The Day the World Went Loki Page 4

  A hot-air balloon drifted overhead, manned by half a dozen rat-faced creatures who squealed in alarm as a dragon swooped out of the clouds and shot past them.

  The Chiz had released his vice-like grip on Greg’s shoulder by now, but neither brother felt inclined to wander far from him. The Chiz might have turned into a yeti, but he was still their friend, and provided a comforting sense of protection in the midst of the giant frogs and flying dragons. There could be little doubt left that Lokiday had transformed the whole population of St Andrews and that Lewis and Greg were the only ones left who were aware that things had changed.

  As they approached the school, they saw it was surrounded by a high spiked fence decorated with shields and animal skulls. The school building had sprouted two crenellated towers, and a row of ugly grey statues leered down from the roof. The din in the playground was almost deafening as leprechauns, dwarfs, elves, fairies, trolls, ogres and other misshapen creatures growled, squabbled, howled and sang.

  “We’re not seriously going in there, are we?” Lewis quailed.

  “I don’t know,” Greg shrugged. “Frankly, it’s not much worse than it is on a normal day.”

  Seeing them hesitate, the Chiz pressed his palms against their backs and herded them through the gate. They were plunged into the midst of the prancing, lumbering creatures who, the previous day, had been their schoolmates.

  A figure in black armour came clanking out of the school and set about a crowd of gibbering gremlins with a whip, driving them ruthlessly indoors. The face below the upraised visor still resembled that of Mr Hawkins, the headmaster, even though it had taken on the appearance of a grinning skull.

  Inside one of the new Gothic towers a bell tolled, causing an immediate uproar. A set of double doors swung open like the entrance to a Transylvanian castle and the whole mob poured inside. Greg and Lewis were swept along helplessly, like fleas in bathwater spiralling down a plughole.

  In the turmoil Lewis was buffeted this way and that. He realised to his dismay that he had lost sight of Greg and the Chiz. “Greg!” he called. But his voice was drowned in the hubbub.

  Soon most of the pupils had found their way to a classroom and only the occasional scampering subhuman still whizzed past him, chattering excitedly to itself. Muffled roars, yelps and ragged choruses of disapproval could be heard booming behind the closed doors. Numbed by the excitement, Lewis discovered that he had made his way instinctively to his own classroom. He crouched low and sneaked up to the door. Raising his eyes over the edge of the glass window, he peeked inside.

  A sphinx-like creature who had formerly been Mr Guthrie, the history teacher, was scrawling a series of bizarre hieroglyphics on the board and Lewis’ classmates were copying them onto the slates they had on their desks. Lewis was almost tempted to take his place and try to blend in. But no, he had to find Greg and, if possible, work out a way to stop this nightmare.

  He fell into a crouch and padded over to the stairs then sprinted up to Mrs Witherspoon’s class where Greg would be. When he peeked through the glass his jaw dropped.

  Greg’s wrists were bound together with a length of rope that was looped over a hook on the wall, so that he dangled there with the toes of his trainers barely touching the floor. The imps, ogres and other mythological creatures who had been his classmates were lined up with a variety of weapons in their hands.

  Off to one side stood Mrs Witherspoon. She looked like the witch from The Wizard of Oz – black dress and pointed hat, even the green skin. “You first, Malcolm,” she said. “And try to do your best.”

  The satyr who had been Malcolm Strachan stepped forward on his goat’s hooves and lifted the javelin he held in his right hand. His horns swayed from side to side while he tested the weight of the weapon.

  “Remember,” Mrs Witherspoon reminded him, “that you have to hit as close as you can without actually drawing blood. If Greg suffers a wound then you’ll lose points.”

  Malcolm pawed the floor with one hoof then drew back his arm and threw. The javelin sliced through the air and stabbed into the wall under Greg’s armpit.

  “Cut it out, you creeps!” Greg burst out. There was an edge of panic in his voice. “This isn’t funny!”

  Lewis clenched his fists so tight his fingernails dug into his palms. