Magicalamity (4 page)

“We’re invisible at the moment—to both mortals and fairies. And we’re going the long way round, over Wales, because the Falconers will have invisibility sensors along all the main fairy flight paths.”

It was interesting, and a bit unsettling, to think of these invisible flight paths; mortal pilots had no idea they shared the air with fairies and genies and goodness knew what else.

They were traveling faster than the wind. Towns rushed past beneath them. The sky was now a darker blue, and the carpet began to slow down. The evening air was growing chilly. Below them, a great city started to twinkle with lights.

Lorna had nodded off. She woke up with a snort. “Hummph, are we here already? Go about forty-five degrees to the right.”

The carpet was losing height, and soon Tom could see the main roads, then the buses, then the faces of the people on the buses. It was extraordinary that nobody could see them. They sailed over suburban streets and
back gardens, over disused factories and grim industrial estates. Lower and lower they went, until they were circling slowly over a vast yard filled with twisted lumps of metal and heaps of old tyres. Tom glimpsed a big wooden sign:
MUSTARD
’
S METAL CRUSHING
—
YOU
’
LL THINK IT
’
S MAGIC
!

“Here we are!” Lorna said happily. “Abdul, I can’t thank you enough. You can drop us in front of the office—that little hut under the crane. What do you think, Tom?”

“Very nice,” Tom said politely.

It looked like a cemetery for junked trucks. It was horrible.

T
he carpet landed beside a drab little shed with two small, dark windows. A tall crane loomed above it. All around them, as far as the eye could see, were grotesque fragments that had once been trucks and cars. Tom stood up, shivering in his T-shirt. He didn’t want to hurt Lorna’s feelings, but he was suddenly desperate to be at home again, in the flat above the deli, eating supper with his parents. Never in his life had he felt so lonely.

“Let’s not fall out of touch again,” Abdul said. “It has been wonderful seeing you, Lorna. I’d love to take you out to dinner, and maybe a wrestling match afterwards—just like we used to.”

“It’s been good to see you, Abdul,” Lorna said gruffly. “And it would be jolly nice to do dinner and a fight someday. But right now all I can think about is this poor little demisprite. He must be exhausted!”

Her voice was strong and kind, and Tom felt ashamed of not liking her scrapyard. She had proved herself a good and loyal godmother, and he was lucky to have her. He didn’t want her to think of him as some wimpy little boy. “I’m OK. Thanks very much for the ride, Abdul. It was great—and the kebab.”

“My dear boy, the pleasure was all—argh!” Abdul shrieked suddenly and tried to duck behind Tom.

A huge Rottweiler was bounding across the yard towards them, barking and growling.

“Hector, STOP!” yelled Lorna. She broke into a series of snarls and barks (they sounded very strange coming out of a human mouth), and the dog was still. “This is Hector, my guard dog—I’ve told him to protect you, Tom. And I’ve also warned him about possible Falconer agents—like that one at your deli this morning. Animals are incredibly good at spotting fairies.” She added what sounded like “Arr-uff, ruff, arr, arr-ruff!” and the enormous dog quietly turned round and trotted away. “Abdul, will you stay for a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks.” Abdul was eyeing the dog nervously. “I must get back to the cafe. Tom, say hello to your dad
when you find him, and feel free to call on me anytime. I will send your mother the gift of some beautiful dreams.”

Tom was alarmed. “She … She’s not ill or something, is she?”

“Good gracious, no!” Lorna cried. “She’s absolutely fine. It’s just a genie custom—isn’t it?”

“What?” Abdul was flustered for a moment. “Oh, yes—we send people dreams instead of bunches of flowers.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“It is nothing.” Abdul lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tom, you can do me a favor: your godmother is as beautiful as ever—when you get a chance, put in a good word for me!”

“OK, I’ll do my best.” Tom liked Abdul, and thought Lorna could do a lot worse. It was impressive to watch him rising slowly on his carpet before suddenly vanishing into the darkening sky.

“Phew,” said Lorna. “What a day! I can’t wait to get that kettle on.” She took a bunch of keys from her pocket and opened the door of the dismal little shed. “Welcome to Mustard Manor.”

Tom followed her through the door and gasped.

He was standing in what seemed to be a large and comfortable house. There was an imposing staircase, and a door that opened onto a big, cozy kitchen.

