by Kaye Umansky
‘Look,’ said Ronald to the Demon. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re saying. Speak English.’
‘OK. Me good at languages,’ said the Demon, adding rudely, ‘Unlike useless vizards. Who ugly girl viz iron box?’
‘Look who’s talking,’ said Hattie crossly. ‘At least I don’t come out of a jar.’
‘It bottle, not jar!’
‘Same difference.’
‘Not! Stupid girl! Jar common. Bottle classy!’
‘Well, obviously. If it’s made of glass, it’s glassy.’
‘Classy, not glassy, stupid girl!’
‘Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’ broke in Ronald. Things were getting out of hand. ‘Pipe down, you! Less of the insults.’ He had never met a Demon, but had heard the other Wizards talking. He hoped what he’d heard was right. If you’re firm with them, they back down. Well, the smaller ones do. Apparently.
‘That’s right, Ron, you tell it,’ said Hattie. ‘Rude little squirt.’ She set her toolbox down and began wandering around, sniffing test tubes, peering at dusty crucibles and running her finger along filthy surfaces. ‘Ugh. Uncle’s really let it go in here. Look at the state of that skeleton. I don’t like to think of the last time that saw a duster.’
‘Knshvak!’ snarled the Demon overhead, waving its trident. Its tail lashed furiously and its eyes bulged.
‘What?’ said Ronald.
‘Knshvak! Go avay!’
‘You’re the Wizard,’ said Hattie. ‘Just tell it to shut up.’
‘Another word and you’re toast,’ Ronald told the Demon. ‘I mean it, mind.’
‘That’s it, Ron,’ said Hattie. ‘You told it.’ She was poking around on a cluttered bench.
She picked up a large green bottle with a broken neck. ‘I wonder what was in here?’
‘Zat mine!’ the Demon informed her. ‘You put down!’
‘I thought I told you to shut up,’ snapped Ronald. He turned to Hattie. ‘It’s right, though. I wouldn’t touch anything, if I were you. Some of this old stuff might be a bit delicate.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Hattie. ‘Just looks like old junk to me. But you’re the Wizard, Ron.’
He thought about telling her not to keep calling him Ron. But perhaps now wasn’t the time. Not when she was being supportive. Besides, it would be good to have her there if the crocodile showed up. Or Reg.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’d better get started. The ingredients cupboard should be somewhere.’
‘Is this it?’ said Hattie.
She walked over to a dark alcove. Tucked away at the back was a tall, rickety cupboard. The chalked words Magical Ingredients! Beware! were scrawled across the door. Below was a badly drawn skull and crossbones. Some joker had added comedy sunglasses and a bow tie.
Hattie wrenched open the door and various boxes and packets tumbled out, spilling their contents on the floor.
‘Careful!’ howled Ronald, starting forward, forgetting the slippers, which stayed right where they were. He clutched wildly at the dangling skeleton. The Demon smirked. The skeleton grinned, but only because it had to.
‘Stop fussing,’ said Hattie. ‘It’s only a bit of powder. The floor’s a mess already. Needs a proper job doing with a shovel . . .’
‘Some powders are highly dangerous! You mustn’t mix them up!’
‘Well, somebody’s got to make a start or we’ll be here all night. We need to get cracking before the gorilla arrives.’
Chapter Seven
The Summoning
‘Have you got a list of what you need?’ asked Hattie impatiently.
‘Yes. Just a minute, I’ll find the recipe.’ Ronald shuffled through his notes. A few rabbits were cautiously venturing from their hiding places. One hopped on to his foot, and he kicked it off impatiently.
Hattie gave him a hard look, then bent down and began stroking its ears. ‘There, there. Take no notice of the nasty Wizard.’
‘Ah, here it is.’ Ronald selected a crumpled sheet and shoved the rest of his notes on the nearest handy bench where a complicated-looking experiment was set up, taking up most of the available space. It looked more recent than the others. The glass tubing was dust free and the test tubes had some kind of blue liquid in them rather than mould. A yellow Post-it was attached to the bench. It said: Vitally Important Experiment in Progress. Do Not Disturb. Frank the Foreteller.
‘So what do you need?’ asked Hattie.
‘A pound of Dried Lava,’ read out Ronald, ‘six ounces of Best Brimstone, a teaspoon of Sulphur, a pinch of Charcoal, half a pint of Mixed Venom and eight drops of Drago Thunderbum’s Concentrated Lizard Oil. And I’ll need a box of matches.’
