Catweazle

went over to an old bike leaning against the wall.
    ‘ “They Diced with Death”, it’s called. Ought to be full of spins. One
mile an hour too fast is enough you know. Even the best of ’em do it,’ and he
put on his cycle clips.
    ‘Sounds dangerous,’ said Carrot.
    ‘No, not really. The cars are so low slung you see. You’d never turn one
of ’em over. Mind you, if there’s one close behind, it could be dangerous!’ Sam
leant over the bike. ‘I’ll never forget Mike Hawthorne at Silverstone. Spun
off, he did, in front of the stands and then spun on again - and he still kept
the lead.’
    ‘Fantastic,’ said Carrot.
    ‘Soon as I git Apollo Twelve goin’ agin I’ll show yer how he did it.’
    Apollo Twelve, Sam’s car, was hardly ever on the road, and it was only
by spending hours underneath it that he ever got it going at all.
    ‘I’ll get a gear-box from somewhere,’ he said, mounting his bike. ‘Now
don’t forgit. Nine thirty, “They Diced with Death”. See ya, Carrot,’ and he
rode out of the barn.
    Catweazle, who had found this conversation beyond him, watched with
amazement as the man balanced himself on two wheels and silently rode out
through the door. Truly, they were sorcerers! He shivered and then, as the boy
once more came near carrying the boxes with the magic signs on them, he sneezed
loudly.
    Carrot stopped piling the boxes. Catweazle sneezed again, and the boy
crossed to the magician’s hiding-place. Pulling away one of the bales he stared
at the drip-ping figure.
    ‘Who the heck are you?’ gasped Carrot.
    Catweazle’s teeth chattered and drops of water fell from his beard.
    ‘Come out,’ said ' Carrot, thinking Catweazle was a tramp.
    Catweazle remained where he was.
    ‘Look, you’ve got to come out.’
    ‘Art thou Norman?’ managed Catweazle after a moment or two.
    ‘No. My name’s Edward,’ Carrot replied, still very taken aback.
    ‘What is this place?’ asked the magician fearfully.
    ‘Hexwood Turkey Farm. This is private property, and you’re trespassing.’
Carrot was as pleasant as he could be about it, but he knew that if his father
found a tramp in the barn he would be furious.
    Catweazle pointed at the tractor. ‘I fear it,’ he said, trembling.
    ‘What, Lulu?’ Carrot laughed. ‘You’re not scared of a tractor, are you?’
    ‘It roars like the damned.’
    ‘Noise can’t hurt you,’ said Carrot. ‘Now come on out!’
    Slowly, Catweazle came out of his hiding-place. He stared at the tractor
and blew on his magician’s ring.
    ‘Roar not, O magic chariot,’ he said.
    Carrot looked at the old tramp. He was obviously a little mad. Then he
noticed the puddles underneath Catweazle’s feet.
    ‘You’re soaking wet,’ he said, but Catweazle was too absorbed in the
magic chariot to hear him. ‘Canst thou command it?’ he asked. ‘Hast thou the Power?’
    Carrot climbed up into the driving seat. ‘Look, it’s only a tractor,’ he
said, and switched on the engine. With a cry of fear, Catweazle scrambled into
an empty barrel and disappeared. Carrot was still laughing and revving the
engine, when his father, the owner of the farm, came into the barn.
    ‘How many times have I told you not to play with the tractor,’ said Mr
Bennet angrily. ‘Switch it off.’ He was in a bad mood. The wrong turkey feed
had been delivered from Hoopers and it meant further delays. Carrot climbed down, casting a
glance at the barrel.

    ‘Just leave it alone, otherwise no trip to London, d’you understand?’
Carrot looked at his father’s angry face. ‘Yes, Dad,’ he said quietly, handing
him the keys.
    ‘Sam’s gone, has he?’ said Mr Bennet, looking round. Winston, his dog,
was sniffing round the barrel. ‘There’s a rat in there,’ he continued, and
grasped his stick.
    Carrot ran past him to get to the barrel first, and peered down at the
cowering Catweazle. ‘No rats, Dad,’ he said.
    ‘What’s that terrible pong, then?’ said Mr Bennet, sniffing.
    ‘What pong, Dad?’ asked Carrot innocently. It was Catweazle of course.
    ‘Can’t you smell it?’ said Mr Bennet, screwing up his nose. ‘We’d better
have a good clean out tomorrow. Next thing’s to move the birds from No. Two
shed,’ and Mr Bennet left the barn.
    Catweazle poked his head out of the barrel and looked at Carrot.
    ‘I starve, boy,’ he said, and his belly rumbled loudly.
    Carrot didn’t know what to do. He had got into trouble the previous week
for feeding a