Cauldron Spells (2 page)

Secrets and Plans

T
he morning Max was to set off for Castle Gore was grey, cold and rainy. Max looked out of his window and shrugged. The weather looked as dismal as he felt. He had three days of hard riding with Sir Boris the Most Boring Knight in Christendom, and then he would be stuck in the cold misty lakeland of Gore, in the forbidding castle of Lady Morgana le Fay, for six whole weeks, trying not to get himself turned
into anything unpleasant. Sir Bertram had made it clear that if he wanted to learn magic when he came back, he would have to get his Certificate of Spell Mastery at the end of the course. But getting that would be almost as difficult as coming home in one piece. Lady Morgana had been sweet as honey when she awarded Max the prize of a place at her Spell School, but he wasn’t fooled. The kingdom’s most powerful sorceress had a definite grudge against him, and just thinking about her hard pale blue eyes and her tinkling icicle laugh made him want to hide under the bedclothes and miss the trip north altogether.

He trudged to the stable to get his horse, Arnold, saddled up ready to go, wishing that Olivia and Adolphus were coming with him. But Sir Bertram had flatly refused to let her go, and Max didn’t think even Olivia was going to be able to get round him.

“Hey, Arnold,” he said gloomily as he opened the stable door.

Arnold blew a friendly horsey sort of greeting that sounded a bit like, “Aha, oats on their way then?” 
and shook his mane. As Max emptied a few buckets of oats into the trough, Olivia poked her head round the corner.

“All packed then, Max? Got everything?”

“Yeah, I think so…” said Max, looking around at his assorted bags.

Olivia sidled in and asked nonchalantly, “So, did you ever get round to brewing up any more frogspell antidote?”

Max frowned at her. She was clearly trying to make her enquiry look totally innocent, but had failed utterly. “Why would I want frogspell antidote?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Olivia airily. “Just, well, you never know. What if you meet an enchanted frog you don’t fancy kissing? Or turn yourself into a frog and then can’t turn back?”

Max narrowed his eyes. What was Olivia up to? She wasn’t planning anything silly, was she? He glanced at his small pack of spell stuff and saw the two potion bottles poking out of one side. Just to be on the safe side, he took them out and checked. 
Yes – there was the frogspell, nearly a full bottle of blue gunk he’d brewed up just last month, and the newly brewed green antidote. None was missing and he knew Olivia couldn’t make it herself, so it looked like she was just playing some game or other. He shrugged.

“Yes, I’ve got them both. So I guess if things get too bad in Gore I can always turn myself into a frog and hop home. Should only take me – oh – about three hundred years to get back. But I suppose at least I’d be alive.”

Olivia looked sympathetic. “It’ll be all right, Max,” she said. “You’ll be fine. You’ll get the certificate; you’re really good at spells. And then we only have to get me through the Squires’ Challenge and we’ll both be doing what we want!”

Max laughed. Olivia had told him the previous day about the promise she’d extracted from Sir Bertram. “Olivia,” he said. “You do know that you’ve got less chance of winning than Adolphus has of being awarded the prize for Brainiest Dragon in the Kingdom? You’re very good, for a girl, but you’ve only 
trained with me, and I’m not exactly the world’s best sword master.”

“No, you’re pretty much the world’s worst,” agreed Olivia happily. “But that’s okay, Max, because I have a plan…” and she tapped the side of her nose with her finger and looked mysterious.

Max wondered what the plan was. Did it have anything to do with her strange interest in the frogspell? He was just about to ask, when they were both distracted by the sudden appearance of a small white fluttering bird, which swooped through the stable door and hovered in front of him expectantly. Ferocious poked his head out of Max’s tunic, impressed.

“Well, well, Max, it’s a swift, for you. You’re going up in the world!”

Olivia’s eyes widened. A swift was a magical note. Neither she nor Max had ever received one before, although they had seen a few – Lady Griselda occasionally used them for really important messages. Max reached out, and the swift fluttered down and 
crumpled into a small folded piece of creamy white parchment in his hand. He opened it. The message was addressed to him and written in a clear, firm hand. Max read it aloud.

As Max read, the message faded, and he was left with a blank piece of parchment, quivering slightly as if ready to leave immediately. Max knew that, thrown into the air with a few simple words, it would turn back into the white bird and soar off to wherever Merlin was to be found. He folded it carefully, stowed it in his belt pouch and then looked up at Olivia.

“Well!” she said, solemnly. “Merlin!”

