The House at the Edge of Magic

by Amy Sparkes

  Nine looked at Eric, who was nodding sympathetically. “Gets worse,” he said.

  “And the pictures!” spluttered Flabberghast, a look of desperation on his face. He leapt to his feet and ran to the hallway. Eric lolloped after him. Nine pushed back her chair and followed them. “Look what she’s done to the pictures!”

  Flabberghast reached out and straightened the portrait of ‘Sir Ignatius the Permanently Late (1589–1641)’. It remained straight for a hopeful two seconds before swinging back to hang crooked. Flabberghast shook his fists at the air and let out a strangled roar.

  “Poor Flabby.” Eric put a comforting arm around him and patted him slightly too hard.

  Flabberghast huffed. “Flab-BER-GHAST.”

  But Eric just looked at Nine, his big yellow eyes full of pity. “Gets worse.”

  “She’s taken the toad’s tongue, so the House can’t move—”

  “Move? Toad? TONGUE?” frowned Nine.

  “I’ve missed three years of Hopscotch Championships!”

  “Gets worse.”

  “And you can never find the toilet when you need it. It was last seen disguised as a pot plant on the eighth floor—”

  “And worse…” droned the troll.

  “She changed Eric’s cookery books into Dwarvish!” Flabberghast shook his hands in rage. “Dwarvish! An unreadable, unspeakable language! Even the dwarves gave up!” He pointed upstairs. “And the library where the books were carefully arranged, alphabetically and in categories? No matter how long I spend rearranging them, by the morning they are all jumbled up and I can’t find a blasted thing!”

  Flabberghast grabbed fistfuls of his curls. “Last month I found a book on transdimensional travel in the knitting section! The knitting section! UPSIDE DOWN! Admittedly, the library was always a little on the emotional side – The Hopscotch Guide for Idiots has never quite forgiven me for accidentally dropping it down the toilet – but I tell you this: since the curse, the library has been in a permanently atrocious mood!”

  Eric patted Flabberghast’s back, sending him stumbling forwards a step. “More worse.”

  “Yes. Because worst of all,” said Flabberghast darkly, “my magic has been stolen.”

  “Stolen?” said Nine.

  She jumped as Flabberghast thrust his hands towards her. He wiggled his fingers.

  “See? Nothing!” he hissed. “We have no idea how to break the curse. We’re trapped in this House of chaos with no freedom, no magic and no tea!”

  No freedom, no life, nothing…

  Nine shook Pockets’ voice from her head.

  Eric lifted the bottom corner of his apron and wiped Flabberghast’s eyes. Then he covered Flabberghast’s nose with the apron. The wizard blew heartily.

  “Well, there was something in your letterbox,” said Nine, reaching into her satchel and holding out the crumpled blank envelope. “Maybe it’s a clue?”

  Flabberghast snatched it from her. As he held it in his hands, swirly scarlet writing appeared on the envelope.

  ‘LET’S PLAY.’

  “That is not normal,” said Nine, keeping her voice oh-so-steady-and-not-at-all-panicky. “How did that just appear?”

  Flabberghast gulped and looked up at Nine.

  “The witch,” he whispered, looking over both shoulders then taking the envelope back into the kitchen.

  “Witch clever,” said Eric, as he and Nine followed the wizard. Flabberghast quickly placed the envelope on the table and stared at it nervously. He gave it a little poke with his finger.

  “Hello?” he whispered.

  “Come on then – open it,” said Nine irritably. “It’s not going to bite you.”

  Flabberghast looked at her darkly and raised an eyebrow.

  “…is it?” asked Nine.

  “Who knows what bedevilled mischief lies within this envelope!”

  “Eric scared.”

  Nine huffed loudly, snatched the envelope from the table and hastily stuffed it into Flabberghast’s hand.

  “Open it,” she growled.

  The wizard glared at her, took a sharp intake of breath through his nose, flaring his nostrils, then he turned the envelope over. Eric covered his face with his apron, then peeped with one eye. Nine clenched her fists and tensed her legs, ready for whatever was coming.

  Flabberghast lifted the envelope’s flap, quickly looked around, and pulled out a piece of parchment. He flinched, but nothing happened.

