The Wizard In My Shed Read online

“… But I knoweth ’tis ingenious!” added Merdyn. “And in it, is thy father’s spirit, I’ll warrant.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Rose.

  “Remember I toldeth thee that the earth is all one? Humans, animals, the grass, the trees, even Poovers. I tell thee, with this strange contraption, thy father is with thee always.”

  Rose thought about what Merdyn had just said then smiled. “Yeah. I like that. I like that a lot.”

  Merdyn nodded back, as if to say “of course you do, because it’s true”. Then he started to help Rose tidy up the books he’d knocked over.

  Rose wasn’t sure what would happen next. She’d keep trying to get Merdyn home, she guessed. By the looks of things with her mum, she needed that singing spell more than ever now. But at least she and Merdyn were in it together.

  “Tomorrow we’d better find you somewhere else to live,” she said as they finished tidying. “And you’ll need to get a job.”

  “A job? Ugh! Heaven forfend,” groaned Merdyn.

  He floated up to the open window, banged his head a few times on the frame trying to get out, then drifted back towards the shed. Before she pulled the curtains, Rose watched as Merdyn shut the shed door behind him, and sighed.

  In her head,

  these words she said:

  “I shall miss

  the wizard in my shed.”

  Julian Smith – aka Jerabo the Great – arrived back at his nice semi-detached house in Winchester (not far from Bashingford, actually) just after midnight. His wife, Carol, was waiting up for news of how the London show had gone. He had asked her not to come, as her watching him made him nervous. She was the only one who knew he didn’t really want to be a magician. He wanted to be an actor, but had been rejected by the Royal Shakespeare Company more times than he cared to remember. They said he was too hammy. Hammy? What did that even mean? Idiots.

  It didn’t take Carol long to notice that her husband had had a bad night. It wasn’t just the huffing and puffing and slamming of doors as he came in. It was the fact that he went straight into the kitchen and made himself a huge jam sandwich. He always made himself a big jam sandwich when he was feeling sad. He said it reminded him of his childhood, when life was more about Lego, trampolines and pet snails, and less about earning money, paying bills and being grown-up about stuff.

  “How did it go?” she asked as Julian finally slumped into a chair by the fire and bit into the sweet snack.

  “Terrible,” he said, chewing. “My magic career is going the way of my acting one. Down the toilet.”

  He then spent half an hour ranting about how a madman had hijacked his show and nearly killed him. How he’d been forced to admit to the tricks of his trade, probably doing him out of a job for ever, even if it was a job he didn’t like. How the crazy old fool that had ambushed his show – “He appeared to have REAL magical powers, by the way” – kept wittering on about a spellbook. Carol listened to the whole story wide-eyed with wonder, but it was the last bit that really caught her interest.

  “Maybe he meant the spellbook your grandfather left you,” she said.

  “What spellbook? Which grandad?” Julian replied.

  “Your mum’s dad,” said Carol. “He gave you a box of stuff, remember? He said there was a spellbook in there, and you ought to guard it with your life.”

  Julian looked thoughtful. “Grandpa Jones? You sure?”

  “Yes!” insisted Carol. “I remember him saying it because it was a very odd thing to say. And then two seconds later he died. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

  Julian squirmed. “Of course I remember! But Grandpa Jones was a hundred and two years old and as mad as a bag of wasps.” He wracked his brain. “We still got this box?”

  “It’s in the attic.” Carol yawned, kissed Julian on the forehead and went to bed.

  Two hours later Julian had searched the attic from top to bottom. Nothing. Dammit! His heart had been racing. Maybe the book was worth some money. Or maybe, just maybe, it contained ACTUAL SPELLS. That madman who’d come up on the stage HAD performed real tricks, after all. Tricks that no one in their right mind could explain. Maybe this book would allow him to do real spells too.

  Nonetheless, he was just about to give up when he stubbed his toe on a plastic Christmas tree from 1998.

  “Stupid thing!” he yelled and kicked the tree across the attic. He plonked himself down on an old drum, pulled his jam sandwich from his cardigan pocket and munched for all he was worth. And when he looked up … there it was. The box his grandad had given him, covered in dust. It had been hiding behind the fake tree the whole time.

