the beard into the air, and it shrivelled up and disappeared. Underneath, the King saw that his chin was young and strong, and … was it his imagination, or had the wrinkles above disappeared as well?
The little man, seeming not to notice the King’s stare, yawned and stretched his arms as if waking from a deep sleep. As he stretched, he grew taller and taller until – until the King found himself looking UP into those twinkling eyes!
Then, in the middle of his stretch, the magician rubbed both hands through his grey hair, and afterwards it wasn’t grey at all, but brown and glossy as a horse-chestnut.
When he had finished stretching, he had turned into a strapping, handsome young man, looking no more than twenty years old.
“H-how did you do that?” gasped the King in amazement.
“Shhh!” Nandan put his fingers to his lips and pointed to the Princess, who was still busy with the little bird and had not noticed anything. Then he leant over and whispered in the King’s ear:
“I annoyed the witch one day – several centuries ago – by clearing Old Gollop’s throat when she’d blocked it, and she caught me unawares and turned me into an old man. For years I’ve searched for the antidote, but the closest I came was a description in an old book of magic: ‘a purple potion for the curing of all visible bodily spells’, plus, for my particular one, a young girl’s unasked kiss.”
“I see!” said the King, rather dazed.
The young magician looked for a moment at the shining golden head of the Princess. “Well, I must be on my way.”
“Before you go,” said the King, “I’d just like to know why you went to the trouble of giving me my wish and teaching me about happiness.”
“I attended her birth,” said Nandan slowly. “I watched, powerless against the forces of death, as her mother died. Believe me, I tried my best, but I am only a young magician – my powers have not increased since my transformation. But I saw to it that into this little one passed all the beauty and goodness of that dear woman, your queen.
“And I loved the child. I’ve loved her all her life. I shall love her as long as she lives, which, as I study more now the spell is off me, I can assure you will be long. But I am not a prince. Even my magic can’t produce a more beautiful rose than the Midas.” He bent his curly head to smell the King’s rose, still fastened to his waistcoat. “So I knew I’d have to use – forgive me – just a little magic to marry your daughter.”
At this moment, the Princess looked up.
“Look, Daddy! Isn’t he pretty now he’s alive again?”
The little bird was perched on her finger. It opened its throat on a song of joy.
“Yes, my darling,” said the King, helping her to her feet.
“Did that nice little man go away?” asked Delia, looking round.
The King, too, looked round. The place where the young man had stood was empty; but a voice in his ear whispered: “In seven years’ time!” and the King thought he saw the ghost of a red rose hover in the air for a moment.
“Yes, he’s g
one.”
The Princess stroked the bird gently with one finger. “Do you think he’ll ever come back to visit us?”
“He’ll come back all right,” said the King, with just a touch of sadness. He put his arm round his daughter.
“Good,” she said. “I liked him. I liked his twinkly eyes. But I love you best,” she said, and pulled his head down for a kiss.
The King smiled and sighed, both at the same time. Then he saw Stray racing towards them, and feeling suddenly and completely himself again, he said:
“Let’s just stroll round to the greenhouse and see how the mumbo’s settling in.”
And the three of them walked away together over the smiling lawns, with the small, reborn bird singing on Delia’s finger.
Also by the Author
The Indian in the Cupboard
Return of the Indian
The Mystery of the Cupboard
The Secret of the Indian
The Key to the Indian
Alice by Accident
Angela and Diabola
The Dungeon
Stealing Stacey
Tiger Tiger
I, Houdini
The Farthest-Away Mountain
The Magic Hare
Harry the Poisonous Centipede
Harry the Poisonous Centipede Goes to Sea
Harry the Poisonous Centipede’s Big Adventure
Bad Cat, Good Cat
Copyright
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins in 1993
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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Text copyright © Lynne Reid Banks 1993
Illustrations copyright © Hilda Offen 1993
Lynne Reid Banks and Hilda Offen assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.
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Source ISBN: 9780006747284
Ebook edition © JUNE 2013 ISBN: 9780007529964
Version: 2013–07–12
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The Adventures of King Midas (Red Storybook) Page 9
