Magicalamity (18 page)

“Let me rescue her,” said Tom.

“Are you CRAZY?” groaned Lorna. “They’d spot you in a second and vaporize the pair of you—and then what would I say to your father?”

“I know they’re after me—but they think I look like a bald chimp! It’s got to be worth a try!”

“Quite mad!” said Iris, with a smirk.

“I’ll go,” Pindar said loudly.

Everyone turned to look at him, and his face became as red as Dahlia’s lipstick, but he was frowning with determination. “I’m officially dead, so nobody’s marking me. I should be the one to rescue Tom’s mum.”

“I admire your spirit,” Iris said, “but it’s out of the question. Your magic isn’t up to it.”

“We have to take the risk!” Pindar was firm, and Tom felt a bit less scared and hopeless.

Could the accident-prone Pindar really rescue Mum?

“Ahem.” Abdul cleared his throat (he had been very quiet since they caught him hiding in the desk drawer). “My carpet is at the bottom of that bottle. I could fly Pindar to the hiding place—it’s Hussein’s house in Holloway.”

“Oh, I know!” Lorna cried. “24 Pickle Grove, N7! I’m still sending him Christmas cards.”

“I’ve been to Holloway,” Tom said. “There’s a big cinema; it’s not that far from my house—let me go with him. I know my way around better than Pindar does.”

All three godmothers shook their heads.

Dahlia put her hand on Tom’s shoulder, and her eyes were kind. “You’re a very brave boy, Tom. Your father would be proud of you. But it would be crazy to let you go—a demisprite, fighting the forces of the Realm! I’m afraid you must come with us back to Hopping Hill. It’s the best way you can help now.”

Tom hung his head so she wouldn’t see how close he was to crying with frustration.

“But I don’t see why Pindar shouldn’t go,” she went on. “Thanks to his dip in the handsome-vat, nobody will recognize him.”

“I know all the genie flight paths,” Abdul said eagerly, “and the secret way into the Realm. Once Pindar has the jar of tomatoes, we will meet you at Hopping Hill.”

“Hmm, I suppose it’s worth a try.” Iris sniffed.

“You’re both jolly brave,” Lorna said, smiling at Abdul.

“It’s really nice of you,” said Tom. “I wish I could come with you!”

“Well, you CAN’T!” Lorna said firmly. “It’s no use arguing with me!”

Tom saw there wasn’t any point in taking it further—but he hadn’t given up. He kept quiet while Abdul shook his carpet out of the bottle and unrolled it on the strip of concrete outside Mustard Manor. He listened in silence while Lorna rumbled out instructions to Pindar about the mortal world. “You mustn’t let them see you flying—or shrinking—you mustn’t kill anyone—or drop litter—”

At the same time Iris was giving instructions about the magic. “If you smell burning mugwort, say the protection charm AT ONCE.”

Pindar looked at Tom. “Sorry you can’t come—but you know I’ll do anything to save her.”

“Thanks, Pindar.” The two cousins hugged briefly and everyone went outside.

Pindar and Abdul sat down on the carpet. Abdul
began his incantation, and the carpet slowly began to rise off the ground.

Tom never knew what made him do it—but on a sudden impulse he flung himself at the carpet and grabbed the edge, just as it whisked away towards the clouds.

“TOM!” screamed all the godmothers. “COME BACK!”

Too late. He was already hundreds of feet above them, hanging by his fingers from the edge of a magic carpet.

T
his was scarier than holding on to the coffin, though Tom at least had his wings on. They were currently tucked in his bag. He scrunched up his eyes, terrified he would fall. What have I done? I must be mad—I don’t do brave stuff!

A hand grabbed the back of his belt. “Let go,” Pindar said. “I’ve got you.” He dragged Tom up onto the smooth, flat carpet. “Wow—you gave me a shock!”

“Sorry—I don’t know what got into me. I just had to be on this mission.”

“Lorna will blame me for this!” moaned Abdul. “I should turn straight back!”

“Please don’t!”

“Let him come with us,” Pindar said. “After all, it’s his mother.” He moved along the carpet, so that Tom had room to sit down beside Abdul. “Auntie Milly made me some cheese sandwiches—do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” said Tom, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. It was a murky day down in the mortal world. He tried to work out where they were, but could see nothing below except a bank of thick gray cloud.

“Tom, please tell Lorna this wasn’t my fault!” said Abdul.

“Of course I will. You’d like to get back together with her, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes! I have known from the moment I saw her that Lorna Mustard was a queen amongst women. I was a mad fool to let her go. The fault was all mine. Do you think I still have a chance with her? Can she ever forgive me for the terrible thing I did that made her divorce me?”