  Julian set about rummaging through the box. Old bowling trophies, love letters from the war, trinkets and tokens from a long life were all thrown carelessly into the air. But then … right at the bottom of the box … a glimmer of GOLD. Julian lifted the object out, blew off the dust and took a closer look.

  It was Jerabo’s black and gold spellbook.

  Why do I get

  this smell in my nose

  that this won't bode well

  for poor Merdyn and Rose…?

  Back in the Dark Ages, De Selby had been working day and night in the King’s castle with his mono-cubal tracing machine to work out the exact date that Merdyn had landed after his journey through the Rivers of Time.

  By now, oh great intelligent reader, I’m sure you’ve realised, De Selby had not been as successful as Merdyn and Rose supposed. On this, the seventy-second day of trying, De Selby was hard at work in his study as usual, tired and hungry.

  Jeremiah Jerabo was just across the courtyard in his quarters, having a bath. Jerabo liked baths a lot. He had developed a spell to create bubbles in the bath, which had the effect of soothing his aching muscles. He could make a fortune if he patented it, he always thought. He would call it a jer-ach-soothy. No, a jach-oothy. No, a jacuzzi? That was it! A jacuzzi! He’d be rich!

  Then he remembered that he didn’t need an invention to make him rich, because he’d be King soon. Soothed even more by this thought, he dunked his face lazily into the bubbles – only to SNAP out of his daydream at the sound of De Selby shrieking.

  He jumped up, grabbed his spellbook, pelted across the castle courtyard in his bare feet and burst through De Selby’s door. He found the genius scientist in a state of great excitement.

  “I have made a significant breakthrough!” the scientist began, before trailing off as he realised Jerabo was standing before him in just a towel.

  But then … PARP PARP PARP! A trumpet sound emanated from the mono-cubal tracing machine. De Selby and Jerabo bent down together to look at the findings.

  “He’s in the twenty-first century!” said De Selby.

  Then the pair danced happily about the room.

  “Huzzah! This be it, De Selby!” said Jerabo.

  “Yes, sire! This be it!” repeated the joyful scientist. “These readings are strong. Merdyn must have been using his staff liberally. It’s almost as if he’s been involved in a wizarding duel!”

  “Ha!” said Jerabo. He put his spellbook on top of the tracing machine. “When I travelleth to the future, he’ll get a duel all right. Now, do we have an exact date? I don’t wanteth to go forward in time and be left hanging around for ever.”

  “Indeed,” agreed De Selby. “But the readings are a still a little way off. Ideally, we would have another object which straddleth the centuries, with which to gain more precision. If only we had such a thing …”

  No sooner had he said this than Jerabo’s spellbook, which was still on top of the tracing machine, started vibrating. Both men noticed at once. Jerabo went to grab the book but De Selby stopped him:

  “Wait! ’Tis picking up unusual vibrations.”

  Suddenly the book flew open. The pages started to flip this way and that.

  “Extraordinary,” mused the scientist. “’Tis as if someone is turning the pages elsewhere in time …”

  “In the future?” asked the wicked wiz
ard.

  “Most certainly! It cannot be a coincidence. And with this new reading, we shall getteth a precise time coordinate soon. Down to the hour, maybe even the minute!”

  Suddenly the pages stopped flicking. A strange red mark appeared in the corner of one of the pages, like a crimson shadow.

  “What is that, De Selby?” whispered Jerabo, with awe in his voice. “’Tis … ’tis blood?”

  De Selby examined the red stain carefully through his magnifying glass, then oddly, gave it a sniff. “No, sire. ’Tis …”

  “I thinketh I’m right …

  why yes, I am …

  I do believe ’tis …

  strawberry jam.”

  Rose awoke on Sunday morning to yet another strange noise coming from the front garden. It sounded like someone was shouting. Was Sergeant Murray serenading her mum again? But then she heard more voices. Many more. It was like there was a football match going on outside.

  On the landing, Rose bumped into her mum and brother, who had also woken up at the commotion outside. Together they shuffled half asleep to the front window to look. Then, let me tell you, they woke up pretty sharpish. For what they saw out of the window was a crowd of thirty or forty NEWS REPORTERS, standing in front of their house. Sergeant Murray and a wall of police officers were having to stop the throng from storming the front door.

