Puffing and panting, the elves returned with a heavy wooden box; the spell book locked up inside it. They scuttled over to the throne.
‘The Great Book of Spells, Master,’ the elves said in unison.
‘Put it on my lectern,’ Dr Cuddles told them. ‘Then, when Roger has finished reading the appropriate spell, put him on his lead and take him back.’ He turned to the wizard. ‘And no tricks,’ he giggled. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Tricks, Dr Cuddles?’ said Roger. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
The steely eyes glared out of the shadows. ‘Take care, Roger the Wrinkled,’ Dr Cuddles said with a giggle. ‘I shall be watching your every move.’
The tiny teaspoon was almost at the end of its epic journey. As the mountain cave came into view it sighed, tripped and fell, picked itself up and sighed again. The end was literally in sight.
With a soft tinkle-tinkle, the teaspoon hopped into the cave entrance.
Even though it was getting dark outside, with the sun down on the horizon, it was far darker inside the cave. The teaspoon paused and cocked its bowl to one side.
Noise. There was lots of noise echoing down a tunnel that led deep into the mountain. Clinking and clanking. Clashing and clattering.
And raised voices . . .
‘I’ll do anything,’ shouted one, clearly at the end of its tether. ‘Just make them be still!’
‘I’m doing everything I can!’ cried another.
‘Which isn’t much!’ taunted a third.
The tiny teaspoon continued. Chink, chink, chink. Over stones and gravel, and the occasional small bone, it continued along the tunnel, heading for the dull red glow at the end. Closer and closer it got; louder and louder the echoing noises became.
All at once, the tunnel opened up and the tiny teaspoon found itself at the edge of a vast underground cavern. There were the individuals it had followed from the castle, their backs turned. Behind them was a dragon. And behind the dragon . . .
The tiny teaspoon let out a little sigh and hopped up and down on the dusty floor.
It was the sugar tongs who first noticed the newcomer. Its raised tong clunked insistently on the side of a golden goblet. The knives rustled, the spoons clinked, the forks clanged as, one by one, the cutlery all became aware of the tiny teaspoon in their midst.
From every corner of the cavern, they appeared. The meat cleavers and skewers, the forks, whisks and ladles, the egg spoons and soup spoons, cake forks and butter knives – and even the dumpy egg slicer – all began hurrying to the spot where the tiny teaspoon was performing its strange, bouncing little dance.
‘Oh, good grief!’ the dragon groaned. ‘What’s happening now?’
‘I’m attempting a reverse enchantment,’ said Randalf importantly, waving his arms about, ‘with a triple bypass and a double switchback. Very tricky, it is. I need absolute silence.’
‘Fat chance,’ said Margot, above the din. ‘It’s getting worse than ever!’
‘Yes, but listen,’ said Joe. ‘It’s different.’
Instead of the cacophony of noise the cutlery had been making since their arrival, one by one, they were all beginning to strike up the same pounding beat – CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! – until the whole great mass of them were pounding together.
‘It’s the teaspoon,’ said Joe. ‘Look. They’re following its lead.’
Randalf nodded wisely. Sure enough, the great clash of noise rang out every time the tip of the bouncing teaspoon’s handle hit the ground.
‘Well spotted, my boy,’ he said. ‘That’s my double switchback taking effect.’
‘I’ll tell you something else,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve seen that teaspoon before.’
‘Oh, one teaspoon looks very much like another in my experience,’ said Randalf, performing a strange little jig on one leg and puffing heavily.
‘Hurry up!’ urged Margot. She clutched her head and rocked slowly back and forwards as the deafening noise continued. ‘I really, really don’t think I can stand any more of this.’
‘Reverse enchantment can’t be hurried, madam,’ Randalf replied. He stopped hopping, raised his arms and began whispering urgently under his breath.
‘You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?’ said Veronica.
‘Shut up, Veronica,’ hissed Randalf.
All at once, the tiny teaspoon hopped up on to a boulder and tapped insistently. At the sound, all the other cutlery fell still. Every knife, every fork, every spoon. The cavern was silent, at last – silent, except for a faint squeak, squeak, squeak as Veronica swung backwards and forwards in her cage.
