‘The last time she tried to do that I got warts,’ said Doorknocker gloomily. ‘Have you any idea how embarrassing it is for a doorknocker to have warts?’
‘Maybe it’ll wear off,’ said Horace hopefully, pushing the door open. ‘See you later, Doorknocker.’
‘It’ll be pimples next,’ muttered Doorknocker. ‘Or ingrown toenails. Or bad breath. Now that’s a terrible thing for a doorknocker to have to worry about,’ he added, as Horace disappeared inside.
Mum was already cooking dinner when Horace entered the kitchen.
‘Eye of spider,
Tongue of bat,’ she muttered, throwing something brown and wrinkled into the cauldron. ‘Hello, Horace darling!’
‘Baboon’s snot,
And cockroach fat.
Stir the lot and that is that. I hope anyway,’ she murmured, peering into the cauldron worriedly.
Bunnnggg! The cauldron exploded. Purple lights whistled, bells flashed and birds rang. (Mum wasn’t much good with birds and bell noises either.)
Suddenly dinner was on the table. The kitchen was still again.
‘Er, Mum,’ said Horace, staring at the dinner.
‘Yes?’ said Mum worriedly.
‘What is it?’ Horace pointed to the platter on the table.
‘It should be roast lamb,’ said Mum, even more worriedly. ‘That’s what the spell said it would be, anyway.’
‘I don’t think lamb has tentacles,’ Horace pointed out.
‘Are you sure?’ Mum prodded the roast hopefully, then stepped back as the dinner snarled at her.
‘I don’t think roast lamb is supposed to be purple with green spots either,’ added Horace.
‘Maybe I overdid the garlic,’ admitted Mum. ‘Or not enough slug vomit. It’s just so hard to make a slug vomit. You can get tiger vomit easily. You just have to put your finger down their throat. But with slugs…’ Mum shook her head.
‘Isn’t there something else you could use instead of slug vomit?’ asked Horace trying hard not to sound too ungrateful.
‘I’m all out of unicorn horn,’ explained Mum. ‘And it’s the wrong time of year for toad fingers. Anyway, I’m sure it’ll taste like lamb,’ she added, even more doubtfully. ‘And it’ll probably have stopped wriggling by the time you set the table. How was school?’
Horace hesitated. Mum and Dad were so proud he’d been accepted into the King’s own school. How could he tell them how bad things were?
‘It was alright,’ he said at last. ‘By the way, Mum, do you think you could turn us all into handsome knights? Just for tomorrow afternoon? It’s for our homework project.’
‘Knights, knights,’ Mum fumbled through her spell book. ‘Knapsack, knickerbockers, knife—are you sure you wouldn’t like to be nice knickerbockers instead? Or a few knapsacks?’
‘No thanks, Mum. We have to be knights. By the way, the doorknocker’s grumpy again.’
‘I think it’s allergic to magic,’ sighed Mum. ‘Anyway, I’m sure I can turn you all into handsome knapsacks tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Knights, Mum. Handsome knights,’ repeated Horace.
‘Them too,’ said Mum, giving dinner another prod as it tried to climb off the table. ‘Could you go and tell Dad and Grub that dinner’s ready? Lie down, you stupid roast! Shoo! Get back on that table!’
‘Maybe we could just have scrambled eggs,’ said Horace helpfully, as dinner tried to jump out the kitchen window. He picked up his school bag and wandered down the hall.
CHAPTER 4
Grub the Inventor
Grub was in her bedroom. Well, there had to be a bed in there somewhere Horace decided, peering in at the workbench, tools and assorted machinery that almost hid his little sister.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Dinner’s ready.’
Grub peered up from her latest invention. It had two giant wheels and a funny seat on top. Grub’s overalls were even grubbier than they had been yesterday, thought Horace, and her plaits looked like she’d used them to mop up an oil stain.
Grub’s real name was The Fayre Elayne, but Horace thought Grub suited her better. ‘Is dinner really ready?’ Grub demanded.
‘It was trying to jump out the kitchen window,’ admitted Horace. ‘But you’d better wash your hands anyway.’ He stared at Grub’s invention. ‘What’s that thing?’
‘Like it?’ Grub stood back proudly. ‘I invented it this morning!’
