Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

angrily. ‘It’s
a good thing I noticed. Somebody could have got hurt.’
    The
grenades were taken into the office and then the platoon marched off into the
woods.
    Just
then the trees walked up to the Command Post. Four soldiers climbed out of them
and went inside to report to Major Jones.
    Catweazle
crept up a few minutes later, and approached the trees cautiously with his
fingers crossed, wondering if Owlface knew the Philosopher’s Stone had at last
been found.
    ‘Where
is thy master?’ he whispered to them but there was no answer. They were just
fibre-glass, after all.
    ‘Speak!
I charge thee!’ said Catweazle angrily.
    At that
moment, Major Jones came out with the four soldiers and grabbed Catweazle as a
Blue Demon spy. Then he telephoned his commanding officer to tell him of the
capture.
    ‘Excellent,
Jones,’ said Colonel Dickinson. ‘Report again when you’ve questioned him.’
    Jones
hung up and looked sternly towards Catweazle.
    ‘Right.
Now then, are you a Blue Demon?’
    Catweazle
was terrified. ‘Nay, O great one,’ he whispered.
    Jones
looked rather surprised at this. No one had ever called him Great One before.
    ‘Well
are you a Green Devil, then?’
    Catweazle
looked round fearfully and crossed his fingers.
    ‘One of
us,’ said Jones leaning over the desk.
    ‘ ’Tis
so,’ said Catweazle, who thought Jones was a magician like himself.
    ‘Right,’
said Jones, ‘then give the password.’
    Catweazle
looked blank.
    ‘The
word, man! The word!’ said Jones. ‘Schempamporasch!’ said Catweazle.
    ‘Wrong!’
said Jones. ‘It’s Lucifer.’
    Catweazle
crossed his fingers.
    ‘So
that makes you a Blue Demon, doesn’t it?’ said Jones smugly. He picked up a
pencil. ‘Your name?’ ‘Catweazle.’
    ‘Your
real name, you idiot!’
    ‘Hast
thou great powers?’
    ‘I’m in
charge of this Command Post, if that’s what you mean. Now, for the last time,
what’s your name?’
    ‘I am
thy brother,’ said Catweazle calmly, and crooked his forefingers each side of
his head to make imaginary horns. Jones looked at him in astonishment.
    ‘I know
you’re supposed to be difficult,’ he said, ‘but you’ve got to play fair. Now
then. Number.’
    ‘Nine,’
said Catweazle.
    ‘Nine
what?’ said Jones.
    ‘ ’Tis
the magic number,’ said Catweazle.
    Jones
put his head in his hands. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, ‘what’s your rank?’
    ‘What
dost thou mean?’
    Jones
was getting rattled. ‘You go on like this and I’ll call an umpire.’
    ‘A
demon?’
    ‘No, an
umpire. You’re a Demon.’
    ‘Nay,’
    Jones
controlled himself with difficulty. ‘Are you an officer?’
    ‘Canst
thou fly?’ asked Catweazle suddenly.
    Jones
pounded the table with his fist. ‘We’re in the army, not the blessed air
force!’ He wrote furiously on the pad in front of him. ‘Number... 9, something.
Rank... refused to answer. Now then,’ he looked up at Catweazle. ‘Name?’
    ‘Catweazle,’
said the magician with dignity.
    Jones
reached for the phone and rang his headquarters.
    ‘What’s
that?’ said Dickinson. ‘Cat. Weasel?’ Cedric, who was bringing the two
commanders their tea, nearly dropped the tray.
    ‘But
that’s code, Jones,’ Dickinson went on.
    ‘Yes
sir,’ said Jones, ‘but it doesn’t make sense.’
    Catweazle
took a banana from his pocket and offered it to Jones.
    ‘I
don’t eat bananas,’ said Jones, forgetting he was still on the phone.
    * “I
don’t eat bananas,” ’ repeated Dickinson at headquarters, while Cedric hovered
near, trying hard to hear. ‘I’ll look that up in the code-book.’
    ‘No,
sir,’ said Jones, ‘I was talking to him. D’you think it’s a deliberate
attempt to confuse us?’
    ‘More
than likely, Jones,’ said Dickinson, ‘Keep at him,’ and he hung up. ‘Cat and
Weasel’ he repeated, and both Commanders searched through their code-books.
‘Cat means advance!’ said Lord Collingford.
    ‘And
Weasel means retreat!’ said Dickinson, and they looked at each other in
bewilderment, not noticing Cedric had gone.
    Jones
continued to interrogate his prisoner. ‘Look,’ he pleaded, ‘it’s only an
exercise. You’re not really a spy. Nobody’s going to shoot you. But I’ve got to
put something on the report sheet.’
    ‘Thou
has all the Signs,’ said Catweazle, knowingly. ‘What of?’ said Jones,
immediately on the defensive. ‘I’m perfectly all right. You’ll never wear me
down.’
    ‘Why
art thou