Max felt rather similar. Merlin! He thought of his bright, hawk-like eyes and his lean brown face. With his dark clothes and long sword, Merlin looked like any other hardened knight, one of King Arthur’s many battle-weary fighting men. But he was the most 
powerful magician the kingdom had ever known. And he had sent a magical message to Max! Not only that, but he had asked him to keep an eye on Morgana le Fay, and given him the means to contact him if he needed to. Max suddenly felt considerably less small and scared about the trip to Gore. He was actually starting to feel a trickle of excitement.

“Well, that’s all very well, I’m sure,” said Ferocious, cleaning his whiskers, apparently unimpressed. “Good to have Merlin on our side, of course. But who is this friend, exactly? And Merlin’s not coming till the final week, is he? Still have to make sure we don’t get chopped into small pieces before then.”

Max grinned. “Oh come on, Ferocious. He seems pretty sure she won’t try anything. She wants Arthur to come and visit. She doesn’t want anyone suspecting she’s an evil old hag, does she?”

“Well, that’s what he says,” sniffed Ferocious. “We’ll just have to hope he’s right.”

“Ferocious, it’s
Merlin
we’re talking about 
here. He probably knows more about her than we do,” said Olivia, exasperated.

“Hmm, well, that’s all right then, obviously,” said Ferocious. “I’ll just go back to sleep. Wake me when you’re in danger of being zapped into a dung beetle, Max, and I’ll try and make sure the other dung beetles don’t eat you.” And he buried himself back in Max’s tunic.

But Max refused to be downcast. Not with Merlin keeping an eye out for him. He felt as if a particularly indigestible and stodgy lump of pudding in his stomach had been dissolved with a cool bubbling drink of pure spring water. Max patted Arnold and started to saddle him up. Whatever happened, he was determined that he would discover what Morgana was up to. He was so busy thinking of how he would foil Morgana’s plot, and reveal all to Merlin when he saw him again, that he didn’t notice Olivia gently remove the potion bottles from his saddlebags and replace them with two identical ones.

Max might have been feeling considerably happier about his trip, but there was no let-up in the rain. By the time everyone had gathered for farewells in the castle yard, they were all soaked through. Max’s brown hair was plastered to his skin, his pale freckled face standing out white against his wet hair and dark clothes. Olivia, muffled in a long cloak, came out to give him a hug.

“Have a good trip, Max,” she said encouragingly. And then, in a lower voice, “And keep your eyes peeled. You never know who might show up.”

Max frowned at her. “All right. But I hope you’re not planning anything.”

But all she did was smile, and wink.

Lady Griselda squeezed Max so hard he thought he might just die before he even got to Gore and save Morgana any trouble. She wiped her tears with an already sodden handkerchief.

“Oh Max – darling – be good. Be careful. Work hard. Good luck with all your spells – and 
remember to wash behind your ears.”

Sir Bertram clapped him heartily on the shoulder several times and brushed a hand across his eyes.

“Damned fly in my eye,” he said. “Be good, Max, take care, remember everything I’ve told you – and do us proud!”

Max nodded, and climbed slowly onto his horse. Sir Boris, who had been waiting for the fond farewells to finish, raised his arm to Sir Bertram and said, “Don’t worry Bertie, Max and I will have a fine old time. Can’t wait to tell him all about my last quest… Most interesting story!”

Max grimaced at Olivia, and waved to his parents. The drawbridge was lowered, they wheeled the horses round, and the two of them clattered out of the castle gate and down the muddy track leading north.

A Traveller in Disguise

T
he rain continued to fall steadily on Castle Perilous, trickling down the stone walls, dripping through holes in the roof, gusting in through the windows and making the tapestries damp. A puddle of water was spreading across the floor in a particularly damp and dark corner of the least-used turret of the castle, where Olivia was going over her plans, for the fifteenth time, with Adolphus.

“No, Adolphus. You need to have the potion bottle round
your
neck.
I’ll
be a frog. Frogs don’t have necks.”

“Oh, okay. Yes. But if you’re a frog, how will you get turned back?”

“You’ll have the antidote. In the potion bottle. Round your neck.”

“Oh, yes. In the bottle. Right then. But do we have to go now?” Adolphus was looking doubtfully out of the turret window at the rain, falling from the sky in grey sheets as if the gods had just emptied their bathwater on the castle. Olivia peered out and shuddered.

“Unfortunately, we do. We need to follow Max and Sir Boris, because I don’t know the way to Gore and neither do you.”

Olivia was dressed as a boy, in some old, dark and rather worn clothes of Max’s. Strapped to her belt were Max’s second-best sword, a small hunting knife and a large belt pouch. Her long dark-green dress was neatly folded on a chair in the corner, and laid forlornly 
across the dress were two neat dark plaits of hair. Olivia looked at the plaits rather regretfully for a minute, but then shrugged, and ran her fingers through her newly short hair until it looked nicely messy. Feeling in her belt pouch, she pulled out a small bottle – a bottle filled with some familiar-looking blue gunk.

