by Joan Aiken
Lo, my magic wand I raise
And change them into elves and fays...
or something along those lines."
And she retired to her desk in the throes of composition, leaving the children to get on with copying their runes on their own.
"I think she's got a cheek,” whispered Mark indignantly. “After all, it's our party, not hers."
"Never mind, it won't take long,” said Harriet, who was rather fond of the Dance of the Silver Bells and secretly relished the thought of herself as a fairy.
The party went with a swing; from the first game of Hunt the Slipper, the first carol, the first sight of Mrs. Armitage's wonderful supper with all her specialties, the turkey vol-a-vent and Arabian fruit salad.
"Now how about a game of Sardines?” Mrs. Armitage called out, finding with astonishment that it was half-past eleven and that none of her guests could eat another crumb.
The lights were turned out.
"Please, we'd rather not play this game. We're a bit nervous,” twittered the Shepherd children, approaching their hostess. She looked at them crossly—really they were faddy children. “Very well, you sit by the fire here till it's time for the Tree.” As she left them, she noticed that they seemed to be drawing pictures in the ashes with their fingers, messy little beasts.
She went to help her husband into his cloak and beard.
"Everyone is in the cupboard under the stairs,” she said. “Harriet hid first, and I told her to go there. I should give them another minute."
"Who's that wandering about upstairs?"
"Oh, that's Miss Croot. Her bun came down, and she went up to fix it. Don't wait for her—there you are, you're done. Off with you."
Father Christmas shouldered his sack and went along to the stair cupboard.
"Well,” he exclaimed, in as jovial a whisper as he could manage, stepping into the thick and dusty dark, “I bet you can't guess who's come in this time.” Gosh, I do feel a fool, he thought.
Silence greeted his words.
"Is there anybody here?” he asked in surprise, and began feeling about in the blackness.
Mrs. Armitage, standing by the main switch, was disconcerted to hear shriek upon shriek coming from the cupboard. She threw on the light and her husband came reeling out, his beard all awry, parcels falling from his sack in all directions.
"Fish!” he gasped. “The whole cupboard's full of great, wriggling fish."
It was at this moment that Miss Croot appeared in full fig as the Fairy Queen, and began to recite:
"Now, dear parents, you shall see
What your girls and boys can be..."
A somewhat shamefaced procession of large silver fish appeared from the cupboard and began wriggling about on their tails.
"Oh dear,” said Miss Croot, taken aback. “This wasn't what I—"
"D.T.s,” moaned Mr. Armitage. “I've got D.T.s.” Then his gaze became fixed on Miss Croot in her regalia, and he roared at her:
"Did you do this, woman? Then out of my house you go, neck and crop."
"Mr. Armitage!” exclaimed Miss Croot, drawing herself up, stiff with rage, and she would certainly have turned him into a toad, had not an interruption come from the little Shepherds, who danced round them in a ring, chanting:
"Tee hee, it was us, it was us! Sucks to the Armitages!"
Luckily, at that moment, the clock struck twelve, the fish changed back into human form, and by a rapid circulation of fruit-cup, cherry ciderette, and the rescued parcels, Mrs. Armitage was able to avert disaster.
"Well, dear friends, I shall say good-bye to you now,” fluted Miss Croot, after ten minutes or so.
"Thank goodness,” muttered Mr. Armitage.
"I'm off to my new post in Siam, but I shall often think with regret of the little charges left behind, and I hope, dears, that you will all keep up the accomplishments that you have learned from me.” ("They'd better not,” growled her host.) “And that you, pets,” (here she bent a severe look on the little Shepherds) “will learn some better manners. Au revoir to all, and joyeux noël."
At these words, the carpet beneath her feet suddenly rose and floated out of the window.
"My carpet!” cried Mr. Armitage. “My beautiful Persian carpet!"
But then they saw that the (admittedly worn) Persian carpet had been replaced by a priceless Aubusson, which, unlike Miss Croot's other gifts, did not vanish away at midnight.
All the same, it took Mr. Armitage a long time to get used to it. He hated new furniture.
