Bumblestook: Book 1, The Accidental Wizard (7 page)

“Yes, yes, but everything’s going to be fine, what with your wonderful plan and all,” said Myrtle. Jumping up, she hastily took Miss Magooly by the arm and helped her to her feet. “Don’t you think you should be getting home, now that we’ve got things all nicely worked out?”

“Oh, yes, I-I suppose I should be going.”

The others pushed back their little chairs and stood, as Miss Magooly shakily gathered up her Parent Conference notes and headed for the door. Once there, she turned to flash a dazzling smile, the effect of which was somewhat marred by her mussed-up hair and melted make-up.

“Ta-ta! See you on Monday!” She said, waving cheerily.

For a few moments, the Bumblestooks and Faires simply stared at the door through which the frazzled teacher had passed.

“Well, that turned out alright, don’t you think?” Lance remarked, optimistically.

Olivia arched a delicate brow and left without a word, with Lance following close behind.

The Bumblestooks just looked at each other and sighed, before exiting the kindergarten classroom.

No one ate the cookies.

The following day, Lance awoke, as usual on a Saturday morning, to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting through the house. What was
not
usual were the sounds he heard coming from the kitchen; doors and drawers slamming repeatedly, the clash and clatter of pots and pans, and (most disturbing) the crash of crockery! He hopped out of bed and raced for the kitchen in his pajamas. Pausing in the doorway, he pulled back just in time as a teacup sailed past his nose to crash into the wall behind him!

Olivia was in the kitchen making breakfast, calmly flipping flapjacks at the stove, her back turned toward her husband. All around her, the
rest
of the kitchen was in a state of utter chaos! Cupboard doors and kitchen drawers flew open and slammed shut. Plates and cups leapt from the shelves and flew across the room, crashing into walls like demented birds. Tom cowered, quivering under the kitchen table.

Shouting his wife’s name, Lance dashed across the kitchen floor, dodging a flying saucer and skidding to a halt, as Olivia turned to face him. Her china-doll face was smooth and composed, but her eyes flashed as a storm raged in their ultramarine depths. She held a spatula in a tight, white-knuckled grip. Lance grabbed his wife’s shoulders and looked straight into those flashing eyes.

“Olivia, get a grip! You’ll wake Fiona!”

Olivia shook her head and looked about the kitchen in a daze. “Wha—what’s happening?” she stammered.

“Just close your eyes and breathe deeply,” her husband instructed gently.

His wife squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep shuddering breaths. Cups and saucers, plates and bowls, all settled down with a clinking sound. The doors and drawers gave a final
slam!
—then stayed shut. Olivia opened first one eye, then the other and looked about cautiously.

“There, there, it’s alright. It’s over,” Lance said, drawing his wife close and giving her little baby-pats on her back.

“
Over
? It will never be over!” Olivia declared vehemently, pulling away and flinging the spatula across the room. A single cupboard door creaked open and the cutlery drawer rattled ominously. With a final withering glare at the rebellious kitchen, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, till it settled down once more.

“What’s this all about? I’ve never seen you lose control like this,” Lance said.

“I just want our daughter to live a normal life. Is that too much to ask?” Olivia replied, her voice taut, but controlled.

“A normal
Human
life, you mean,” her husband replied.

“Mummy? Daddy?”

They whirled about to see Fiona, standing in the doorway in her nightgown and fluffy slippers; rubbing her eyes sleepily with one little hand and clutching her teddy bear in the other.

“I heared a noise an’ it waked me up.”

“It’s alright, pumpkin. Mommy just dropped some pots and pans, that’s all. Let’s go get dressed for breakfast, ok?” Olivia swiftly herded her daughter out of the kitchen.

Lance sighed as he got out the dustpan and broom and set about putting the kitchen to rights.

Later, as they all sat down to breakfast, they were once again interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Probably Myrtle,” said Lance nonchalantly, tipping back his chair and closing his eyes. Suddenly, the chair legs came down with a crash as his eyes popped open in alarm!

