Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

swarming with visitors. Cedric hid Catweazle
near the rockery where they had found the wogle-stone and took the potion
bucket into the kitchen.
    Groome
was at the sink with a similar bucket, mixing fertilizer to put on his marrow.
The marrow competition was an annual battle between Groome and Lord
Collingford, and for weeks before the great day the two men tended their
marrows with jealous care. Nobody else had ever won the competition and Lady
Collingford had once said that the only reason for the Elderford Show was to
continue the horticultural battle between Groome and her husband.
    Cedric
picked up Mrs Gowdie’s mixer, switched it on and plunged it into the potion
    ‘What
are you up to?’ said Groome.
    ‘Er...
mixing something,’ said Cedric.
    ‘Well,
I don’t think you ought to be using that,’ said Groome. ‘It belongs to Mrs
Gowdie.’
    ‘Only
for a minute,’ said Cedric as Groome came over from the sink and put down his
bucket of fertilizer.
    ‘What
is it anyway?’ he said suspiciously.
    ‘An
experiment.’
    ‘Not
fertilizer, is it? For his lordship’s marrow?’
    ‘Of
course not,’ said Cedric.
    They
heard Mrs Gowdie coming and Groome grabbed the mixer. He was still trying to
turn it off when she appeared.
    ‘Mr
Groome!’ she said. ‘How dare you! That’s my cake mixer.’
    Groome
finally managed to turn it off. ‘But... but.. ,’ he stammered.
    ‘It’s
covered in fertilizer!’ said Mrs Gowdie, snatching it from him.
    ‘Please,
Mrs Gowdie — ’ said Cedric.
    ‘Take
that horrid stuff and get out of my nice clean kitchen,’ Mrs Gowdie continued
and pushed a bucket into Groome’s hands. It was Cedric’s bucket, but Groome was
too full of outraged innocence to notice.
    ‘Listen,
Betty — ’ he began angrily.
    ‘At
once!’ said Mrs Gowdie firmly.
    ‘But
Mrs Gowdie — ’ said Cedric.
    ‘You
too, Cedric,’ said Mrs Gowdie, giving him Groome’s bucket. ‘Marrows indeed!
You’re marrow mad!’
    It
wasn’t until Catweazle had spat out the fertilizer spluttering with fury that
Cedric realized what had happened and knew that he’d got to get Catweazle’s
bucket back.
    Luckily
Groome’s little greenhouse was empty when they reached it and they were able to
switch the buckets. Half the potion had gone but Catweazle scooped up the rest
in his hands and drank with obvious enjoyment.
    Cedric
was staring at the marrow in amazement. It seemed to be much bigger. ‘What’s
happened to it?’ said Cedric. ‘It wasn’t like that first thing this morning. It
was big, yes, but not that big!’
    The
marrow was nearly four feet long.
    ‘ ’Tis
a potent potion,’ said Catweazle.
    ‘But it
wasn’t designed for marrows,’ said Cedric.
     
    ‘Toad flax, garlic, rue and yarrow,
    Warm me to the very marrow,’
     
    repeated Catweazle. ‘Dost
thou not remember?’
    ‘That’s
crazy!’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘This isn’t bone marrow, it’s vegetable marrow.’
    ‘Mayhap,’
said Catweazle, ‘but magic is magic.’
    Cedric
touched it carefully. ‘It feels quite warm!’ he said. ‘Listen Catweazle, if
this thing is growing, there’s only one thing to do. We’ve got to try to
balance things up a bit.’
    ‘What
meanest thou?’ said Catweazle.
    ‘Pour
some of the potion on Dad’s marrow.’
    They
hid as Groome came back to the greenhouse with a large garden syringe. He
gasped when he saw the marrow. Then he pinched himself to make sure he was
really awake, ‘Stone the crows!’ he said softly. ‘Stone the crows!’
    He ran
back to the house, where Mrs Gowdie was busily making hundreds of little fairy
cakes. ‘My marrow’s four feet long!’ he said excitedly.
    Mrs
Gowdie looked at him. ‘Is it now,’ she said calmly.
    ‘It’s a
miracle,’ said Groome. ‘I’ve been singled out.’ ‘Yes, Henry,’ said Mrs Gowdie.
‘Just relax and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’ But he was on tenterhooks to
get back to his marrow.
    Cedric
and Catweazle were carefully pouring the rest of the potion over Lord
Collingford’s marrow. They watched fascinated as it quivered gently and then
started to grow very slowly almost as if it was being blown up like a balloon.
    Groome
had another look at his marrow and tore back to Mrs Gowdie. ‘It’s six now!’ he
gasped.
    ‘Six
what?’ said Mrs Gowdie, who was still hard at work making fairy cakes.
    ‘Feet!
Feet!’ cried Groome.
    ‘What
are you talking about?’ said Mrs Gowdie. Groome looked bleakly at her. ‘My
marrow,’