I hope Max doesn’t need the frogspell before we get there, she thought. He’d get a shock if he did, because she’d replaced it with a very similar-looking mixture of porridge and blackberries. She took a deep breath.

“Well, Adolphus, here goes.”

She shook a small amount of gunk into her gloved hand, stowed the bottle in her pouch and then, shuddering slightly, flicked the frogspell onto her head. There was a BANG! and Olivia disappeared. In her place, looking rather dazed, was a small purple frog with red spots.

“Help!” said Adolphus. “Olivia’s gone! Where’s Olivia?!”

The frog rolled its eyes in exasperation. 

“
Adolphus!
” it said, in Olivia’s voice. “You really are the limit! It’s me! It’s Olivia! I used the potion to turn myself into a frog. Like we
agreed
. It’s part of the plan!”

Adolphus looked at her for a minute, and then nodded and grinned happily. “Oh, yes! That’s right. Good! So – you’d better climb on my back and we’ll – um – well – I suppose I have to fly out of the window… into the rain…”

“Yes,” said the frog, not looking terribly happy about the idea. “I suppose so…”

She hopped over to Adolphus and scrambled onto his neck. It was rather difficult to work out how to hold on, what with only having webbed feet and Adolphus being covered in rather slippery scales. She teetered on his back for a minute or two, then decided to grab the leather cord she’d used to tie the potion bottle round his neck. She was only just in time, as Adolphus lurched onto the window ledge, poked his head out into the rain, took a deep breath and launched himself into the air. 

It was mid-afternoon before Lady Griselda found the note from Olivia. The rain had stopped, and a watery pale sun was attempting to shine through thin grey clouds, but most of the castle still looked rather dark, wet and gloomy. Lady Griselda was feeling more than usually distracted, worried about how Max would manage up in Gore with Lady Morgana. She might be a very well-respected and important enchantress, but there was something not quite right about her. Too proud. Too cold. And just a bit too full of her own importance.

Lady Griselda sighed, ran her hands through her long red hair, and set off up the stairs. Olivia was supposed to be helping her polish the castle silver that afternoon, which meant she was almost certainly hiding in her chamber. But when Lady Griselda pushed open the door, there was no sign of Olivia. Instead, a smooth piece of parchment was laid carefully on the bed.

As Lady Griselda read it, she gasped, and 
turned pale. Tottering to the window, she leant out and spotted a familiar figure down in the castle yard.

“Bertram!” she shrieked. “Bertram! Come here! Olivia’s gone!”

She paced up and down the room wringing her hands until Sir Bertram burst in through the door. “Read it!' she said, gesturing to the parchment. He picked it up, frowning, and read:

“Don’t worry? Don’t worry?!” Lady Griselda’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “She’s dressed as a boy! She’s travelling three hundred miles north on her own with a pea-brained dragon for protection! Bertram! You have to go and fetch her back
at once
!”

“Er, well, yes, of course m’dear,” said Sir Bertram soothingly. “I’ll get her back in a jiffy, just wait and see.”

“And what’s all this about the Squires’ Challenge? What
on earth
gave her the idea she could enter that? Bertram?! Is this anything to do with you?”

“Er, well… I may have, erm, slightly given her the impression that… well… that – er – you know – I’d really better be on my way if I’m going to catch her up. She’s got quite a head start…”

Lady Griselda looked at him backing out of the room and put her hands on her hips.

“Bertram! This is
your fault
! Putting ideas into her head… Go and get her at once! Saddle up Daisy. And when you get back, we WILL be having words about this…” 

Sir Bertram sighed, and set off for the stables, shouting for someone to bring him his armour and someone else to pack the saddlebags. He’d been looking forward to a nice peaceful evening. Bit of hog roast. Jug of mead. Some tall tales by the fireside. And now here he was, setting off to traipse halfway across the kingdom after an errant daughter. Still, it needed to be done. Who knew what Olivia would get up to otherwise? They couldn’t have her all summer at Castle Gore dressed as a boy, training to be a squire. She could hurt someone. Cause no end of fuss.

Olivia was miles away and feeling extremely pleased with herself. She was stretched out, draped across Adolphus’s back, with two froggy feet hooked firmly into the cord around his neck, soaking up the weak sunshine and keeping one eye on Max and Sir Boris, down below. Adolphus had quickly got the hang of flying high enough to be inconspicuous and was enjoying stretching his wings, soaring up on the thermals in a wide circle and then swooping back down. 