[Back to Table of Contents]
The Frozen Cuckoo
* * * *
* * * *
There was a good deal of trouble at breakfast. To begin with, Mr. Armitage was late, and that made Mrs. Armitage cross, as she always liked to have the meal over quickly on Mondays, so that the dining room could be turned out. Then she began reading her letters, and suddenly inquired:
"What is the date today?"
"The second,” said Harriet.
"I thought so. Then that means she is coming today. How very inconsiderate."
"Who is coming today?"
"Your cousin Sarah."
"Oh no!” said Mark and Harriet together, in deep dismay.
It is dreadful to have to say it of anybody, but their cousin Sarah was really a horrible girl. The only thing she seemed to enjoy was playing practical jokes, which she did the whole time. Nobody minds an occasional joke, but an endless course of sand in the brown-sugar bowl, grease on the stairs, and plastic spiders on the pillowcases soon becomes tiresome.
"It'll be apple-pie beds, apple-pie beds all the way,” said Mark gloomily. “Can't you put her off?"
"No, Aunt Rachel has to go into the hospital for an operation, so I'm afraid you'll just have to bear with her. She's coming at lunchtime."
Here Mr. Armitage arrived, and sat down rubbing his hands and saying: “The Christmas roses will be out any minute now."
"Your bacon's cold,” said his wife crossly. “Here are your letters."
He opened a long, important-looking one which had a lot of printed headings on it, and instantly began to puff and blow with rage.
"Evicted? Requisitioned? What's this? Notice to quit forthwith before 11 a.m., December the second. Who the dickens is this from?"
"Good gracious, my dear,” said his wife, “what have you got there?"
"It's from the Board of Incantation,” he replied, throwing the letter to her. “They've requisitioned this house, if you please, to make a seminary for young magicians, and we have notice to quit immediately."
"A. Whizzard,” murmured Mrs. Armitage, looking at the signature. “Wasn't that the name of the man whose book you were so rude about in your review?"
"Yes, of course. I knew the name seemed familiar. A shockingly bad book on spells and runes."
"Oh dear,” sighed Mrs. Armitage. “I do wish you'd learn to be more tactful. Now we have to find somewhere else to live, and just before Christmas, too. It really is too bad."
"Do we really have to be out by eleven o'clock?” asked Mark, who, with Harriet, had been listening round-eyed.
"I shall contest it,” said his father. “It's the most monstrous tyranny. They needn't think they can ride over me roughshod."
However, Mrs. Armitage, who was a quiet but practical person, at once sent Harriet along the village to ask if they could borrow the house of Mrs. Foster, who was going off to the south of France, while they looked around for somewhere else to live. Then with the help of Agnes and Mrs. Epis she packed up all their clothes and put them in the car. Mr. Armitage refused to leave with the rest of the family, and remained behind to tackle the invaders.
At eleven o'clock sharp several men who looked like builders’ laborers arrived. They rode on rather battered, paint-stained old broomsticks, and carried hammers, saws, and large sheets of beaverboard.
"Morning, guv'ner,” said one who seemed to be the foreman, advancing up the front steps.
Mr. Arm
itage stood in the way with his arms folded. “I protest against this unseemly intrusion!” he cried. “It is entirely contrary to the British constitution."
"Ah,” said the foreman, waving a screwdriver at him in a pitying manner, “you're cuckoo.” At once Mr. Armitage vanished, and in his place a large bird flapped in a dazed manner round the front door.
Just then an enormous, sleek black car rolled silently up to the gate, and a tall, sleek, dark man stepped out and came up the steps, swinging an elegant umbrella.
"Excellent, Wantage, excellent. I see you have arrived,” he said, glancing about. “I trust you have had no trouble?"
"Only a little, sir,” said the foreman respectfully, indicating the bird, which let out a hoarse and indignant “cuckoo!"
"Dear me,” said the sleek gentleman. “Can this be my unfortunate friend, Mr. Armitage? Such a pleasant person—perhaps just a little hot-tempered, just a little unkind in his reviews? However, it would certainly be equally unkind to wrest him from his old home; we must find some accommodation for him. Hawkins!” The chauffeur's head looked out from the car. “Bring the case, will you."
