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Great Writing - Home > For Kids > Maggie no magic Part 1
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For Children
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| Maggie no magic Part 1 | |
| By John_O | ||||||||||||||||
| 13 May 2008 | ||||||||||||||||
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Hi all I've not contributed to the Children's section for a while now, but I have been busy on various stories and here is the opening of one of them. I have taken a leaf out of Douglas Adams book in using a narrator to explain some of the eccentricities of the Mageverse, a very wry and dry narrator, and hopefully the narrators commentary is clear by the different font used. Harry Potter it ain't but I hope you will enjoy reading it all the same. This has had a nip and tuck after the very welcome feedback, enjoy. Introduction Welcome to the Mageverse, where the universe is very gullible and everybody, well almost everybody, can work magic. Now some of you may not be aware of this but magic in the Mageverse isn’t really ‘magic’, it’s a confidence trick, but it’s a confidence trick on the universe. Oh I know what you’re thinking, a con job, get away! But its true; it all began way, way back in time when one of our particularly lazy forebears, history never recorded his name and he was too lazy to write it down, wondered why he had to work so hard out in the fields in all weathers just so that he could eat dreary food. Now he may have been lazy but he was an amazing story teller and he told the universe such a believable story that it just had to accept his word for it, and the lump of mud he held up was instantly turned into the finest plump fruitcake that you ever tasted. Ever since that day everybody has been busy fooling the universe into doing and being what they want. But not everyone is quite so versed in magic, or rich enough to buy the services of a high mage, or wizards as they are commonly called, for them there is Alchemy, the science of twisting reality by logical means, that is potions, and charms. So in the great metropolis of London, straddling the mystical, and often murky, River Thames we find the old money, the Upper Magical Class, all live north of the great river in their salubrious homes and opulent palaces and it is amongst these great houses that high magic is most prevalent. South of the river the well to do Middle Magical Class have set up their many homes, earning their pay in the many Magical Companies and Alchemical Corporations. We don’t talk about the Lower Magical Class, they ‘live’ in the East End, and if you are wise you will not seek out their mean abodes, because they are very mean abodes indeed! But we are in the leafy suburbs of Peckham. What are we doing in Peckham? Read on. “Maggieeee, Maggie no magic!” the chorus of three girls sang loudly across the road. “Maggie no magic she’s so thick. Maggie no magic can’t do no trick. Maggieeee no magic.” Maggie turned around to face down her tormentors; she knew that caustic little coven so very well, Imelda Sasspot with her vivid green hair, Betsy Beesom currently sporting knee length platinum blond hair and her arch tormentor, Sylvie Catspittle, mockingly fluffing up her ridiculously big pompom of curly red hair. All three saw her movement and sucked up great lungfuls of air ready for the next cutting line in their horrible little song. This was not a very wise action for only moments before a rather portly ginger cat had walked ponderously up behind them. Then a thin squeaking sound, much like letting the air out of a balloon with its neck stretched out, had briefly cut the air. They only realised that the equivalent of a tactical chemical weapon had been discharged in their vicinity when they took that almighty intake of air. They coughed and wretched and ran away as fast as they could from the truly foetid stench that now coloured the air. The cat slipped easily through the frantic traffic on the road and rubbed himself around Maggie’s legs, purring loudly. “Nice one Barry,” Maggie said as she petted her cat, “that sorted them out.” She was about to compliment Barry further when the same thin high-pitched squeaking discharge of gas polluted the air again. “Barry!” Maggie said waving her hand frantically in front of her nose. Barry simply held his tail high and wandered away with an air of hurt innocence while Maggie hurriedly carried on walking home. It was true she reflected a little bitterly, she couldn’t work a spell to save her life. The teachers at the Secondary Magic School she attended were at a complete loss. It wasn’t that Maggie was lazy, she tried very hard, but she just couldn’t do it. Then to make matters worse the three vindictive vixens from the Grammerie School had gotten wind of her truly tragic lack of magical skills. Since that unhappy day they had set themselves the task of letting her know of her inadequacies at every opportunity. She was so downcast and pre-occupied with these thoughts that she stepped off the kerb without stopping to look for any traffic that might be turning off the main