The Wizard In My Shed

by Simon Farnaby

  When he got back to his penthouse suite, Merdyn’s stomach was aching so much he threw everybody out. He threw out the personal assistants. He threw out the people who bottled his potions. He threw out Kris.

  “Where am I supposed to go?” Kris asked.

  “Go and see thy love, Shakia,” said Merdyn. “Do not be a fool and letteth her slip from thy fingers, thou loiter-sack1.”

  So Kris headed to Shakia’s, even though she had said she didn’t want to see him again until he WASN’T the best-looking boy on the planet. (How many girls are brave enough to say that?)

  Merdyn even threw out his agent.

  “Merds!” Freddie pleaded. “What’s your beef, buddy?”

  “I needeth some space, thou rakefire!” Merdyn hissed, though he wasn’t sure what beef had to do with it.

  Then Merdyn ordered seven portions of fish and chips from his personal fish and chip shop, and sent the chef home too. He rolled a few balls in his personal tenpin-bowling lane. He’d got pretty good at bowling lately. He got a strike every time. But even this didn’t make him feel any better. Then he threw himself on to his sofa and watched the entire Harry Potter franchise back-to-back. He remembered how he’d seen the first film with Rose and her family at their house that night. He recalled how they’d all laughed as he’d kept complaining about magical and historical inaccuracies.

  He fell asleep during Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 2) and awoke the next morning with a battered cod stuck to his face.

  Merdyn still felt the aching in his stomach. He realised that he’d fallen asleep clutching the stone with Evanhart’s likeness etched into it, and he looked at her beautiful face and sighed, “Oh Evanhart, if only thou were here. Thou would telleth me what aileth me.”

  Then, to his astonishment he heard a voice.

  “I’ll telleth thee what aileth thee, thou fusty-lugged coxcomb2!”

  Merdyn sat up and looked at his beloved’s face in the stone again. “Evanhart?” He gasped.

  “Does this soundeth like Evanhart’s voice, thou fopdoodle?”

  It didn’t sound anything like Evanhart. It was a male voice, for a start. Also, not human. It was more nasal, beaky … bird-like, even? Whoever it was, they were being quite rude.

  “Over here!” piped up the voice again. “In the rubble bucket!”

  Merdyn’s eyes darted around until they fell upon Thundarian, propped upside down against a wall with its top end in a wastepaper basket. He quickly scrambled across the fish-and-chip-strewn carpet and plucked his beloved staff from the bin. Its head was covered in battered fish skin, bits of paper and, incongruously, a pinecone. Merdyn wiped the rubbish off and stared into the face of the noble eagle carving.

  “Was that thee, great eagle? Thundarian, did thou speak?”

  Nothing. Merdyn blinked. Had he imagined it? Then he looked down at the pinecone he’d discarded at his feet. He noticed now that it had a folded piece of paper wedged in between its scales. He pulled it out and opened it. It said simply: I tried but couldn’t do it, can you please? – R.

  What did it mean? Was this some kind of strange code?

  I think you’ll agree that Merdyn was being particularly stupid this morning. It was probably all those chips the night before, but gradually the cogs of his brain started to whirr. Pinecone? Strange talking …? Could it possibly be …? Slowly, he placed the pinecone against the eagle’s head and … It sprang back into life.

  “At last. The fool gets it!” squawked the wooden bird.

  “I do?” said Merdyn.

  “Now, where was I?” Thundarian spoke in a haughty yet authoritative voice, like a stern but fair headteacher. “Ah yes. I’ll telleth thee what aileth thee, Merdyn the Wild. Thou feeleth so dire because thou did letteth that poor girl down so abysmally.”

  “Girl?” repeated Merdyn. “Thou meanest Rose? I feel bad because of … Rose?”

  “Yes, thou cloth-eared nincompoop!” said Thundarian. “Because thou knoweth in thy heart that she was right about thee. Thou should be using thy powers for good. She could see that somewhere inside that foolish heart of thine is a wizard, not a warlock. And she could see it because the pitiful girl did looketh up to thee. Not as a father, but a father figure. A friend, even. And what did thou do? Thou did mocketh her like a cold-hearted jester, and abandoneth her in her hour of need.”

  “I was—” Merdyn started to protest.

