Magicalamity (9 page)

“I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it!” Lorna was flabbergasted. “That layabout—a militant anti-Falconer!”

“What does he mean about your uncle Clarence?” Tom asked eagerly—he had known there was something exciting about this character; he had sensed it when he wore his wings.

Lorna exchanged doubtful looks with the other two godmothers. “It’s not a good idea to talk about him, but I suppose you might as well know. Years and years ago, before any of us old bags were born, my uncle Clarence led a famous uprising against the Falconers. To make a long story short, they crushed the uprising by killing everybody involved—including Clarence. He’s a bit of a legend. Sort of like a fairy version of Robin Hood. He robbed from the Falconers to give to the poor.”

“He never had a chance,” Dahlia said. “Everyone knows the end of their power has to come from the inside—that’s what it says in the old legend. Just one decent Falconer—from the proper line of Falconers—
would do it. But there hasn’t been a decent Falconer for a thousand years.” She added to Tom, “I qualified as a fairy lawyer, darling, specializing in old law, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Lorna was pale and frowning. “I hope Abdul’s not involved—there were some shady-looking genies hanging round his cafe!”

“He’ll be OK,” Tom said, wanting to cheer her up. “Abdul’s … well, he’s too sensible.” He’d nearly said “too much of a wimp,” but didn’t want to be rude.

“That’s true,” Lorna said. “He’s more than just a handsome face.”

The next headline flashed onto the screen: TREBONKERS SPLITS WITH KAULQUAPPE HEIRESS. “That’s the last story,” Dahlia said. “Nothing about Jonas, thank goodness; just more celebrity gossip about my naughty son.”

Lorna looked at her watch. “Nearly midnight! Tom, you’d better go to bed.”

“OK.” He was goofy with tiredness.

“Wait—take this and put it under your pillow.”

Lorna put something hard, heavy and cold into his hand, and Tom was suddenly wide awake. She had given him a gun. “Is it—loaded?”

“I loaded it myself,” Lorna said. “You won’t be dealing with mortal intruders, boy. If anyone breaks into your room, shoot first and ask questions later.”

Tom’s heart was beating hard; this was frightening but strangely exciting. “Will they be trying to kill me?”

“Yes,” Iris said (sounding rather pleased, Tom couldn’t help thinking). “Or they might keep you alive just long enough to trap your father. Don’t wait to find out. Shoot to kill.”

“OK,” he said breathlessly—though he was sure he could never fire this thing at anyone. And what if it went off by mistake when it was under his pillow? Holding it very carefully, Tom said good night to his godmothers and went up to Justinian’s room. He tried putting the gun under his pillow, but he knew he would never get to sleep while it was there, so he put it on the bedside table and fell asleep.

There was someone in the room. Tom heard a scratching sound, over by the big window.

Not moving a muscle, he was suddenly wide awake and listening hard.

His godmothers were still carousing downstairs; he heard Lorna laughing loudly, and then a Christmassy shout, as if they were all drinking a toast.

Should he yell for help? Or would the intruder destroy him before his godmothers could come to his aid? Straining to keep his breathing soft, Tom listened.

The scratching sound was there again—something was definitely moving near the window.

He opened his eyes and in the darkness he saw the outline of the big bay window, and Justinian’s drum kit.

The cymbal clashed all by itself and one of the drums thumped, as if it had been hit with something soft. Tom sat bolt upright in bed, his heart walloping in his chest. In the shadows he saw the black outline of the gun on the bedside table, and he grabbed it.

“I know you’re there!” His own voice sounded scared and stupid, and he made an effort to toughen it. “Come out and show yourself!”

The silence went on, but now he was certain he had company. He switched on the lamp beside the bed and looked around the room. Everything was quiet and still. Sliding out of bed, he crept across the floor, holding the cold, heavy gun in front of him in what felt like a bad imitation of James Bond. When he got to the drum kit he almost laughed aloud with relief.

A small, round dark-brown mouse sat in the middle of the snare drum; it must have bounced off the cymbal.

“You gave me a fright,” Tom told it. “This house is owned by a fairy—so you’d better find somewhere else to infest.”

Unless, of course, this mouse was a fairy in disguise; he had seen Lorna turn herself into a mouse. He bent down to examine it more closely. It looked like any old mouse, and Tom was starting to feel rather stupid pointing a gun at it—when it suddenly sneezed.

