Cauldron Spells (7 page)

Despite Caradoc’s certainty, Max still couldn’t quite believe that his cauldron was the Treasure of Annwn, that it came from the Otherworld. He looked at it and sighed. He wouldn’t be able to use it for the rest of the Spell School, anyway, and that meant struggling on with his old one. Caradoc had done some magical repairs on it, and it was looking a little less lopsided, but Max didn’t hold out much hope.

He was going to fail the Spell School for sure.

Morgana's Magic

M
ax's lessons the next day were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Snotty Hogsbottom, looking like he'd just discovered a magic cauldron in a pile of dragon's gold. Max smiled to himself as he stirred his sparkling blue potion (Caradoc's repair spells seemed to be holding up). He watched Snotty's dark head bending over close to Morgana's own, and saw the look of triumph that flitted across her face. She looked up at the class and waved for silence.

“I'm afraid some
pressing
business has come up, so, sadly, I will have to leave you for the rest of the day,” she announced sweetly. “I shall send for Aleric to take over. Keep stirring, and – Max – do try to make sure your potion is a
little
more accurate this time…”

She gave him an icy smile, and Max looked back stonily. Then, with a dismissive wave of her hand, she swept out, with Snotty, looking smug, following behind.

Max went back to stirring, wondering what they would be doing. Making a copy of the copy, he supposed. Caradoc had told him that the spell could be used again and again, but that none of the copies would have the magic of the original, only its external appearance. Max was glad about that. Morgana's spells were strong enough, without any extra help from a powerful Otherworld cauldron. He ground a few more grains of dried woodlouse spit and added them to the spell, watching for the characteristic red colour that would tell him it was working. He noticed Aleric enter the room and 
wondered if he'd take over for the rest of the Spell School while Morgana put her plans in place. There were still five more days before Arthur was due to arrive. Plenty of time for her to set her trap – but plenty of time, too, for them to find out what it was, and hopefully get enough evidence to prove to Arthur once and for all that she was an evil scheming witch.

Max's potion turned bright red, and he grinned. Things were looking up. They were definitely looking up.

But Max didn't have much time to gloat. As they all transferred their potions to waiting bottles, Aleric came up and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ah, Max. Lady Morgana expressly asked that you show her your potion when the class was over. She said you made such a mess of it yesterday that she wanted to be quite sure you'd got it right this time. I must say, I'm surprised. You were doing splendidly last week.”

Max frowned. He was pretty sure his potion 
had gone fine today, but he really didn't want to have to put it to the test under Morgana's icy glare. Still – he brightened – maybe he'd get a chance to see or hear something useful.

“Okay,” he said, packing up carefully. “Where should I take it?”

“She said she'd be down in the wine cellar, sorting out something to do with King Arthur's visit.”

Better and better, thought Max. I really might get a chance to find something out. But Ferocious wasn't happy.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Max? Going to meet Morgana le Fay in a dark part of the castle where no one can hear you scream?”

Max rolled his eyes. “She won't do anything, Ferocious. She's got King Arthur to worry about. She's not going to bother with me just when they've got the cauldron and their plans are all working out.”

But Ferocious had a funny feeling about the whole thing. Just as Max reached the cellar door, the rat jumped down out of his belt pouch and slipped behind 
an old wine barrel. And it was just as well he did. Because the moment Max got through the door, he was hit by a sprinkling of Snotty's special immobility spell, and he toppled face first onto the hard cellar floor while his cauldron, bags and books went flying.

Max had always thought that Morgana le Fay was an extremely scary witch. Watching her now, silhouetted against flickering spell light, her arms wide and crackling with magic, her pale face focused on the cauldron in front of her, he realised that he had never fully understood how powerful she was. Max was strapped to a chair in the middle of the cellar. He had been tied up by Snotty, who had then removed the immobility spell and laughed nastily as Max tried to struggle out of his bonds.

“Don't bother, Pendragon. The more you pull, the tighter they'll get.”