‘What does it do?’ asked Horace curiously.
‘You sit on it and push the pedals with your feet to make the wheels go round, and it takes you wherever you point it.’
‘Huh,’ said Horace. ‘It’ll never catch on. Who wants to push pedals when you can sit on a horse?’
Grub sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right. How was school? I wish I could go to school,’ she added enviously.
‘Girls don’t go to school,’ pointed out Horace. ‘Girls don’t have the right sort of brains for school. They can’t become knights either, so why bother with school?’ He shrugged. ‘But it was okay.’
Grub looked at him shrewdly. ‘Are you sure?’
Horace gulped. How could he tell any member of his family that he had to hunt—and kill—a dragon?
‘I’d better go tell Dad it’s dinner time,’ he said evasively. ‘You’d better wash the grease off your face too!’
Grub poked her tongue out at him.
Horace shoved his school bag into his own bedroom, then hurried down the hall to the door to the caves below the mountain.
There was no doorknocker on this door. It was just a plain wooden door, with a big sign saying ‘Keep Out! This means you kids. I mean it! Love, Dad.’
Horace knocked on the door, then knocked again when there was no answer. ‘Hey, Dad,’ he yelled. ‘It’s dinner time.’
A puff of smoke wafted under the door. Horace grinned. Mum got mad when Dad smoked inside, but Dad kept hoping she wouldn’t notice.
‘Coming!’ yelled Dad.
Horace trotted down the hall to set the table.
CHAPTER 5
Dad the Dragon
Dinner was scrambled eggs on toast. There was no sign of the roast lamb, apart from some purple footprints across the floor.
Mum sat at one end of the table, with Horace and Grub on either side. Horace reached for a slice of toast just as Dad came in.
Whump! The doorway crashed around him.
Spock! The chair splintered as he sat down. Dad’s tail lashed the pot plant off its stand.
Mum sighed. ‘Dear, I do wish you’d remember to change for dinner.’
‘Oops,’ Dad stared down at his glittering scales, his silver wings and his green and orange tail that reached out into the hallway.
Bunngg! Bells flashed and lights tinkled. Dad returned to human form. He pulled up another chair and sat down. ‘Sorry about that, everyone.’
Horace spooned scrambled eggs over his toast and helped himself to pottage (that’s green vegies cooked with wheat). Sometimes he wished Dad would decide to be something other than a dragon for a change. Something smaller, like a gorilla, or even an eagle, as long as he was careful not to leave white splots on the floor.
But Dad liked being a dragon! Luckily it seemed to be the one spell of Mum’s that always worked.
Horace shook his head. How could he possibly tell Dad, who loved dragons so much he wanted to be one most of the day, that his son actually had to hunt and kill a dragon and bring it to school on Monday?
Dad would never understand. He might even try to take Horace out of school if he thought dragon hunting was on the syllabus. Worse, he might come to school and argue with Sir Sneazle!
No one ever argued with Sir Sneazle.
‘How was school?’ asked Dad around a spoonful of scrambled eggs.
‘Oh, fine,’ said Horace, crossing his fingers under the table. ‘Some of the boys are coming over tomorrow so we can do our homework together.’
Dad nodded. ‘I’ll remember to stay human after breakfast,’ he promised.
He stared at Grub. ‘What is that you’re using on your scrambled eggs, young lady?’
Horace peered at the object as Grub handed it over the table. It looked a bit like a spoon, but it had three prongs instead.
‘It’s sort of like a hay fork, only smaller,’ said Grub. ‘I invented it this afternoon. I thought it would be easier to pick up food with instead of just a knife and spoon.’
Dad snorted, sending toast crumbs flying about the kitchen and the kitchen curtains flapping out the window. Sometimes, thought Horace, Dad’s transformation back into human wasn’t quite complete.
‘A hay fork!’ boomed Dad, puffing just a hint of flame. ‘I’m not having a daughter of mine eating with a hay fork!’
‘But, Dad,’ began Grub.
‘No bad manners at this table, young lady! You’ll eat with a spoon and your fingers, and wipe your chin neatly on the tablecloth like the rest of us!’ Dad suddenly stopped flaming. ‘Ooops! Horace, grab the water jug,’ he added. ‘I seem to have set the curtains on fire. Now, what’s for dessert?’