Slippers peeling unwillingly from the floor at each step, he headed for the cupboard. The Demon sat up, clearly hoping for another accident. He ran his eyes over the shelves, which were in serious disarray. Sighing, he began rummaging around.
‘Knshvak!’ remarked the Demon under its breath. ‘Shlockl tvit.’
‘That’s enough from you,’ said Hattie. ‘You don’t want to find yourself on the wrong end of his Finger Sparkles.’ That seemed to do the trick. The Demon curled its lip, then subsided into sulky silence.
It took a while, but finally Ronald’s arms were piled with boxes and brown paper bags, a selection of rusty spoons, a set of old-fashioned balance scales, a tiny corked vial of oil and an old milk bottle half full of evil-looking brown liquid.
He tottered back to the handy bench and dumped his haul on the surface, knocking over the Bunsen burner, which in turn knocked over the rack of test tubes. The tubes rolled everywhere, disgorging blue liquid. Two of them fell on the floor and broke. Oh, well. With a shrug, Ronald swept the remaining bits of Frank’s vitally important experiment on to the floor, leaving only the burner and his own stuff.
‘Ha!’ he muttered. ‘Bet you didn’t foretell that.’
‘Now what?’ asked Hattie.
‘Now I grind everything up. There’s a pestle and mortar on that bench over there; would you mind?’
Hattie walked across to a bench on which was set a heavy stone bowl with a smooth stone for grinding. ‘This?’
‘That’s it. Oh, and see if you can find a stick of chalk somewhere.’
‘Why d’you need chalk?’
‘To draw the Magic Circle. For the Dragon, when it arrives.’
‘Chalk won’t work on this floor. You can’t chalk on dove poop and rabbit droppings. You’ll have to carve it. There’s a chisel in my toolbox, that’ll do it.’
‘Fine,’ said Ronald. ‘Thanks.’
He sat down at the bench, rolled up his sleeves and began weighing, measuring and pouring, frequently consulting the recipe to be sure he got it exactly right. Overhead, the Demon sat on the rafter, swinging its little legs and smouldering.
‘I’ll do the Circle if you like,’ offered Hattie, returning with the chisel, a length of string and a tape measure. ‘Where d’you want it?’
‘In the middle, away from the benches.’
‘OK. How big?’
‘Depends on how big a Dragon I want.’
‘I’ll do a small one. Pocket-sized.’
‘Not that small. I don’t want to step on it when I get out of bed. About the size of your toolbox, I should think. Don’t interrupt me now, I’m concentrating.’
Ronald was glad she had offered, though. He had never attempted to draw a circle, Magic or otherwise. He had a feeling it was harder than it looked.
He poured the dry ingredients into the mortar, picked up the pestle and began to grind. The resulting smell was terrible. It reeked of volcanoes and dried-up acid lakes. It got up the nostrils. It made the eyes weep.
Holding his breath, Ronald added the Mixed Venom and the Lizard Oil. The mixture seethed and the smell got even worse. The Demon scurried hastily along the rafter into a far corner, well out of the way.
‘I’ve done the Circle,’ said Hattie, standing back and examining her work with a critical eye. �
�Now what?’
Ronald consulted the recipe. ‘Heat to boiling point. I need a glass flask. Can you see one anywhere?’
Hattie stared around, spotted a grubby-looking flask on the next bench along, picked it up and handed it to Ronald. ‘This do?’
‘Perfect. Oh, and find me some tongs.’ There was a little silence. ‘Please.’
‘Honestly,’ sighed Hattie. ‘I’m not your assistant, you know.’ But she set off again and returned with a pair of blackened tongs.
Ronald attempted to lift the mortar. It was much heavier than it looked.
‘Shall I do that?’ offered Hattie.
‘No, no, I can do it.’
‘Don’t drop it, then.’
‘He vill,’ said the Demon from the corner.
‘I won’t. I won’t, all right??’
Arms shaking, Ronald hefted the mortar and carefully poured the stinking sludge into the flask. He righted the burner and turned on the tap. Gas hissed. Fingers trembling, he fumbled with a match.
‘Try holding it the other way up,’ suggested Hattie.
