Bumblestook: Book 1, The Accidental Wizard (3 page)

With a final gurgle and splash the murky water cleared and the fountain sea serpent was naught but a serpentine carving.

With a final look at the trio, the bearded man pulled up his hood and stepped back from the fountain. The parents, standing close together, arms encircling the baby, still appeared more apprehensive than grateful. And the baby’s face was a picture of perfection and beauty, despite the odd image he had seen of the future Fiona. He shook his head, recalling the oversized ears and wild, bushy hair reflected in the Great Water.

“Definitely most peculiar,” he muttered. Then, raising his hand in blessing and farewell, he turned and walked into the deepening shadows. In but three swirls of his voluminous cloak he had disappeared completely.

Lancelot and Olivia Faire stood for a moment without moving a muscle, staring into the dark corners of the garden. Finally, they both let out an explosive sigh.

Lance, an optimistic fellow, spoke boldly. “That went well, don’t you think?”

Olivia gave him a wild-eyed look. “Are you
insane
?” she hissed. “He
took
the rattle! He’s sure to run tests on it, or put a spell on it, or do whatever it is those high and mighty old
wazoos
do! And what about this test when she’s older?”

“We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” her husband replied. “We agreed this would be for the best—” He stopped suddenly and looked around the garden.

“What is it?” Olivia asked.

“I thought I heard something. It sounded like laughter,” said Lance. He whirled about. “There it is again! It’s coming from the azalea bush. Whoever you are, come out this instant or I’ll call the police! I have a cell phone and believe me, I am
not
afraid to use it!”

This time, peals of laughter rang out clearly. The leaves of the bush shook as a small figure tumbled out into the open.

“Come over here, into the light where we can see you,” Lance called out, standing protectively in front of his wife and child.

Still chuckling, the figure stepped forward, into the light of a garden lamp. It appeared to be a cat; that is if cats walked upright, wore wool tunics, knickers and little boots with buckles on their feet!

“It’s a Bungaree!” Olivia cried out in surprise.

On closer inspection, Lance could see it was, indeed, one of those curious creatures. Bungarees, while having many things in common with cats (such as triangular ears and fur covering most of their bodies) are in fact, quite a different animal. Feline fur (this one’s striped like an orange tabby’s), surrounds their hairless, impish faces. Their eyes, slit-pupiled like a cat’s, are twice as large, lime green and tend to glow even in daylight. The small hands are covered with fur on the top and thick pads of skin on the bottom. Their fingernails are similar to cats’ claws, but are not retractable. The long, furry tail is more flexible than a monkey’s and often used as a third hand.

Bungarees are furtive, mischievous creatures, with a knack for turning up unexpectedly. They are especially fond of puzzles and riddles and often speak in rhyme. Intensely curious, they have a natural tendency to collect other folks’ secrets as if they were treasures. They seldom
give
these secrets away, but are not above selling and trading them.

The Bungaree in the garden, still chortling, bowed low and addressed the Faires.

“Tom Smith at your service,” he said.

Olivia raised an eyebrow, eyeing the creature with stone-cool skepticism. “Smith? That hardly seems like a Bungaree name.”

“I’m
in-cog-ni-to
,” Tom answered in an exaggerated whisper. “My true name is not for you to know.”

Olivia tapped her foot impatiently. “This was a private Naming Ceremony.
You
, Tom Whatever-your-name-is, are trespassing.”

“Trespassing is against the law. I suggest you leave before I call the police,” added Lance.

“
Trespassing
?” The Bungaree guffawed. “Your Human laws don’t apply to me. In case you hadn’t noticed,
I’m
a Bungaree. Call your police. Be my guest, please. But I can’t guarantee what they will see.”

With that, he whirled about so quickly that his shape began to blur. When he stopped spinning, a cat stood in his place! Its eyes were a bit too large and glowed an unusual shade of green. Its tail was a bit too long and curled at the end like a monkey’s. But it was enough like a cat to be convincing.

“Aha!” Olivia exclaimed. “Humans also have laws for stray pets. Quick, Lance! Call Animal Control.”

“Wait!” the cat called out. It spun itself back into the Bungaree. “I’ve got a secret, just dying to be told,” he said slyly. “A trade is what I seek, if I may be so bold.”

“Bungarees always have secrets,” Olivia retorted. “Why should
we
want to know one of
yours
?”

“I’ll give you a clue. It involves the three of you,” answered the Bungaree.

“Alright,
Tom
(if that is your name). I’ll trade with you. We won’t make the call if you tell us your secret,” Lance bargained.

“That’s not a deal! It’s a
steal
!” the creature quipped. “I can disappear, long before your Animal Cops get here.”

“Enough of this
tom-foolery
!” Lance snapped, whipping out his cell phone.

Suddenly, the Bungaree froze, staring at him, wild-eyed. “How did you know?” he asked

through stiff lips.

“What?” Lance asked, confused.

“Why play this cruel game? Tell me, who told you my true name?” The little creature cried out in despair.

“What the—”

“His
name
!” Olivia exclaimed. “
Tom Foolery
! A perfect Bungaree name.”

Understanding dawned, as Lance realized his good fortune. “So-o-o, it’s Tom Foolery, is it? I seem to recall something about Bungarees and their true names. Like to keep them a secret, I hear. Why is that, I wonder?”

“It’s not important, anyhow. I think I’ll just be going now,” the little creature said in a subdued voice, slowly backing away toward the shadows.

“Stop right there!” Lance warned him. Tom Foolery froze as Lance advanced. “Mister Foolery, are you aware of my wife’s special talent? No? Livie, enlighten him, please. With what power were you gifted at birth?”

