Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

getaway.
    Catweazle
scurried upstairs and hid behind a tapestry when he heard Lady Collingford
coming out of her bedroom. Then Mrs Gowdie also hurried up with a poker. ‘Are
you all right, my lady?’ she asked.
    ‘I
think so, Mrs Gowdie,’ replied Lady Collingford. They both jumped at the sound
of a distant crash.
    Inspector
Pugh had run round to the back of the house in answer to Davidson’s signal,
and, climbing into the sitting-room, had slipped on the window sill and fallen
heavily to the floor.
    Cedric
joined Mrs Gowdie and his mother. ‘Shall I go and see what’s happening?’ he
asked.
    ‘No
dear,’ said Lady Collingford, ‘I’d rather you didn’t. I feel there has been
enough whistle blowing for one night I wonder if other people have such noisy
burglaries?’
    ‘Shall
I make a nice pot of tea?’ asked Mrs Gowdie, who regarded this as a universal
panacea.
    ‘No
thank you,’ said Lady Collingford, ‘I’d much rather you both went back to bed,
and that the Elderford Police Force would stop their manoeuvres and go home.’
    In the
sitting-room Inspector Pugh and Lord Collingford were staring at the cups on
the mantelpiece. ‘He must have repented at last,’ said Pugh.
    ‘Amazing,’
said Lord Collingford, delighted to see his trophies again. ‘The only thing
that’s missing is that creepy-looking inkwell, and I never cared for it
anyway.’ They were joined by P.C. Davidson. ‘I’ve just found Williams,’ he said
breathlessly. ‘Ted had clobbered him and pinched his uniform.’
    ‘Is he
all right?’ asked Inspector Pugh.
    ‘I
think his pride’s been hurt,’ said Davidson.
    ‘He’s
not the only one,’ replied Pugh grimly.
    Lord
Collingford watched them drive away, and then went upstairs to bed, but
Catweazle had already sought safety in Cedric’s bedroom. Cedric wasn’t very
pleased to see him and told him so, but the magician simply curled up like a
dog at the foot of his bed and fell asleep instantly. There was nothing Cedric
could do except set the alarm clock so that he could let Catweazle out of the
house early the next morning while the household was still fast asleep.
    ‘Thanks
for bringing everything back,’ said Cedric, when he visited Duck Halt during
the following afternoon. ‘Well, nearly everything.’
    Catweazle
looked up from his book of magic. ‘What dost thou mean?’
    ‘What
about the inkwell?’
    ‘The
ink... well?’
    ‘Yes.
The creepy-looking inkwell.’
    Catweazle
grinned his crooked grin and held up a large crab made of silver gilt. He
lifted the shell. Inside were two glass inkwells.
    ‘It’s
the sign of the crab, isn’t it?’ said Cedric.
    ‘ ‘Tis
so, Owlface,’ said Catweazle, ‘the Sign of the Crab.’

    ‘But I
said no more stealing! ! :
    Catvveazle
took the strange inkwell over to his Zodiac ring and placed it above the House
of Cancer.
    ‘ ’Tis
but borrowed, my brother,’ he said, ‘till I can fly...’

LEO
     
    It was a great moment in Catweazle’s life when he
discovered the Elderford rubbish dump. He gazed in wonder at all its marvels.
Truly, he thought, this was a magic place with its thousands of mysterious food
tins and its heavy pungent smell. He climbed on to the dump and started a
little avalanche. Clouds of white ash rose into the still air like smoke and
hundreds of dozing bluebottles woke and buzzed angrily round the ragged
explorer. He found an old pram and began to load it with treasures. When it was
full he tied it to the back of his tricycle and rode in triumph to Duck Halt.
    The
Sign of the Lion is hidden from me,’ he said to Touchwood. ‘But see the marvels
the foolish sorcerers throw away.’
    He
pulled a broken clock from the pram. ‘Ah, tyrant!’ he exclaimed, ‘thou hast
lost thy power. Where is thy tack, tack, now? Thy bell will ring no more. No
man will rise or sleep at thy command.’
    An
electric fire came next, followed by an umbrella and then a colander.
    ‘This
bowl will carry no water,’ he muttered. ‘Some loon hath pierced it with holes.’
    Finally
he brought out a mysterious-looking book and showed it to Touchwood. ‘Dost
think ’tis a book, my minion?’ he asked. ‘Mayhap, mayhap. Yet ’tis a mystery.’
He shuffled over to the table and made a space for it among the mandrake roots.
    It was
an old-fashioned record album. He opened it and eventually managed to get the
first record out of its cover. It had broken in half, but he fitted it together
and peered through the little