The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox by Nigel Quinlan Page B

Autumn?”
    Dad looked grim.
    â€œWe’re on our own. That’ll have to do for now.”
    That was not a very cheerful thought to go to bed on, but go to bed on it we did. We put the creaking plastic furniture away, decided to leave any washing up till tomorrow, hugged and kissed and told each other everything would be fine, and went to our rooms. I crawled under the covers and started to dream …
    Something was stalking me through the house. I stumbled over furniture and fell down stairs as though everything familiar had been altered and rearranged. The whole house felt strange and foreign and something that hissed and growled was sometimes before me, sometimes behind me, sometimes above me and sometimes right outside. I tried to close my eyes. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to see it.
    When I woke, blue had just started to creep into the eastern sky.
    I went down for a drink of water and found Ed Wharton sitting at the kitchen table eating toast. Low music came from the radio, something jazzy and slow. Mr. Wharton reached over and turned it off.
    â€œCouldn’t sleep?” he said. “Toast?”
    â€œBad dream,” I told him, filling a glass from the tap. “No, thanks.”
    I sat down at the table in front of him, sipping water while he crunched his crusts. I was sore and tired and thirsty and wished I was asleep.
    â€œIt’ll be OK, Neil,” he said. “You’ll see.”
    â€œEasy for you to say.”
    â€œIs it? My mistake. You’re doomed, then. That better?”
    â€œIt’s honest, at least.”
    â€œNo, it isn’t. It’s giving up to think like that. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That’s the golden rule.”
    â€œNo it isn’t.”
    â€œIt’s one of them. Or it should be. It’s one of mine, anyway. Along with keep the diesel topped up, and walk your dragon at least once a day or he’ll burn down your whole rig, truck, trailer and all.”
    â€œYou have a dragon?”
    â€œWhat? Me? No. No one has a dragon, Neil, and anyone who thinks they do is just a dragon’s dinner waiting to happen.”
    â€œBut you said—”
    â€œWell, it’s more that I gave a dragon a lift one time. Picked him up in Scotland. He’d hatched from an egg in someone’s kitchen, just an ordinary egg they’d bought with five others from the supermarket, and the children wanted to keep it and the parents wanted to flush it down the toilet. I offered to take it off their hands before something unpleasant happened. Drove it all the way to China. Have you ever tried to drive a truck into China unseen? With a dragon on board? Can’t exactly declare it at customs, can you? By the time I got there it was nearly bigger than the truck and eating three or four sheep every night. It was like having a hungry jet fighter in the back. It took off into the mountains without even a backward glance. Still, all for the best.”
    I laughed.
    â€œThat didn’t really happen, did it?”
    â€œI can show you the claw marks and the scorching in the trailer, if you like.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me curiously. “Why wouldn’t you believe me? You’ve lived with the Seasons passing through your phone box four times a year for your whole life.”
    I shifted in my seat.
    â€œWell, yeah, but that’s different.”
    He smiled.
    â€œYou’re used to it, aren’t you? It doesn’t seem like magic because something that’s been part of your whole life can’t really be magic; it’s just the way things are. I’ve met lots of magicians: witches, wizards, druids, sorcerers, conjurers. Most of them live quiet, dull, normal lives, forgetting that the magic they have is, well, magic. To them it’s normal. To me it’s…”
    â€œStupendous,” I said, smiling.
    â€œExactly.” He breathed. “I once wished to have magic,