  “Back! Everybody back!” the sergeant was shouting.

  Dion was trying to stop journalists putting cups of coffee on his beloved car. “Watch your cappuccinos!” he yelled. “Have you never heard of ring stains?”

  Kris was already checking his phone to see what all the fuss was about.

  “It’s Merdyn,” he gushed. “He’s famous! That stuff he did at the theatre last night? It’s gone viral!”

  He showed Rose his screen. There were hundreds of posts on YouTube from people who had taken videos on their phones. Some of the posts had over a million hits already.

  Rose peered at the crowd. It wasn’t just journalists. There were fans too. Some were even dressed as Merdyn the Wild, in long flowing robes, pointy hats, false beards and dark eyeliner. They had catchphrases too. “I bow down before thee!” some were chanting. Others shouted, “I am the wildest warlock who ever liveth!”

  “All right then,” said Suzy wearily. “If it’s Merdyn they want, they can have him.”

  Down in the shed, Merdyn was already up and packing his things to go, as Mum had instructed. He was blissfully unaware of what was going on outside. And he refused to look at the footage on Kris’s phone, even when Kris shoved it under his nose. “I do not desire to be hypnotised by thy startfoam, thank thee very much. ’Tis black magic.”

  “But, dude, you’re famous!” Kris enthused. “You’ve made it!”

  Rose was more cautious. “Merdyn, you don’t have to talk to them if you don’t feel like it.”

  “I am so pitch-kettled,” said Merdyn. “Who is they?”

  Kris couldn’t believe Merdyn was being so blasé. “TV! NEWS! THE MEDIA. The world! That’s who ‘they’ are.”

  As far as Suzy was concerned, fame meant fortune. And fortune meant this imposter could afford to move out of her shed. She ignored Rose’s protests and ushered Merdyn through the house and out front to the baying crowd.

  As soon as the press and his fans saw Merdyn emerging from the front door, they flew into a frenzy. They burst through the police line and thrust microphones, cameras and startfoams in his face.

  “Merdyn, over here! Is it true you’re a real wizard?” one yelled.

  “Merdyn, Bashingford Daily here, we want an exclusive. Where are you from?” another babbled.

  Then, “Is it natural? Or did you go to Hogwarts?”

  The crowd guffawed at this, while someone else screamed for a selfie. Rose could hardly believe the madness. Cameras flashed like crazy. Merdyn just looked baffled.

  Suddenly a handsome man in a tight blue suit and black, slicked-back hair thrust himself between the warlock and the microphones.

  “Gentlemen, please! Merdyn will talk as soon as we see the green. No pay, no play. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a bit of privacy with my client, thank you and good day!” And the tight-suited man ushered Merdyn and the family back inside the house.

  “Relax, team,” he said, once everyone was in the kitchen.

  “Who the heck are you?” asked Rose.

  “I’m the one who just upped the fee fivefold for a moment with your wizard,” he said with a wink, thrusting out his arm to shake Rose’s hand. “Frederick Montague, agent to the stars. My mates call me Freddie. Or Monty. You choose. I prefer Freddie, FYI.” He shook Merdyn’s hand next. “Pleasure to meet you, big guy. You’re a ledge. Total ledge, mate.”

  Merdyn looked to the others, confused.

  “Legend,” Kris explained helpfully.

  “You just changed the entertainment industry overnight, buddy,” said Freddie. “Those old-school magicians? They’re phonies! They’re history, my friend. See ya laterrrr! You are the future, Merds. Real magic rules. Sign with me today, I promise you a lot of money. Bank!”

  That’s right, reader. Freddie used the word ‘bank’ as a sort of punctuation. Rose had never heard it used this way before and she didn’t like it. Kris hadn’t heard it used this way either, and he LOVED it.

  “I can get you on talk shows. Bank! Regional theatres. Bank! Stadium gigs. Bank! Endorsements. Adverts. Corporate gigs. Bank. Bank. BANK!”

  “How about somewhere to live?” Suzy asked.

