The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories (45 page)

"Are you all right?” Harriet asked her brother.

"I think I must have gone to sleep.” He gave a great yawn. “But my bike is a total write-off. And I can't find my fishing rod. I'd have fallen into the pond if Dad hadn't grabbed me—"

The sun suddenly set.

"We had better go and see what's happened to the car,” said Mr. Armitage, looking with disapproval at the slate-gray surface of the ponds, the dark, dangling twisted willow tendrils. “I'm almost sorry I bought this place,” he muttered.

"Oh, you'll see, it will be quite different from now on,” Harriet reassured him. “Look, the old ladies are back at their table.” She pointed at the reflection in the first pond, where the upside down ladies were offering a cup of tea to the dark man.

"He's getting his tea in a moustache cup!"

"What about all the things you brought?"

"Nothing left but bits and pieces."

Harriet's mirror, tapes, Aeolian harp, magnet, and flute lay shredded on the twisted grass. But she noticed one of the old ladies was wearing the false teeth and the other one had the gold-framed spectacles.

"We have got Mark back, that's the main thing.” Harriet gripped Mark's left hand; Mr. Armitage still held on to the other.

"I never was away,” Mark argued.

But Harriet looked at the watch on his wrist, which showed date as well as time.

"According to your watch, you've been away for a year—"

"That's just nutty!"

"And where's the car?” demanded Mr. Armitage.

Luckily the car was only a quarter of a mile down the road from where he had left it. And it seemed unharmed, but the boot, mysteriously, was full of shingle. A large dead shark lay on the grass verge. Mark would very much have liked to take it home, but fortunately it was far too big to put into the boot. It had a moustache.

"Good thing he's done for, anyhow,” remarked Mr. Armitage. “No hope of a peaceful day's angling so long as that feller was in the water."

The house, when they reached it, after a rather silent drive, was full of the smell of Christmas pudding.

"Ah, you got Mark back, that's good,” said Mrs. Armitage comfortably. “If you had come back without him, I was going to suggest dropping one of my puddings into the pool."

"Is that a remedy against curses?” asked Harriet, all professional interest.

"Oh yes, my dear, one of the best. Much more likely to work than all that BBC 13 mumbo-jumbo. You try it next time, you'll see. But the best thing to remember,” said Mrs. Armitage, “is, don't go fishing on witches’ day...."

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When Uncle Claud Armitage came back from the island of Eridu, he brought some problems for his niece and nephews. Climbing stiffly off the train (for Uncle Claud was quite an old man), he started the walk up Station Road to his brother's house. But he soon noticed that he was being followed. Pit-pat, pit-pat went the footsteps behind him in the dusk.

Uncle Claud stepped into a phone box and dialed his brother's number.

Outside the lighted box, in the shadows, something waited and listened.

"Hallo?” piped a little voice in Uncle Claud's ear.

"Hallo? Is that Mark or Harriet? Listen, quickly, there's no time to lose. I want to tell you a tremendously important mathematical secret—the greatest discovery since Euclid—"

He went on talking very fast. After a while he said: “Did you get that?"

"Hallo?” said the little voice again.

Behind Uncle Claud, the door was softly opening. He looked round—just too late. He felt the lightest possible touch on his arm. Next minute, his fingers curled up and turned black. They had become claws. His arms stretched out, flattened, and became leathery wings. Uncle Claud shrank. With a whir and a flit, he soared away into the dark-blue evening sky, where one star had just flashed out, ahead of all the others.

Uncle Claud had turned into a bat.

At the Armitage house, Mark was setting the table for supper, while Harriet made scrambled eggs. Their parents were out at a Village Green Improvement Society meeting in the church hall. Their young brother, Milo, was on the bottom stair, building a castle out of telephone directories.

"Who rang up?” Harriet asked, as Mark came back from the front hall.

"I dunno,” he said. “I got there just too late. Milo had picked up the phone."

"Milo!” called Harriet. “You're a naughty boy! You know you aren't supposed to play with the phone."