  “Thou were what? Too busy?” The wooden eagle interrupted. “Busy doing what? Being famous? Having your ego massaged? Being a HUFTY TUFTY? Look at what thou have become in such a short space of time! Thou have divorced nature! A refrigerator full of spells that servants bottleth for thee? A fish and chip shop in thy house? That feeling in thy belly, Merdyn the Wild, is shame. Shame that thou have let down someone thou loveth.”

  These words sank in. “Zounds, thou art right!” Merdyn gasped. “I do care for Rose. I careth as if she were mine own child. It’s Rose! That’s why I feeleth so bad …”

  “Finally, the bell ringeth for the dunderhead!” the staff hollered.

  “But wait, Thundarian,” said Merdyn. “There is still one thing I do not understandeth. Who did enchant the pinecone? ’Twas not me.”

  “Look at the note, thou ninnyhammer3!”

  Merdyn read it again slowly. I tried but couldn’t do it, can you please? – R.

  ‘R’ … that could be Rose! Hang on …

  Merdyn had a lightbulb moment at last. “She did tryeth and she DID do it!” he cried. “Rose did this! Rose is W-blood! And she doesn’t even knoweth it!”

  “Finally,” said Thundarian. “Yes. Rose be a good witch all along.”

  “This is wonderful news! Come, come, Thundarian!” Merdyn tucked the pinecone in his pocket and headed out the lift door, clutching his wise staff. “Thou art very clever, Thundarian. Rose a W-blood? Who knew?”

  I did, thought Thundarian, but he couldn’t say it because Merdyn had taken the pinecone away from his head and put it in his pocket.

  “Ah well,” the staff said, to deaf ears.

  “I suppose that’s me quiet again

  for another two thousand years…”

  Notes

  1 This literally means someone who loiters (lies around) in their sack (old word for bed) all day. So next time your mum or dad calls you a lazybones for staying in bed, say “You mean ‘loiter-sack’.” This will be sure to improve their mood! (It won’t.)

  2 Hard of hearing show-off. That’s not very nice, is it?

  3 Ninny is a word you may know meaning idiot. Hammer was added to hammer it home, so to speak. So Thundarian meant Merdyn was a complete idiot. Now, what are you doing down here? Get back to the action, you ninnyhammer!

  Rose was nothing if not a brave and hardy soul. Many pupils, perhaps even you, dear reader (certainly this writer), would have taken the day off following a howling-wolf-related humiliation in front of the whole school.

  But for Rose, staying home was even worse. Her mum was riveted to the couch and barely speaking to her. Besides, today was the day of the school trip to Stonehenge, and Rose wanted to see it for herself. Most of all, she wanted to check out the mystery of the missing stone. Because perhaps the gods were right. Perhaps mankind had been cursed when the stone was taken, like Mr Onetone had said. It certainly felt that way to Rose at this moment.

  The school coach left at 8 a.m. and Rose sat on her own somewhere in the middle. She’d never felt so lost and alone. She had finally let go of her singing dream. She was useless at it, just like she was useless at everything else. Her dad was wrong. The only thing she’d ever be great at was being a loser. At that, she was world champion.

  She checked on Bubbles, who she’d tucked into her school bag that morning. She knew he couldn’t talk any more, but she liked to know he was there. After all, he was her only friend left in the world.

  The CATs, of course, were sitting at the back of the coach, having commandeered all five seats for themselves. Tamsin kept trying t
o get Rose’s attention when the others weren’t looking, but Rose wasn’t interested. She just stared stubbornly out of the window.

  Finally, the coach pulled up at Stonehenge and the children spilled out.

  Despite her misery, Rose was amazed by Stonehenge in the distance. It stole the air from her lungs as soon as she laid eyes on the circle of huge, imposing stones fully four metres high, seven feet wide and as thick and as heavy as a car. She suddenly found she was nearly as excited as Mr Onetone himself.

  The teacher hurried the class past a souvenir shop where an artist was selling scale models of Stonehenge, heading for the stone circle itself.

  “Maybe on your way back then?” the artist called after them sarcastically, as not one child had expressed a modicum of interest in his lovingly crafted models.

  It was a long walk to the stone circle. Once there, the class followed the protective rope pegged around the stones as they walked past the monument, listening to Mr Onetone’s drone.