“Wheee, this is fun!” he shouted. Olivia grinned. She had done it! She had escaped, just like she promised she would, and she was on her way to Gore with Max. Even better, there was a whole summer of training ahead before September, when she would compete in the Squires’ Challenge. She closed her eyes and conjured up a picture of herself, slightly battered and worse for wear but definitely the clear winner, holding up the Challenge Cup triumphantly while all around the spectators cheered and stamped wildly. She could see Max, waving and punching the air, and her father, looking proud, and beside him, the tall dark figure of King Arthur, his blue eyes bright, smiling at her…

“Waaahhh!” shrieked Adolphus. Olivia came back to the present with a jerk as the dragon suddenly plummeted.

“What? What’s wrong?” she shouted as Adolphus bucked and swung wildly to one side. She hung on desperately to the leather cord round his neck and tried not to slip. 

“Adolphus! Get a grip! What’s the matter?” she shrieked as they started to fall through the air, wings fluttering wildly and Adolphus wailing. A dark shadow flashed across her vision and then she saw a huge bird, talons out, beak open in a terrifying shriek of triumph, diving straight for them.

“Help! Aaaarghh! Olivia!” shouted Adolphus as they spiralled downwards.

She barely had time to blink before the bird was on them. At the last possible moment Adolphus rolled sideways and it missed by a feather, whistling down past them before pulling up and soaring round for another try.

Adolphus was upright now, flying as fast as he could in the other direction, but the bird was faster. Olivia squinted at it. It looked huge – but then, she was a frog. Now she could see it clearly, she was pretty sure it was just…

“Adolphus! It’s just a buzzard! It’s nothing you can’t handle…”

“But it’s really big!” wailed Adolphus, flapping 
desperately to try and go a bit faster. “It’s really fierce! It wants to eat me!”

Olivia patted his neck with one foot, keeping the other firmly wrapped in the leather cord. “Adolphus, you’re a dragon! It can’t possibly eat you!”

“But it’s got talons!” said Adolphus, looking behind him and trying to take evasive action. “It’s got a really sharp beak!”

“Adolphus!” said Olivia crossly, as the bird got ready to dive again. “Pull yourself together! You’ve got claws – and you can breathe fire. For goodness’ sake. Just breathe fire at it!”

“Oh, yes,” said Adolphus, sounding relieved. “So I can. Although – it’s a bit difficult when you’re flying as well… I – er…”

Olivia looked behind her. The buzzard was dive-bombing them again, beady black eyes looking right at her, the cruel curved beak open, just ready to snatch her off Adolphus’s back.

“Adolphus!” she yelled. “Breath fire! Now!”

A jet of orange-yellow flames scorched past 
her and enveloped the surprised bird, which disappeared down through the air, flapping wildly and looking rather blackened. Olivia shrank down onto Adolphus’s neck and tried not to fall off as the dragon, seriously unbalanced by his sudden act of bravery, plunged sideways. With a great effort, he finally straightened up, narrowly missing a tree, and they glided gently down. They landed by the side of a marshy pond, a few hundred yards from a rather dark and gloomy forest.

Both of them took a couple of minutes to recover, breathing deeply.

“Troll’s toenails, Adolphus,” said Olivia at last. “I thought I was dinner for sure. That, or splattered in pieces across the ground.”

Adolphus gulped. “I’m sorry. I – it’s just – it was a bit scary. It had a very sharp beak.”

He looked rather shame-faced. Olivia gave him a pat.

“Never mind,” she said, soothingly. “You scared it off in the end.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” said Adolphus, cheering up and bouncing his tail. “
Whoosh!
Fire!”

“Um, the only thing is,” said Olivia, looking around. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where we’ve ended up?”

Adolphus, predictably, didn’t. It was twilight before they finally gave up trying to find Max and Sir Boris, or the road north, and decided to settle down for the night in a tree at the edge of the forest. Olivia could barely see the line of the cart track nearby, winding into the forest just yards from their perch. Adolphus was fast asleep, draped over a branch, but she was still wide awake and nervously twitching at every strange sound. She thought she could hear a horse snorting, and peered anxiously through the gloom. There. It was definitely a horse. Was it Max and Sir Boris?

A last finger of red-gold sunlight filtered through the trees and picked out the figure of a lone knight, ambling along the track on a dapple-grey horse. Olivia pushed herself further into the tree and froze as 
the knight passed below and rode into the forest. She couldn’t see past Adolphus, so she missed the sight of both the knight’s truly magnificent moustache and the familiar bulk of his armour as he slumped on his sturdy grey mare.

“Damned blasted girl,” the knight was muttering as he plodded on through the trees. “Could have been all warm and tucked up by the fire by now, nice jar of spiced mead Squire training indeed! When I catch up with her it’ll be six weeks of kitchen-wench training, and that’s a promise!”