But when he looked back over his shoulder, there was the same depressing scrapyard.

“Come in quickly.” Lorna pulled him inside and shut the door. “The magic leaks out when you leave the door open too long—and when too much leaks out, the lights stop working.”

“This house is made of magic, isn’t it? That’s why it’s invisible from the outside! Did you build it yourself?”

“It was left to me by my father,” Lorna said. “I grew up in this house. It’s a fairy house. I can take it anywhere I like.”

“It’s lovely.” The house was frayed and shabby, and most things in it looked extremely old, but there was something very friendly about it. Tom felt comfortable and safe here. It was nearly as good as home.

Lorna took him up the big, creaking staircase to a large bedroom. “My uncle Clarence used to sleep here when he was a boy. Those are his old school textbooks on the shelf—a bit old-fashioned, but you might find them useful when we start your magic lessons tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t we start them now? I’m not tired.”

“You might not be,” Lorna said, “but I’m shattered. Put your stuff away and then come downstairs. I’ll make us some supper and fill you in on some of the stuff I didn’t tell you this morning.”

After she left the room, Tom put his backpack on the bed and looked around curiously. A pair of giant bat’s wings, made of dark brown leather, was spread out on the wall above the fireplace. There were dusty cricket bats and balls, and pictures of old-fashioned sportsmen and racing cars. It was a typical boy’s bedroom, but as soon as you looked closely you saw there were all kinds of odd things—maps of islands that didn’t exist, a large diagram of a mechanical flying coach, and books about how to make magic bombs and guns.

When he put his clothes away in the chest of drawers, he found that the bottom drawer was full of dusty rifles and what looked like hand grenades. He picked one of these up, scared and thrilled by its weight. This was not a toy. Could it be safe to sleep in a room full of weapons? Surely Lorna wouldn’t keep them in her house if they were live?

Holding the grenade very carefully, he took it downstairs. He found Lorna in the big, warm, messy kitchen, which had an open fireplace and a squashy sofa heaped with old newspapers.

She was stirring something on top of the stove. “I’m making us some beans on toast. Oh, you’ve found one of Uncle Clarence’s grenades. I forgot about those—they’re quite harmless. He used to make them for the Christmas Explosions.”

“The what?”

“One of our fairy customs—throwing bombs on Christmas morning—such a treat for the children.”

Tom put the grenade on the table, trying to imagine how Primrose Hill would look after all the local kids had thrown bombs. “Is your uncle still alive?”

“No, he died before I was born—I’ll tell you about him one day, but right now you need to be briefed about your dad.” She put two steaming plates of beans on toast on the table, and two large metal mugs of tea.

Cooking was obviously not one of Lorna’s talents, but it is difficult to spoil baked beans, and the strong, sweet tea was surprisingly refreshing.

Tom said, “Tell me about the Falconers.”

“Ah, yes.” Lorna took a noisy slurp of tea. “That’s a very good place to begin. We’ll get nowhere until you understand how important they are.”

“You said they were the ruling family. Does that mean they’re royal?”

“Not exactly. They’re like an enormous family tree, with branches snaking everywhere you look. There are thousands of Falconers, in every walk of life. If you’re a Falconer, or you’re married to a Falconer, or the friend of a Falconer, you get all sorts of privileges. Fairies without Falconer connections are second-class citizens. And enemies of the Falconers might as well be—I’m sorry, Tom, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You were going to say, they might as well be dead,” Tom said. “I want to know the truth. Don’t hide anything from me.” His own voice sounded brave, and that gave him courage. He was starting to understand that Lorna had taken risks for his sake, and he wanted to show her that he was worth it.

“OK—their enemies might as well be dead, and if they find Jonas, they’ll kill him.”

“Are you an enemy too?”

“No,” Lorna said. “I came to live with the mortals because the Realm had got so awful for non-Falconers—no law and order to speak of—shootings and poisonings every day—and the taxes were crippling.”

“If there’s no king, who’s in charge? There must be some sort of government.”

“There is. It’s called the Ten.”

“Don’t tell me—Ten Falconers?”

Lorna grinned suddenly. “Right first time! I must say, you demisprites are fast learners. Yes, they’re all Falconers of one kind or another—there are elections, but it’s such a farce that nobody bothers to vote anymore.”