  “Radiocarbon technology puts the date of the stones at around 3000 BC. Which means they have stood here for nearly five thousand years. So, er … if you thought your nan was old …” It was meant to be a joke, but because Mr Onetone didn’t change his inflection to indicate this, no one laughed, apart from Rose who sniggered out of politeness. Mr Onetone was her partner for the trip, after all, since no one else wanted to pair with her.

  The CATs nudged each other.

  “Teacher’s pet,” hissed Catrina.

  “Yeah, and that pet’s a wolf!” quipped Andrea. Tamsin just looked awkward.

  “That doesn’t mean to say that the formation of the stones hasn’t changed,” Mr Onetone continued as they reached the far side of the monument. “Here is the space for the famous missing stone on the east side, which was removed around fifteen hundred years ago.”

  Rose looked curiously at the space on top of two giant pillars, like two giant goalposts missing a crossbar.

  “Who has breached the perimeter ropes?” Mr Onetone said suddenly.

  A quick head count revealed that the whole class was present. But someone WAS walking inside the stone circle itself. In fact, now it looked like there were two people running between the stones.

  “Hello?” Mr Onetone called out. “You’re not allowed to breach the perimeter ropage. I shall have to call security.”

  “Go ahead,” came a voice from the centre of the stones. “See if I care.”

  Rose felt there was something familiar about the voice. And then, out from behind a stone, stepped Julian Smith, aka Jerabo the Great. What was HE doing here?

  Then things got even weirder. Another man walked out from behind a different stone. A man who looked exactly like Julian, but was dressed in black and gold and looking like he was from Merdyn’s time. Rose felt her breath escaping her lungs in one big whoosh. Was this … could this be … the original Jeremiah Jerabo?

  The two identical men strutted toward the middle of the circle and climbed on to the central altar stone.

  “We’ve come for Rose Falvey!” declared Julian.

  Everybody looked at Rose. Rose just grinned nervously.

  “Hand her over and there will be no blood spilled at this great Magic Circle today,” added the other-Julian-or-maybe-Jerabo in black and gold.

  “Er … I should certainly hope that there won’t be any blood spilled anywhere here today, mister man,” said Mr Onetone, raising his voice an octave. “I’m going to call security.”

  Then Rose watched in horror as probably-Jerabo opened his black and gold spellbook and chanted mellifluously, “HOLCUS STONERATA!”

  Rose recognised the enchantment at once. “The stone spell!” she blurted.

  No sooner had the words left her lips than *SHWINK!** Mr Onetone turned to stone.

  The schoolchildren gasped. Someone screamed. A few tourists felt dizzy.

  Hysterically, Catrina pointed her finger at Rose. “I told you she was a witch!”

  Julian spun to look where Catrina was pointing, scanning the children’s faces. “There she is, Great Etcetera Grandad!” he said suddenly, also pointing at Rose. “With the frizzy hair and glasses!”

  Jerabo strode across the grass towards Rose, causing the other children to run to a safe distance.

  “So thou art Rose Falvey?” he said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jerabo. The ORIGINAL Jerabo. Thou may have heard Merdyn speak of me.”

  Rose tried to run too.

  “Young Ju-lion,” said Jerabo. “A chance to use your new powers. Perform the treacle spell.”

  An excited Julian flipped open his spellbook, chanted loudly, “ANIMA CHICKATIS!” – and promptly turned himself into a chicken. Jeremiah rolled his eyes.

  “Sorry, Great Etcetera Grandad!” squawked Julian.

  “Worry not, my progeny,” Jerabo said, turning him back into a human. “You will learn. Eventually.” Then he performed the treacle spell himself.

  Suddenly the ground beneath Rose’s feet turned to treacle. Literally. Not only could she not move her feet, she could feel the sugary syrup soaking through her shoes.

  “HUMANA GIGANTICUS!” Jerabo chanted.

  As Rose flailed about in the sickly sludge, she saw her shaken fellow pupils staring over her shoulder in fresh horror. She swivelled round to look as best she could in all the goo.

  Uh oh.

  Whatever fresh spell Jeremiah had performed, he was now twenty metres tall and still growing. As Rose watched, his blond quiff poked an unsuspecting goose in the backside as it migrated across the sky.

