Phyllis Wong and the Waking of the Wizard

by Geoffrey McSkimming

  ‘Where do we start?’ asked Phyllis.

  Gathering the essentials

  ‘The next place on my list,’ said W.W., ‘is somewhere I have been thrice so far. I have not detected any sign of Myrddin there, but I return every so often because I have a hunch that he may lurk there sometimes. He has a very strong connection with this place, Phyllis. Many people believe that he was the one who created it.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Come. You’re not the only reason I’ve returned this evening. There’s something I need.’ He turned and hurried off, through the towers of props and trunks and magic paraphernalia.

  She and Daisy went after him.

  ‘I’m hoping it’s somewhere around here,’ muttered Wallace as he strode through the aisles. He passed a long shelf upon which sat six tall, conical silver towers. As he went by them, he pulled each silver cone up, flinging it aside. As soon as each cone was raised, a frenzy of bright, quivery feather-flowers erupted as if from nowhere—yellow, red, indigo, blue, orange, fuchsia—all enveloped by bold green feather-leaves.

  Phyllis, who knew a thing or two about magic botanias, couldn’t help but gasp; these were the most colourful stage flowers she’d ever seen! And she had no idea that they were even here amongst all the clutter.

  ‘No,’ Wallace frowned. Onwards he strode, disappearing into a narrow aisle between some oriental-looking cabinets.

  ‘Tell me what you’re looking for,’ implored Phyllis. ‘I might know where it is!’

  Wallace squatted before a low bench with two gold cylinders on it. Swiftly he lifted the cylinders to reveal that a large champagne bottle had been hidden inside each one. Then, at breakneck speed, he put the cylinders down in a different place and lifted them again and again. Every time he did this, another pair of champagne bottles appeared. All the while, Wallace Wong’s frown deepened.

  ‘Not there, either,’ he said finally, when the bench was covered with no fewer than thirty-six identical champagne bottles.

  Phyllis was getting exasperated. ‘What is it you’re trying to find?’

  ‘Something we need,’ he half-answered, hurrying on.

  ‘But if you’d just tell me—’

  He stopped by a beautiful fluted crystal vase on a small table. He took an almost unnoticeable step towards the table, at the same time waving his hand across the vase. Instantly, hundreds of brilliantly coloured silk handkerchiefs—even more dazzling than the feather-flowers that had just appeared—shot up into the air. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh they went as they soared towards the ceiling.

  As they floated down one by one, in a shower of shimmeriness that captured every colour in the spectrum, Phyllis put out her hand and grabbed Wallace’s arm. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Stop for a moment and tell me what you’re searching for.’

  An orange silk floated silently down, settling on Daisy’s head. The terrier wriggled, and the orange silk wafted to the floor.

  ‘All right,’ Wallace said, pulling a Harlequin green silk away from his shoulder and beginning to fold it neatly. ‘It’s just this: as you know, to Transit to a certain place in Time and in the world, we need to have in our possession an object from that place and Time. This is, as we’ve come to discover, one of the rules of Transiting. I have called this the Transiting Rule of the Situating Object, because, as far as I know, no one else has given it a name.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ agreed Phyllis. She’d learnt that she had to have such a situating object when she’d visited London about four centuries ago.

  ‘And I am in a bit of a pickle,’ Wallace went on. ‘You see, whenever I have visited the place I want to take you to, I’ve always had a little something from that place, which has made it possible for me to go back there. In this case, the object has been a small fragment of rock . . . polished blue dolerite, to be precise. Or Preseli Spotted Dolerite, to give its actual name, which is—’

  ‘W.W.!’

  ‘Mm? Oh, I’m sorry, I meander again. Well, to cut to the climax, I’ve gone and misplaced the little rock. I think I may have deposited it somewhere here in the basement when I returned between Transits.’

  ‘And without that you can’t get back there?’ asked Phyllis.

  Wallace Wong placed the folded green silk in the lapel pocket of his tuxedo. ‘Normally, that would be the case, Phyllis. But you see, there is another way. It’s another object that overrides the Transiting Rule of the Situating Object. That’s what I’m searching for now. I’ve almost given up hope of finding the little polished rock, you see.’

