Stopping for a Spell by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

torn open. I knew it was Angus Flint and dived for safety.
    He was in a very bad temper. I think his horse lost. As I crawled out from under the piano, he sat down at it, grumbling, and started to hammer out a sonata. I was surprised to see that he knew how to play. But he played very badly. Menace began to whine under his cupboard.
    Angus Flint thumped both hands down with a jangle. “This is a horrible piano,” he said. “It’s got a terrible tone, and it needs tuning.”
    Rotten slander. I don’t blame the piano for getting annoyed. Its curved black rear shuddered. One of its stumpy front legs pawed the ground. Then its lid shut with a clap on Angus Flint’s fingers. Now I know why Mum got it for only £10. Angus Flint dragged his fingers free with such a yell that Pip and Tony came to see what was happening.
    By the time they got there, both the new ugly little tables were stealing toward Angus Flint for a surprise attack, each with its three legs twinkling cautiously over the carpet. Angus Flint saw one out of the corner of his eye and turned to Stare at it. It stood where it was, looking innocent. But the piano stool spun itself around and tipped him on the floor. I think that was very loyal of the stool, because it must have been the one piece of furniture Angus Flint had not insulted. And while Angus Flint was sprawling on the floor, the best chair trundled up and did its best to run him over. He scrambled out of its way with a howl. And the nearest bookcase promptly showered him with books. While he was trying to get up, the piano lowered its music stand and charged.
    I don’t blame Angus Flint for being terrified. The piano was gnashing its keys at him and kicking out with its pedals and snorting through the holes in its music stand. And it went galloping around the room after Angus Flint on its three brass casters like a mad black bull. The rest of the furniture kept blundering across his path. Tables knocked him this way and that, and chairs herded him into huddles of other chairs. But they always left him a free way to run when the piano charged, so that he had a thoroughly frightening time. They never once tried to hurt the three of us.
    I stuffed myself into a corner and admired. That piano was an expert. It would come thundering down on Angus Flint. When he tore off frantically sideways, it stopped short and banged its lid down within inches of his trouser seat. It could turn in its own length and be after him again before you could believe it to be possible. Angus Flint dashed around and around the sitting room, and the piano thundered after him, and when the boys had to leave the doorway, one of the new bookcases dodged over and stood across it, so that Angus Flint was utterly trapped.
    â€œDo something, can’t you!” he kept howling at me, and I only laughed.
    The reason the boys had to leave the doorway was that the dining room table had heard the fun going on and wanted to join in. The trouble was, both its rickety wings were spread out and it was too wide to get through the dining room door. It was in the doorway, clattering its feet and banging furiously for help. Tony and Pip took pity on it and took its wings down. It then scuttled across the hall, nudged aside the bookcase, and dived into the sitting room after Angus Flint, flapping both wings like a great angry bird. And it wasn’t going to play cat and mouse like the piano. It was out to get Angus Flint. He had some very narrow escapes and howled louder than ever.
    I thought the time had come to widen the scene a little. I made my way around the walls, with tables and chairs trundling this way and that all around me, and opened the window.

    Angus Flint howled out that I was a good girl—which annoyed me—and made for the opening like a bat out of hell. I meant to trip him when he got there. I didn’t want him getting too much of a start. But the carpet saved me the trouble by flipping up