‘All right, I can see, I can see.’ Ronald finally lit the match and applied it to the gas. A blue flame shot up. Using the tongs, he gripped the flask and held it over the flame.
‘Don’t drop it,’ said Hattie again.
‘He vill,’ said the Demon.
‘Look, just stop, will you? I’m doing it.’ Little wisps of foul-smelling smoke escaped as the mixture began to simmer.
‘Poo,’ said Hattie, holding her nose. ‘That is gross. Will this take long?’
‘You have to be patient with these things,’ croaked Ronald. ‘This is advanced Magic. Can’t be rushed. Um – you couldn’t hold my nose for me, could you?’
‘No, I couldn’t. Should it look like that, d’you think?’
The mixture in the flask was slowly turning a dark, evil-looking green. It was heaving and bubbling, giving off thick smoke that was spreading everywhere. Up on the rafter, the Demon was having a noisy choking fit. The rabbits were nowhere to be seen.
‘Certainly,’ said Ronald firmly, although actually he didn’t have a clue because the recipe didn’t say. ‘Exactly the shade I’m looking for. Right, I think that’s probably hot enough. Stand back.’
Holding the tongs at arm’s length, he advanced upon the Circle. Carefully, he set down the smoking flask exactly in the middle.
‘Now what?’ asked Hattie.
‘The incantation,’ said Ronald.
‘What’s that?’
‘A rhyming chant.’
‘Why not say so, then?’
‘Shush,’ said Ronald. He was back at the bench, studying his notes. ‘I have to memorise it.’
‘Why not just read it out?’
‘Because I need my hands free to make important Magical Gestures. Right, I think I’ve got it. Stand back, Hattie, this bit’s dangerous.’
He put down his notes and advanced to the Circle again, slippers still gluing themselves to the floor. Impatiently, he stooped and pulled them off. Reciting an incantation was a serious business. You had to look the part. Bare feet would be better than chicken slippers. Only just, mind.
He stood with his toes just touching the Circle’s edge. This was the moment. It was essential to be word-perfect. This would be a challenge. Inky Pinky Parkle it wasn’t.
He took a deep breath – then hesitated. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. He clenched his fists. Could he really do this?
Yes. He had to. Now was the time to attempt real, grown-up Magic. Magic that went way beyond Finger Sparkles. In front of an audience. It was a shame he wasn’t wearing his Cloak of Darkness. But he could do without it, couldn’t he? Confidence, that’s what really mattered.
‘He rubbish,’ jeered the Demon. ‘He can’t do.’
‘Yes he can,’ flashed Hattie. ‘Just leave him alone, will you?’
Ronald took another breath, fixed his eyes on the flask, crossed his fingers for luck and threw up his arms.
‘Go, Ron!’ shouted Hattie supportively. ‘Show us how it’s done!’
‘Come, thou beast from unknown climes!’ squawked Ronald, in his reedy voice.
‘Hearken to a Wizard’s rhymes!
Hear my Summons! Come with speed!
Of a Dragon I have need!
Time to leave thy hidden lair!
Spread thy wings! Embrace the air!
No more doubts or hesitating!
Noble Dragon, I am waiting!’
The echoes died away. Ronald lowered his arms and waited.
Nothing happened. The flask just sat there, smoking.
He waited some more . . .
Still nothing.
And some more . . .
Nothing.
‘See?’ sneered the Demon. ‘Rubbish.’
‘You did it very nicely, I thought,’ said Hattie, emerging from the corner. ‘You didn’t fluff any words. And I liked the arm waving thing. Never mind him.’ She glared at the Demon.
Ronald turned his back on the Circle, where the flask still sat smoking quietly.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t have to say anything.’
‘Maybe some of the ingredients are past their sell by date,’ suggested Hattie.
‘Maybe.’ Ronald gave a sigh. ‘But whatever the reason –’
FLASH! A white, blinding light!
WHOOOOOMPH!
A wave of heat hit him in the back, knocking all the air from his lungs. His feet left the floor. For a terrifying, slow-motion second he was airborne – then, with a cry, he crashed heavily on to his knees, missing the skeleton by a whisker. Over in the corner, the Demon fell off the rafter. Hattie staggered back with a startled squeal and covered her eyes.
The Laboratory was filled with thick, black, stinking, billowing smoke. It was everywhere. Forget the green smoke from the flask, which was nothing compared to this. This was the mother of all smokes. This smoke was smokin’!