Morgana had now brought her cauldron up to the perfect temperature and was adding the last-minute ingredients to her spell. As she scattered some silvery 
dust into the bubbling mixture, she turned to Max with a honey-sweet smile.

“My dear Max – so
good
of you, so
obliging
of you to come and show your potion to me.
Pity
it got spilled when you dived so enthusiastically to the floor, but never mind… You won't be needing it where you're going.”

Max tried to look as nonchalant as possible, but he couldn't help wondering what she meant. Where was he going?

“We thought you'd like to take a little trip, Adrian and I,” she explained. “We felt it would be a nice little
reward
for interfering in our plans last month in Camelot. And it suits us perfectly, because we're rather hoping a certain person will feel obliged to
rescue
you.” She laughed, and her laughter was like glass shattering on the stone floor.

Max's heart sank. All the spying they'd done, all the bits of the plot they'd found out, and they'd completely missed the really important bit. The trap that would send Arthur to the land of Annwn. 
It was him! He was the bait! They were going to send him to Annwn and then King Arthur would
have
to rescue him. Max was so cross with himself for being such an idiot that he didn't have any spare energy for being scared. If only he'd listened to Ferocious. If only he'd
thought
before trotting down to the cellar, hoping he might find out something important. He'd found out the rest of the plot, all right, but it wasn't going to do him much good, trussed up like a chicken and about to be magicked to the Otherworld.

Morgana lifted up her arms and started to chant the spell. Her hair flared around her face and writhed like snakes. Her eyes were icy blue, so cold Max felt himself freeze under their glance. Her face was pale and terrible. She stretched out her arms towards Max and called out in a harsh voice as she threw a sparkling drop of spell at him. Time seemed to slow down as Max watched the droplet arc across the space between them. But then there was a sudden commotion, the door slammed open, and a figure threw herself into the room and straight at Max. It was 
Olivia, and he barely had time to register her terrified face before the droplet landed on her outstretched hand and she disappeared like a light winking out.

Max woke up, feeling like he'd been drowned and then dragged out of the ocean depths by the scruff of his neck. His head felt fuzzy and everything hurt. The room he was in seemed strangely dim, and he couldn't quite focus on the person who seemed to be talking to him. He shook his head and tried to speak, but all that came out was a whisper.

“Ah, awake now?” said the voice, and Max thought he recognised it, but he wasn't sure. A hand waved across his face, and suddenly the room seemed brighter and his head hurt less. He realised he was in his own bed, and sitting nearby was…

“Merlin! What? You aren't supposed to be here yet! What's happened?”

Merlin looked down at him and patted his shoulder.

“I got your swift,” he said. “It made me think 
that perhaps I should be here. But I wish I had arrived earlier.” For some reason he was looking very gentle and sympathetic. “Max,” he said, “can you remember anything?”

Max tried hard – but the last thing he remembered was the lesson… and then taking his potion down to the cellar…

“I was on my way to the wine cellar – to see Lady Morgana,” he said, slowly. “Then – I don't remember…”

“You have had your memory spelled away,” said Merlin, and then, choosing his words with care, “It seems that the same enchantress who stole away the Cornish prince last month has returned. She tricked Aleric into thinking she was Lady Morgana and tried to send you to the land of Annwn. Instead, she succeeded in sending Olivia.”

Max felt like he'd been punched in the chest. Olivia! In the Otherworld! At the same time, he had a terrible feeling that there was something very wrong, that there was something he knew that was important, 
but he couldn't remember it. The enchantress who stole away the Cornish prince – that had been Lady Morgana. Only King Arthur believed his half-sister's story that it was another witch in disguise. What was going on?

“But – it can't be – how… What are we going to do?”

“We are going to rescue her,” said another voice, firmly, and Max realised that there was someone else in the room – tall and dark and pacing up and down with fierce energy. It was the king. That would explain Merlin's careful choice of words.

At that moment the door opened and Sir Bertram strode in, loaded with swords, armour, shields and helmets.

“Right then,” he said. “Got everything we need. When do we set off?”

He looked over and saw that Max was awake, and immediately dropped all the armour with a clatter and came over to the side of the bed.