  ‘What’s the other object you need?’

  ‘It’s a little something I call the Sphere of Greater Temposity.’

  Phyllis repeated the words in her mind.

  Wallace started opening drawers in a small cabinet and rummaging around. ‘It’s a small glassy ball . . . fits easily into the palm of your hand. Even your hand, which is smaller than mine, could palm it comfortably.’

  Phyllis’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘I found it the first time I Transited, back in 1936 just after the disappearance in Venezuela . . .’ he muttered, searching through decks of cards and sets of copper cups which had been thrown into the drawers long ago.

  ‘Just a minute, Great-grandfather,’ she said, but he didn’t hear her.

  She slipped away from him, back to the sofa. She put Daisy down on the carpet and found her shoulder bag—a big purple bag that she’d customised so that it could hold a large number of tricks and small magic props, as well as other personal items like a scarf, her cell phone, her Transiting journal, keys and some chocolate (she always had to have a supply of chocolate; she felt she couldn’t Transit confidently without it). There was also a special compartment in the bag in which Daisy could snuggle, safe and undetected.

  She reached into the bag, delved about for a moment, and found what she was after. Then she hurried back to Wallace, with Daisy trotting closely at her heels.

  ‘Is this what you want?’ Phyllis held out her hand.

  Wallace Wong turned from his search. There, nestled in Phyllis’s palm, was something that made his eyes light up.

  ‘Ah!’ he gasped. ‘It has been with you?’

  Phyllis smiled. She took the small glass sphere gently between her fingers and held it up. ‘I found it when I started exploring down here; when Dad let me have what he calls “my legacy”. Meaning all the magic equipment—but Dad knows nothing about this ball, or Transiting, or any of that.’

  Wallace took the ball from her. ‘And that is as best it should be,’ he said quietly. ‘He does not have the gift for Transiting, Phyllis.’

  Phyllis watched W.W. as he rotated the ball before his eyes. Deep within the glass a glowing brightness picked up the patterns in there: miniature corkscrew-coils of red, gold, white and purple tendrils that dwindled away to a point somewhere in the centre of the sphere, seemingly far, far away.

  Phyllis didn’t know exactly what this sphere was, or what all the little radiant tendrils meant. But ever since she had first found it, she’d been mesmerised every time she had taken it out to look at. Lately she’d been carrying it around with her in her bag. She felt that it would be a good thing to have near her.

  ‘The Sphere of Greater Temposity,’ Wallace murmured, his eyes reflecting all the twisting colours. ‘At last we are reunited.’

  ‘I found it in your substitution trunk,’ Phyllis told him.

  ‘Ah! Good work, Phyllis. And you have wondered about it, I would wager?’

  ‘I sure have.’

  ‘With this, we do not have to obey the Transiting Rule of the Situating Object,’ he explained. ‘We don’t need to have anything from the Time or place we wish to visit. No, all I have to do is focus on the place, and whisper its name—backwards—close to the ball, and the Transiting will happen through the right Pocket.’

  ‘That’d save so much time,’ said Phyllis. ‘It means you don’t have to go hunting for weird things that you have no idea where to look for.’

&
nbsp; ‘Oh, yes, indeed it does. And now is the time to show you what it will do. How it will help us Transit. Are you wearing strong and comfortable shoes, my dear?’

  Phyllis had on her newest pair of trainers. ‘These are good for walking.’

  ‘Dandy. We will have a bit of walking when we arrive. And you will need a coat. It may be cold, depending on the Time we get there. Gather your things quickly. I am itching to be away!’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘In search of Myrddin!’

  Phyllis, her great-grandfather and Daisy (ensconced in the purple bag hanging over Phyllis’s shoulder) stood at the bottom of the basement steps, ready.

  ‘You go first,’ Wallace Wong said, positioning himself behind Phyllis. ‘I’ll hang on firmly to your shoulder, so we won’t be separated. There’s a bit of turbulence, Transiting back to this place.’

  ‘Okeydokey,’ Phyllis said.

  ‘Now let us concentrate, my girl, and bring forth the Pocket to its strongest manifestation.’