Ronald was on all fours, eyes tightly closed, choking and gasping like a traction engine. His knees were agony. His throat burned. His back hurt. He wasn’t at all sure that he’d ever be able to get up.
‘Ron,’ came Hattie’s voice in his ear. It sounded muffled. Perhaps he’d burst his eardrums.
‘Arrrgh,’ moaned Ronald. ‘Owwww! Leave me alone.’ He burst into another fit of coughing.
‘Get up, idiot. Look!’
Slowly, painfully, Ronald struggled to his feet and stood swaying, eyes still tightly closed. He felt around the back of his Robe. There was a huge hole in it. It had scorched edges.
‘Look!’ insisted Hattie. Urgently, she shook his shoulder. ‘Open your eyes!’
Ronald tried to, but it hurt. His lashes seemed to have welded themselves together. He rubbed them hard. They peeled halfway open, and he squinted blearily. Then, despite the pain, he opened them wide.
The black smoke had vanished. All gone, cleared away, just like that. The flask was nowhere to be seen. Instead . . . in the Circle . . .
In the Circle was a Dragon!
‘You did it, Ron!’ whooped Hattie, clapping him on the back. ‘Oops, sorry, did that hurt? But you did it!’
Ronald said nothing. He had Summoned a Dragon. The shock had taken all words away. His brain was refusing to work properly. But he knew one thing.
He wasn’t going to call it Diddums.
Chapter Eight
The Dragon
The Dragon wasn’t at all what Ronald was expecting. It bore no resemblance to little Diddums whatsoever, apart from being green. Its eyes were yellow and baleful, not round and blue. Two bony lumps with flaps on that might be ears sat atop its long, narrow head. A pair of bat-like wings was folded against its scaly sides. A frill of leathery spikes ran along its back, getting smaller along the lizard-like tail, which had a vicious-looking barb at the end. Sharp talons extended from its feet. It wasn’t chubby. It was lean, mean and angry-looking.
It crouched o
n all fours, tail swishing and head moving slowly from side to side, taking in its surroundings. Its eyes moved uninterestedly past the gibbering Demon – past Hattie – and finally came to rest on Ronald.
It tensed. Its eyes became yellow slits. A low growl started up from somewhere deep in its chest. Slowly, its jaws opened, exposing a picket fence of sharp, soot-stained teeth. It took a deep, rasping breath.
Whooooooosh! A jet of pale green fire shot out, setting fire to Ronald’s Hat.
Ronald staggered back with a small scream. He snatched off the Hat, threw it on the floor and automatically began stamping out the flames before he remembered that his feet were bare. ‘Ouch! Ow, ow, ow!’
The Dragon watched with satisfaction. It drew in another breath. And then –
‘Bad Dragon!’ scolded Hattie. She strode forward, wagging her finger. ‘That is not acceptable behaviour.’
‘Hattie!’ croaked Ronald. ‘Get back! Don’t antagonise it!’
‘Nonsense. It needs a firm hand. Sit!’
The Dragon looked surprised. Its eyes rolled up and stared at Hattie. Then, to everyone’s amazement – it sat!
‘You see?’ said Hattie. She picked up one of Ronald’s abandoned slippers and waved it in the Dragon’s face. ‘Fire up again and it’s the naughty step for you, my lad.’
The Dragon gave a small whimper and cringed.
‘Woo!’ gasped the Demon. ‘Zat amazink!’
The Dragon ignored it. It was gazing anxiously up at Hattie, lizardy tail wagging feebly, clearly wanting approval. Hattie reached down and patted its scaly head. The Dragon stretched out a long green tongue and licked her hand.
‘Shake a claw, then,’ said Hattie. The Dragon meekly lifted a taloned foot and placed it in her waiting palm. ‘There’s a clever boy. Can you do any other tricks, I wonder? Roll over? Play dead?’
‘Will you look at this!’ said Ronald. He didn’t want any more demonstrations. ‘Look what it’s done to my Hat!’ Crossly, he picked up his still smoking hat and jammed it back on his head.
Cautiously, the Demon sidled up to the Magic Circle. It peered at the Dragon, then poked it with the blunt end of its pitchfork. The Dragon looked at it sideways in a funny way but otherwise did nothing.