"Hallo!” said Milo. It was his word this week. Last week his word had been “perhaps.” Milo used one word at a time.

"It's funny he's so fond of the phone,” said Mark. “Seeing he's so slow at learning to talk."

"Oh well,” said Harriet, “I expect whoever it was will phone again."

But the phone did not ring again, and soon Mr. and Mrs. Armitage came home, arguing about the village green.

"A ring of poplars would be nice."

"A ring of poplars would be silly."

When they were halfway through their scrambled eggs, the doorbell rang. “Who can it be, so late?” said Mrs. Armitage. “See who it is, Harriet, there's a love."

Harriet came back from the front hall, her eyes popping with excitement.

"It's a man who says he's from the Department of Security and Secrets."

"I suppose I'd better go,” said her father, sighing.

The man at the front door had silver-rimmed glasses, a short black beard, a soft black hat, and a long black umbrella. He looked very cross.

"It's a matter of extreme secrecy,” he said. “Half an hour ago a phone call was made to this house. It should not have been made. I must speak to whoever answered the phone."

"Oh, that's all right,” Harriet told him. “It was only our brother Milo."

"I must see him at once!"

Harriet looked at her father, who shrugged, and said, “Let the gentleman see Milo. Then he'll know there's nothing to worry about.” He explained to the caller, “Milo's only two, and a backward talker. He's much too young to understand government secrets."

Harriet went and fetched Milo. He was in his pyjamas, sucking a bedtime bottle of milk.

"You see,” said Mr. Armitage to the visitor. There's absolutely no cause for—"

His words came to a sudden stop. For the man in the doorway had pointed his umbrella at Milo, who turned gray, sprouted a trunk and tiny tusks, and slipped from Harriet's limp grip onto the floor.

"No cause to worry now,” snapped the visitor, turned on his heel, and strode away into the dark.

Harriet said to Mark, who came out of the kitchen, “That man has changed Milo into a baby elephant."

"Oh dear,” said Mr. Armitage. “I'm afraid your mother won't be pleased.

Next morning, Harriet and her father went to ask the advice of Mr. Moondew, a retired alchemist who had lately come to live in the village, and was very friendly and useful in the Village Improvement Society.

Mark stayed at home, rigging up a harness for Milo. It had struck him that his brother, who seemed a very good-natured elephant, might be a great help in the garden.

Mrs. Armitage stayed at home because she was upset. She had been knitting a new blue sweater for Milo, and could not decide whether to go on with it.

Crossing the village green, Harriet and her father were surprised to see six red phone boxes standing in a row under the big lime tree.

"British Telecom's selling ‘em off,” explained Mr. Pulley, the street-cleaner, leaning on his broom. “A foreign gent, he made an offer for ‘em. Going to convert them to fancy bathroom showers, I heard. Paid a fancy price for ‘em. BT's going to put new plain-glass boxes in Station Road and Grove Lane and Mistletoe Crescent and Holly Ride and Copse Alley and Vicar's Way."

"Shame,” said Harriet, who liked the red phone boxes.

"I'd no idea there were so many call boxes in the village,” said her father.

They found Mr. Moondew clipping his front hedge. He was most interested to hear that Milo had been turned into an elephant. He asked a lot of questions.

"You say he had answered the telephone shortly before. You don't know who was calling?"

"No,” said Harriet, “but the man from the Department of Secrets seemed very cross about it."

"I'd like to come and take a look at your brother."

Crossing the green again, they saw two men by the phone boxes. One was their visitor of last night. They could hear him saying angrily, “Those boxes have got to be moved by Saturday."

"Well, guv,” said the other man, who was Mr. Miller, of Miller's Removals, “sorry and all that, but my trucks are busy ‘til then."

"Sir!” said Harriet's father to the man from the DOS. “You had no right to change my younger son into an elephant. I must insist that you reverse the process. At once!"

