Igraine the Brave (5 page)

“Oh, thank you, Bertram!” gasped Igraine, stroking the soft leather.

“See you sometime!” called the Master of Horse as he rode over the bridge and away. Back to Darkrock.

5

B
y that evening everyone at Pimpernel had forgotten about Bertram’s bad news. Igraine’s parents were still casting spells, but now rainbow-colored smoke was drifting out of the tower window, which always meant that they’d nearly finished. When dusk fell, Igraine couldn’t stand it anymore. Once again she climbed the stairs to the tower, but just as she was standing at its heavy oak door the visor of her helmet snapped shut, and Albert chased her right through the castle and into her room. Then he cast a spell to lock the door, and set off back to the magic workshop, whistling. Of course, Igraine tried climbing out of the window the minute he’d gone, but as soon as she put a foot on the windowsill six fat, bright green spiders started spinning a web in front of her nose. Albert knew very well what scared his little sister. So Igraine could only wait for her birthday to come.

At last, when the moon was shining in the sky above the castle tower, she took off her mail shirt and lay down on the bed. Sisyphus snuggled up beside her and soon began snoring with his head on her stomach (he snored almost like a human being). But Igraine lay awake listening to the strange songs that the night wind blew over from the tower, wondering about her present. Then she remembered Bertram’s anxious face. She tried to imagine what Osmund looked like and his castellan, too, the knight with iron spikes all over his armor, but she didn’t make a very good job of it.
Perhaps adventure has finally come to Pimpernel,
she thought, but she wasn’t so sure that she still liked the idea. Sisyphus woke with a start when she turned over restlessly, and hissed at her.
Would the Baroness really go on pilgrimage without saying good-bye to Lancelot?
she wondered. Then she finally fell asleep.

It was the middle of the night when she was woken by someone hammering on her door. In alarm, she sat up and saw Albert standing in the doorway with a lantern in his hand.

“What’s up?” she asked sleepily, pushing Sisyphus off her legs.

Albert cleared his throat in embarrassment, and brushed pink icing out of his untidy hair.

“Er, well, it’s like this,” he stammered, clearing his throat again. “We’ve had a little magic mistake, a slip of the tongue; these things happen sometimes, you see….”

Igraine jumped out of bed and went to the window. But the castle courtyard lay quiet and peaceful in the moonlight, and the tower wasn’t leaning any farther sideways than usual.

“What kind of mistake?” she asked, turning suspiciously to Albert. “Has my birthday present gone up in rainbow-colored smoke?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” Albert made haste to reply. “Your present is ready. It — er — it looks wonderful, only … only …” He ran his hands through his hair again. “… only just as we were going to add the finishing touch, Mother made a slip of the tongue and it happened.”

“What?” cried Igraine. “What happened?”

“You’ll see in a moment.” Without another word, Albert took her hand and led her through the dark castle, over the moonlit courtyard, across the narrow bridge, and up the staircase to the tower, until they stood in front of the workshop door. Downcast, Albert pushed it open.

The Books of Magic were running about in great agitation, waving their arms and muttering to themselves. And among the jars full of leaves, flowers, and ground minerals stood two pigs. One black and one pink.

“Hello, honey,” said the black pig, in the Fair Melisande’s beautiful voice.

“We’re in a bit of a fix, what?” said the pink pig, in Sir Lamorak’s unmistakable voice.

Igraine gasped for air, opened her eyes so wide that they almost popped out of her head — and found that she couldn’t utter a sound.

“Luckily we’d as good as finished your present. There was just one little detail to be added,” said her father — or rather, the pig with her father’s voice. “Oh, do please keep still, books!”

The Books of Magic, their feelings injured, sat down on the carpet.

“There it is, honey,” said the black pig, trotting over to a huge parcel lying on Sir Lamorak’s magic armchair. “Albert stopped to wrap it up before he went to wake you. Would you like to open it now or wait till after breakfast?”

Igraine looked first at the huge parcel and then at her bristly, curly-tailed mother. “I think I’d rather open it when you’ve changed yourselves back again,” she said.

The Books of Magic broke into mocking laughter.

“Er, well, my dear,” grunted Sir Lamorak, scratching his snout rather clumsily with one back trotter, “there’s a tiny little problem there. I’m afraid we found out that the jar of giant’s red hairs is empty.”

“Completely empty,” added the Fair Melisande, sighing.

“So what does that mean?” asked Igraine uneasily. She could never remember just what all the magic ingredients were for.

“We told Albert that jar was empty two months ago,” complained a fat book with a gilded cover. “But he’s so careless. He’ll never get to be a good magician that way.”

The other books nudged each other and nodded, sneering.

“Yes, all right, I know. I ought to have gone to find more at once!” Albert gave the books a nasty glance. “But giant’s hairs don’t exactly grow beside every castle moat, do they?”

“So what exactly does all of this mean?” cried Igraine impatiently.

Her brother cleared his throat. “Without the giant’s hairs,” he said, “our parents will stay pigs.”

“No doubt about it,” croaked the smallest book. “Nothing to be done. All over. Finished.”

“What?” cried Igraine, horrified. “Are you saying I have a couple of pigs for parents from now on?”

“It’s not all that unpleasant being a pig, honey,” said Melisande, who still had beautiful blue eyes. “So if you don’t mind very much …”

“Well, not very much,” murmured Igraine, looking down at her parents. Suddenly she just had to smile. “You do look funny,” she said. “Especially you, Papa. But pink suits you.”

“How kind!” said Sir Lamorak shyly, rubbing his nose against a chair leg.

“Couldn’t I find some giant’s hairs somewhere?” asked Igraine. “Where did you get them from before?”

“Oh, there are several giants in these parts,” replied her father. “But it would mean a long ride for you, and these are wild and dangerous times.”

“Who cares?” Igraine shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve often found you magic ingredients before. I like doing it.”

“Let’s discuss it later,” said the Fair Melisande. “I think we all need some sleep now. You, too, books. Off you go, back on the shelves.”

Grumbling, the Books of Magic scrambled up and climbed the narrow ladders to their bookshelves, where they leaned against each other, closed their eyes, and were all snoring fit to bust in a moment. Casting spells is strenuous work, even for Books of Magic.

“What do you think, Lamorak?” whispered Melisande. “Would we be more comfortable in the stables or downstairs in front of the hearth?”

“I’d prefer the stables,” replied Sir Lamorak quietly, and yawned, which looks rather odd in a pig.

So Albert and Igraine took their parents to the stables, made them a comfortable bed of clean straw, and then left them alone — with the horses, who looked disapproving when they saw their new companions, and foolish when the pigs began talking in their owners’ voices.

6

W
hen Igraine opened her eyes on her twelfth birthday, Sisyphus was sitting on her stomach. He mewed, “Many happy returns!” and deposited a dead fish on her forehead.

“Oh, thank you, Sisyphus!” she murmured sleepily, although she thought his present was rather nasty.

“Don’t mention it,” purred the tomcat. “Breakfast in the magic workshop.” Then he padded away.

“I’ll soon know what my present is!” murmured Igraine. “Soon, soon, soon!” And she was so excited that she could hardly do up the buttons of her silly dress. She always wore a dress on birthdays, in honor of the day and because her father liked making magic dresses for her. Her father! For a moment Igraine had quite forgotten that her parents had curly tails now.
I’ll go and get those giant’s hairs tomorrow,
she thought,
yes, that’s what I’ll do.
But now she just had to see her present. What luck it hadn’t turned into a pig, too!