Tom cried, “I know who you are! You’re Pindar Falconer!”

The mouse let out an “Eeek!” of alarm and tried to climb over the rim of the drum.

“I’m armed—don’t try to run away—look, I don’t want to shoot a mouse, but I will if I have to!”

The mouse took a reckless dive off the drum, and suddenly there was Pindar Falconer, sprawled across the floor, holding his hands up. “Wait! Don’t kill me!”

“Well—” It was impossible to be frightened of Pindar; there was something so honest and friendly about his funny pink face with its huge turned-up nose. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you—honestly!”

“In that case, why have you been following me?”

Pindar was crestfallen. “You spotted me?”

“Are you serious?” Tom moved to the mantelpiece and carefully put down the gun (which was a huge relief; carrying one of these things in real life was nothing like a computer game). “The whole of Harrods spotted you!”

“Oh, bum.” Pindar’s cheeks turned red. “You saw me in the dress, right?”

“Yes—it was really funny.”

“It’s the disguising spell, you see—I’m allergic to it. It makes me sneeze and then everything goes wrong. I’m allergic to a lot of spells.”

Tom took his first proper look at his cousin. Pindar
was a tall, gangly teenager, with flyaway arms and legs, huge feet and an untidy shock of dark hair. He was wearing jeans, and a T-shirt that said
OLD FAIRIES SUCK
. He scrambled to his feet, and the two cousins stared curiously into each other’s faces.

“Do you work for the Fairy Secret Service?” Tom asked.

“No. I was going to, but I failed the exam for the spying academy.”

This wasn’t surprising. “I heard you were working in a circus,” said Tom.

“Oh, that was a bit of a disaster,” Pindar said. “I got fired—I killed one of the lions.”

“Did it attack you?”

“Oh no.” Pindar sighed. “It was the same as Harrods—I sneezed suddenly and it had a heart attack. I’m pretty useless at everything, you see.”

“Sneezing a couple of times doesn’t make you useless,” Tom said; this boy was supposed to be his mortal enemy, yet he had a strange desire to cheer him up. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s not what my father said.” Pindar frowned and stood up straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard of my father. His name’s Tiberius Falconer—and I hate him! I hate my mother, too.” His voice wobbled. “That’s why I’m here—I’ve run away.”

“Oh.” Tom hadn’t been expecting this.

“My father said I’m not a true Falconer—and I said I was GLAD because I didn’t want to be any kind of Falconer. I want to join the other side—whatever that is.”

“You ran away? Where from?” asked Tom.

“Falconer Palace, in the Realm. I was sent back there after the circus fired me. My parents were furious to see me again, and my mother said I had to work in the laundry. So I escaped.”

“You make it sound like a prison!”

“It might as well be,” Pindar said. A darkness crossed his face, and for a moment he looked older. “They never liked me, and I thought it was because I wasn’t worth liking and took after the ugly side of the family. But then I saw how mean they could be to perfectly nice people—they had my tutor sent to the salt mines, and my father openly boasts about murdering two of his own brothers.”

“Where did you go? I mean, where have you been staying?”

“Nowhere,” Pindar said sadly. “I’ve been sleeping in people’s window boxes.”

“Aren’t they a bit small?”

“I’m a fairy, aren’t I? I can shrink myself. But it’s not very comfortable. A snail oozed right across my face last night.”

“Gross!”

“You don’t want to know what a snail’s bum looks like that close up.”

Both boys laughed.

“But I don’t care,” said Pindar. “I’m not going back to that place until my mother and father have been locked up.” He was sad again. “I saw your parents, Tom, while I was spying on you.”

“When were you spying on me?”

“Just for a couple of days, before your dad disappeared—and I can’t imagine having parents as nice as that. Your mother’s always singing and smiling; your father’s always making jokes. It must be great.”

“Yes, it’s pretty good,” Tom said. “I haven’t got them at the moment, though,” he added. “My dad’s in hiding, and my mum—well, she’s being hidden somewhere. I’m staying with my fairy godmothers.”

“They seem OK,” Pindar said, “for old ladies.”

“They’ve been really kind to me.” Tom suddenly saw how true this was; they were all taking a risk because of the promise they had made to Jonas. “I’m sure they’ll let you stay here—if you’ve really changed sides.” In a way the two of them were in the same situation, he thought—two boys without parents. But poor old Pindar had left his parents because they were hateful, and he had no godmothers to take care of him. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving!” Pindar said it so loudly that they both smiled again. “I’ve been eating stuff I found in dustbins—do you have any food?”