But the bearded man, without bothering to answer Mr. Armitage, took his hat off and flung it on the ground. It turned into a Rolls Royce, and he jumped into it and drove off.

"How rude of him!” said Mr. Armitage. But Mr. Moondew said, “You're lucky that he didn't change you into a toad. That man wasn't from any government department. I know him from college days. He is a powerful warlock from the ghost island of Eridu."

"Why,” cried Harriet, “that's where Uncle Claud was going for his holiday. He was supposed to come back yesterday."

"Now things are becoming clear,” said Mr. Moondew. “Perhaps it was your Uncle Claud who rang last night? And our bearded friend (his name is Logroth) wanted to prevent him. What is your brother's profession?” he asked Mr. Armitage.

"He's a professor of mathematics."

"Aha! The ghost island of Eridu is full of runes, and mathematical secrets—"

"And now the only person who knows the secret is Milo,” said Harriet. “And he certainly won't tell...."

"But the knowledge, the secret, is still there, stored inside his youthful mind,” said Mr. Moondew. “But this gives me an idea as to what can be done for him—"

They had reached the Armitage garden, where Milo, sturdy and good-natured, was pulling the big garden roller, encouraged by Mark, and watched anxiously by his mother, who was waiting to feed him a large dish-tub of bread and milk.

"Dear me, a most handsome small beast,” said Mr. Moondew. “You are quite certain you do not prefer to keep him like this?"

"Quite certain!” said Mrs. Armitage indignantly.

"So. What you must do is this. Each day at dusk, when the star Hesperus first shines in the sky, you must place him in one of those red phone boxes. Each night a different one. For from one of them was the secret message sent, only to be heard by Milo. Hearing it a second time will change him back. But he must be in the box just at that instant when the star shines. For so must it have been last night."

"Suppose it's raining."

"Makes no difference if the time is correct. But I must warn you—"

"Yes, what?” said Mrs. Armitage nervously, clasping Milo's little trunk, which had twined confidingly into her pocket.

"Standing in the right box, he will at once change back into your charming little son. But if it is not the right one, he will merely double in size."

"Lucky he's not very big now,” said Mark thoughtfully.

"Yes—but suppose we keep getting the wrong one—and he doubles again—and again—oh well, we'll just have to hope for the best.” Mr. Armitage measured the size of his son with a thoughtful eye. “Anyhow, most obliging of you, Moondew."

That evening, just at dusk, Mark and Harriet led their young brother out onto the village green. The sky was clear, and a pale duck-egg blue; their father had calculated that Hesperus was due to sparkle out in precisely four minutes’ time. But when they came to within a few metres of the call box at the end of the row of six, a large flock of savage magpies dropped down from the lime tree above, pecking and squawking and flapping, dashing fiercely into their faces.

"Hmn, yes, thought we might get a bit of interference,” said Mark.

He slipped a handful of firework sparklers from his pocket, lit them, and tossed them to the ground, where they fizzed and spat and hopped about, and flung up showers of heat and glitter and puffs of yellow smoke. The magpies made off, screeching angrily.

"Now, quick, you hold open the door and I'll shove him in,” said Mark.

This done, they stood with their backs to the glass door and arms across their eyes, in case the magpies wanted to make a comeback. But the magpies had taken fright and were seen no more.

Sadly, it was not the right box. Hesperus flashed out in the sky, bright as the fireworks, the puzzled Milo was told that he could come out, but all that happened was that he had doubled in size. Now he was as big as a Shetland pony.

"Never mind, my duck. Better luck tomorrow, perhaps,” comforted Harriet, twining her arm into Milo's trunk. “Come on home. Muselix and buns for supper."

"He'll need quite a lot.” Mark looked anxiously from his brother to the row of phone booths, counting on his fingers. “Monday today. By Saturday—if we keep choosing the wrong box—it'll be no joke squeezing him in...."

Next evening the interference was caused by snakes: large, thick, black ones as long as bean-poles, who appeared, hissing disagreeably, out of the village pond, and twined themselves all around the second phone box.