The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories by Garth Nix, Joan Aiken, Andi Watson, Lizza Aiken Page A
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, Action & Adventure, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Magic, Fantasy & Magic, Family Life, Short Stories, Short Stories (Single Author), Families
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Brown paper and a bunch of herbs in the mouth, indeed!"
"Well, that's what it says in the book,” answered the witch crossly.
"That book is no affair of yours. You haf in your head how I like them cooked. Laziness!"
He was boiling with rage and suddenly gave her a clout on the ear. She flew at him like a tigress and scratched his face. Then they both drew apart, hissing with temper, and began casting spells at each other. Mark could hear them muttering long, formidable words under their breaths, and the sudden little pops as the spells worked. Then, as they became interested and worked up over the quarrel, he found that he could move once more. The witch was using up all her energy, and had none to spare for Mark.
He peered cautiously over the edge of his pan and watched them. It was most instructive. They seemed to observe no rules, but cast spells at each other as quickly as they could get them out, so that in the time it took Mark to blink an eye, he saw the witch grow horns, shrink to half her size, become bright green, turn into a tadpole, and explode in a pink puff of smoke, while the magician became a pool of water, an orange (bad), a marmoset, a piece of string, and finally himself, only with no arms or legs and a kettle instead of a head. Then they both drew a long breath and started again.
Mark soon realized that he was a fool if he did not try to escape now, while nobody was looking at him, and he wriggled feverishly to get his hands from under the piece of string round his waist. Fortunately it did not take long, as the witch, like all women, tied granny knots, which slipped, and he was able to get out from the brown paper and spit the herbs out of his mouth without much difficulty. Then, to his horror, he saw that the crow had noticed him. It flew over to the witch and tried to attract her attention, but at that moment, she turned into a bucket of coal, upside down in mid-air, and he could make no impression on her. Meanwhile, Mark crept out of the pan and across the room to the door.
It was only when he was through it that he realized that it was the wrong door. He found himself in a pitch-dark passage.
However, he could not think of turning back now, and went quickly forward. He came to some steps which went up, and then some more which went down again. At the bottom of these he tripped over an object which lay in the middle of the floor, and fell sprawling. He had an enormous bruise on his forehead, but jumped up and hurried on, absentmindedly clutching to the thing which had tripped him.
Then, to his joy, he saw a crack of light, and found a door which led him out on the other side of the house. He gave one scared glance to see if the witch or the little man were in sight. Neither of them was, and he took to his heels and tore off between the yew hedges.
It was easier to go towards the house than away from it, and several times he took a wrong turning and found himself back where he had started, which terrified him. But at last, by luck, he made his way out and set off running across the grass without looking behind him.
He pushed his way through the turnstile just in time to see a bus move off, and by making a terrible effort managed to throw himself on it.
"You shouldn't do that,” said the conductor severely, “you might have been killed."
"I was in a hurry,” pleaded Mark, and thought lovingly of Robin Hood , and his Aunt Hal, and the supper they would eat afterwards, and how next morning he would go present-hunting again. Then, for the first time, he realized that he was still clutching in his hand the thing he had fallen over in the passage.
He looked at it, and his eyes grew large as saucers.
"My goodness,” said the conductor, giving him his ticket, “you're lucky to have one of these."
"Yes,” agreed a fat woman across the aisle, “there's not many little boys has them, or little girls either for that matter."
And several other people in the bus gave exclamations of
"Well, that's what it says in the book,” answered the witch crossly.
"That book is no affair of yours. You haf in your head how I like them cooked. Laziness!"
He was boiling with rage and suddenly gave her a clout on the ear. She flew at him like a tigress and scratched his face. Then they both drew apart, hissing with temper, and began casting spells at each other. Mark could hear them muttering long, formidable words under their breaths, and the sudden little pops as the spells worked. Then, as they became interested and worked up over the quarrel, he found that he could move once more. The witch was using up all her energy, and had none to spare for Mark.
He peered cautiously over the edge of his pan and watched them. It was most instructive. They seemed to observe no rules, but cast spells at each other as quickly as they could get them out, so that in the time it took Mark to blink an eye, he saw the witch grow horns, shrink to half her size, become bright green, turn into a tadpole, and explode in a pink puff of smoke, while the magician became a pool of water, an orange (bad), a marmoset, a piece of string, and finally himself, only with no arms or legs and a kettle instead of a head. Then they both drew a long breath and started again.
Mark soon realized that he was a fool if he did not try to escape now, while nobody was looking at him, and he wriggled feverishly to get his hands from under the piece of string round his waist. Fortunately it did not take long, as the witch, like all women, tied granny knots, which slipped, and he was able to get out from the brown paper and spit the herbs out of his mouth without much difficulty. Then, to his horror, he saw that the crow had noticed him. It flew over to the witch and tried to attract her attention, but at that moment, she turned into a bucket of coal, upside down in mid-air, and he could make no impression on her. Meanwhile, Mark crept out of the pan and across the room to the door.
It was only when he was through it that he realized that it was the wrong door. He found himself in a pitch-dark passage.
However, he could not think of turning back now, and went quickly forward. He came to some steps which went up, and then some more which went down again. At the bottom of these he tripped over an object which lay in the middle of the floor, and fell sprawling. He had an enormous bruise on his forehead, but jumped up and hurried on, absentmindedly clutching to the thing which had tripped him.
Then, to his joy, he saw a crack of light, and found a door which led him out on the other side of the house. He gave one scared glance to see if the witch or the little man were in sight. Neither of them was, and he took to his heels and tore off between the yew hedges.
It was easier to go towards the house than away from it, and several times he took a wrong turning and found himself back where he had started, which terrified him. But at last, by luck, he made his way out and set off running across the grass without looking behind him.
He pushed his way through the turnstile just in time to see a bus move off, and by making a terrible effort managed to throw himself on it.
"You shouldn't do that,” said the conductor severely, “you might have been killed."
"I was in a hurry,” pleaded Mark, and thought lovingly of Robin Hood , and his Aunt Hal, and the supper they would eat afterwards, and how next morning he would go present-hunting again. Then, for the first time, he realized that he was still clutching in his hand the thing he had fallen over in the passage.
He looked at it, and his eyes grew large as saucers.
"My goodness,” said the conductor, giving him his ticket, “you're lucky to have one of these."
"Yes,” agreed a fat woman across the aisle, “there's not many little boys has them, or little girls either for that matter."
And several other people in the bus gave exclamations of
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