  “Oh yeah, new homestead. Bank!” said Freddie. “I’ve got you a beautiful penthouse suite in Clifton Towers, not far from here. It’s got a jacuzzi, bank. It has a double refrigerator, bank. Ice machine. Soft-close doors. A tenpin-bowling lane. Bank.”

  “Ooh!” Merdyn was excited. “A bowling lane.”

  Rose looked at him, perplexed. “You’ve never even been bowling.”

  “No, but it soundeth fun.”

  “And fun it is!” said Freddie. “With a capital F. Look. I want to be your agent, Merds. But more than that. Me and you, Merds – we’re gonna be great friends. What do you think?”

  Rose pulled her warlock pal aside. “I’m not sure about this guy. My dad said never trust a man who wears shoes without socks.”

  Merdyn looked at Freddie. He DID look a little fopdoodly. A bit coxcomby too. His trousers were even tighter than the Top Boy ones Kris had made him wear. But what choice did he have?

  “What am I to do, Rose?” he said, his frustration boiling up. “Thy mother hateth me, thanks to thy ‘let’s pretend I’m Uncle Martin’ ruse. I have nowhere to live. And I’m stuck here for ever. Thou did sayeth thyself I should get a job. Well, Freddie’s offering me one.”

  “But is this what you want? To be famous like this?” asked Rose.

  Merdyn looked at Rose knowingly. “This from the girl whose goal in life is to win a singing competition?”

  “That’s different,” Rose blurted out, a little stung. “I’m normal. You’re W-blood! When we talked last night, you said you would use your powers for good!”

  “No, Rose!” Merdyn snapped. “THOU did sayeth that. Not I!”

  Rose almost jumped. Merdyn had never spoken to her like that before.

  “I am not thy father!” Merdyn went on, his temper rising. “I am not a Mr Do-Good-in-his-Two-Shoes, as much as thou would liketh me to be!”

  “Is it so bad to help people, rather than destroy them?” Rose volleyed back.

  The two of them glared at each other angrily for a moment before Merdyn spun back towards Freddie. “The proposal thou just madeth. Run it past me again?”

  Freddie beamed. “I want to be your agent, Merdster! What do thou sayest?”

  “I sayeth … thou speaketh my language, Fred … ster. Thou art on.”

  Then Merdyn stormed out into the garden, leaving Rose fighting hard to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. She was sorry that she’d snapped at Merdyn, even though he’d started it. But m
aybe he was right. Maybe she had hoped he could fill the hole left by her father. She felt so silly now.

  “Listen, Freddie, I could do with some work at the mo,” said Kris suddenly. “And I’m kind of Merdyn’s stylist, so can I have a job on the team? I’ll sort his clothes, hair, the lot.”

  “Coolio! That’s one stylist hired. Bank!”

  “Bank!” repeated Kris and happily accepted Freddie’s offer of a fist bump.

  Rose watched all this, open-mouthed. Was she the only one who could see that the only BANK that would be getting full here was Freddie’s? What was Kris doing, getting involved? Last night, she’d thought he was on her side. She’d thought they were finally on the same page. But now here he was, back to his old self.

  Merdyn thundered back in with his meagre sack of belongings and Thundarian. He dipped into his money pouch and threw a pile of pebbles on the table.

  “For thee, Mistress Suzy,” he said. “By way of compensation for the nuisance I have caused.”

  “Some dirty stones? Great,” said Mum.

  “Come on, Freddie. Let’s go,” Merdyn hissed.

  “But—” Rose began.

  “Thou art going to ask about thy singing spell?” Merdyn snapped. “Do not worry. I will get it to thee. I supposeth I have my uses, after all, eh?” Then the warlock swept from the kitchen without a backward look.

  Failing to read the room, Kris yelled, “Me too!” happily, before following Merdyn and the smarmy agent out. “Freddie, I’m going to need a sizable clothes budget, yeah?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Kris,” Freddie reassured him before the front door slammed shut behind them all.

  Rose and her mum stood in the kitchen in stunned silence.

  “It’s just life, Rose. It always lets you down one way or another,” said Mum eventually. She headed back to the sofa, slumped in front of the TV and switched it on. “And after all you did for him! He didn’t even say goodbye.”

  As if Rose hadn’t already noticed.

  Yes, wipe a tear

  from your shining eye,