His wife’s face appeared over his shoulder. “Why, the power to understand all creatures, great
and
small,” she replied.

“Then, perhaps you can tell me why it is the Bungaree hide their true names,” her husband said, keeping his eyes on their uninvited guest.

Olivia stared straight into Tom’s frightened eyes. “It is said that the person who discovers the true name of a Bungaree, becomes its master for as long as that person so desires.”

The Bungaree threw himself to his knees in front of the pair. “Forgive me, I meant no harm, can’t you see? It’s just the nature of the Bungaree! Surely, you can understand. If you let me go, and I promise to never-again step foot on your land!”

“I understand better than you think.” Olivia replied. “I
understand
that you would have sold our secret to the highest bidder.”

The Bungaree hung his head in silent admission.

Lance pointed dramatically at the creature.“Tom Foolery, I hereby bind you to me until such time as I choose to release you.”

Tom stood, sighed resignedly, then bowed low. “Master, to you and to no other I am bound,” he answered tonelessly with the traditional response. “What is your command?”

“For starters, you can cough up that secret,” said Lance.

“Sorry, boss, no can do—not even for
you
. That secret belongs to me, according to the laws of the Bungaree.”

Lance looked to Olivia, who nodded grudgingly. “It’s true,” she said. “Secrets are like property to the Bungaree. You can’t
demand
he hand them over. You can
ask
—” she looked at Tom (who avoided her gaze, stuck his hands in his pockets and traced a circle in the grass with the toe of one boot). “Well, I thought as much, but as long as he’s legally bound in service to you, he can do us no harm. That includes revealing any of our family secrets.”

“H-m-m.” Lance looked at the small creature thoughtfully. “Obviously, I could use some help protecting my family. Therefore, your orders are to go undercover disguised as the family cat. Your duties are to patrol the perimeter of our home and warn of any intruders. In addition, if any member of this family is in danger you must fight tooth and claw to defend us. Any questions?”

The Bungaree cocked his furry head as he considered this change of fortune. “I hope you won’t consider me rude, but I’d like to know, must I eat cat food?” he asked.

Lance guffawed. “We’re not monsters! You’ll have to use a pet dish, but otherwise you can eat whatever we’re having.”

Tom Foolery brightened up considerably. “Ya know, right about now, I could use a bite. Skulking about gives me quite an appetite.” He headed for the path leading out of the garden. “Know what I could go for, boss? Angel-hair pasta with white clam sauce. And for dessert, strawberry-kiwi jello would make me downright mellow. With whipped cream, it’s a dream!”

With a shrug and a sigh and a roll of an eye, Lance and Olivia followed the newest member of their little family out of the garden.

The next morning, Lancelot and Olivia Faire sat down to a quiet Sunday breakfast, in their bright, sunny-yellow kitchen. In the bay window, blue gingham curtains puffed gently in the breeze, adding the delicate scent of flowers from the garden to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.

The baby, Fiona, lay sleeping in a bassinet, by her mother’s chair. Lance read the morning paper, as he sipped his coffee. Olivia nibbled on an English muffin slathered with raspberry jam. Their new cat, a rather large, orange tabby named Tom, dined contentedly on waffles and sausages, drenched in thick Canadian maple syrup. He ate from a shiny silver pet dish on the kitchen floor. Altogether, they presented the perfect picture of a perfectly normal, perfectly happy little family.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Lance looked up over his Sunday paper at his wife, who had dropped her English muffin. Tom froze stiffly, syrup dribbling down his chin and into the fur on his chest.

“Alright everyone, relax. No need to panic. I’ll see who it is,” Lance spoke calmly.

You might have expected him to get up, walk into the front room and look through the peep-hole in the front door. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His lids fluttered briefly, then popped open.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s just Mrs. Bumblestook.”

Olivia and Tom let out sighs of relief.

Harvey and Myrtle Bumblestook lived next door. Aside from a few quirks, they were perfectly ordinary neighbors. Harvey worked as an inventor for a local manufacturer of magic tricks and gag gifts and fancied himself a bit of an amateur magician. He loved to perform his magical act (working tirelessly in the evenings and weekends to perfect it) but was actually a bit of a bumbler. Still, people hired him (mostly for their children’s birthday parties) as his mishaps were often more entertaining than a professionally flawless performance. He always had a trick or two up his sleeves, as well as several in his pockets. While working on new projects, he tended to be a bit absentminded (answering a banana when the phone rang or going off to work in his slippers) but
otherwise
he was quite an ordinary man.

Harvey’s wife, Myrtle, a stay-at-home mom with a newborn son, was a kind-hearted soul with a passion for baby animals and a real knack for growing things. Her backyard garden was filled to overflowing with an unplanned profusion of plant life (including weeds, which she hadn’t the heart to pull). She attributed her green thumb to the fact that she sang to her plants. In fact, she sang to just about
everything
in her home; making up the words and tunes as she went about her household chores. There was an ode to dusty shelves, a song for polishing silverware, a little ditty to dirty dishes… but other than
that
, she was quite an ordinary woman.

Myrtle Bumblestook knocked again.

“I’d better see what she wants,” said Olivia, heading for the front room. She returned shortly, Mrs. Bumblestook in tow.

Myrtle was short and plump, with a round, pleasant face and a shy smile. Thick-lensed, purple, prescription glasses framed big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. Her hair (a mass of dark-brown, unruly curls) sprang out every which way; bouncing when she walked. She dressed comfortably in a large, loose t-shirt and stretch blue jeans. On the front of the t-shirt, was a too-cute picture of a kitten and puppy; cozied up to each other under the caption “Friends Forever”, written in flowery script.