Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

Groome’s astonished
eyes, he was thrown back on to the bank by an unknown force, almost as if the
surface of the moat had become a giant spring.
    Groome
stared at Catweazle and began to stumble backwards, pointing and stammering
incoherently. Catweazle himself was too shaken to take much notice. He felt his
robe and was amazed to find it dry to its ragged hem. Thoughts buzzed in his
head like bees in an overturned hive. What had happened to him? Why, if he
still could not fly, had he not plunged into the water and returned to the
past? Was his water magic now denied to him? Was he trapped for ever in the
world of electri-ckery?
    He
decided to find out. ‘Salmay! Dalmay! Adonay!’ he cried, and shutting his eyes,
jumped into the moat. Once again, he was hurled out without a drop of water on
him.
    This
was too much for Groome, who turned and ran towards the house, while Catweazle,
now convinced there was no escape from the twentieth century, hid himself, crouched
and trembling, in the ruined greenhouse.
    The
Collingfords were very worried about Groome’s fantastic account of the ragged
man who bounced in and out of the moat without getting wet. Cedric however
realized that Catweazle must be at the bottom of all this and went looking for
him, while Lord and Lady Collingford tried to calm their excited gardener.
     

     
    ‘I know
someone who might be able to help,’ said Lady Collingford quietly, and she
reached for the telephone directory.
    ‘Who’s
that?’ asked Lord Collingford.
    ‘Doctor
Benjamin Wenik,’ said Lady Collingford. ‘He’s a specialist in... er... well,
nervous breakdowns. He’s just the man to handle Groome.’
    Doctor
Wenik agreed to come at once and arrived at Kings Farthing an hour later. He
was a dapper man with a smooth, sardonic face and dark knowing eyes,
immaculately dressed in a black jacket and striped trousers.
    Groome
was being provided with a steady flow of cups of tea from Mrs Gowdie. He sat on
the couch in the sitting-room and gazed through the window, never once taking
his eyes off the distant moat. ‘You must tell me everything,’ said Wenik,
sitting down beside him.
    ‘But
I’ve already told everyone everything,’ said Groome, beginning to think that
perhaps the whole thing had been a hallucination after all.
    ‘Now,
come, Mr Groome,’ said Lord Collingford. ‘We are all here to help you.’
    ‘I
don’t need any help,’ retorted Groome.
    ‘Please!’
said Wenik, turning to the Collingfords. ‘May I see him alone?’
    Groome
was a little nervous when they all left him. ‘Don’t worry, my boy,’ said Wenik,
taking a watch from his waistcoat, ‘you must relax. Very important, you know.’
He swung the watch in front of Groome’s face. ‘Relax... just relax... sleep....
You must sleep.... Deeply asleep… deeply asleep... Asleep... asleep...
asleep...’
    But it
was Wenik who began to nod off. Slowly his eyes closed and he began to breathe
rather heavily. The watch stopped swinging and Groome was quite worried. He
pulled the watch like a bell rope. ‘Here!’ he said loudly. Are you all right?’
    Wenik
woke with a start. ‘Where was I?’ he said.
    ‘Don’t
ask me,’ sighed Groome.
    ‘Now
what exactly did you see?’ said Wenik. ‘You mustn’t be afraid to tell me.’
    ‘I’m
not afraid,’ replied Groome angrily. ‘I saw this old man with a beard — ’
    ‘Good!’
said Wenik. ‘With a beard. Have you seen him before?’
    Groome
groaned. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I keep seeing him. Dressed in a robe he is. A
long brown robe. And sometimes he rides a tricycle.’
    ‘Go on,’
said Wenik, calmly.
    ‘I
chased him to the moat and he tried to jump across it. But he fell in — at
least he should have fallen in. But he bounced back. And he was absolutely dry.
Even his feet!’
    Wenik,
who had been taking notes, looked up and frowned. ‘But that is quite
impossible, my boy,’ he said.
    ‘I know
it’s impossible!’ said Groome, losing his temper completely. ‘Any fool knows
that!’
    ‘Please
keep calm, Mr Bloom.’
    ‘Groome!’
    ‘Of
course, of course,’ said Wenik hastily, feeling that it was going to take a
long time to make his new patient see reason.
    By this
time Cedric had found Catweazle in the greenhouse and was angrily asking him
what he had done to get Groome in such a state.
    ‘The
way back is denied me,’ moaned Catweazle.
    ‘What
are you talking about?’
    ‘I
cannot go into water.’
    Cedric
stared at