needing a TV. Where was I? I remember…
Phredde and I were sitting there discussing how to spell Fujiyama (I THINK that’s it), but not really veryinterested, and Mum was muttering ‘word meaning teacher…let’s see—guru, instructor, educationalist. No, that doesn’t fit in. Dominie, abcedarian, school master, school mistress, lecturer. No blast, it begins with P—professor, preceptor…pedagogue! That must be it.’
…when there was a knock at the door. A really loud knock, more like a hammering in fact, and it went on and on.
‘Get that will you, Ethereal?’ Phredde’s mum asked her.
‘I’ll come too,’ I said. It was getting pretty hot by the fire, and, anyway, any interruption was better than Mt Fujihama. (Fugiarma? Fujiahma?)
We jogged down the hall, past the suits of armour and the stuffed ogre that some ancestor of Phredde’s had…but that’s another story. Well, I jogged, and Phredde swooped along above my left shoulder (she was wearing fluorescent green joggers today) and the banging kept going on and on.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ I asked Phredde.
She shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s someone from Neighbourhood Watch. Or Mark and Tracy.’
‘Mark wouldn’t bang like that! Tracy either.’
‘Hurry up can’t you!’ yelled a voice outside.
Phredde giggled. ‘I know what’s wrong. They’re standing out in the snowstorm…’ She magicked the door open just before we reached it.
…and the snow whirled in, just like you’d expect in a snowstorm. (You could only just see the turrets of the castle it was so thick, and bats whirling round in the wind. I wondered if they were the Olsen family, come to play in the snow just like Mrs Olsen’s ancestors did back in Ruritania.)
There on the drawbridge was a snow-encrusted delivery truck and on the doorstep in front of us was this really furious bloke with snow melting down the collar of his uniform and the most enormous box at his side, and you know something? The bloke didn’t look cold at all, because there was steam rising from the box. In fact, he looked sort of hot, or maybe it was just fury.
‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ he snarled. ‘Here, sign this.’
He thrust a receipt up at Phredde hovering in the doorway.
‘But maybe it’s not for me!’ said Phredde. ‘I’d better call Mum or Dad.’
The delivery man squinted up at the docket. ‘It’s for The Phaery Ethereal—I can’t read the last name. You her?’
‘Of course you can’t read the last name,’ Phredde said with dignity as she signed the docket. ‘Humans can’t pronounce our last name. But yes, my name’s The Phaery Ethereal.’ (The Phaery Queen would have been proud of her.)
‘Then you take this,’ said the delivery man.
He shoved the box and a small pile of snow through the door (which made the box smoke even more).
‘What…’ began Phredde, but the delivery man wasn’t listening. He dived back through the snowstorm to his truck and backed it off the drawbridge, skidded twice, then accelerated down the shimmering driveway to the normal road below.
Phredde shut the door. We looked at the box. The snow around it had melted like an iceblock on the bench when you’ve forgotten you took it out of the freezer, and the steam from the crevices had stopped.
‘Wow, is that really for you?’ I breathed.
Phredde nodded. ‘It’s from Uncle Mordred. It says so on the docket.’
‘Grahah,’ said the box.
We jumped back. I mean, I jumped. Phredde dived upward so fast she hit the ceiling and came down in a triple somersault.
‘Er, Phredde,’ I said. ‘I think that box is alive.’
Phredde grinned suddenly and turned another somersault in mid-air—only this time she meant to. ‘Hey, I bet it’s my birthday present. I thought Uncle Mordred had forgotten to send me one!’
That made it sort of better. Uncle Mordred wouldn’t send Phredde anything dangerous.
Maybe.
The box began to steam again.
‘Why didn’t he just magic it
Phredde and I were sitting there discussing how to spell Fujiyama (I THINK that’s it), but not really veryinterested, and Mum was muttering ‘word meaning teacher…let’s see—guru, instructor, educationalist. No, that doesn’t fit in. Dominie, abcedarian, school master, school mistress, lecturer. No blast, it begins with P—professor, preceptor…pedagogue! That must be it.’
…when there was a knock at the door. A really loud knock, more like a hammering in fact, and it went on and on.
‘Get that will you, Ethereal?’ Phredde’s mum asked her.
‘I’ll come too,’ I said. It was getting pretty hot by the fire, and, anyway, any interruption was better than Mt Fujihama. (Fugiarma? Fujiahma?)
We jogged down the hall, past the suits of armour and the stuffed ogre that some ancestor of Phredde’s had…but that’s another story. Well, I jogged, and Phredde swooped along above my left shoulder (she was wearing fluorescent green joggers today) and the banging kept going on and on.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ I asked Phredde.
She shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s someone from Neighbourhood Watch. Or Mark and Tracy.’
‘Mark wouldn’t bang like that! Tracy either.’
‘Hurry up can’t you!’ yelled a voice outside.
Phredde giggled. ‘I know what’s wrong. They’re standing out in the snowstorm…’ She magicked the door open just before we reached it.
…and the snow whirled in, just like you’d expect in a snowstorm. (You could only just see the turrets of the castle it was so thick, and bats whirling round in the wind. I wondered if they were the Olsen family, come to play in the snow just like Mrs Olsen’s ancestors did back in Ruritania.)
There on the drawbridge was a snow-encrusted delivery truck and on the doorstep in front of us was this really furious bloke with snow melting down the collar of his uniform and the most enormous box at his side, and you know something? The bloke didn’t look cold at all, because there was steam rising from the box. In fact, he looked sort of hot, or maybe it was just fury.
‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ he snarled. ‘Here, sign this.’
He thrust a receipt up at Phredde hovering in the doorway.
‘But maybe it’s not for me!’ said Phredde. ‘I’d better call Mum or Dad.’
The delivery man squinted up at the docket. ‘It’s for The Phaery Ethereal—I can’t read the last name. You her?’
‘Of course you can’t read the last name,’ Phredde said with dignity as she signed the docket. ‘Humans can’t pronounce our last name. But yes, my name’s The Phaery Ethereal.’ (The Phaery Queen would have been proud of her.)
‘Then you take this,’ said the delivery man.
He shoved the box and a small pile of snow through the door (which made the box smoke even more).
‘What…’ began Phredde, but the delivery man wasn’t listening. He dived back through the snowstorm to his truck and backed it off the drawbridge, skidded twice, then accelerated down the shimmering driveway to the normal road below.
Phredde shut the door. We looked at the box. The snow around it had melted like an iceblock on the bench when you’ve forgotten you took it out of the freezer, and the steam from the crevices had stopped.
‘Wow, is that really for you?’ I breathed.
Phredde nodded. ‘It’s from Uncle Mordred. It says so on the docket.’
‘Grahah,’ said the box.
We jumped back. I mean, I jumped. Phredde dived upward so fast she hit the ceiling and came down in a triple somersault.
‘Er, Phredde,’ I said. ‘I think that box is alive.’
Phredde grinned suddenly and turned another somersault in mid-air—only this time she meant to. ‘Hey, I bet it’s my birthday present. I thought Uncle Mordred had forgotten to send me one!’
That made it sort of better. Uncle Mordred wouldn’t send Phredde anything dangerous.
Maybe.
The box began to steam again.
‘Why didn’t he just magic it
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