road. There was a seriously loud hooting as a carriage did the odd backward tilting thing that brought it to a standstill on a sixpence. The carriage herein is not such as you from non magical lands ‘drive’, it has no mechanism to propel it forward or indeed to halt its forward motion or change its direction. All of these functions are performed by its ‘driver’, almost without exception these are an accomplished magician, who must use a combination of spells to ‘drive’ a carriage. He or she must convince the universe that the carriage is on a downwards slope in order to accelerate, and equally important, an upwards slope to decelerate and halt. Only then may they apply the hand brake. Turning corners is a variation of the slope theme, you would call it banking, to encourage the carriage to turn when it would prefer to continue in a straight line. Carriages come in any style or size that the owner wishes, but they are most usually very shiny black, bristling with highly polished silver or gold lamps, handles and other doodads to the owner’s specification. They are not cheap. “You want to be more careful young lady,” said the wizard as he leant out of the window to regard her severely, “it’s a good thing I’m an advanced influence instructor or you could have been knocked down.” Maggie looked up the highly polished door in which she could clearly see her own reflection to the clean shaven gent in the front seat, his splendid electric blue suit decorated with narrow pinstripes of stars, probably a city spellbroker on his way home. “Sorry.” Maggie said contritely. “Hmm, I’ll say no more,” he replied and then scratched his head, “odd though.” “What is sir?” “Well they sold me this carriage with the latest warding charms, those hands there.” He pointed towards the front wheel arches where a series of exquisite miniature golden hands were gently waving back and forth. “They should have pushed you back out of harms way. Think I’ll have a word with that salesman.” He continued and then closed up the window with a flick of his fingers. Maggie watched as the wizard gestured for the carriage to start off again and then, paying a lot more attention to the traffic, she crossed the road and walked down to her house. Number seven Windyhill Lane. A pretty name for a pretty dull road, all the houses were the same design, ‘all out of the same spell book’ her Mum would remark cuttingly when a door or window suddenly refused to be ordered about, sticking open or shut until given a sharp spell. She went up to the front door, a pleasing shade of light green and put her key in the lock. Only their house had a lock on it because everyone else could work a locking charm by the time they were five. It was a constant irritating reminder of her magical inadequacy to Maggie, she was twelve. “I’m home!” she called out as she shut the door behind her. “Hello love.” her Mum’s voice echoed out of the kitchen. There was a little meow at her feet and she looked down to see that Barry had gotten home ahead of her, for an inordinately fat cat he moved pretty fast when he wanted to. His reappearance merely served to remind her of her run in with the horrible girls and she felt a sigh coming on. Suppressing the defeatist sigh she bent down and tickled his ears. “Hello Barry.” she said a little sadly. Going into the kitchen she watched as her Mum prepared tea, a new self cooking line from the big Alchemarket two roads away; she dropped the lump of goo into the pan sprinkled it with one powder, added a pint of water and then gingerly sprinkled on the second powder as if she expected it to explode. It didn’t, it started to steam, then boil and finally simmer, releasing a lovely smell of fresh cooked meat in herbs into the kitchen. “Hmmm, good as they say on the pack.” her Mum smiled. “Had a good day love?” “Lousy.” Maggie said dejectedly. “I couldn’t even get the mirror glass spell to work.” “Oh dear. Never mind, your Dad was a late starter and look at him now, chief spell writer at the Wonder Works.” Maggie nodded but she just didn’t think it was possible that she could ever be that good, not while such a simple spell as the mirror glass spell eluded her. Maggie got the plain circle of glass out of her bag and placed it on the table in front of her. She focussed on it as all her teachers told her too then made the gestures with her hands above it and invoked the spell. “Glass to looking glass is all I ask.” The glass circle remained clear. The universe had folded its arms, sat back and said ‘pull the other one, its got bells on’ for about the millionth time. Maggie sighed and tried again and again and again until she was almost screaming at the glass to change. Her Mum put her hands on her shoulders. “Leave it love, you’re not in the right mood just now.” Maggie put the annoyingly unchanged glass back in her bag and went up to her room. “Its not fair Barry,” she complained as he looked up from his place on the window ledge, “everyone else can work magic, why can’t I?” Barry blinked and then yawned; he had heard this particular little rant many, many times before. “Just one spell, one lousy little