‘I don’t believe it!’ she said. ‘What did you do, you old fraud?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ said Randalf, who looked as surprised as everyone else.
Just then, the tiny teaspoon turned and began hopping back the way it had come.
Everyone held their breath.
The sugar tongs moved first. With a shudder and a creak, they tripped after the teaspoon. The rest of the cutlery, calm now and in well-ordered ranks, followed close behind. As the last of them – the small toothpick with Simon engraved on it – disappeared into the tunnel, Margot let out a long, happy sigh of relief.
‘They’ve gone,’ she said. ‘Thank goodness for that. I don’t know how to thank you.’
Randalf lowered his arms at last and turned to the dragon. ‘I do,’ he said.
‘This is brilliant!’ Joe called out above the noise of the rushing wind. ‘Absolutely fantastic!’
He’d been on aeroplanes before, roller-coasters and the tops of open-air buses – but none of these came even close to the thrill and excitement of riding on a dragon’s back.
Resplendent in the new warrior-hero outfit that Margot had allowed him to select from her treasure, he was sitting on a comfy, padded seat between Margot’s great leathery wings. To his right was Norbert, with Veronica perched on his shoulder; in his lap was Henry.
‘A-maz-ing,’ he murmured as he looked all round him, trying to take everything in.
Above him was the inky star-studded sky, cloudless and crystal clear, with its three moons shining brightly. Below him was Muddle Earth, spread out like a great map and bathed in the purple, yellow and green moonlight. A batbird, flying too near, was scorched and sent packing by a warning blast of the dragon’s fiery breath.
Looming up before them was Mount Boom, tall, dark and imposing. Boom, it went, the sound barely audible above the throb of the slowly beating wings. And beyond the volcano, spreading on as far as the eye could see, were the Musty Mountains.
‘Hold on to your hats,’ Margot cried out as, with a twitch of her wings and a flick of her tail, she banked sharply and soared down towards Mount Boom.
Boom, went the volcano, exploding weakly and sending out a little puff of grey and yellow smoke.
‘Wheee!’ cried Joe.
Once, twice, three times the dragon flew around Mount Boom, before soaring back up, up into the sky. ‘It’s been such a long time since I last stretched my wings properly,’ said Margot excitedly. ‘I’d forgotten quite how exhilarating it could be!’ And with that, she folded her wings and dived into a long, swooping loop-the-loop.
‘Whoooah!’ Joe shouted, stomach in his mouth. As they levelled out, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Again!’ he roared. ‘Again!’
‘Wurrgh!’ Randalf groaned. Unlike the others, he did not have a seat, comfy or otherwise. Instead, he was at the back of the dragon, lodged between a couple of jagged tail-fins and clinging on for dear life as the long, serpentine tail swished this way and that. ‘Why do I have to sit back here?’ he shouted.
‘Because you’re too fat to sit up front,’ Margot called back firmly.
‘But what about him?’ shouted Randalf, pointing at Norbert – and almost falling off.
‘That’s different,’ said Margot. ‘Norbert’s my friend, aren’t you, darling?’
Norbert beamed happily.
‘This
is an outrage!’ protested the wizard. The rushing wind drowned out his words.
Joe turned. ‘Did you say something, Randalf?’ he called.
Randalf shouted back. Joe could see the wizard’s mouth move, but what with the noise of the rushing wind and the dragon’s beating wings, he could barely make out a thing.
‘What?’ he bellowed.
Randalf’s face contorted with effort as he shouted back. Again his words were whipped away on the wind.
‘Can you hear what he’s saying?’ Joe asked the others.
‘Probably just telling us how much he’s enjoying the ride,’ said Norbert, grinning and waving at Randalf.
‘Which makes a nice change,’ Veronica added. ‘After all, normally by now he’d be fast asleep.’
Far in front of them, beyond the Musty Mountains, the Enchanted Lake came into view and glistened in the coloured moonlight. Joe felt a pang of disappointment. ‘We’ll soon be there,’ he said.
Norbert turned to him and grinned. ‘It’s lovely to be carried for a change instead of doing the carrying,’ he said. ‘How about one more circuit of Mount Boom?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Joe exclaimed.
