The Magician's Boy (4 page)

The enormous beanstalk was covered not only with leaves but with bright red flowers and long bean pods. Some of the pods were very fat. They were starting to dry out, and they were nearly ready to pop.

The Boy often had to pick peas and beans in the Magician's garden, so he knew that the beans in those dry pods would be hard as
stones. And because this beanstalk was so huge, the beans would also be ten times the size of a regular bean.

He reached up to the nearest dry bean pod, which was as long as his arm. It was far too big and hard for him to pick it, but perhaps he could squeeze it hard enough to make it pop open. He put both his arms round the end of the pod and hugged it, hard—and it opened.

There inside lay six hard round green beans. They were even bigger than he expected.

The Boy pulled out a bean, the size of a baseball. He aimed very carefully, and he threw it at the wolf.

“Ow!” The wolf jumped up in the
air, as the bean hit it on the back.

The Boy grinned. He threw another giant bean, and it hit the wolf full on the nose. The wolf screeched. Then it backed away from the Boy and howled in rage.

The door of Jack's cottage swung open and Jack came running out. He was still chewing his dinner, and he had a chunk of bread in his hand. He stared at the wolf, and then up at the Boy.

“Wolf,” he said, “what are you doing under my beanstalk? Go back to your own story!”

The wolf snarled at him.

“Go on,” Jack said sternly. “You know the rules.”

The wolf bared its teeth, which looked bigger and sharper than ever. “It was him,” it said sulkily.
“He
broke the rules. He warned Red Riding Hood to watch out for me.”

“He doesn't know any better,” said Jack. “He's a visitor, he's on a quest.
You
belong here. Go home! Go on!”

“No fair,” said the wolf. He looked at the Boy, and bared his teeth again.

“If you're not careful I'll bring my Giant down here,” Jack said. “Wolves are his favorite thing for dinner, if he can't catch boys.”

The wolf whined. “No fair,” it said, but it slunk off with its tail between its legs.

“Thanks very much,” said the Boy to Jack. He climbed down off the beanstalk. “What's a quest?”

“Looking for something,” Jack said. “Or someone. You're on a quest to find Saint George.”

“And I'm no good at it,” said the Boy gloomily.

“Cheer up,” said Jack. “Here, have a snack.” He held out his piece of bread.

“Thanks!” said the Boy. He took a bite. It was very good bread.

Jack said, “If Saint George is here, he's in his own story. Everyone is. And his story is ‘Saint George and the Dragon,' right?”

“Right,” said the Boy, chewing.

“Try looking for the Dragon. Dragons are hard to miss. Then you'll find Saint George with him!”

“That's a great idea,” the Boy said.

“Good luck!” said Jack. “I'm off to bother my Giant again.” He slapped the Boy on the back, and began climbing up the beanstalk.

“He loves chocolate!” the Boy called after him.

But Jack was gone.

A gruff voice said, “So now you're looking for a Dragon?”

The Boy looked down. It was the signpost, standing there pointing as usual in both directions.

“Where have you been?” the Boy said. He took another bite of bread.

“Right here,” said the signpost. “I can't climb beanstalks, and wolves don't eat signposts. Don't eat that last bit of bread.”

The Boy was about to pop it in his mouth, but he stopped. “Are you hungry?” he said.

“Signposts don't eat, stupid,” said the signpost. “Share it with the birds. They might be useful.”

The Boy broke his last bit of bread into crumbs, and scattered them on the ground. At once, four and twenty blackbirds came swooping down out of the trees and the beanstalk and pecked them up.

The Boy looked at them, and remembered.
“You be careful!” he said. “Someone wants to catch all of you, and bake you in a pie!”

“Oh, that's okay,” said the biggest blackbird. “It's just the Magician. He doesn't really cook us. We just sit in this big dish and he puts a baked crust over us. People think they have a yummy pie to eat, but when they cut it, we all fly out, singing. You should see their faces!”

“I know a Magician like that,” said the Boy.