spell, is that too much to ask?” She demanded, but Barry had closed his eyes and was snoring. As we all know ranting is a particularly unrewarding experience when you don’t have an audience to appreciate the rant. Barry didn’t do much of anything for his board and lodging, so Maggie was very peeved that he couldn’t at least stay awake to listen to her rant, even if he was bored by it! “And why have I got a cat that just farts and snores?” she asked the universe, just for good measure. The universe just shrugged, it wasn’t worried by Barry’s gaseous effluvia, as it had a terrible sense of smell. With no audience and nothing else to do she got the glass out of her bag and laid it on the bed before composing herself and very carefully casting the spell. “Glass to looking glass is all I ask.” The universe also seemed to be stone deaf despite Maggie’s best wheedling efforts. Her Dad knocked on her door, from the bottom of the stairs, and called up to her. “Tea’s on the table Maggie.” She sighed and made a rude face, with her tongue sticking out, at the obstinate piece of glass. But her attempt to insult it didn’t work either because it didn’t reflect her face back, it remained just as clear as before and her rudeness passed straight through it. Barry had disappeared, but that was no surprise, he came and went as though the house walls didn’t exist. Maggie went downstairs her footsteps as heavy as a funeral march and her shoulders slumped so low they nearly knocked against her knees. “Still no luck then?” her Dad enquired gently as they ate. Maggie shook her head. “It’ll come love, just give it some time.” he told her. Then he leaned forward over the table and had a shifty look over both his shoulders before holding out his cupped hands before her. “Want to see something I’ve been working on?” he asked her a little conspiratorially. She looked up from her food, her Dad could do really amazing things with his spellwork. She nodded enthusiastically. He opened his hands to show her that he held a pea in his left palm then he covered it over with his right hand and silently cast his spell. Spell casting can take many forms but the better the practitioner the fewer the frills and whistles that they need to use, for their words alone are sufficient to fool the universe. Usually they are spoken out loud because that way more ‘feeling’ can be put into them, the universe loves a good emote, and it is generally expected by the audience. But the very best wizards, don’t need to say a word out loud or twitch so much as an eyebrow in order to cast a first rate spell. His hands were pushed apart by the appearance of a piping hot beefburger complete with melted cheese, relish and dressing, it smelled absolutely authentic and Maggie’s mouth started to water. Her reaction was not due to her Dad’s spell, it was due to the bizarre innate magic of the burger. That a piece of mechanically recovered meat offal could be such a sought out delicacy by the youth of the world, that was a con trick of truly epic proportions, real magic! “There you are.” he smiled and held it out to her. “Paul.” her Mum said tartly as she observed the exchange. Maggie almost imagined the burger in her mouth and glanced at both her parents in a moment of indecision, should she scoff it or refuse it? “Its okay Gloria,” her Dad laughed, “it’s a bogus burger, all the taste and texture gratification of the real thing but all the calories of the pea. It’s the ultimate slimming aid.” “Oh, all right then.” her Mum replied but still looking at the burger as though it was something dead that Barry had brought home. Somehow the exchange had taken the shine off the burger for Maggie and she shook her head. “No thanks Daddy. So what does happen if you eat it?” “Nothing really, it fills you up like a burger but when you digest it all you get is one pea’s worth of calories.” Her Dad shrugged and grinned. “Don’t you want it then?” Somehow the burger magic seemed to vanish during her Dad’s description of it. She shook her head again and went back to her tea. “Barry.” her Dad called out, but the ginger cat was already sitting by his feet. “There you are old son.” Barry wolfed down the burger as only a truly obese and overfed cat could and still looked up with imploring hungry eyes for more. He slunk away with a very disappointed set to his ample haunches when no more food was forthcoming. “You spoil that cat Paul.” “Not this evening.” he winked back. From somewhere near the door to the kitchen a thin squeaking noise announced Barry’s revenge. Maggie’s Dad made a single sweeping gesture with his right hand and Barry, plus his offensive fart, were wafted out of the front door and dumped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. Barry cast a venomous look back at him before the door shut itself and then walked down the path with his tail held high. The fart, however, wasn’t so easily cast aside. It looked around furtively before pouncing on a passing cyclist and almost knocking him off his bike as it assaulted his nostrils and then innocently floated away into the air.
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