  A broad smile spread over the wicked wizard’s huge face as he saw Rose’s terror. He took a step towards her – BOOM. The world around them shuddered when his giant foot hit the ground. Rose began struggling afresh in the treacly mush, like a fly in a spider’s web. HEAVE! TWIST! But Jerabo just laughed. The noise was so loud that the windows on the souvenir shop shattered, over a mile away. Then he reached out his gargantuan hand and …

  With a twist

  of his wrist,

  he picked Rose up

  in his giant fist.

  Merdyn was running as fast as he could to Rose’s house. Even he had accepted by now that this was faster than his flying spell. He needed to apologise to Rose. He hadn’t wanted to see her before because he couldn’t admit the truth about – well, everything. She was a wise head on young shoulders and he wanted to say sorry with a capital S.

  He passed Dion, tinkering with his Pontiac. “Don’t touch my car!” the postman shouted instinctively as Merdyn drew level. But the warlock ran straight past him and banged on the front door of the Falvey household.

  He was expecting Rose or her mum to answer. What he was NOT expecting was a carbon copy of himself.

  For as the door slowly opened, Merdyn saw a man standing before him that was like his own reflection in a pond. The man had the same wide, piercing blue eyes, the same slender nose and the same thick, dark hair and beard. The only difference was their clothes. Merdyn was in his warlock’s robes and this other Merdyn was in jeans and a biker jacket.

  The two men stared at each other. As if looking in a mirror, they then started blinking and squinting and touching their own faces to see if their eyes were deceiving them.

  “You must be Merdyn the Wild?” the other Merdyn said eventually.

  “Aye,” said Merdyn, wondering what on earth was going on. “And who art thou, sire?”

  “I’m Martin, Rose’s uncle. Her dad’s brother,” said the other Merdyn. “I just arrived on the overnight train from Scotland.”

  Uncle Martin carried on talking as several cogs and pulleys whirred in the washing machine of Merdyn’s brain.

  “… you see, I got this strange message on my answering machine from Suzy when I got home the other day. I’d been on a week-long fishing trip, didn’t take my phone, I’m not one for technology …”

  But Merdyn wasn’t listening. His thoughts were beginning to add up like some complex mathematical equation. It went thusl
y …

  Merdyn’s theory of relativity: I am from here + Rose is from here + Rose’s dad and brother are from here + Rose is W-blood + Rose’s dad’s brother looks exactly like me = . . .

  Every muscle in Merdyn’s face spasmed with joy and he embraced Martin suddenly. “We are family!” he cried. “THOU art my descendant! Rose is my great great great great lots-of-times-great granddaughter! I am her ancestor! THAT’S how she is W-blood!”

  Martin was just hearing words he didn’t understand, but he liked a good hug as much as the next man, so he didn’t mind.

  “Where is Rose? I must see Rose and tell her the good news!” cried Merdyn, almost bursting with joy.

  “Everyone wants to see Rose this morning,” said Uncle Martin. “Join the queue, pal.”

  “What do thou mean?” asked the warlock, pitch-kettled.

  “We had this weird magician here just before you arrived,” Rose’s uncle explained. “Jerabo the Great or something?”

  “What did he wanteth?” Merdyn asked, not liking the sound of this.

  “It wasn’t as much what he wanted,” Martin said. “But his twin brother.”

  “His twin brother?” said Merdyn, really not liking the sound of this.

  “Yeah. He was with a fellow who looked the spitting image of him,” Martin explained. “Except he wore weird clothes. A bit like you, but black with gold tassels and stuff.”

  “And what did he sayeth? What was his business?” Merdyn asked, his pulse quickening.

  “He wanted to know where Rose was.”

  If Merdyn had had an early-warning alarm system fitted in his ears, it would have been ringing very loudly just then. Was it possible? Had Jerabo come here?

  Of course it was possible. Jerabo has the spellbook.

  There was a sudden scream from the front room of the house. Merdyn and Uncle Martin rushed inside, with Dion – who had also heard the scream – close behind them.

  In the front room, they found Suzy pointing at the TV news with fear in her eyes. They all watched in horror as live footage of Rose at Stonehenge filled the screen. She was scared. She was squirming. And she was being held in the huge fist of Jeremiah Jerabo – who was looking, frankly, very giant-like. It reminded Dion of a famous scene from the film King Kong.