Bumblestook: Book 1, The Accidental Wizard (21 page)

“Farley, if you will go with Mister Faire, I will take care of your parents,” he offered.

“Aw-alright,” Farley agreed reluctantly. “But look out! There’s a bad guy in there—I saw him!”

Bartholeumous bent down, clasped the boy’s shoulder and looked into his troubled eyes.

“Bad guys are no match for my Magic,” he said reassuringly. “Now, off you go.”

“Okay, I’ll call the police for back-up!” Farley said, dashing off.

“Yes, the
police
…” Bartholeumous said thoughtfully, watching as Farley, Yap and Lance, headed for the front yard.

Once they were gone, the Wizard placed the flat of one hand against the side of the house; causing its substance to ripple. Then, he floated through the wall, directly into Harvey and Myrtle’s bedroom, as the wall re-solidified behind him.

Moving quickly to the bed (empty, but for rumpled blankets, thrown hastily aside) he waved a hand over it. Instantly, several auras flared into being; flickering outlines of three, hulking forms bending over two figures in the bed and one, taller figure heading for the bedroom door. Five of the auras blended together, as three of them struggled to haul two out of the bed. Then, a black hole opened up behind them and the five stepped through it.

“Dimensional Doorway—Wizard’s work,” Bartholeumous muttered, as he watched it collapse in upon itself.

He turned, watching as the remaining aura went through the motions of opening the bedroom door and stepping into the hallway. As it disappeared (passing through the now-closed door) Bartholeumous crossed the room. Cautiously pointing a finger at the doorknob, he made a circular motion and the door opened.

Thick, golden, light oozed forth from the hallway. Bartholeumous stepped back, careful to not let it touch even the hem of his cloak. Holding both hands out in front of him, the Wizard called forth his power. Electric-blue light emanated from the tips of his fingers; moving to cover his hands and wrists, before enveloping his entire body. It protected him from the effects of the enchanted amber; enabling him to move forward, while melting the thick, golden substance like a hot knife through butter. In the hallway before him, was a tall, dark, hooded figure; the fourth member of the kidnapping party, held fast in an amber embrace.

Bartholeumous paused to consider his next step. He couldn’t release the figure, nor could he leave it in the Bumblestook home. As if to underscore his dilemma, he heard a high, thin wail; faint at first, but rapidly growing louder. The police had been called and were fast approaching.

He began moving his fingers in a complex, twisting motion. Streams of blue light shot out from their tips; braiding themselves into a thick chain, crackling with power. It flew outwards, cutting through the amber light to wrap itself tightly around the dark figure. The stiff form slowly tipped over, floating horizontally in mid air. Bartholeumous backed down the hallway, pulling his captive along with him. The chained figure took a bit of a beating (bumping into walls and briefly sticking in the doorway) as he maneuvered its large form awkwardly down the hall and into the bedroom. Quickly, he hauled it into the center of the room and stood, face uplifted, to issue a Summons.

“Mighty Shooshskya, Ruler of the Winds! Return! Return at once, my friend!”

A loud moaning sound arose to compete with the howling sirens and the house began to shake.

************************************

Outside on the lawn, the police stopped in their tracks, gazing upwards in astonishment. A black tornado had appeared out of nowhere and hung, twisting madly, just above the Bumblestook home!

A small crowd of neighbors (drawn from their homes by the sirens) gave a collective gasp and ran for cover, as tiles peeled off the roof and flew through the air! With a screech of splintering wood, the tornado tore open a hole in the roof and lowered its tip directly into the house! Scant moments later it emerged. With a final twist of its destructive tail, it rose into the sky and swiftly disappeared.

Slowly, be-robed, be-slippered and bewildered neighbors crept back out of their houses. Joining the small group of stunned policemen, they stood on the front lawn of the Bumblestook home; gaping open-mouthed, at the destruction left in the twister’s wake.

************************************

Harvey and Myrtle lay where their captors had dumped them; crumpled on the cold, stone floor of Malador’s dark, inner sanctum. The remains of a Soundasleep spell hung in the air above them; it’s sparkling, blue, foggy tendrils still clinging to the folds of their pajamas.