“Max, m'boy,” he said, and Max thought he 
had never seen his father look so grey or drawn. “Don't worry. We're going to get her back. Arthur's promised. And Merlin's coming. So we'll be fine.”

Max sat up and saw that Caradoc was there, too, sitting at the foot of the bed, his long crooked face looking concerned. Adolphus was curled up by his feet with Ferocious, who scampered up to Max's shoulder and nipped his ear.

“It's my fault, Max. I went to get her. Heard all the commotion in the room and thought you needed help. And whatever they say,” he added in a whisper, “it was Morgana in there, I'm sure of it…”

“Lady Morgana has promised to keep the way open for us,” said Arthur to Sir Bertram. “Luckily she has also managed to locate the Cauldron of Annwn – so we have the payment for Olivia's life. She's frantic with worry about the poor girl – feels as if it's all her fault.”

“It is,” said Ferocious, and Merlin gave him a sharp look, but no one else in the room seemed to have heard him. 

“She says she will prepare the spell and be ready for us tomorrow night,” continued Arthur. “So we have time to make plans.”

Merlin exchanged glances with Caradoc, and then cleared his throat.

“I have a suggestion. This… ah… enchantress, will be aware of our plans to rescue Olivia. She may try to prevent it, or… worse. If Lady Morgana opens the way, our going will be quite… public. I think we would do better to go tonight, quietly, with no one knowing but ourselves. Caradoc can open the way and hold it for us.”

Arthur gave Merlin a piercing look, but Merlin returned it, his grey eyes meeting Arthur's blue ones and holding them steadily. At last Arthur nodded. “It is a sensible precaution. So. We will go tonight.”

“The song says that seven only may return,” said Caradoc. “Seven exactly, for the seven challenges. If I am holding the way, and Olivia is to come back with you, then six will have to go. And it should be six 
who have a good reason, some connection to her.”

“Well that's me then,” said Sir Bertram quickly. “And Arthur's a relative. And Merlin – well – he's a friend of the family…”

“So the other three will just have to be me, Ferocious and Adolphus,” said Max. “And don't tell me we can't because we're coming, whatever anyone says.”

“Yes, yes!” said Adolphus, jumping up from the bed. “We have to go. We have to rescue Olivia. We'll save her – we will!”

“Or die in the attempt,” added Ferocious firmly. “Which we probably will. But we're not getting left behind, and that's that.”

To the Rescue!

I
t was cold and windy on the hillside. The moon was full, but wisps of cloud kept floating across it and they could only really see the vague shapes of the trees nearby and the looming bulk of the hill above them. They were standing by a small cave, and Caradoc was weaving little silvery spells across the entrance. Arthur was beside him, wearing armour and carrying his long sword, Excalibur. Merlin, looking grim, was
similarly armed, and Sir Bertram was next to Max, telling him for the tenth time that he was to stay close, not wander away, and on no account get himself killed. Max was clutching the cauldron Great-Aunt Wilhelmina had given him, wrapped up in a cloak, replacing the one Morgana had given Arthur. “Keep it safe, Max,” Merlin had said as he switched the cauldrons over. “Something tells me that it came to you – and that you must be the one to return it.”

As Caradoc stepped back from the cave entrance, they could all see the small silvery outline of a door glowing in the darkness.

“So,” said Arthur. “It is time. Six of us go forth; seven shall return. Look out for us, Caradoc – we shall be back before dawn.”

“We’ll have to be,” said Merlin. “At dawn the spell is broken and we won’t be able to get back at all.”

“We’ll be there, don’t worry,” said Sir Bertram, gruffly. “Griselda would never let me hear the end of it, otherwise.”

And one by one they strode through the 
glowing doorway, Max with Ferocious perched on his shoulder and Adolphus, who was quieter than usual, at his feet.

As Max walked through the silvery outline of the door, it felt as if he were wading into the sea; it was hard to walk and there was pressure all round him. Then he suddenly passed through to the other side, from night into day. A pale sun was burning through Annwn’s early morning mist, dew was sparkling on the grass and ahead of them was a frothing, bubbling, cool stream of jet-black water.