“Not up here, but I’m sure my godmothers will give you something—come downstairs.” Tom didn’t like the idea of summoning one of Dahlia’s enslaved husbands, and he also thought it would be a good idea to have fairy backup while there was a Falconer in the house—even an unwilling one.

“OK,” Pindar said. “I’m so hungry that I don’t even care if this is a trap.”

“Relax—I swear it’s not a trap.” Tom decided he trusted his cousin. He pulled on his jeans and they went downstairs to the drawing room.

The door opened onto a scene of chaos. The three fairies lay across armchairs and sofas. There was a mess of smeared glasses, empty bottles and old potato chip bags.

Lorna raised her head from the sofa. “H’llo, Tom—wassup?” She noticed Pindar and roared, “Arrrrgh! Falconer!” She pulled something out of her pocket and aimed it at the intruder.

“You can’t shoot anything with that, darling,” Dahlia said. “It’s an old bagel.”

“Oh—so it is—crikey, it’s gone hard as a rock. Well—put your hands up and wait till I find my blooming gun!”

“Please don’t shoot Pindar,” said Tom. “He’s run away from his parents.”

All three godmothers stared at Pindar until his face was as red as a tomato.

“Why on earth should we believe him?” demanded Iris. “This is some slippery Falconer trick!”

“I’m positive he’s telling the truth!”

Lorna struggled into an upright position, shaking her head several times, and took a long, hard look at Pindar. “Why did you run away?”

“Because I couldn’t stand them anymore,” Pindar said. “It’s really horrible having parents who’re evil.”

“I think we should kill him, just to be on the safe side,” said Iris.

“No!” Tom shouted. “I won’t let you—he’s my cousin! You’ll have to kill me first!”

Iris’s little dinosaur eyes narrowed to pinpricks. “Do you think this Falconer would do the same for you? Look at him! What on earth is the meaning of that disgraceful T-shirt?”

“Oh, don’t be such an old poop,” Dahlia said. “ ‘Old Fairies Suck’ is my son’s latest hit—all the young people in the Realm are wearing those.” She gave the bewildered Pindar a dazzling smile. “You can tell us the whole story, but I’m sure you’d like something to eat first. Boys are always hungry.”

“Yes, please!”

Out came the gold phone. “I’ll tell my staff to bring up a nourishing lamb casserole with roast potatoes and French beans, and a steamed syrup pudding.”

“Cor!” Lorna said. “Make that two—with custard!”

“My dear Lorna—how can you possibly eat anything else without exploding?”

“I still vote we kill him,” Iris said.

Dahlia gave Pindar another smile. “Did you hear that, darling? She doesn’t believe you. I’m afraid you’ll have to convince her by wearing a truth-globe.”

“Ha!” shouted Iris. “Nice move, Dahlia—he’ll never DARE to wear one of those!”

“What’s a truth-globe?” Tom was suspicious, in case they were planning something that might hurt his cousin.

“You wear one round your neck and it changes color and gives you an electric shock if you’re lying,” said Pindar. “Don’t worry, Tom—I don’t mind wearing one, because I’m going to tell the truth.”

“Good for you!” Lorna said. “He must be on the level—unless he fancies being grilled like a sausage!”

Dahlia took a miniature gold key off her bracelet and opened a small walnut cabinet. Very carefully she took out a shabby leather box. From this she pulled a ball of clear glass on a long gold chain. It didn’t look like much to Tom, but the other two godmothers gasped in admiration.

“What a lovely piece!” Iris cried. “It must have cost a fortune!”

“It was my mother’s,” Dahlia said. “It’s a wonder she managed to leave it to me—my father was constantly trying to break it.” She hung the globe around Pindar’s neck. “How does it feel?”

Pindar blushed again. “Fine.”

“Let’s test it,” Iris said. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Have you been following us?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s working with you?”

“Nobody.”

“Nonsense!”

“He’s telling the truth,” Lorna said. “The globe isn’t even cloudy. Do you really mean to tell us that nobody else is after us?”

“Yes,” Pindar said. “My tutor left a list of names—I think they were his old college friends. The first name was Jonas Harding. I was spying on him in the mortal world just before he was arrested and Lorna came.”

“Does anyone else know we’re Tom’s godmothers?”