Two figures stood behind them. One had pushed back his hood, revealing a middle-aged Wizard with a bald head and sharp goatee. The other, still hooded, had turned aside and stood hunched over, muttering to himself unintelligibly. He seemed preoccupied with something he had pulled forth from his cloak.

“Humans,” Malador stated coldly, staring down from his granite throne as the Bumblestooks slept on, blissfully oblivious to their surroundings.

“Yes, Lord Malador, “ the bald Wizard replied, bowing his head, careful to keep his voice neutral.

“And the boy?” Malador asked.

“The Strike Leader went after the child, himself. We were assigned to these.” The Wizard gestured at the snoring couple.

Malador turned his head slightly to the second figure, who had continued to mutter to himself as he obsessed over an object in his hands. The Leader of the Overlords did not speak, but his ruby eyes glittered maliciously as his gaze intensified. Gradually, the second figure became aware of the prolonged silence and looked up, startled. Quickly, he thrust the object back into the folds of his robe and hastily shoved back his hood, in a belated show of respect.

A long twitching nose, receding chin, puffy cheeks, protruding front incisors and large, round, black eyes proclaimed him to be a Skurrier; an Amorphae with many similarities to the packrat, including a fascination with small, shiny objects.

“Something of interest?” Malador asked, in a deceptively even tone.

“J-j-j-just a little b-b-bauble I p-p-picked up,” the Skurrier spoke (in the stutter typical of his kind) as his shiny, black eyes blinked rapidly and his pink, mouse-like ears quivered. “N-n-n-nothing of interest t-t-t-to your Lordsh-sh-ship.”

Malador declined to answer, merely bringing his deadly gaze to bear more heavily upon the creature.

Reluctantly, the Skurrier reached into his cloak and withdrew the object. Chittering to himself in distress, he stretched out a grey-furred hand, slowly unfolding his clawed fingers. A small, domed-shaped object lay cradled in his hairless, pink palm.

“How did you come by this object?” Malador asked, his voice silky smooth.

“I t-t-t-took it from the B-b-b-bumblest-t-t-took home, Milord. It’s s-s-s-o small, I d-d-d-didn’t think it would be m-m-m-missed—”

“Tell me of its purpose,” Malador ordered, making no attempt to take the thing.

“S-s-s-see here what it d-d-d-does!”

Eager now, to show off his treasure, the Skurrier approached; the nails of his unshod feet, clicking on the cold, stone floor, his long, grey tail sweeping the ground behind him. Clutching the dome tightly, he upended it and gave it a vigorous shake, then turned it upright on his palm. He held it up in front of his face, black eyes shining with excitement.

“S-s-s-see how it sp-p-p-parkles! J-j-j-just like real s-s-s-snow!”

Indeed, inside the water-filled dome, minute, white flakes drifted down; gently swirling around a small Swiss chalet and two teeny-tiny figures on skis. A miniscule sign proclaimed the legend, “Big Bear Lodge”. The ghostly-blue light, emanating from Malador’s paler-than-pale skin, was reflected in the small flakes of “snow”; creating a sparkling, miniature Winter Wonderland.

“S-s-s-so p-p-p-pretty!” Mesmerized by the swirling flakes, the Skurrier’s eyes (distortedly huge, behind the curved surface of the dome) were glued to the object.

Malador’s hands lay limp on the arms of his granite throne, but one, long, skeletal index finger jerked spasmodically; the only outward sign of his growing impatience. The other Wizard’s sharp eyes picked up the movement and he took a small, nearly imperceptible step back.

“I have yet to hear of its purpose.” Malador’s voice was deceptively even.

“It’s p-p-p-purpose?” The Skurrier’s eyes blinked rapidly as he pulled his gaze away from his treasure. “Wh-wh-wh-why, I don’t th-th-th-think it has one, really—ex-c-c-cept of course to b-b-be pretty. It’s a s-s-s-sort of t-t-t-toy.”

Malador rose to his feet in a sudden surge, towering over the cringing Skurrier. The other Wizard stepped back into the shadows, leaving center stage to the hapless Amorphae.

