Dragonborn by Toby Forward Page B

Another jerkin slid down, turning into a snake as it fell, and wrapped itself around his legs. Then a third leaped from the shelf and, becoming a jellyfish in mid-air, splatted onto Tim’s own school jerkin, and slithered down to the floor with a wet flop.
    â€œUgh,” mumbled Tim. “Ugh, disgusting.
Groew, urrgh”
He was tugging at the bat and trying to kick away the snake, and flailing about, getting more and more tangled up.
    Sam shuddered. He lifted a hand to send a flash of magic to help his new friend.
    â€œNone of that,” said a quiet voice.
    A dry, wrinkled hand settled on Sam’s shoulder.
    â€œSave your magic,” he said. “He’ll be all right.”
    â€œVengeabil, you old fraud. Get them off,” Tim gasped.
    â€œCan’t you work it?” said the old man. “Try Book Two of Charms for Beasts.”
    Tim groaned.
    â€œForgotten already?”
    Tim nodded as well as he could with a bat wrapped around his face.
    â€œYou?” Vengeabil asked Smedge.
    The other boy took a wand from his pocket, a slim twig of elm, brown and worn, and, waving it at Tim, chanted a quick spell. The bat and the snake and the jellyfish turned instantly back into jerkins with the College crest on them.
    â€œNew boy?” asked Vengeabil.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œCartouche.”
    Vengeabil, who had been grabbing shirts and jerkins and socks and trousers, paused, looked hard at Sam, and said, “Really?” his eyebrows raised.
    â€œLeave him alone, you,” said Tim. “I’m looking after him, and I don’t want him to end up in some dusty storeroom after he’s finished here.”
    The jerkin that had been a jellyfish slid across the floor and up Tim’s leg, leaving a soggy trail on his trousers.
    â€œOh, Vengeabil, that’s not good,” he complained.
    Vengeabil laughed and gave Sam his uniform, which was mostly just the College jerkin.
    Smedge gave him a hand while Tim made a drying off spell that more or less worked, though his shoe was still soggy and squelched when he walked.
    â€œYou need to pay a bit more attention to your work, young Tim,” said Vengeabil. “Good-bye, Master Cartouche. Come back and see me for a chat when you haven’t got that idiot with you.”
    â€œI will,” said Sam. He looked at Tim and blushed. “Not that, I mean.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” said Tim. “Vengeabil is a dry old fossil”—the storekeeper raised an eyebrow toward the slimy jerkin—“but he’s not far off about me being an idiot.”
    â€œYou’ll do,” said Vengeabil. “Off you go.”
    They clattered up the stairs.
    â€œI’ll show you to our dorm,” said Tim, “and you can get changed.”
    â€œSomeone should teach Vengeabil a lesson,” said Smedge. Sam wondered what sort of lesson he meant, and looked at Smedge. The boy’s face was set with an idea. Sam felt it, and it was as though he had eaten something disagreeable, his stomach protesting. Smedge caught Sam’s expression, and his face changed. He smiled broadly.
    â€œYou know. Let him see he’s here to help us, not to throw his weight around.”
    â€œOh, he’s all right,” said Tim. “Knows what he’s doing, really.” He shook his wet foot. “Horrid smell that thing’s left, though. I’ll change my socks while we’re up there.”
    â€œUp there” was a dormitory right up at the top of the stairs, with little dormer windows that jutted out like mountain peaks on the roof. Sam felt silly in his new uniform. He didn’t like looking like everyone else.
    â€œAre you hungry?” asked Tim.
    Sam was.
    â€œIf we wait here for a bit we can go straight to lunch and miss the end of Duddle’s class,” said Tim. He floated up to the roof and perched on a crossbeam.
    â€œWe should go back,” said