Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

gave way to sheer terror. He tried to shout for help but no sound
came. He jumped out of bed but Catweazle blocked his way and held up a spoonful
of gramophone record. ‘Come, O groom, eat the voice I have prepared for thee,’
he said.
    Groome
tried to grab the spoon but Catweazle snatched it away quickly. ‘Nay,’ he
insisted, ‘thou must eat.’
    Groome
picked up his pillow and hit Catweazle over the head with it. Bits of record
went everywhere and Catweazle collapsed on to the bed. Groome rushed out of the
door and hung grimly on to the doorknob to prevent the madman’s escape. He
gestured wildly for Cedric to take over and then scribbled a note for him.
    ‘
“There’s a madman in there,” ’ read Cedric. ‘ “I am going to get his Lordship.”
’
    This
was the last thing Cedric wanted. ‘Couldn’t we just... er... let him go?’ he
said lamely.
    Groome
shook his head wildly and remembered he had a key and locked the bedroom door.
Then he pulled on his overcoat, and his cycle clips over his pyjamas, stuck his
feet into a pair of old plimsolls and rushed outside to his bike.
    At that
moment, Lady Collingford was in the main hall re-directing Doctor Hawkins.
Suddenly Lord Collingford came stalking through, practising his guided tour. He
was concentrating so hard that he didn’t see them watching him.
    ‘This
way, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, leading an imaginary party of visitors
into the gun room.
    Doctor
Hawkins gaped. ‘Er... my husband,’ whispered Lady Collingford.
    ‘Oh...
yes... of course,’ said Doctor Hawkins sympathetically and hurried out to his
car. He passed Groome half-way to the gatehouse but didn’t notice him.
    When
Cedric heard the car pulling up outside he tried to hide Catweazle but the
magician ran back into the bedroom and dived under the blankets. Cedric felt
the situation was now completely beyond him and all he could do was to open the
door to Doctor Hawkins.
    ‘Are
you Cedric?’ said the doctor.
    ‘That’s
right.’
    ‘We
seem to have got our wires a bit crossed.’
    Cedric
felt this was something of an understatement.
    ‘In
here?’ said the doctor, going remorselessly towards the bedroom. Cedric nodded
and watched helplessly as he went inside.
    ‘Good
afternoon, Mr Groome,’ said Doctor Hawkins to the inert heap under the
bedcovers,
    There
was no reply.
    ‘Feeling
any better?’
    The
lump in the bed remained motionless.
    ‘Now do
come out, there’s a good chap. I mean, I can’t do anything to help unless I
have a look at you, Can I?’
    Outside
the door, Cedric listened and held his breath.
    Doctor
Hawkins tried to get the covers off his patient. His bedside manner was
beginning to deteriorate. ‘I’ve other people to see, you know,’ he informed
Catweazle who was still gripping the blankets tightly over his head. ‘Come on,
man. You’re behaving very badly. Come out!’
    Catweazle
lowered the coverlet very slowly. ‘That’s... er... better,’ said the doctor,
looking nervously at his patient’s wild and unkempt appearance. ‘I’ll just take
your pulse.’
    Catweazle
looked blankly up at him.
    The
doctor sighed. ‘Just give me your hand, old chap.’
    Catweazle
clasped the doctor’s hand firmly. The man obviously wanted to make friends. The
doctor eventually managed to release Catweazle’s grip and took his pulse.
    ‘Mmm,’
said the doctor, ‘sit up, please.’
    Catweazle
sat up and then watched the doctor shaking and tapping a thin icicle of glass.
‘Open wide,’ said the doctor.
    Once
again Catweazle looked blank. ‘Your mouth,’ said the doctor curtly. ‘Open it!’
    Catweazle
obeyed and the doctor popped in the thermometer. Catweazle spat it out
immediately. The doctor sighed and felt Catweazle’s forehead instead.
    ‘Open
wide again,’ he said.
    Catweazle
shut his mouth like a trap.
    ‘I am
not going to put anything in it,’ said the doctor coldly. He held his tiresome
patient by the nose, forcing Catweazle to open his mouth.
    ‘It
looks fairly normal,’ said the doctor, somewhat puzzled. The covers had fallen
back to reveal Catweazle’s tattered robe. ‘I... er... don’t think you should
wear your... er... dressing-gown in bed,’ said the doctor.
    He
tried to listen to Catweazle’s chest with his stethoscope but the magician blew
down the other end.
    ‘Don’t
do that!’ bellowed the doctor.
    Up at
the house, Groome had rushed into the kitchen where Mrs Gowdie was ironing.
‘Henry!’ she exclaimed in