“Ah,” said Merlin, heavily. “I had hoped this would not be the first challenge.”

Arthur turned to him and frowned. “And this is?”

“The Stream of Jet,” said Merlin. “It’s an enchanted river. We can cross it if I make a magic bridge – but I can only do this once, and it will fail if I am not here, keeping the spell going. I’m afraid this is where I must stop, and wait for your return.”

“Great,” said Ferocious. “We’ve only just got 
here and we’ve lost the one person who knows what they’re doing.”

Arthur turned to Max and raised one eyebrow. “You know, Max – Merlin once spent a whole summer turning me into various strange creatures. With the useful result that I can now understand animal speech… So, Ferocious, rest assured – Merlin is not the only person here who knows what they’re doing.”

Ferocious squeaked, and burrowed himself into Max’s tunic in embarrassment, and Arthur laughed. His laughter was strong and clear and it made his face look younger, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Max found himself laughing too, and it made him feel braver and bolder, and sure that they were going to find Olivia and come home safely.

Merlin was standing by the stream, looking casually at the other bank. Now he turned and beckoned to them.

“All right,” he said. “Go over as swiftly as possible once the bridge is made. There are six more 
tests, one for each of you and the last for Olivia. You must come back as quickly as you can. Don’t get distracted – time is not quite the same in this land and it may pass more swiftly than it seems. Good luck!”

He gestured towards the stream, and there it was – a small wooden bridge, arching over the water, looking entirely solid and somehow very much like Merlin: deceptively plain, but strong, reliable and with a twist of bright magic running through every plank. Crossing over it, Max felt as if some of Merlin’s strength and magic was passing into him with each step, and it was just as well it was, because Merlin’s words had left him feeling rather apprehensive. A test for each of them? For him, and Ferocious
and
Adolphus? How on earth were they supposed to know what to do when it was their turn? And what if they were last, and they didn’t have Arthur or Sir Bertram to help them? Max bit his lip and tried not to think about it as he stepped off the bridge and onto firm ground on the other side.

It seemed like they walked through meadows 
and over rough pasture for hours without seeing anyone or anything. There was an eerie silence around them, and although the day seemed bright and clear, it was somehow hard to see any great distance. Sir Bertram, in full armour, was starting to get hot, and fed up.

At last he stopped.

“Sorry, but I’ve had enough,” he said. “It’s about time we met someone.”

He looked all around, and then cupped his hands and roared out at the nothingness.

“Come on! We’ve come to get Olivia! Come and stop us! Come and fight! Sneaks! Cowards! Come out and fight us!”

Arthur looked amused.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, and added his voice to Sir Bertram’s.

“It is I, High King Arthur of Britain, who calls you to a challenge. We seek Olivia Pendragon. Bring her to us, or face our swords!”

A ringing silence greeted these words, but then they heard a rattle of stones ahead, and as they walked 
forward, suddenly a huge fortress loomed in front of them, a fortress that looked entirely solid and yet hadn’t been there a moment before.

As they looked at it, the door in front of them creaked open and a servant beckoned them inside. She was small and slight, and had pale skin and merry green eyes that sparkled as she looked at each of them in turn.

“Welcome,” she said, in a musical voice, “to the Fortress of Mead Drunkenness.”

They walked into a long hall, and saw tables laden with jugs of mead and a feast of amazing food – roast swan, boars’ heads, pastries and cakes and fruit, piles and piles of it. Around the tables were people dressed in bright colours, making merry and drinking and eating and dancing to wild music.

“One of you must stay,” said the servant, and suddenly she looked more like a lady, dressed in finery, her long red hair braided with silver. “He must eat and drink and make merry until you return. Then, if he is still standing, you may collect him – but if he 
falls, overcome with mead, he must remain. And then there will not be seven to pass over the bridge back to the kingdom of Britain.”

They all looked at each other, and Sir Bertram coughed apologetically.