  “Was that it then?” Nine realised she was holding her breath and let it out. Everything seemed fine.

  “Everything seems fine,” said Flabberghast.

  WHOOMPH! A red, glowing streak, about the width and length of Nine’s arm, shot out of the envelope. Nine gave a yelp as it whizzed up and down, here and there, faster than Nine could watch it: knocking Flabberghast’s hat into the cauldron; shooting over to the dresser and smashing plates and cups; twisting and whooshing around Eric’s tail; sending the bucket and its orange, slimy contents all over Flabberghast; upturning the table; darting – whooshing – whizzing – smashing – whirling – left – right – up – down –

  Until it came to a stop.

  Nine froze. The streak was right in front of her face. It hovered in the air like some devilish giant, red tadpole. Nine tried to stare it down, though her heart was thumping in her ears.

  “Madam,” whispered Flabberghast, retrieving his now-dripping hat from the cauldron. “I strongly suggest you do – not – move.”

  Nine had no intention of moving, largely because her legs had forgotten to do so. But on hearing the wizard’s voice, the red streak seemed to look in his direction, then shot down the hallway.

  Releasing her breath, Nine followed the others as they dashed after the streak.

  SMASH! There went the trophy cabinet, showering tiny shards of glass everywhere and sending all the trophies plummeting to the carpet. The red streak zig-zagged across the hallway at a furious pace, knocking all the portraits and the coat-of-arms by the door upside down. Then it hurtled towards the hexagonal clock mounted by the doorway and, with another strange WHOOMPH, it shot inside the clock and disappeared. For a moment, the clock face glowed red before returning to normal.

  Silence. Nine, Flabberghast and Eric looked at each other, and then looked back at the clock. There was a loud clunk, then three of the four sword-shaped hands started whizzing around at different paces. Backwards. With another decisive clunk the fourth – smallest – hand moved to the 14.

  “I have a most horrible feeling about this,” said Flabberghast. “That clock has not been functional since the curse. Eighteen times I’ve been late for breakfast because of it.”

  Dr Spoon came sliding down the bannister, sword drawn and eyes wild. Black smudges were dotted over his face and there was a definite smell of singed wood. “Are the green-horned Minotaurs attacking again? What the devil’s going on?”

  “‘What the devil’ is right, Spoon.” Flabberghast looked at him and then at the clock. “The witch.”

  Spoon looked grim. “Courage, laddie.”

  Nine looked at the crumpled-up parchment in the wizard’s hand. “Is this letter going to destroy the entire House?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Flabberghast. He straightened out the first page, cleared his throat nervously and began to read.

  “Dearest Flabberghast, I can only assume that if you are reading this letter, then your miniscule House has been found by some poor, unsuspecting fool—”

  Spoon pointed his sword at Nine. “The lass,” he said. Nine frowned.

  “And so, Flabberghast, the game begins!” the wizard continued. “The curse cannot, and will not, be lifted until you say the magic words. You have until the clock strikes fifteen to find those words, speak them aloud and break the curse. If you do not, then this time your House will shrink and shrink, but will not stop. Everything and everyone inside the House will shrink and shrink and will not stop, until you shrink beyond reality and vanish. Then you, Flabb
erghast, and everyone inside that ridiculous House –” Flabberghast looked at the others with wide eyes – “will CEASE TO EXIST.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the room.

  “Cease to exist?!” cried Flabberghast.

  “No shrink! No vanish!”

  “Read on, laddie!”

  “But I am not an unreasonable creature,” Flabberghast continued, followed by a snort and the raise of an eyebrow. “Obviously someone as pathetically hopeless as yourself will need all the help you can get from your ridiculous companions. Since even that may not be enough to compensate for your continuous stupidity, you will need a clue; so the magic words are…”

  He turned over the page. Then flapped it back over again. His shoulders slumped and he covered his eyes with his hand.

  “What?” said Nine, moving closer to look. She snatched the letter from him and read the bottom of the parchment. “The magic words are…” She turned over the page. It was blank. “And there was nothing else in the envelope?”

