Catweazle and the Magic Zodiac

the spire. Don’t you see? It must be inside
it!’
    Catweazle
pointed Adamcos at the ceiling. For a moment the blade of his magic knife
wavered like a compass needle, then it pointed steadily at one place. Cedric
dragged over the tea-chest and climbed on it and began to feel the ceiling
above Adamcos with the tops of his fingers.
    ‘There’s
something here!’ he gasped. He tore the ceiling paper away and revealed a small
square hatch. Then he took a deep breath and pushed it open.
    A
shower of gold coins and precious stones poured down on top of them. Necklaces,
pendants, jewelled belts, and rings flashed and glittered as they fell. A
golden chalice landed on Catweazle’s foot and finally a small sack crashed
down, spilling its shining contents on to the dusty floor.
    Cedric
jumped from the tea chest. ‘I’ve found itl I’ve found it!’ he cried in triumph.
    ‘ ’Tis
the Sign?’ asked Catweazle. ‘ Tis the Sign, Owlface?’
    Cedric
took no notice but unfolded a yellow piece of paper wrapped round the chalice.
‘Listen to this,’ he said.
     
    ‘ “The hours are they that circle round.
    The thirteen you have surely found.
    The one who flies is heedless time.
    The spell’s undone, the Power is thine.” ’
     
    Still
Catweazle did not understand. ‘But where is the Sign?’ he asked, as Cedric
bundled the spilled treasure back into the sack ready to go down the ladder.
    Cedric
looked at Catweazle. In his excitement he had forgotten all about the flying
spell. ‘Don’t you understand?’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘There is no
sign.’
    Catweazle
stared in bewilderment. ‘No Sign?’
    Cedric
shook his head. ‘I can’t explain now,’ he said, ‘I haven’t got time. I’ll see
you later. Back at Duck Halt — O.K.?’
    Catweazle
listened as Cedric’s footsteps died away. He suddenly felt very lonely.
    ‘No
thirteenth Sign?’ he muttered. ‘Then the quest is ended.’ He sheathed Adamcos.
‘And thou also, Catweazle,’ he said sadly.
    Meanwhile,
Cedric hurtled down the stairs and into the sitting-room. His parents stared in
utter disbelief as he poured the contents of the sack on to the table.
    ‘The
lost treasure of the Collingfords!’ he cried.
    Lord
and Lady Collingford seemed stunned. Neither of them moved. They just stared at
the treasure as if it were a mirage. Finally Lord Collingford put out a
trembling hand and picked up some of the gold coins.
    ‘I
don’t believe it!’ said Lady Collingford faintly.
    ‘Where...?
Where...? stammered Lord Colling-lingford.
    ‘In the
spire,’ grinned Cedric. ‘We won’t have to sell the house now, will we?’
    And
then suddenly the tension was broken and the three of them were hugging each
other and laughing with joy and all talking at once; while down by the moat, a
ragged figure was on his lonely way back to Duck Halt.
    Touchwood
greeted his master with a perfunctory croak but Catweazle hardly noticed.
Moving as if walking in his sleep he sat down and began to read from his magic
book.
     
    ‘ “By the mysteries of the deep.
    By the flames of Banal
    By the power of the east wind,
    By the silence of the night — ” ’
     
    He closed the book with a
mighty bang.
    ‘Gibberish!’
he snarled. ‘Idle gibberish! All magic is gibberish!’ Furious and
disillusioned, he rocked from side to side writhing with anger.
    ‘The
thirteenth Sign!’ he continued, bitterly mocking himself, ‘I that have flown
through time! I that have jumped nine hundred years! Duped! Fooled! Cheated!’
    Unable
to bear it any longer he jumped up and held his long white wand out in front of
him. ‘There is no magic! None!’ he said loudly, and snapped the wand.
    Touchwood
croaked as the pieces fell to the floor beside his boot and Catweazle knelt and
picked him up carefully.
    ‘Am I
thy master?’ he asked.
    Touchwood
croaked again.
    ‘Nay
minion, no longer,’ sighed Catweazle and carried him outside. ‘I have forsaken
magic and cannot keep thee,’ he said quietly. ‘Go Find thee a true magician.
One worthy of thee. He put Touchwood down among the dead leaves on the
platform. ‘Merry meet, merry part,’ he said softly.
    Touchwood
began to crawl away.
    ‘Hide
from the hungry crow,’ called Catweazle.
    ‘Beware
foxes!’ he called again.
    Touchwood
paused and a faint croak came down the platform.
    ‘Swallow
no bees!’ called Catweazle a third time but there was no reply. Touchwood was
lost among the dead leaves.
    ‘I knew
him when he was a