“
It’s Bartholeumous
!” he said.

“Yeow!” Tom howled from under the table, the fur on his back and tail puffed out as if electrified.

“Oh dear!” Olivia exclaimed. Her face drained of color and her teacup rattled in its saucer. “We could pretend we’re not home.”

“He knows we’re here or he wouldn’t have come,” said Lance.

His wife slumped in her chair.

“It’s just a visit, Livie. He did say he would drop in from time to time.”

Olivia took a deep breath. “I know. I just expected a little warning, that’s all.”

They jumped in their seats as the knock came again, louder this time.

Fiona looked from her mother’s stricken face to her father’s resolute countenance.

“Whatsa Bartholymouse, Mummy?”

“It’s a—I mean,
he’s
a man dear, just a man.”

“Is ‘e a bad man, Daddy?”

“No, dear. In fact, he’s—he’s your uncle.” Lance shrugged his shoulders, as Olivia shot him a questioning look.

They both jumped to their feet as the knock came again, louder still.

“I’ll get it!” Fiona called out, running from the kitchen.

“No, wait!”

“Let your father get it!”

Lance and Olivia practically tripped over each other in their race to the front door. Too late! Fiona had flung it open. There in the doorway, framed in an aurora of dazzling sunlight, stood

the bearded man.

He hadn’t changed much since that night in the garden. His dark hair (pulled back in a neat pony-tail) was still long and wavy, his mustache thick and curly and his beard full. But there was now a single, startlingly-white stripe running down the left side of his hair, mustache and beard. A network of fine lines crinkled in the corners of his eyes and etched their way across the broad forehead. He had set aside the long, dark, hooded cloak for a less conspicuous, navy trench-coat, with a short attached cape.

Fiona cried out with surprise, “It’s the man from my crystal!” Running forward, she took one of his large hands in both of her tiny ones and pulled him into the front room.

“Wh-what’s that now?” Lance sputtered.

“How exactly do you know him, pumpkin?” Olivia asked.

“The crystal, Mummy! He’s in my crystal—the one in my room,” the child explained, still holding on tight to the man’s hand.

“I see,” said Olivia, crossing her arms and glaring at Bartholeumous.

“I told you I’d be checking up on her,” the bearded man said calmly. “What did you expect—postcards?” He bent down to look at the child. “You must be Fiona. My, my, what a beautiful child you are. Despite predictions to the contrary,” he added wryly, casting a sidelong look at the parents.

“Can you have brekfuss wif us, Uncle Bartholymouse?”

Bartholeumous raised an eyebrow at the word “uncle”, but didn’t object. In fact, he seemed rather pleased as he bent down to address his “niece”.

“It would give me great pleasure, little one. Lead the way.” He allowed himself to be pulled into the kitchen by the little girl, leaving her parents to follow. Once there, he removed his coat (revealing an ordinary maroon sweater and dark grey slacks) and hung it on the wooden coat rack beside the back door. He took a seat at the kitchen table next to Fiona, who had cheerfully taken ownership of him.

Reluctantly, Olivia went to the stove and began preparing another plate of pancakes.

“Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” said Lance, sitting down on the other side of his guest.

“I daresay it is,” Bartholeumous replied. He caught sight of the cat, creeping along the edge of the room, its body flattened against the floor, as it tried to make its way unobtrusively out of the kitchen. “Whoa there! I see you have an addition to your family. A Bungaree, if I am not mistaken.”

“That’s not a bungeeree! That’s my kitty. His name is Tom.” Fiona told him. “Daddy says he’s a watchcat, cuz he watches out for me!”

“I am sure he does a very good job of it. Bungarees can be quite loyal—under certain conditions, eh, Lance?”

Lance spluttered into his coffee. “Er-uh—”

“But then,
you
would know all about that, Olivia, given your gift for understanding creatures of all sorts.”

Olivia turned from the stove to place a plate of pancakes in front of their guest. “Coffee?” she asked coolly.

“Actually I’d prefer a cup of Red-speckled Toadstool Tea.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have that.”