‘Is that all right, Margot?’ Norbert called out.
‘For you, dear heart, anything,’ said Margot, as she dipped her wings and soared round in a great circle, back towards the mountain.
Randalf gripped on desperately as the tail lashed fiercely. ‘What’s going on now?’ he roared. But nobody heard.
This time, as Margot approached Mount Boom, she came in low and steep, clipping the summit and swooping around the smoking crater. Joe looked down into the blood-red chasm. It glowed like the embers of a dying fire, and a warm, slightly sickly mist swirled around his face, making his throat tickle and his eyes water.
Boom.
The dragon tipped her wings and glided away safely as the solitary puff of smoke popped out of the top of the crater. Then, with a hard beat of her wings, she soared off around the volcano. Faster and faster she flew, circling it over and over again. The vertical rock sped past in a blur to their right. The moons seemed to spin in the sky.
‘Wheeee!’ shouted Norbert and Joe, and whooped for joy.
‘Woof!’ barked Henry.
‘Wurrgh!’ Randalf groaned.
‘WATCH OUT!’ screeched Veronica. There in front of them – and coming towards them at great speed – was something big, brown and rectangular. ‘DUCK!’
‘That’s no duck,’ Margot shouted back. ‘It looks more like a wardrobe!’
‘Just get out of its way!’ Veronica screamed.
Margot swerved just in time. The wardrobe – doors flapping like wings – clattered over her head, grazing the top of her crested crown as it passed.
‘There’s another one!’ Veronica shouted, as a second wardrobe came flying noisily towards them, its flapping doors clattering loudly.
‘Leave it to me,’ Margot replied grimly. This time, she made no effort to dodge out of the way. Instead, she opened her mouth as wide as it would go and sent a broad, blazing tongue of fire roaring out ahead of her.
The wardrobe was promptly swallowed up in the jet of flames and incinerated in an instant. As the dragon beat her wings triumphantly and flew on, a sprinkling of ash drifted down to the ground below her.
‘That was awesome!’ gasped Joe.
‘Good to know that I haven’t lost it,’ said Margot proudly.
‘Just as well,’ said Veronica. ‘Look!’
Everyone turned and gasped. A dozen or more wardrobes were flapping in low from Elfwood in a long straight line. This was getting stranger and stranger, even for Muddle Earth, thought Joe.
‘They’re heading for the Horned Baron’s castle!’ he shouted, and turned. ‘Randalf, what’s going on?’
Randalf shouted something back.
‘What?’ called Joe above the roaring wind. ‘Margot, slow down a minute.’
The dragon slowed to a lazy hover. More wardrobes flapped into view. A huge armada was filling the sky.
‘I said,’ Randalf shouted back, ‘first singing curtains, then enchanted cutlery and now flying wardrobes – which, by the look of them, are up to no good.’ Just then, a particularly solid-looking wardrobe struck the top of a castle tower with a loud crash. Randalf shook his head. ‘There’s powerful magic at work here!’ he said. ‘And, as I always say, where there’s magic . . .’
‘. . . there’s money!’ finished Veronica. ‘Typical!’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ shouted Randalf huffily. ‘The Horned Baron’s castle is clearly under attack. It’s my solemn duty as a wizard to render what support I can in this, his hour of need.’
‘It’s amazing how brave you can be with a dragon in tow,’ said Veronica scathingly.
‘Shut up, Veronica! Now, follow that furniture!’ shouted Randalf.
‘Oh, I see. Just like that!’ said Margot hotly. ‘Don’t the others get a say?’ She craned her neck round. ‘Norbert, dearest, what would you like to do?’
‘I . . . I . . . I . . .’ he stammered, glancing back and forth between Randalf and the dragon. ‘I think . . .’
‘Yes, Norbert?’ said Margot.
The ogre nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think we should go and help the Horned Baron.’
‘For you, Norbert, anything,’ said Margot sweetly.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Randalf snapped. ‘Whoooooah!’ he cried out, as the dragon suddenly lurched forwards.
‘We’re going in!’ Margot’s voice floated back. She beat her wings. She lashed her tail. ‘And woe betide any item of furniture that gets in my way!’