“Er… well… it looks like this one’s mine, then. Knight who can quaff the most ale and all that… Do my best.”

He turned to Max and looked at him solemnly.

“Make sure you come back with Olivia, Max. I know you can do it.” And he clapped him on the back, saluted Arthur and allowed the lady to lead him over to the tables.

At once the rest of them found themselves outside the fortress, back on the long, winding path through the Otherworld, and as Max looked up at the sky he realised it was already midday.

Bright though the overhead sun was, it was still impossible to see further than a few hundred yards in any direction. It wasn’t that there was a mist, just that somehow it was hard to make your eyes focus on the 
distance. They just slid over things and didn’t quite register what they were. So it was a shock when, after another hour or so of tramping on along the path, Max suddenly realised that there was a crowd of people in front of them. People who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. They were tall, and they were wearing long floaty dresses, and they all had long shining hair down to their waists.

“The Nine Maidens,” said Arthur, and he smiled. “Now, I wonder whose challenge this is?”

The maidens looked at him, and simpered, and pouted, and ran their lily-white hands through their hair. They started to glide towards the group, eyes only for the king, with his tall frame and dark good looks, and Arthur found it hard not to return their smiles. He took his hand off the hilt of Excalibur, where it had rested almost since they’d entered the Otherworld, and reached out towards them as they approached.

“Hang on,” said Max. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

But Arthur was walking forward as if entranced and he didn’t seem to hear anything Max said.

“Well,” said Ferocious, poking his head out and surveying the scene. “I think this one must be mine.”

He slipped out of Max’s tunic, scampered over the grass towards the maidens and started to bite their ankles.

At once they started to shriek, pull up their skirts, and run around hopping and jumping to try and get away from the rat, who was like a small whirlwind of teeth and claws. And suddenly they didn’t seem quite so beautiful or alluring. Ferocious drove them along the path until they reached a low flattish boulder onto which all nine climbed and then stood there, hissing with rage, while he circled the edge of the stone, baring his teeth at any of them who tried to come down.

King Arthur clapped his hands and bowed to Ferocious.

“I think we are now even,” he said, looking 
slightly pink. “I am afraid I nearly made a very big fool of myself.”

Ferocious grinned. “Well, I think we’ll forgive you. Luckily beautiful maidens are not my sort of thing at all. Except for their nice plump ankles,” he added, as one of them tried to put her foot down. She shrieked and whipped it out of the way.

“Go on then, quick,” said Ferocious to the others. “I’ll keep them here till you get back. But get a move on, won’t you? It looks like it’s mid-afternoon already.”

Max looked at the sun. Ferocious was right. Time was definitely running faster here than at home. And they still had to find Olivia and be back by Annwn’s sunset, which would signal dawn in their own world. Arthur nodded.

“You and me, now, Max.”

“And Adolphus,” Max reminded him. Adolphus had been very subdued ever since they’d entered the Otherworld. His tail was tucked down low 
and he’d barely said a word. He looked up now and licked Max’s hand, but he didn’t look happy. Max hoped that Adolphus’s challenge wouldn’t involve having to think too much.

They strode forward and almost instantly found themselves in a forest, with huge trees that seemed to reach up forever and disappear into a cool green darkness above them. There were no gleams of sunlight, and the forest floor was soft with layer upon layer of dead rotting leaves. They walked on in silence and then, faintly, Max heard a baying sound.

He turned to Arthur, who was also listening hard.

“Hounds,” said the king at last, looking worried. “The hell hounds – the Hounds of Annwn – the Wild Hunt. They are supposed to be huge and fierce and each one has three heads… I think maybe this one is for me.”

He drew Excalibur and stood, gesturing Max behind him, facing the sound of baying as it drew gradually nearer. 

Now they could hear the crack of dry branches trampled underfoot and the rustle of undergrowth pushed aside by heavy bodies, the pant and roar of huge beasts as they came on through the forest, and then, there they were. Seven huge dogs – black as night, with white teeth, each with three heads – crouching together as if ready to spring, their eyes focused on Arthur and the bright sword in his hand.