“Bumblebee Brew?”

“Fresh out.”

“Jellyfish Juice?”

“Sorry, no.”

Bartholeumous sighed. “Coffee will be fine.”

Olivia placed a mugful in front of him. “I’m afraid I don’t have any of the more
exotic
beverages you’re accustomed to. I keep a rather simple household.”

Bartholeumous looked about the cheery kitchen. The walls were painted a sunny yellow. Blue and white checked curtains puffed gently in the breeze from the open bay window. The wooden cupboards, antique table and chairs were painted a fresh, clean white. A bright sunflower print decorated the blue gingham tablecloth and chair cushions.

“I find it quite—
Human
,” he observed.

“Yes, well, about that—” Lance began, when he was interrupted by another knock at the door. He closed his eyes briefly. “It’s the Bumblestooks,” he said as his eyes snapped open. “All of them.”

“I’ll get rid of them,” said Olivia in a rush, as she started for the front room.

“No!” Bartholeumous rose to stand in her path. “Do not send them away on
my
account. In fact, I am quite looking forward to meeting these—
Bumblestooks
.”

“I don’t see why you’d bother. They’re quite ordinary people.” Olivia objected.

“On the contrary, I believe I will find them to be quite
ex
traordinary!” her guest replied. Laying a finger beside his nose, he winked. “Do not worry. Mum is the word.” He stepped aside as Olivia headed for the front door.

Fiona had watched the exchange between her parents and uncle with growing curiosity. She could tell her mother was nervous. Her mouth was set in a straight line and her eyes looked a little
too
bright. Her father was behaving oddly as well; all stiff and serious, not like Daddy at all. Even her kitty was acting strange; slipping away into the hallway without even finishing his pancakes.

But, when Fiona looked at her uncle a sense of well-being washed over her. Some of her earliest memories were of his face, reflected in the many facets of her crystal, smiling down protectively. Something told her she had nothing to fear as long as he watched over her.

She heard voices from the front room, where her mother greeted the Bumblestooks. She immediately sensed that Farley was with them. It didn’t seem at all strange to her that she could do this; it was just something she could
always
do.

In the front room, Farley tugged at his mother’s hand. He could tell Fiona was in the kitchen and wanted to go play with her. It didn’t seem odd to him that he knew exactly where she was. He
always
knew.

However, Mom wasn’t paying any attention to him right now and she was holding his hand a bit too tightly. No matter how much he squirmed he couldn’t get loose. In fact, it seemed the more he wiggled, the tighter her grasp on his hand became—just like that Chinese Finger Trap, Dad brought home from work one day.

That
gave him an idea. Instead of trying to get away, he suddenly stopped struggling. As he
had hoped, his mother loosened her grip and he easily slipped away. Leaving the grown-ups to talk in the front room, he made a dash for the kitchen.

Unfortunately, as he stepped onto the rug in the hallway, it slid on the polished wooden floor and he skidded into the kitchen, arms flailing wildly, riding the rug like an out-of-control skateboard! He crashed into a large man, whose bear-like embrace kept him from falling.

“Bumblestook, I presume?” the man’s voice rumbled.

Farley’s smile stretched so wide that his ears wiggled. He was always pleased as punch to meet someone new. He stood up straight and stuck out his little hand.

“My name’s Farley. What’s your name, Mister?”

“Bartholeumous—the Bold,” the bearded man replied, taking the boys small hand in his huge paw and giving it a solemn shake.

“Bartholeumous the
Bold
?” Farley’s father asked from the kitchen doorway. He’d seen Farley “slip” away and had followed to make sure he was okay. “Sounds like a magician’s name. You wouldn’t happen to be a master of the old sleight-of-hand, so to speak, wouldja?”

Lance leapt to his feet to introduce them. “Er—Harvey Bumblestook, Farley’s father. And this is Fiona’s uncle, Bartholeumous. And right you are, Harvey, old sock! Can’t pull the wool over
your
eyes. Uncle here,
is
a magician. Does parties and such—isn’t that right Uncle?”