Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

later, Groome came face to face with Lord Collingford.
    ‘I’ve
got something to tell you, my lord,’ said Groome, ‘about my marrow,’
    ‘Go
on,’ said Lord Collingford, beginning to fear the worst.
    ‘It’s —
it’s — ten feet long.’
    ‘So’s
mine,’ said Lord Collingford.
    For a
moment they stared at each other in horror and then they both made for Groome’s
greenhouse at the double. Crowds of people watched as they ran past the various
stalls and sideshows. Lady Collingford, who had persuaded Cedric to help her,
saw them and turned to Mrs Gowdie with a sigh. ‘Marrows!’ she said.
    The two
men came panting up to the giant marrow, which was nearly the size of a bus.
    ‘I
think it’s stopped growing,’ said Groome.
    ‘Thank
heavens,’ said Lord Collingford. ‘I hope mine has.’
    Groome
shook his head. ‘Might just be resting,’ he muttered grimly.
    c They
moved away from it and whispered almost as if the marrow might overhear them.
‘We can’t risk it,’ said Lord Collingford. ‘We’ll have to be ruthless,’
    ‘Ruthless,
my lord?’ asked Groome, trembling.
    Lord
Collingford nodded. ‘We’ll chop them up and throw them in the moat,’
    Groome
suddenly looked very sad.
    ‘It’s
the only way, Groome,’ said Lord Collingford gently.
    Groome
sighed. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said finally, ‘I sup-pose you’re right.’
    They
turned back to the marrow and both gasped with surprise.
    It was
the size of a small car.
    ‘It’s
shrinking!’ breathed Groome.
    ‘By
George, you’re right!’ said Lord Collingford.
    Groome
looked at his watch. ‘Ten minutes to go before the judging!’ he said in a voice
loaded with meaning.
    ‘I beg
your pardon?’ said Lord Collingford.
    ‘I’m
cutting mine right now,’ said Groome, the light of battle once more shining in
his eyes. ‘It might stop it shrinking. Better get back to yours, my lord,’ he
continued as he looked round for his gardening knife, ‘the competition’s not
over yet!’
    Lord
Collingford raced back to his marrow and was horrified to find that it wasn’t
much bigger than a sack of potatoes and still shrinking. Quickly he opened his
knife and attacked the stalk.
    In the
marquee Archie began the judging. Cedric couldn’t forget the giant marrows
about to engulf Kings Farthing, until suddenly he noticed something among all
the cups and prizes.
    Most of
the prizes were things for the garden, trowels, spades, bags of fertilizer and
so on, but right on the edge of the table was the prize for the best marrow. It
was a stone cherub pouring water from an urn, the sign of Aquarius, the Water
Bearer! Cedric looked at it thoughtfully for some moments and then slipped away
to the kitchen.
    ‘A
really beautiful colour and firmness, which always distinguishes this variety,’
said Archie, holding up a splendid bowl of apples. ‘The entries for this class
are all extremely good,’ he said. Then his heart sank as he saw
    Groome
and Lord Collingford come into the marquee each carrying his marrow carefully
wrapped up in sacking.
    ‘Er...
and now... the marrows,’ said Archie, and the two men brought them to join the
others already on the judging bench.
    ‘They
don’t look six feet long to me,’ said Lady Collingford.

    ‘Men
always exaggerate, my lady,’ said Mrs Gowdie. Ah!’ said Archie, ‘the ten-foot
marrows, eh?’ and he winked at Groome and Lord Collingford, who were scowling
at each other. ‘Now, don’t be bashful. You’ll have to unwrap them, you know.’
    The two
marrows were identical. Archie measured them in silence, wondering how he could
award the prize without offending either of the fanatics.
    ‘Er… it
looks like a draw, I’m afraid,’ he said finally, looking at them with some
trepidation.
    ‘Just a
minute, Mr Goodwin!’ called a voice.
    It was
Cedric, carrying the marrow Archie had brought them. Everyone turned in
astonishment as he bore it to the table. It was clearly the winner and Groome
and Lord Collingford were shattered.
    ‘Well
done, old boy,’ said Archie, with considerable relief. ‘I couldn’t have grown a
better one myself.’ He winked at Cedric and gratefully handed him the little
stone figure.
    Catweazle,
who had not succeeded in his attempt to grow a giant banana, was still stirring
the bubbling cauldron when Cedric knocked at the door of Duck Halt later that
evening.
    ‘Merry
meet, merry part,’ muttered the magician, giving Owlface the ancient magic
greeting. ‘Hast thou