“You should have a revolution.”

“Not me—I like being alive!”

“But wouldn’t it be brilliant if we could defeat the Falconers while we’re rescuing my dad?” Tom said. He added quickly, “Look, if I’m spending my summer
holidays trapped inside a fairy tale, I don’t see why I shouldn’t act like a person in a story and have some cool adventures.”

“Good gracious, boy!” Lorna was startled. “You’ve only been a fairy for a few hours, and you’re already plotting to overthrow the state!” She was looking at him warily. “You didn’t touch anything funny in Uncle Clarence’s room, did you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing—I’m being silly.” She took another slurp of tea. “Let me get on with the story.”

“OK.” Tom was curious to know what she meant about her uncle Clarence, but he was also impatient to hear the tangled story behind his parents’ disappearance. “Tell me about my aunt.”

“Oh yes, your aunt Dolores. She’s your dad’s older sister, and she married no less a person than Tiberius Falconer himself—it caused a sensation at the time, because the Hardings were nobodies. But Dolores was beautiful and as smart as they come, and nothing stood in her way.”

“Hang on, who’s Tiberius?”

“Head of the Ten, rolling in money and basically the most powerful man in the Realm.”

“Do they have any children?”

“Just one—their son, Pindar Falconer; he’s a few years older than you.”

“And he’s my cousin.” Tom had always wished he had a brother or a boy cousin. He had wished it so much that sometimes he felt a space in his life, as if he were missing an actual person. “Why does Tiberius want to kill my dad? He’s his wife’s brother!”

“That wouldn’t bother him,” Lorna said grimly. “He killed at least two of his own brothers on his way up. I’m afraid a lot of fairies aren’t very nice.”

“You’re nice,” Tom said.

“Thanks—there are a few of us, but the nasty ones are very nasty indeed.”

An unpleasant thought came to him. “Are my other godmothers nasty fairies?”

Lorna hesitated. “Well … you see … well, to tell the truth, I don’t know.”

“Oh.” This was not good news.

“It’s years since I’ve seen them, and I’ve no idea what they’ve been up to.”

“If they’re nasty, it’s a good thing they didn’t answer the summons.”

Lorna said, “You don’t know our customs, boy—nice or nasty, they signed the godmother parchment and they have to help you.”

Tom thought about this. He was afraid of meeting very wicked fairies but it might be OK if they were on his side. “Was Milly Falconer a nasty fairy?”

“Oh, Milly was all right,” Lorna said. “A bit spoiled
and whiny, but basically OK. She was Tiberius’s little sister—the only one of his huge family he ever really liked. She was one of our college gang too. There was Jonas and me, your other two godmothers, Abdul and Milly. We formed a punk-rock band called Puke.”

“You’re kidding!” Tom nearly choked on his beans. “My dad—in a punk-rock band?”

“He was our lead singer.”

“No way!” This was even more startling than finding out that his dad was a secret fairy. “What did he sing? Did you write your own songs? Did you play many gigs?”

“Tom, forget the band for a minute!” Lorna tried to sound strict, though she was smiling. “The point is that Milly fell in love with Jonas. And his sister, Dolores, decided he should marry her—it would be a very fine addition to her power. Tiberius agreed, the date for the wedding was set … but your dad wasn’t in love with Milly and he escaped to live with the mortals. The police questioned us all when he disappeared, but nobody ever found out who helped him.”

“Oh.”

“Milly never got over it. Lots of other men wanted to marry her, but she wouldn’t look at any of them. And then she died.”

“How is my dad supposed to have killed her? He wasn’t even there.”

“There’s an ancient law that nobody takes any notice of anymore—unless it suits them. And that’s the crime of heartbreaking. Milly died of a dodgy crab pastry, but Dolores is now making out that it was because your dad broke her heart. And he’s also accused of misbegetting, which means producing a demisprite.”

Tom shivered, though the room was warm. “Me.”

“You.” She looked at him solemnly.

“What’s the punishment if they catch him?”

Lorna was quiet for a moment, which was unsettling. Then the lines seemed to fade from her face and she was smiling. “We won’t let them catch him.”

“It’s death, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you have to try not to worry too much. The Falconers aren’t as all-powerful as they think.” She put down her mug. “You’ve had quite a day.”