  Flabberghast shook his head and Nine glanced up at the clock. The hands were still whizzing backwards, the shortest inching towards the 13.

  “There doesn’t need to be anything else!” snapped Flabberghast. “The magic words are right there!” He jabbed his finger below the final words.

  Nine squinted at the blank space on the parchment and frowned. “But—”

  “It’s a game! The words are there! Hidden from view! Made secret!” Flabberghast wiggled his fingers wildly at the letter. “My magic could have revealed them! But she stole my magic. And I can’t get my magic back until I reveal this secret. It’s impossible! The witch is impossible! It’s ALL impossible!”

  Flabberghast snatched the parchment from Nine and shook it furiously. With a spike of fear, Nine could feel the floaty ball, the jewel, this one chance of freedom, slipping away.

  “That witch is clever,” said the spoon.

  “SHE IS NOT CLEVER!” bellowed Flabberghast.

  “Stop shouting!” shouted Nine. “That’s not going to solve anything!”

  “I’m not shouting, you are!”

  “I. AM. NOT.”

  Eric whimpered and put his yellow-nailed hands over his ears. “Eric shrink!”

  Nine refused to acknowledge the stab of pity that she very nearly felt. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Focus. Calm. Panicking would not help anything.

  “Look,” she said. “No one is going to shrink beyond reality. We’re closer than we were. At least now we know you have to say some magic words to break the curse. We even have the words.” She looked at the parchment in her hand. “We just can’t … read them.”

  “And time, Madam, is running out,” hissed Flabberghast, pointing at the clock. “You’ve stepped into our House, our world. You made me open this envelope and begin the countdown. So you, Madam, had better have some answers! Soon! And you –” he pointed at Eric, whose tail drooped considerably – “you are meant to be a housekeeper, are you not? Clean up this blasted mess!”

  Then he snatched the parchment out of Nine’s hand, turned on his purple-slippered heel and marched into the nearest room. The wooden door slammed shut behind him then instantly melted into nothing, leaving a doorway-shaped, star-speckled blackness in its place.

  Nine gasped and cautiously went over to the doorway. Silence and stillness appeared to pour from the hole, if that was even possible. Did she … dare? Slowly, Nine stretched out her left hand and reached for the doorway. Her hand extended towards the nothingness—

  Spoon landed on her arm with his spindly legs and rapped her hand with the flat of his blade.

  “It means ‘Do Not Disturb’,” he said firmly, pointing the sword at her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve important work to be doing.” He sheathed his sword and sprang back upstairs.

  Eric lolloped over. “Flabby sad. Flabby think.”

  “Flab-BER-GHAST!” yelled a muffled voice from the other side of the star-speckled blackness.

  Nine looked at the front door and felt a strong desire to be on the other side of it. She looked at the troll, unsure what on earth to do. Eric reached into the front pocket of his frilly apron, pulled out a brown-and-white striped boiled sweet and offered it to Nine. Was this some kind of nasty trick? Eric smiled his wonky, tusky smile.

  “Make happy,” said Eric, still holding out the sweet.

  Nine faltered for a moment, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, thank or scold. And there was a strange, warm feeling in her chest, which was beautiful and terrible at the same time.

  “Well,” snapped Nine, decisively, “don’t.”

  Nine took the sweet anyway and stared at the gift. The last time someone had given her a gift was the music box – her music box. And she’d sworn never to feel so deeply about anything ever again.

  She dropped the sweet inside her satchel, refusing to look at the troll. Then, largely for an excuse not to say anything more to the creature, she marched down to the kitchen, righted the table, put the (somehow) still-lidded sugar bowl back on top and flopped down in a chair.

  She heard the troll’s long toenails scraping along the bricked floor and the sound of the slime-catching bucket being righted. Then she heard him rummaging in the cupboards and, a moment later, he slopped down a silver spoon and a steaming bowl on the table in front of Nine.

  “Lady hungry. Lady eat.” Nine tried to remember when she had last eaten something hot. Her stomach rumbled. “Food help. Lady think. Make plan.” Cautiously, she picked up her spoon and stared at the brown slime. An eyeball bobbed up to the surface and stared back. Nine put the spoon down again.