CHAPTER 6
Is that a Real Dragon?
Horace lay in bed and worried. Outside the window an owl hooted. Dad’s snores echoed from the cave beyond, and set the cottage walls shaking.
Horace supposed other people would find it strange to have a dragon for a dad. But Dad was…well, he was just Dad, even when he was a dragon.
No, Dad would never understand his son wanting to kill a dragon! There had to be some way out, thought Horace desperately. Perhaps he could make a model of a dragon out of papier-mâché. But no, Sir Sneazle would notice it wasn’t real!
Or maybe Mum could cast a spell so it looked like there was a dead dragon in the classroom! But Mum’s spells weren’t very reliable. What if the magic dragon just evaporated! He’d be expelled for sure!
No, there was no way out of it, Horace decided. He’d have to find a dragon, fight it, and bring its body to school! He just had to become a knight! But what knight had a part-time dragon for a dad? thought Horace worriedly.
Suddenly something tiptoed down the hall. Something large, with scales that rustled and a tail that dragged behind.
Horace grinned. It was just Dad, sneaking down to the kitchen for a snack. He often got hungry in the middle of the night.
Things would work out, Horace decided. He snuggled down into his goosefeather mattress.
Grark! Grark! Grark! Oodle oodle grark!
Horace sprang up from his pillow. What was that? A fox after the hens? But no hen screamed like that! And it seemed to come from up in the sky!
Horace’s heart pounded so hard he thought it would gallop out the window! Maybe a real dragon had crash landed in their garden! He could take it to school and…
Horace grabbed his dressing gown and bolted down the hall and out the front door into the moonlight.
‘Don’t mind me,’ grumbled Doorknocker. ‘Don’t bother to say, Hello, Doorknocker, hope you’re having a good night’s sleep. Not that I can sleep with all this racket. No one cares what happens to me anyway. I’m just a doorknocker…’
‘I heard a scream!’ interrupted Horace.
‘Screams, howls, shrieks of terror, it’s all the same to me,’ muttered Doorknocker. ‘I just manage to get comfortable and someone howls and wakes me up.’
‘It’s up there!’ cried Horace, pointing to a dark cloud flying past the golden moon. ‘Look!’
The doorknocker gazed up into the sky. ‘Look at those clouds,’ he complained. ‘It’ll be raining next and then what’ll happen? I’ll rust, that’s what will happen. Do you know what it’s like to be a doorknocker and get rust?’
Horace ignored him. There in the sky was a dragon, its brilliant scales gleaming in the moonlight, its wings like golden clouds, its tail flickering across the sky. Something large and pink wriggled in its mouth, then screamed again.
Oooiiiinnnkkkkkkk!
The dragon glided lower and lower still. Horace let out his breath in disappointment. ‘It’s Dad,’ he sighed.
Dad landed in the gooseberry bed. ‘Owf,’ he said, the cry muffled by the fat pig in his mouth. He hopped out of the gooseberry bushes and rose on his back legs and tried to pull the prickles out of his wings.
‘Dad!’ cried Horace. ‘What are you doing?’
Dad started. ‘Juff a liffle shnack,’ he muttered around the pig in his mouth. ‘Juff felt a bit peffish after dinner.’
‘Is that one of Bran’s pigs?’ demanded Horace. ‘Dad, how could you?’
Dad spat the pig out. It squealed unhappily and ran under the guinea pig bushes where it peered out cautiously. ‘Oink!’ it muttered.
Dad hung his head. ‘A plate of scrambled eggs and a bit of pottage isn’t enough for a dragon for dinner,’ he muttered.
‘But, Dad, you can’t go stealing pigs!’
‘Oink!’ agreed the pig.
‘Look, Dad, take it back and I’ll make you some toast, lots of toast!’
Dad brightened. ‘With blackberry jam and cheese?’
‘With blackberry jam and cheese,’ agreed Horace.
‘Then I’ll take the pig back,’ said Dad generously. ‘Here piggie, piggie, piggie.’
‘Oink?’ The pig retreated further under the guinea pig bushes.
‘Um, Dad, I think you’re scaring it,’ suggested Horace.