A large glass dome was brought, of the kind which is placed over skeleton clocks, with the hours and minutes marked on one side.
"There,” said the gentleman, tucking Mr. Armitage under one arm. “Now, in the study, perhaps? On one's desk, for inspiration. When I place the bird in position, Hawkins, pray cover him with the case. Thank you. A most tasteful ornament, I flatter myself, and perhaps in time we may even teach him to announce the hours."
* * * *
"Your father's being a long time,” said Mrs. Armitage rather anxiously to the children. “I do hope he isn't getting into trouble."
"Oh, I don't suppose it's worth expecting him before lunch,” said Mark. “He'll argue with everybody and then probably go for a walk and start drafting a letter to The Times."
So they sat down to lunch in Mrs. Foster's house, but just as they were raising the first bites to their mouths, Harriet gave a little squeak and said:
"Goodness! We've forgotten all about Sarah! She'll arrive at the house and won't know what's happened to us."
"Oh, she's sure to see Father somewhere around, and he'll bring her along,” Mark pointed out. “I wouldn't worry. We can go along afterwards and see, if they don't turn up soon."
At this moment Sarah was walking onward to her doom. She found the front door of the Armitage house open, and nobody about. This seemed to her a good moment to plant some of her practical jokes, so she opened her suitcase and stole into the dining room. The long table was already set for tea. There were thirteen places, which puzzled her, but she supposed her aunt and uncle must be giving a party. Some plates of sandwiches and cakes covered with damp napkins were standing on a side table, so she doctored them with sneezing powder, and placed fizz-bangs in some of the teacups.
She was surprised to see that the rooms had been split in two by partitions of beaverboard, and wondered where the family was, and what was going on. Hearing some hammering upstairs, she decided to tiptoe up and surprise them. Feeling around in her suitcase again, she dug out her water pistol, and charged it from a jug which stood on the sideboard. Then she went softly up the stairs.
The door facing the top of the stairs was open, and she stole through it. This was Mr. Armitage's study, which Mr. Whizzard had decided should be his private office. Just now, however, he was out having his lunch, and the room was empty. Sarah went to work at once. She laid a few thumbtacks carefully on what she supposed to be her uncle's chair, and was just attaching a neat contrivance to the telephone, when there came an interruption. The huge black cat, Walrus, who had stayed behind when the family left, had strolled into the study after Sarah and was taking a deep interest in the dejected-looking cuckoo sitting under the glass dome. While Sarah was busy laying the thumbtacks, he leaped onto the desk, and after a moment's reflection, knocked the glass case off the desk with one sweep of his powerful paw.
"Sarah!” cried Mr. Armitage in terror. “Save me from this murdering beast!"
Completely startled, thinking that her uncle must have come in unheard while her back was turned, Sarah spun around and let fly with her water pistol. The jet caught the unfortunate bird in mid-air, and at once (for the weather was very cold) he turned to a solid block of ice, and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The cat pounced at once, but his teeth simply grated on the ice, and he sprang back with a hiss of dismay.
At that moment Mr. Whizzard returned from lunch.
"Dear me!” he said peevishly. “What is all this? Cats? Little girls? And who has been meddling with my cuckoo?” But when he saw Mr. Armitage's frozen condition, he began to laugh uncontrollably.
"Warlock! Warlock! Come in and look at this,” he shouted, and another man came in, wearing a mortarboard and magician's gown.
"The lads have just arrived in the dragon-bus,” he said. “I told them to go straight in to tea, as the workmen haven't quite finished dividing up the classrooms. What have you got there?"
"Poor Armitage has become quite seized up,” said Mr. Whizzard. “If we had a deep-freeze—"
Before he could finish, several young student-magicians dashed into the room, with cries of complaint. They were all sneezing.
"Really it's too bad, when we're all tired from our journey! Sneezing powder in everything and tea all over the floor. A joke's a joke, but this is going too far. Someone ought to get the sack for this."
"What is the matter, my lads?” enquired Mr. Whizzard.
"Someone's been playing a lot of rotten practical jokes."