Out of the sky she flew like a speeding bullet, hurtling down towards the Horned Baron’s castle. Joe clung to Henry (whose ears were flapping back in his face) with one hand and clutched his helmet to his head with the other. Veronica tucked her head under her wing and dug her claws into Norbert’s shoulder.
‘Ouch,’ Norbert yelped.
‘Norbert, what is it?’ Margot cried. She swung her wings round and flicked her tail. It had the same effect as slamming the brakes on. Joe kept a tight grip on Henry as he and Norbert were flung forwards. Randalf sailed past them, his arms waving, his mouth open.
‘HELP!’ he screamed. ‘Help.’ His voice was rapidly fading away. ‘Hel . . .’
‘Catch him!’ Norbert bellowed. ‘Margot, catch him!’
‘Are you sure?’ said Margot.
‘Yes!’ Norbert howled.
‘Oh, all right, if you insist,’ she said and, with no further ado, she flapped her wings and spiralled down out of the sky.
Joe held his breath.
The sound of Randalf’s cries echoed upwards as he tumbled downwards.
‘Hel . . .’
‘. . . el . . .’
‘. . . elp . . .’
Down in the courtyard of the Horned Baron’s castle, the wardrobes were coming in to land. Benson and the herald – who were crouched down together behind the birdbath – watched a particularly large piece, with ornately carved doors and ball and claw feet, flap down noisily and strike the ground with a loud crash.
It landed on its side, wobbled, toppled and keeled over on to its back. A thick cloud of dust and sand flew up into the air.
‘Well I never,’ said the herald. ‘Raining wardrobes. That’s a first.’
Benson shook his head. ‘It can’t be good for the flowers,’ he said.
Another wardrobe crashed down to their right, flattening a pot of pansies as it landed.
‘Terrible waste,’ muttered Benson.
‘Sshhh.’ The herald raised a finger to his lips and pointed into the clearing cloud of dust. ‘I thought I heard something.’
There was a long, low creak and one of the wardrobe doors opened slowly.
The herald huddled up closer to Benson behind the birdbath. ‘There’s something inside it,’ he said. ‘Listen.’
There was a faint jangling sound, getting louder by the second.
‘I’m frightened,’ said the herald, squeezing Benson’s hand rather too tightly.
‘Perhaps I should go and have a look,’ said Benson, making a move to pull himself to his feet.
‘No, don’t!’ said the herald, clutching hold of Benson’s arm and pulling him back down. ‘You can’t leave me here alone!’
All at once, with a loud bang, both wardrobe doors flew open. Benson jumped. The herald grabbed hold of him and clung on tightly.
‘I can’t look,’ he whimpered. ‘What is it?’
Benson shook his head. ‘Well, it makes sense, I suppose . . .’
‘What?’ said the herald, dread in his voice. ‘Bendy bugs? Horned wangtubbers. Wide-mouthed fribblesnooks . . . ?’
‘Hangers,’ said Benson. He stared open-mouthed as hanger after small wooden hanger fluttered out from the shadowy depths of the wardrobe and up into the night sky.
‘Hangers?’ said the herald.
‘Coat hangers,’ said Benson. ‘A flock of them . . .’
‘A flock?’ said the herald. He pulled away from Benson and opened his eyes cautiously. His jaw fell open. ‘You’re right,’ he murmured weakly. ‘It’s a flock of coat hangers.’
‘And there’s more coming from that wardrobe over there,’ he said.
The herald laughed. ‘They had you pretty worried there for a moment, didn’t they?’ he said.
‘They still do,’ said Benson, darkly. ‘Look.’ He pointed up to the top of the East Tower, where the hangers were already flying through an open window. ‘The Baroness isn’t going to like this,’ he said. ‘She isn’t going to like this one little bit.’
Randalf watched the ground hurtling towards him and desperately racked his brain for a not-breaking-every-single-bone-in-your-body spell.
Just then, there was the sound of ripping material – and he was no longer falling. In fact, with the ground now seemingly speeding away from him, it was clear that he was flying – soaring back away from the rocks and dust and up into the purple, yellow and green moonlit sky.
Muddle Earth Page 17