  Together, Phyllis and Wallace Wong focussed their attention on the topmost area of the staircase. Both of them cleared their minds of all that was around them, and of all the things that had taken place earlier. Both of them concentrated on the here-and-now.

  Slowly, whisper-tremblingly slowly, the Anamygduleon Pocket here in the silent, cavernous basement started to emerge above them. Its edges began to glow more strongly, and in only a few seconds, the shape of the opening was apparent, swirling and wafting up there on the stairs.

  Phyllis felt the breeze coming down, blowing straight into her face. She clutched the strap of her bag more firmly over her shoulder and patted the side of the bag—and Daisy within—reassuringly.

  ‘Ah,’ Wallace whispered into Phyllis’s ear, above the sound of the rising wind, ‘from the feel of that, we are in for a bumpy ride!’

  ‘I’m up for it,’ said Phyllis.

  ‘Good.’

  He gripped Phyllis’s shoulder firmly with his left hand; in his right, he held the Sphere of Greater Temposity. This he brought close to Phyllis’s right ear.

  The wind gusted more fiercely now. Phyllis was glad she’d tied her hair back; otherwise Wallace would be copping mouthfuls of her long, dark locks all the way to wherever they were going.

  ‘Ready, my dear?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed.

  Over the strong wind, Phyllis heard her great-grandfather chanting by her ear, words she couldn’t recognise: ‘Ekots enruobretniw . . . Ekots enruobretniw . . . Ekots enruobretniw . . .’

  And then: ‘RUN, MY DEAR!’

  Phyllis fixed her vision straight ahead, directly into the swirling centre of the green-bordered Anamygduleon Pocket. She took a huge breath, clutched the strap of her bag, and bounded up the steps as though she had rockets tied to her ankles.

  Twinkling beads of bright green pinpoint lights emerged at the edges of the Pocket. The swirling mist thickened, darker, murkier now, as the wind blew more wildly, buffeting her face, howling hard against her cheeks, making her eyes bulge with the onslaught of air.

  And then, trembling, she was at the threshold. Without hesitation she dashed into the murkacious, green-black void.

  She was thrust into the swirlingness. A soft, high, vibrating hum came—the same vibrating hum she’d heard when she’d Transited before. It swelled around her, floating high and low. Every few seconds, a blurred shaft of green light speared across the gloom before her, wobbling briefly and then dissolving away into nothing. She saw these light shafts through half-opened eyes, and she had to keep closing her eyes completely against the relentless buffeting of the wind.

  Her stomach began rising, heaving, and Phyllis resisted with all her might the urge to be sick. This being the biggest type of Pocket, the turbulence was as great as she had ever experienced, and on such a Transit she always had to combat the danger of throwing up. Her throat ran dry, parched, sandpaper-raspy. Inside her bag she could feel Daisy scrabbling about uncertainly.

  Wallace held firmly onto Phyllis’s shoulders with both hands, having slipped the Sphere of Greater Temposity into his coat pocket just before they had entered the Anamygduleon. He lurched and swerved and straightened whenever Phyllis lurched and swerved and straightened, and together they were propelled and pulled onwards as though they were one person.

  Beneath them, there was no floor, or earth, or hard surface at all—merely air and wind and deep green, whirling vapour.

  Onwards they Transited, pulled back into some corner of Time that lay in its own shell of a place, somewhere far away from the magic basement of the Wallace Wong Building.

  Then, Phyllis felt things slowing down. The high-pitched humming was getting softer, quieter, and the feeling that she was being warped and stretched and tugged at was starting to diminish. Her nausea began to subside, and her tummy settled again.

  Through her closed eyelids she became aware of light—not the dim, green light of the Pocket, but a softer, more amber-coloured illumination. She opened her eyes slowly and saw the edges of the Anamygduleon, and beyond them, stairs.

  Old stone stairs, dusty and dark.

  ‘We’re here,’ whispered Wallace Wong.

  Derelict destination

  Phyllis stepped out of the Pocket, with Wallace right behind her, onto the stone stairs.