“
No purpose
, you say?” Malador’s voice dripped with venom. “Well now, we can’t have
that
, can we?”

The Skurrier gulped audibly. “N-n-n-no Lord M-m-m-malador,” he squeaked.

“Of what material is this—
toy
—crafted?”

“P-p-p-p-lastic, Milord—just ch-ch-ch-cheap Human p-p-p-plastic.”

“Ah,
plastic—
false glass, impervious to water.
”
The corners of Malador’s thin lips curled up, in a grimace that masqueraded as a smile. “Perhaps your pitiful, petty, pilfering has finally paid off. I believe there
is
a purpose for your little toy, after all.”

So saying, the Overlord slowly stretched out his hand. Suddenly, from its center, an icy-blue beam of light shot out toward the Skurrier. The Amorphae squealed in pain and jerked back his hand, as the beam hit his knuckles; forcing him to drop his treasure. The object did not fall, however, as it was caught up in the powerful beam. Tumbling over and over, a miniature snowstorm raging inside, the little plastic toy traveled the lightbeam, toward the Overlord’s outstretched, pale, spidery hand.

Farley heard the commotion next door and dashed out of the Faire’s home. Pushing through the crowd gathered on his front lawn, he stood, thunderstruck, at the sight of the huge hole in the roof of his home.

“Mom! Dad!” he cried out, racing toward the house.

“Whoa, there, son!” An officer’s burly arms caught him and scooped him up. “Nobody’s goin’ in there ‘til we know it’s safe.”

“But, that’s my house! My mom and dad are in there!” Farley pleaded.

The policeman set the boy down, keeping a firm hold. “Sorry kid, but I can’t let you in ‘til we get the all clear. Why don’t I get someone to take you down to the station ‘til we know what’s what.”

Just then, Tom and Olivia arrived, out of breath.

“It’s okay, officer, we’ll look after him,” Lance said.

“And who might you be?” the policeman asked, suspiciously.

Olivia took a deep breath. “We’re his godparents.”

“We live right next door,” Lance added.

“Is that alright with you, young feller? It’s just as well—the station’s no place for kids,” the officer said.

“But, what about my mom and dad?”

“Tell you what—you stay with your godparents and as soon as we find ‘em, I’ll send some-one right over ta get ya—how’s that?” The officer looked to Lance and Olivia. “Might be best to take him home with you. It could take awhile to sort things out, seein’ as how a tornado touched down inside the house.”

“Wha—?” Olivia’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes opened wide.

“Yikes,” said Lance. “Perhaps you’re right, officer. That would be best. We’ll just be next door. ” He grabbed Farley’s arm and quickly steered him away, as Olivia hurried to catch up.

“But, I don’t
wanna
leave!” Farley protested, “I wanna be there when they find my mom and dad!”

“You heard the policeman, Farley. They know what’s best in these situations. After all, they’re the professionals,” Lance said, guiding him up the porch steps.

Farley dug in his heels and refused to go further. “Y-you don’t think something happened to them, do you?” he asked, biting his lower lip.

“I don’t know, Farley,” Lance answered honestly. “What I
do
know is that Bartholeumous went in there to help them—and there’s not much he can’t handle.”

“Omigosh, Mr. Bartholymus! I forgot about him! The police don’t know he’s in there!”

“Ye-e-es, now about
that
—” Lance began.

“Why don’t we go inside,” Olivia interrupted. “There’s something you should know about Uncle Bartholeumous, but it’s a bit of a family secret. We really shouldn’t discuss it out here.”

“Is he like a secret agent?” Farley asked, wide-eyed.

“Something like that,” Olivia replied as they went into the house.

**************************************

In the eye of the tornado, all was perfectly still. Bartholeumous floated upright, the folds of his robe and cloak laying flat against his body, his hair and beard hanging straight down. He held one hand out to the side in a tight fist. Cool, electric-blue light covered it like a glove, then flowed into a crackling chain of power; winding around the hooded figure beside him, binding it from shoulders to feet. Through eyeholes cut into the hood (which was pulled down to cover the face) eyes glittered darkly.