‘What? Oh, yes.’
Bunnnggg! Lamps shrieked and whistles glowed. Suddenly Dad was human again. The pig peered out at him suspiciously, then crept out onto the path.
‘Here, Dad.’ Horace held out the belt from his dressing gown. ‘You can tie that around his neck and lead him along.’
Dad sighed. ‘Life is much simpler as a dragon. Come on, pig. Walkies! I’ll be back in an hour or two,’ he added to Horace.
‘I’ll have the toast ready,’ promised Horace, as Dad and the pig headed off into the moonlight.
‘Oink,’ said the pig.
‘Toast,’ grumbled Doorknocker, as Horace went inside. ‘No one offers a doorknocker toast. Oh, no. It’s just bang, bang, anyone home? Then bang, bang all over again. No one thinks of a doorknocker’s feelings. No one ever asks, Would you like a bit of toast, Doorknocker?’
Horace sighed. ‘I’ll bring you out some toast. All right?’
‘With strawberry jam,’ said Doorknocker. ‘I don’t like blackberry. The pips catch in my teeth.’
CHAPTER 7
The Handsome Knight Spell goes Wrong
‘Kelpie, kidney, kiosk,’ said Mum, leafing though her spell book. ‘Knack, knife, ah, knight, here we are. Knight on horseback, Knight in shining armour, Knight…handsome.’
‘That’s the one,’ said Horace.
Bran gazed at Mum uncertainly. ‘Are you sure this is going to work?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Mum airily. ‘Right, I need three hairs from a black dog’s tail. Pass me the jar of dog’s hair, Horace. A pinch of cockroach dung and three shakes of an earthworm’s tail.’
‘My great-great-great-aunt Globb was enchanted once,’ said Snidge. ‘No one could wake her up for a hundred years.’
‘Did a handsome prince kiss her and wake her up?’ asked Bran, interested.
‘Nah. She woke up by herself. Gadzooks, was she hungry. And her teeth were all yellow and rotten. Mice had nested in her hair too.’
‘Yuck,’ said Bernard. ‘If I was a handsome prince I wouldn’t kiss a woman who was a hundred years old and had mice in her hair.’
‘If you were a handsome prince we wouldn’t be in this mess!’ said Horace. ‘What else do you need, Mum?’
‘Just my glasses,’ said Mum, peering at the spidery writing on the page. ‘I can’t make out this word. Thanks, pet,’ she added, as Horace passed the glasses to her. ‘Cat? Rat? Bat?’
‘I think it’s lizard’s fat,’ said Bran, staring over her shoulder.
‘No it’s not, it’s hat,’ said Mum. ‘I think it means I have to wear my hat for this. Right, here we go…’
; ‘Black dog’s hair and earthworm’s tail,
Cockroach dung will never fail.
In the cauldron, left to right,
When it boils they’re handsome…’
Bunnnggg! Lights beat and drums blazed!
‘Slugs!’ called Horace from under the chair. ‘Mum, you turned us into handsome slugs! No, we’re down here! Look out Mum, you nearly trod on Bran!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe that word was bat! Or mat. Now if I just add a bit of doormat…
‘Cauldron, cauldron, do not bite,
When I wave my wand they’re handsome…’
Bunnngggg! Stars clanged and cymbals glittered.
Five handsome elephants waved their trunks at her.
‘Mum!’ hooted Horace, trying not to crush the kitchen table.
‘I know, I know,’ said Mum despondently. ‘Just let me try again.’
‘Darling cauldron, what a sight,
Five brave and handsome lovely…’
Bunnnggg! Trumpets fluttered and confetti roared.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Mum weakly.
One of the handsome cockroaches waved its antennae at her. ‘Mum, just change us back into kids again! Please!’
‘I could try a piece of cat,’ offered Mum. ‘Or gnat. It won’t take me a minute to go and catch a few gnats.’
The cockroach sighed. ‘Mum, don’t you think you should practice the handsome knight spell on something else first? Like the hens maybe.’
Mum let out a breath of relief. ‘Perhaps that would be best. I’ll just get some wheat and call them in.’
‘Mum!’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Turn us back into kids again before you go.’
One Big Wacky Family Page 13