Sarah quailed and would gladly have slipped away, but she was jammed in a corner. She tried to squeeze past the desk, but one of the drawers was open and caught her suitcase. A small bomb fell out and exploded on the carpet, amid yelps of terror from the students.
"Seize that child,” commanded Mr. Whizzard. Two of them unwillingly did so, and stood her before him. He cast his eye over the diabolical contents of her suitcase, and then the label attracted his attention.
"Armitage. Ah, just so, this is plainly an attempt at sabotage from the evicted family. They shall pay dearly for it. Nightshade, fetch an electric heater, will you? There's one in the front hall."
While they were waiting, Mr. Whizzard sat down in his chair, but shot up again at once, with a murderous look at Sarah.
"Good. Now place the bird before it, in this pencil tray, so as not to dampen the carpet. The cat sits at hand on this chair, ready for when the thawing process commences. It should not be long, I fancy. Now my young friends, you may return to your interrupted meal, and as for you,” with a savage glance at Sarah, “a little solitary confinement will do you no harm, while I reflect on how to dispose of you."
Sarah was dragged away and locked into a beaverboard cell, which had once been part of Harriet's bedroom.
"Now I think we deserve a quiet cup of tea, after all this excitement,” said Mr. Whizzard to Mr. Warlock, when they were left alone. “We can sip it as we watch poor Mr. Armitage melt. I'll ring down to the kitchen.” He lifted the telephone, and instantly a flood of ink poured into his ear.
Meanwhile, Mark and Harriet had decided to come in search of their father and cousin.
"It might be wise not to go in the front way, don't you think?” said Harriet. “After all, it's rather odd that we haven't heard something of them by now. I feel there must have been some trouble."
So they went stealthily round through the shrubbery and climbed up the wisteria to Harriet's window. The first thing they saw when they looked in was Sarah, pacing up and down in a distracted manner.
"Good gracious—” Harriet began, but Sarah made frantic gestures to silence her. They climbed in as quietly as they could.
"Thank heaven you've come,” she whispered. “Uncle Armitage is being roasted to death in the study, or else eaten by Walrus. You must rescue him at once.” They listened in horror, as she explained the position, and then hurriedly cl
imbed out again. Sarah was no climber, so she hung out anxiously watching them, and thinking of the many times her uncle had given her half-crowns and pats on the head.
Harriet ran to the back door, where the cat's tin plate still lay, and began to rattle it, calling “Walrus, Walrus, Walrus! Dinner! Walrus! Fish!"
Mark climbed along the wisteria to the study window, to wait for the result of this move.
He saw the cat Walrus, who was still sitting on the chair, attentively watching the melting process, suddenly prick up his ears and look towards the door. Then, as Harriet's voice came faintly again, he shot out of it and disappeared.
"Confound that animal!” exclaimed Mr. Whizzard. “Catch him, Warlock!” They both ran out of the door, looking to right and left. Mark wasted no time. He clambered through the window, grabbed the cuckoo, and was out again before the two men returned, frustrated and angry.
"Good heavens, now the bird's gone,” cried Mr. Warlock. “What a fool you were to leave the window open. It must have flown out."
"Impossible! This is more of that wretched child's doing. I'm going along to see her, right away."
He burst in on Sarah, looking so ferocious that she instinctively caught up the first weapon she could see, to defend herself. It was a screwdriver, left lying on the floor by one of the workmen.
"What have you done with the cuckoo?” Mr. Whizzard demanded.
"I haven't touched it,” Sarah truthfully replied.
"Nonsense. Do you deny that you enticed the cat away by black arts, and then kidnapped the cuckoo?” He approached her threateningly.
Sarah retreated as far as she could and clutched the screwdriver. “You're crackers,” she said. “I tell you I haven't—” Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. For where Mr. Whizzard had been standing there was nothing but a large white cardboard box, containing red and blue paper fireworks of the kind that you pull at parties; they were decorated with silver moons and stars. At this moment Mark and Harriet came climbing back through the window.
* * * *
Downstairs in the dining room the young wizards, having cleared away tea, were enjoying a singsong.