  Flabberghast stomped into the kitchen clutching the witch’s letter. He went over to a wooden board hanging on the wall. At the top were painted the words ‘TO DO’ in golden, sparkly letters. The wizard carefully held the letter so it was nearly – nearly but not quite – touching the board. Suddenly a little fanged mouth sprang out of the wood with a snarl and clasped the parchment firmly and safely in its jaws.

  Flabberghast moved his hand away quickly, but not quickly enough.

  “Wretched thing!” he grumped, sucking his finger and shaking it in the air. Nine tried to resist a tiny smile as Flabberghast collapsed into the chair opposite her. He said nothing and stared at the table. Eric slopped another bowl in front of him, and put a little napkin beside it.

  “Nice soup,” he said sadly. He pulled the feather duster from out of his apron. “Eric tidy.”

  Nine chanced a quick glimpse at the troll. Even his ears were drooping now. He sloped out of the kitchen. Maybe she would brave the soup. She’d eaten plenty of things in the Nest that looked just as bad and probably tasted worse. Picking up her spoon, she dipped it into the bowl as far away from the eyeball as she could manage and brought the soup slowly towards her lips…

  There was a sudden loud roar from above them.

  “What on earth?!” said Nine, sitting upright in her chair and clattering the spoon back into the bowl.

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “What?” snapped Nine.

  “Nerth. The roaring. It’s Wotnerth,” said Flabberghast. “A rather undomesticated pet. We picked him up in a swamp just before the curse.” He slurped a spoonful of the eyeball soup. “We have no idea what on earth he is. Hence the name. He’s just grumpy because it’s bath day today. We simply cannot wash away the stench of the swamp.”

  “Why did you pick him up? Why do you pick up anyone … or anything?”

  Flabberghast blushed slightly and fiddled with his hat. “Oh, well, it happens like that sometimes. But that was before the curse, when the House moved.” Flabberghast gave a little smile. “We had the freedom of the worlds. And the forgotten places between the worlds. Places you could not imagine. Oh, they are truly marvellous.”

  Nine stared at his eyes. They had changed – they were sparkling with hundreds of silvery flecks, as if tiny shards of diamonds were embedded inside. F
or that moment something deep and wise and beautifully ancient shone through the boy’s eyes – a thousand adventures, a thousand secrets, a thousand years… Then the silvery sparks faded away and the wizard’s eyes became blue once more.

  “I know I might regret asking this,” said Nine, “but how exactly does a toad’s tongue move the House?”

  “Ah, a most ingenious device on the coat of arms,” said the wizard, brightening a little. “You simply pull out the toad’s tongue, release and then off the House pops.”

  “Right,” said Nine slowly. She opened her mouth to ask what the toad thought about it all, but Flabberghast’s expression darkened.

  “She stole the tongue, stole my magic, stole my freedom.” He shifted in his chair and looked away. “Eat up.”

  Nine looked down at the eyeball in her slime. It blinked.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, pushing the bowl away, a teeny, tiny part of her hoping Eric wouldn’t notice how full it was.

  “You can thank the Dwarvish cookery books for Eric’s culinary delights,” Flabberghast grumbled. “Still, we should be thankful it’s not pancakes. They really shouldn’t be furry.” He took a mouthful and his eyes widened in alarm. He paused for a moment – then swallowed very hard. Nine could see a spherical lump move down his throat and she couldn’t help but smile.

  Cookery books.

  A spark of inspiration lit up Nine’s mind like a candle in a cellar. Her smile grew as a rather good idea clicked into place.

  Your library,” said Nine as the wizard wiped the corners of his mouth with the napkin and pushed the half-filled bowl away. “Where the books rearrange themselves. You must have books on spells and curses? About breaking them, maybe? One of them might say how to reveal secret words?”

  Flabberghast folded his arms on the table and began banging his head lightly on his arms. “Of course I do, but it’s hopeless,” he mumbled. “I told you: the library is in a terrible mood since the curse. She made sure we can’t find a blasted thing.”

  Nine walked over and kicked his chair, making him sit up and glare at her. “Take me there.”