“She wouldn’t tell me what you did,” Tom said. “Was it something really bad?”

“Yes, Tom, very bad indeed.” The genie let out a deep, sorrowful sigh. “I … I sold her mother.”

“You WHAT?”

“I put her to sleep and sold her at the genie slave market.”

“Wow, Abdul—that really was a bad thing to do.”

“I know!”

“What did you do with the money?”

“I bought a novelty horn for the carpet,” Abdul said. “It plays the first few bars of ‘My Desert Is Waiting.’ ” He snapped his fingers and a horn blared out a tune. “Lorna was furious.”

“So was her mum, I’ll bet.” Tom didn’t want to offend the kindly genie, but he really couldn’t help laughing—no wonder Lorna found it so hard to forgive him.

“It’s a good thing my father didn’t know there was such a thing as a genie slave market,” said Pindar, “or he would’ve sold Mother and me years ago.”

“When the old lady woke up she had to buy herself back,” Abdul said, “and she tried very hard to kill me. Lorna had to divorce me to save my life. But that was many years ago, and her mother has passed away. We could try again.”

“I’m sure she still likes you,” Tom said. “She’s always going on about how handsome you are.”

“IS she? Tom, you give me hope!” Abdul checked his watch. “Sit still, you two—we’re starting our descent.”

The carpet dropped down to the clouds, and it was like flying through a wet sponge; when they came out Tom’s clothes were damp and his hair was dripping. They had landed on a scrubby patch of ground, strewn with rubbish, behind a high, sooty wall with broken glass along the top. After the serene silence above the
clouds, the noise of traffic came as a shock—a busy road roared on the other side of the wall.

“This is Holloway Road.” Abdul neatly rolled up the carpet and turned it into a puff of orange smoke. “I thought it would be best to do the last part of the journey on the bus, so that we can hide among the mortals. Come along.”

“Abdul—hey, wait!” Tom grabbed his sleeve. “You can’t go on a bus looking like that!”

He was still wearing his scorched genie costume. “Whoops, how foolish of me—thank goodness you remembered.” Abdul’s clothes suddenly changed into a normal, everyday shirt and trousers, and nobody looked twice when the three of them emerged into Holloway Road. There were hundreds of cars, and the pavements were crammed with people—mostly mums with buggies and old ladies with shopping trolleys.

The bus arrived, and Abdul made them stand near the doors. “It’s only three stops, but I’m worried that my brother’s house is being watched by Falconer spies.”

Pickle Grove was a small street of terraced houses just off the main road. Tom thought it looked dull and shabby. It was completely deserted, except for a large tabby cat stretched out in a sunny patch on the pavement.

“I knew it!” squeaked Abdul. “They’re lying in wait for us!”

“That’s not a Falconer agent,” Tom said. “It’s just a cat.”

“Are you sure?” The timid genie rang the bell of number 24.

Tom couldn’t feel scared on such an ordinary London street, but Pindar was looking round sharply. “Who lives here?”

“Mrs. Baggs,” said Abdul. “She’s Hussein’s tenant—very old and completely mortal, and she has no idea that her landlord is a genie. We must remember not to frighten her with magic.”

Tom heard shuffling footsteps on the other side of the door. It was slowly opened by a stooped old lady with white hair and cloudy blue eyes. “Mr. Hussein? Oh—it’s Mr. Abdul! How are you, dear?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Baggs,” Abdul said politely. “I’ve just popped round with—er—my two nephews, to pick up something Hussein left here.”

Mrs. Baggs gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll tell you now, dear, unless you know what you’re looking for, we’ll get nowhere! As I said to the woman this morning.”

“Woman?” Abdul gasped. “What woman?”

“I don’t know who she was, dear. When I told her I hadn’t a clue what Mr. Hussein had left here, she went off in a huff.”

“What did she look like?”

“My eyes aren’t so good,” said Mrs. Baggs. “Quite young—but everyone looks young to me these days! Do come in and have a cup of tea.”

Tom was glad to get inside the house. He didn’t like the sound of that woman—who else would she be but a Falconer looking for his mother? Very luckily, she hadn’t known his mother was hidden in a jar of tomatoes.

Mrs. Baggs led them down a dark, narrow passage, holding on to Abdul’s arm. “I hope Mr. Hussein’s all right—I haven’t seen him for nearly a week.”

