The Magician's Boy (2 page)

The Boy was left alone, staring around. Where was he?

He heard a cough. It seemed to come from behind the nearest tree. He went to look, and found a low wooden signpost. Its two arms pointed in opposite directions, and there were words painted on them.

The words said:

Only a child can find the way To bring Saint George back to the play.

The Boy read this to himself, twice.

“Well, that's no help!” he said, and he turned away to look for a path through the wood.

“Hey!” said a voice.

The Boy turned. He could see nothing but the signpost. “Where are you?” he said. “Who is it?”

“I'm here!” said the voice. It was a gruff little voice. It sounded cross.

Suddenly the Boy saw that the signpost was jumping up and down. It had two short legs, with large feet, wearing boots.

“You can talk!” he said.

“I know that,” said the signpost. “But can you read?”

“Of course I can,” said the Boy. He pointed to the words on the signpost, and read them aloud:

“Only a child can find the way To bring Saint George back to the play.”

“There you are then,” said the signpost. It bounced up and down on its two little legs, and clicked its boots together.

“That's useless,” the Boy said. “It doesn't tell me where the way
is.”

“Use your head,” said the signpost. “You're in the Land of Story. You have to travel through stories.”

“What stories?” said the Boy.

“The ones you've been told all your life, of course,” said the signpost. “Starting with nursery rhymes. Choose a nursery rhyme. Come on. Any rhyme.”

The Boy's mind went blank. “Er,” he said.
“Er … the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.”

“Not a great choice,” said the signpost. “She doesn't get out much. Still, here we go.” And it went trotting off through the trees.

The signpost trotted on through the trees. They looked like green lollipops.

The Boy followed, because he didn't know what else to do. They came to an open space, and in it was a gigantic shoe, as big as a house. It was a real shoe, made of leather, with huge shoelaces, but there were windows
set neatly into its sides. Just over the heel there was a front door, with steps leading up to it.

Over the top of the shoe, where a foot would go in, was a sturdy tiled roof, with a smoking chimney. The Boy thought the house looked more like a boot than a shoe, but nobody had ever told him a story about the Old Woman Who Lived in a Boot.

The signpost gave a loud whistle, and out of the front door came a yelling crowd of children, jumping and quarrelling. Some were barefoot, some were only half dressed, some were very grubby. Some swung on the
giant shoelaces, some pointed at the Boy and giggled.

The Old Woman came running down the steps after them, very cross, shouting, “Hannah, Ellie, Marina, get off those laces! Jack, Charlie, Liam, put some clothes on!”

She stopped, drying her hands on her apron. She wasn't so very old, the Boy saw—just tired.

“Oh dear,” she said to herself, “it's a hard thing to be blessed with so many little darlings.”

The Boy said, “Excuse me, ma'am—”

She looked at him in horror.“Oh no!” she
said. “I'm sorry, not another child! I simply cannot cope! Try another shoe—a size larger!”

Three little girls came grabbing at her apron, teasing, laughing.

“I don't want a home, ma'am,” the Boy said. “I'm just looking for Saint George.”

The Old Woman tried to keep her balance, swatting at her children. “Well, you won't find him here—there's not a man in the land who would take on a family this size. Not even a saint!”

The other children came running, shouting.

“Can you tell me where to find Saint George?” the Boy yelled, as a small boy climbed up his back.

The Old Woman didn't answer. She shook herself free of the giggling children. “Quiet, all of you! Oh, what shall I do? For two pins I'd whip you all soundly and put you to bed!”

The Boy thought that sounded like a good idea—but then he heard music. So did the children. They all stopped jumping about, and listened.

Out of the trees came a cheerful tune, coming closer, closer—and into the clearing came a tall thin man playing a pipe. He wore pants and a shirt patched with red and
blue and yellow, and shoes to match.

“Oh dear oh dear,” said the signpost. It jumped up and down at the Boy's feet. “You know who that is?” it said.

The Boy said, “He looks like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.”

“He is,” the signpost said. “And now we're in trouble.”

The children began skipping in time to the Piper's tune, clustering around him, laughing. The Piper kept on walking, so they skipped after him, out of the clearing, through the wood.

“Children!” called the Old Woman. “Come back!”

But the children all skipped on, and the Boy went with them. The music was so happy that his feet wanted to skip too. The signpost came with him, but it was not at all happy. It kept muttering in its gruff little voice, “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

Through the trees the children went, dancing to the Piper's music, and the path began to rise steeply. Up and up they went, until they were on a stony mountain, high above the wood.

Far below, the Boy could see the Shoe in its clearing. The Old Woman was running to and fro, flapping her apron, calling, “Children! Come back!”

Ahead of him on the path, the Boy heard a great creaking sound, and in the side of the mountain, a big door began to open. The Piper headed for it, playing merrily, leading the children in. The Boy ran after him.

“Sir,” he called, “you can't do this! These are not Hamelin children, they belong to the Old Woman. She hasn't done you any harm, you can't take her family away!”

The Piper stopped playing, and looked down at the Boy. He was a very good player, but he didn't look very smart.

“These children aren't from Hamelin?” he said.

“No!” said the Boy.“They live in a shoe.”

“What a ridiculous place to live,” said the Piper, and he put his pipe to his lips again and went on into the mountain, leading the skipping children through the big door.

“Come back!” called the Boy, but the door slammed shut. Behind him, the Boy heard a wail, and he turned, to see the youngest of the old Woman's children, a very small girl who hadn't been able to keep up with the rest. She toddled up to the door, crying. “Want to go too!” she sobbed.

“What's your name?” said the Boy.

“Zoe,” said the little one, and howled.

“Well, come on, Zoe,” said the Boy. “Let's
see if this mountain has a back door!” And he tucked small Zoe under his arm and ran as fast as he could along the path round the base of the mountain. The signpost thudded along after him, puffing.

Sure enough, there was another door at the back of the mountain, set into the rock. Faint sounds of music came from behind it, growing louder, and suddenly the door swung open. Out came the Piper, piping, with the children skipping after him.

Zoe gave a squeal of joy, and wriggled out of the Boy's arms and ran to join them.

“Quick!” said the Boy. He grabbed the
signpost and stood it on the path, so that one of its arms was hidden in a holly bush and the other pointed back the way they had come.

The Pied Piper didn't notice what the Boy had done. Lost in his music, he glanced at the pointing arm and followed its pointing. The children skipped happily after him, heading back home. The Boy and the signpost followed, a little way behind.

There was the Shoe, in its clearing. The Old Woman was sitting slumped unhappily on its doorstep. When she heard the music, she jumped to her feet, beaming.

“There you are!” she cried to the children. “Just in time for supper!”

“Phew!” said the Boy, in relief.

“Very nicely done,” said the signpost.“ That was a Good Deed, and sometime you will have a reward.”

The Boy said sadly, “All I want is Saint George,”

“I can tell you where to find Saint George,” said a voice, and out from behind a holly bush came a boy. He was about the same age and size as the Magician's Boy, but his face was very round and pale, with a stumpy little nose, and he moved in a stiff sort of way.

“Can you really?” said the Boy, excited. “Please tell me, then!”

“He keeps his horse in our yard,” said the round-faced boy.

“Really?” said the Boy. He stared at the other boy. The stumpy nose looked longer than it had been before.

“My father says it's better than a lawn mower,” said the round-faced boy, grinning. His nose looked longer still.