“Thanks for the crumbs,” said the blackbird. She looked at him with her head on one side. “You need any bird help?”

“Yes please,” said the Boy. “Will you tell me if you can see any parts of the wood where the trees have been burned by fire?”

“Fire?” said the bird.

“I'm looking for a Dragon,” said the Boy. “Dragons breathe fire all the time, they can't help it.”

“Okay,” said the biggest blackbird. She whistled to the others, and all twenty-four of them flew up past the treetops and disappeared.

The Boy looked at the signpost with respect.

“The birds were a good idea,” he said.

“Well, I
am
supposed to show people the way,” said the signpost. “You just have to choose which one.”

The birds came flying down again like a fall of black snow. They saluted.

“Burned trees two miles east, sir,” said one.

“Black treetops one mile north, sir,” said another.

“Black trees five hundred yards south, sir,” said a third.

“Burned trees a hundred yards west, sir,” said the biggest blackbird, “and still smoking!”

“That's it!” said the Boy. “The Dragon must be still there! Let's go west!”

He looked up to see which way the sun was shining. “This way!” he said, and they all set off. The blackbirds fluttered from tree to tree, singing.

Soon the Boy could smell smoke. He ran through the trees, and he thought he saw the tip of an enormous tail disappearing ahead of him. Then he began to hear voices calling. Frightened voices.

“Help!” cried the first voice.

“Help, help!” cried the second.

“Save us!” called the third.

Suddenly the Boy was out in a grassy clearing. A wide strip of the grass was burned black, still smoking, and blackened leaves hung from the lower branches of the trees on the other side.

It was a very big clearing, the size of a football field.

The signpost stumped out after the Boy and stood next to him, looking round.

The frightened shouts grew louder, and then out of the trees on the left side of the clearing three figures came running. The Boy recognized them; they were the people
dressed like the puppets from his play. There was the fat round figure of Father Christmas, the Doctor in his dark coat, and the Turkish Knight with his bright baggy pants flapping.

“Help!” they cried as they ran. “Save us!”

And after them came the Dragon.

He was a huge, handsome Dragon, bright green all over, with red eyes and golden claws. Smoke and flame flew out of his nostrils when he opened his great red jaws to roar.

“Wow!” said the signpost.

The Turkish Knight turned bravely to fight the Dragon, waving his curved sword.
But the Dragon swung his long scaly neck sideways, and the side of his bony green head knocked the Turkish Knight off his feet and up into the air.

“Waaaaah!”
cried the Turkish Knight, and he flew through the air and into the branches of a big oak tree, where he stuck, upside down.

The Dragon galloped over to the tree and started trying to climb it.

The Boy was watching wide-eyed. “Saint George
must
be here now!” he said.

“Oh yes,” said the signpost. “He certainly is.”

“Saint George!” called the poor upside-down Turkish Knight. “Help!”

“Saint George!” called the Doctor, dodging in and out of the trees.

The Dragon was too big to climb the tree. He snarled up at the Turkish Knight, showing his enormous white teeth.

“Saint George!” called the Boy. “Where are you, Saint George?”

He looked all round him, at the smoking grass and the blackened leaves.

Then very slowly, one by one, out into the clearing, from behind every tree and bush, came all the people he had met in the Land
of Story. The Old Woman was there, with all her children around her, and the Pied Piper, carrying his pipe.

Little Zoe waved to the Boy. Red Riding Hood was there, with the wolf slinking sulkily behind her. Jack came out onto the sooty grass, and the big head of the Giant popped up behind a tree and looked down at the Boy. Pinocchio moved out stiffly, his nose a normal size now. And around them all the four and twenty blackbirds swooped and fluttered, singing.

And every single person and creature was looking at the Boy.

The Boy stared at them all. What were they doing? The Dragon would eat them!

“Saint George!” he shouted urgently.

Out of the crowd of people, Father Christmas walked forward toward the Boy, and everyone turned to watch. The old man was carrying a white tunic with a big red cross on it, and a sword, and a small round shield.