The kitchen was small and old-fashioned, and a very good place to hide something. The shelves were crammed with packets, tins, jars and bottles and the cheerful yellow walls were covered with little pictures of animals wearing clothes. Among them was a big calendar with a picture on it that Tom had seen somewhere before—a swirly old painting of a cottage and a pond, and a man in a cart.

“Now,” said Mrs. Baggs, switching on her kettle, “what exactly was it that Mr. Hussein left here? He only stayed for a minute.”

“It’s a jar of sun-dried tomatoes,” Tom said.

“Eh? Sun-dried what? I’ve got a tin of tomatoes, would they do?”

Tom was starting to worry, but Abdul suddenly cried, “There!” He reached up to a crowded shelf beside the stove and grabbed at something. “Got it!”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Baggs. “My granddaughter brought me back a lot of funny food from her holiday in Cyprus.”

Abdul held the jar up to the light. “Thank goodness! Let’s take this back to Hopping Hill as fast as we can!”

“Hopping where?” asked Mrs. Baggs. “Is that near Archway?”

Tom was distracted by something moving on Abdul’s shoulder—a ladybug, which was crawling down his sleeve. While he watched it, smoke began to rise from underneath its tiny body and a tiny jet of flame shot out.

“OUCH!” yelped Abdul.

He flicked the ladybug off. It hit the floor—and there was a loud BANG that knocked Tom off his feet.

Where the ladybug had landed, there now stood a tall, thin woman with long black hair, dressed all in black leather.

“D-Dolores Falconer!” squeaked Abdul. “We are lost!”

Tom stood up on legs that wobbled with fear. He had never met a truly wicked person before. The darkness he saw in Dolores’s face was all the more horrible because she looked like Dad.

“Thank you!” She snatched the jar of tomatoes from Abdul.

“No!” Tom shouted desperately.

Dolores turned her wicked eyes towards him. “What
have we here? How very convenient—my brother’s mortal hussy AND his demisprite spawn!”

“Put it down,” Pindar said. He was pointing his lightning-gun at Dolores. “Achoo!”

She spun round sharply. “Who are you? Your sneeze is familiar—”

“I’m your son, Pindar—and if you don’t put that jar down, I’ll kill you; I don’t care if you are my mother!” He held the gun steady, aiming at her head.

Dolores burst into a ghastly laugh. “I’M NOT YOUR MOTHER!”

She held up the jar of tomatoes mockingly for a second, before vanishing into thin air.

“Who was that? Isn’t she staying for tea?” said Mrs. Baggs.

“This is a disaster!” whispered Abdul. “How was I to know she could change herself into a ladybug? Tom—I can’t tell you how sorry I am! Oh, this is dreadful!”

Tom drew a long, shaky breath. He felt better. The bad fairy had gone, and he had seen the jar. He patted Abdul’s shoulder. “It’s OK—she took the wrong one.”

“Wh-what?” Abdul gasped.

“That wasn’t my mum’s jar. Hers has a black top, and that one was green. And there’s a different picture on the label.”

“Really? Truly?” Abdul clutched Tom’s hand. “Oh, joy! That means the magic jar is still here!”

Pindar was very pale. “Did you hear her? She said she’s not my mother.”

Tom didn’t know what to say. On one hand, it was surely a good thing if the nasty Dolores was not Pindar’s real mother. On the other hand, it would mean that he wasn’t Tom’s cousin anymore, or Dad’s nephew—and that might stop him coming to live with them.

“Sit down, dear,” said Mrs. Baggs. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

She gave them all mugs of strong tea and opened a packet of ginger biscuits; delicious and comforting if you’ve just been frightened out of your wits.

“I will make a proper search of the shelves and cupboards as soon as my knees have stopped trembling,” said Abdul.

“If she’s not my mother,” Pindar said, “I wonder who is. It must be one of my father’s mistresses—he has hundreds of them.”

“Perhaps Dolores was lying,” Tom suggested.

“It feels true.”

“Then how come you look like my dad?”

“I don’t know.” Pindar hung his head. “I don’t seem to belong to anyone.”

“You still belong to us,” Tom said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re not my biological cousin.”

Pindar smiled. “We’d better find that jar. Do you mind if we search, Mrs. Baggs?”

“No, dear, you go ahead.”

Pindar, Tom and Abdul began to go through Mrs. Baggs’s kitchen shelves, cupboards and fridge. They found every kind of jar—pickles, peanut butter, strawberry jam, mustard—but there was no sign of the sun-dried tomatoes.

“I don’t understand it!” Abdul sighed. “I know he hid it here!”

They searched every corner of the kitchen for nearly an hour, and finally sat down for a rest and another cup of tea.