  He let go of her shoulders and hastened down a few steps in front of her. His hair was even more meringue-wild than before, and his eyes were positively pulsating and awash with greenness.

  Phyllis opened the top of her bag. Out popped Daisy’s snout, and the little terrier gave a bark of mild annoyance.

  ‘Don’t fret, pet,’ Phyllis soothed, rubbing the top of Daisy’s head. ‘It’s all over now.’

  Wallace stood on the old earth floor at the bottom of the stairs. He extended first his right leg, giving it a vigorous shaking, then he did the same thing with his left leg. Then he clasped both his hands before him and, as though he were doing some sort of wild calypso dance, shook his entire spine jigglingly. There was a loud cracking sound. ‘That’s better,’ he said, smoothing down the lapels of his tux.

  Phyllis looked around her at the mildewed stone walls and the glassless windows. Here and there, chinks of pale amber light speared in through gaps in the stone. ‘What is this place?’

  ‘An old abandoned farmhouse,’ Wallace replied. ‘Those stairs are the closest stairs to where we are going. We have arrived in the village of Winterbourne Stoke. South-west England.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Phyllis. She came down the stairs and lowered her bag to the floor, letting Daisy hop out. Daisy sprang across the floor, did some important business against a wall and then commenced a thorough sniffing-investigation of the premises.

  ‘So where exactly are we going?’ Phyllis asked.

  ‘That, I shall reveal to you within the hour.’

  Phyllis shook her head. She knew only too well this trait of not revealing everything straightaway; she did it herself with Clem and her other friends often enough. ‘Okay then. So tell me: what Time is it?’

  Wallace smiled at her. ‘I don’t know. Not yet.’

  She blinked. ‘Huh?’

  ‘No. You see, my dear, the only problem with using the Sphere of Greater Temposity, and not an object from the exact Transiting location, is that you have no idea at what point in Time you will arrive. You can determine where you want to Transit, but not when. To find out the time, we use this.’

  From his coat he produced a thumb-sized copper-and-brass object, blackened and slightly mangled. It had three rows of geared brass numbers set into its upper face, and there were two faceted emerald lights and one yellow sapphire light inlaid above the rows of numbers.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘My Date Determinator. A very useful implement for a Transiter to possess. It’s never let me down. There was a time when I didn’t have it—a Transiter stole it from me and it was perchance that I recovered it—and its absence made my journeys more hicc
uppy than usual, I can tell you.’

  He came closer to her and held the Date Determinator between them. ‘Observe.’

  Phyllis watched as he pressed a small button at the end of the device. Suddenly the little brass numbers started spinning around, clicking away determinedly. This went on for nearly thirty seconds, with Wallace holding his hand steady all the while.

  ‘You must keep it still,’ he told Phyllis. ‘No vibrations or movement. It needs to gauge the era with no undue disturbance.’

  Click click click click went the gears as the numbers spun whizzingly around.

  Daisy, hearing the clicking with her acute ears, came to Phyllis and patted Phyllis’s leg, demanding to be picked up. Phyllis obliged—the small terrier hated to be left out of things. Together Daisy and Phyllis and Wallace watched as the numbers continued to spin and click.

  Then the gears slowed, and the emerald and yellow sapphire lights glowed, bright green and iridescent yellow. With a sharp final CLICK, the numbers stopped spinning.

  ‘There,’ Wallace said. ‘See?’

  Phyllis and Daisy inspected the rows of digits.

  The top row displayed 24.

  The middle row displayed 10.

  The third row displayed 1898.

  Wallace announced quietly, ‘We are here on October 24th, 1898.’

  ‘Peachy,’ said Phyllis.

  ‘As good a Time as any,’ Wallace said, pressing the button on the end of the Date Determinator again and slipping the device into a pocket in his waistcoat. ‘Now, let us go. You will love the place I am going to take you to.’

  He ducked his head under the low lintel of the doorway and stepped out onto a muddy path. Phyllis followed him and deposited Daisy on the ground.

  Wallace went over to the edge of what must have once been a front garden. He reached down behind a few rocks—all that remained of a low stone wall. He felt around for a bit and then smiled. ‘Ah, good. Just as I left it last time.’