Jasper Fforde - The Eye of Zoltar

I thumped the SpellGo button marked ‘Float’. There was another buzzing noise and the car lurched upwards. Not to the roof of the tunnel, of course, as that would not have allowed us to escape, but into one of the three ventilation shafts that connected the railway tunnel to the world outside. The shaft was quite large but even so the Volkswagen bumped against the sides as it rose, eventually pitching forward into a nose-down attitude that offered a good view looking straight down. The car’s headlights now illuminated a confused-looking Tralfamosaur below us, standing on the shiny railway lines. It pondered us for a moment, then followed the trail of liquorice scent left by the grenade launcher. As soon as it vanished, we looked at one another and smiled. We were, for the moment at least, safe.

We bumped and scraped up the ventilation shaft to finally emerge into the early morning light. Moobin was waiting for us as planned, and a dozen men deputised from the nearest town placed hooks around the bumpers of the now lighter-than-air Volkswagen. The men heaved on the ropes as the car swung around in the breeze, and after a lot of grunting the floating car was tied to the front of two heavy tractors. I breathed a sigh of relief. It had been an exciting and dangerous night. As we sat there for a moment reflecting upon recent events, the Quarkbeast fell from the roof of the car back on to the rear seat with a thump.

‘Are all our dates going to be like that?’ said Perkins.

‘I hope not,’ I replied with a smile, ‘but it was quite fun, wasn’t it? I mean, it’s not like we were killed or eaten or anything, right?’

‘If your idea of a good date is not being killed and eaten, you’ll never be disappointed.’

And he leaned towards me. I think I may even have leaned towards him, but then a voice rang out from below:

‘Are you coming down from there?’

It was Moobin.

‘Another time,’ I whispered.

A ladder was placed against the car and we climbed down to join Moobin, who congratulated us both before we walked down the hill to the tunnel entrance. A shipping container had been reversed up to the portal, and the Tralfamosaur, urged on by the liquorice grenade fired into the back of its new prison by Perkins, had swiftly been contained. We could hear the sound of contented chewing through the thick steel of the container; we had left several slabs of bacon in there for it, as well as half a bison.

The third part of the plan was soon completed; the floating Beetle had been hauled down the hill and anchored to the shipping container with self-tying string. The Tralfamosaur was now fast asleep and snoring, pretty much worn out after the night’s excitement, something that could be said for most of us.

‘A fine job,’ said Once Magnificent Boo in a rare moment of congratulation, although you wouldn’t know it from looking at her – her mood seemed as dark as normal.

She then climbed the ladder to the Volkswagen, gauged the speed of the wind, slammed the door and ordered the ladder away.

‘Ahoy, Moobin and Lady Mawgon,’ she called out, ‘I need Jenny’s car to be another fifteen tons lighter.’

The two sorcerers complied, and with a straining of wires and creaking from my car, the Volkswagen lifted the container into the air. Within a few seconds the breeze had caught the strange flying machine and it was over the treetops and drifting away in an easterly direction. I joined Moobin and Lady Mawgon, who were also watching my VW rise rapidly into the dawn sky.

‘She’s a bit high for just going to the zoo,’ I said.

Moobin and Lady Mawgon said nothing, and I figured out then what was happening.

‘She’s not going back to the zoo, is she?’

‘No,’ said Moobin quietly, ‘she’s carrying the Tralfamosaur across the border to the Cambrian Empire. They have wild Tralfamosaurs there and it can do … whatever it is Tralfamosaurs do.’

‘I’m not sure the King will be pleased,’ said Perkins. ‘The Tralfamosaur was a valuable tourist attraction for the Kingdom and one of his personal favourites, even after the Queen insisted he stopped feeding his enemies to it.’

‘The Queen was very wise to do that,’ Moobin replied, ‘but I don’t believe Once Magnificent Boo gives two buttons for what the King thinks.’

And with the dawn sky lightening, we watched the Volkswagen with the shipping container slung below it drift high into the early morning. Pretty soon it was high enough to catch the sun, and it was suddenly a blaze of orange.

‘I’m going to miss the Volkswagen,’ I said.

‘Don’t be so sentimental,’ said Lady Mawgon, ‘it’s only a car.’

But it wasn’t just a car. It was my parents ’ car. The one I had been abandoned in. Wizard Moobin turned to Perkins and myself and smiled at us in turn.

‘Good work, you two. Come on: breakfast is on me.’

Angel Traps

Prince Nasil was already up when I walked into the converted dining room we used as the ‘nerve centre’ of Kazam. It was here that the the day’s work was arranged, and where all sorcery-related meetings took place. It had been two weeks since the Tralfamosaur escapade, and the company had returned to what we called normality.

‘Hello, Jennifer,’ said Prince Nasil cheerily. ‘Any news of Boo?’

‘Nothing yet,’ I replied, ‘but we know she got there as she released a homing snail once landed, which told us she and the Tralfamosaur were safe in the Cambrian Empire.’

‘If my carpet hadn’t been damaged so much on that trip up to the Troll wall,’ said the Prince wistfully, ‘I might have been able to help.’

He was referring to a recent high-speed flight to Trollvania. The trip had further damaged an already worn-out magic carpet, and the Prince needed it rebuilt if he were to resume any sort of aerial work.

‘Look at that,’ said the Prince, holding up a tatty and threadbare excuse for a rug, ‘already ten thousand hours and two centuries past rebuild.’

‘What can we do?’ I asked.

‘We need more angel’s feathers,’ he announced, in much the same way as you might ask for an oil change on a car.

‘O-kay,’ I replied as angel’s feathers were, by their very definition, somewhat tricky to obtain, ‘and where would we find angels?’

‘Oh, they’re everywhere,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘keeping an eye on stuff. But they’re fleet of wing and catching them is the devil’s own job. Here.’

He handed me a wire-mesh box that had a hinged flap on a tensioned spring.

‘An angel trap,’ he said without a shred of shame. ‘Baited with marshmallows, it’s possible we might be able to catch one.’

I looked at the trap dubiously as Tiger walked in. The Prince handed him an angel trap too, explained what it was and that the first person to trap an angel won a Mars bar.

‘Should we be trapping angels?’ asked Tiger, who, despite being not that old, knew right from wrong. ‘I mean, is that ethical?’

‘I very much doubt it,’ replied the Prince cheerfully, ‘but it’s a lot better than running intensive angel farms like they used to in the old days – that was the real reason behind the dissolution of the monasteries.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Not many people do.’

‘Where’s the best place to leave an angel trap?’ asked Tiger as soon as the Prince had gone.

‘Angels are everywhere,’ I said, ‘but usually only intervene during times of adversity.’

‘You should have had one of these when you were chased by the Tralfamosaur,’ said Tiger, and I nodded in agreement.

‘Have you seen this?’ asked Wizard Moobin as he walked into the offices holding a newspaper. ‘The unUnited Kingdoms are gearing up for Troll War V. The foundries have been working overtime – the orphan workforce are receiving extra gruel allowances.’