Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

THE ESCAPE
     
    Catweazle was sitting with his tattered book of magic across his knees when
William de Collynforde, Lord of Farthing Castle and High Sheriff of the
Andredsweald, strode into the dungeon.
    ‘Well,
sorcerer?’ growled the Norman.
    ‘Nay,
not well,’ replied Catweazle, shivering miserably, ‘I have the bone-ache.’
    William
de Collynforde scooped up a handful of lead coins from a large pile on the
floor. ‘Lead! Still lead!’ he muttered, in angry disappointment.
    ‘Ay.
Nothing works!’
    ‘Turn
this to gold!’
    ‘Master,
I have tried and tried again — ’
    ‘Thou
art a magician?’
    Catweazle
nodded.
    ‘And
hast magic powers?’
    ‘ ’Tis
so — ’ began Catweazle.
    ‘Then
use them villain!’ roared Lord William, losing his temper. ‘Give me power. The
power of gold!’ He hurled the coins to the floor. ‘Here shalt thou stay till
thou hast made me gold,’ he said cruelly as he left the dungeon. The door
thundered shut and Catweazle listened as the heavy bolts were slid home and his
captor’s echoing footsteps died away in the distance; then he made a rude noise
and stuck out his tongue.
    ‘Thou
great Norman lump!’ he muttered. ‘If I conjure till Doomsday, I cannot make
thee gold.’
    There
was a sympathetic croak from Touchwood, who
    was
sitting in a small puddle in the darkest corner of the dungeon.
    ‘Why did
we return to this time, Touchwood?’ Catweazle asked the toad. ‘Why did we leave
the world of electrickery?’
    Touchwood
had no idea. He crawled slowly over to the Zodiac circle Catweazle had drawn on
the flagstones and squatted down somewhat disrespectfully on the sign of Taurus
the Bull.
    ‘What
power hath gold?’ Catweazle wondered as he picked up his familiar and put him
in his special pocket. ‘ ’Tis not the power I seek. I seek the power to set us
free, to fly from this accursed castle and never — ’ Catweazle stopped in mid
sentence. Fly! Of course! That was the answer. If only he could fly... Flying
had given him a bit of trouble in the past but he never gave up trying. It was
something he had always wanted to do. He opened his book again and turned quickly
to the most suitable spell.
    ‘ “The
power to fly as do the fowls of the air,” ’ he read, his dirty forefinger
travelling swiftly along the strange script. Then he picked up a long white
hazel wand and arranged himself in the middle of his magic circle to begin the
incantation.
    ‘ “O
spirits that rule the great circle of stars,” ’ he read, ‘ “grant me the power
to fly. By the sign of the Ram, the sign of the Bull, the sign of the Heavenly
Twins,” ’ he chanted, and as he named each sign, he touched it lightly with his
wand. ‘ “By the sign of the Crab, of the Lion, of the Maiden, and the Balances.
By the Scorpion, the Centaur and the Goat. By the sign of the Water bearer, and
by the sign of the Fish — ” ’
    Suddenly
a small hatch in the door slid open and a lump of meat came through, impaled on
the end of a sword. Catweazle ignored this interruption and went on with the
spell.
    ‘ “Now
the power to fly is thine,” ’ he read. ‘ “Therefore, haste thee to an high
place; leap into the air and fly.” ’
    Catweazle’s
gaoler, who was secretly rather frightened of him, jiggled the sword
impatiently, but the magician took no notice; there was a sort of postscript at
the bottom of the page, which he found puzzling.
    ‘ “If
thou dost not fly,” ’ he read, ‘ “then ’tis thy bad luck.” ’
    Catweazle
thought about this, but as he couldn’t understand it, he shut the book, pulled
the proffered meat from the sword and began to eat hungrily. The sword was
withdrawn almost at once and the gaoler’s worried face appeared at the hatch
instead.
    ‘Dost
fear me, hog-face?’ mumbled Catweazle through a mouthful of meat.
    The
gaoler began to close the hatch. ‘Stay!’ said Catweazle quickly. ‘I will not
harm thee.’
    The
gaoler hesitated.
    ‘I will
show thee magic,’ suggested Catweazle. It was important that he escaped before
the power to fly began to wear off and already he was forming a very cunning
plan. The gaoler’s eyes widened with fear and once more he started to close the
hatch.
    ‘Wouldst
thou not learn the mysteries?’ said Catweazle beguilingly. ‘Harken! I can
become invisible. Thinner than air.’
    The
gaoler looked at him disbelievingly.
    ‘ ’Tis
so,’ Catweazle went on. ‘Wouldst thou see?’
    The
gaoler nodded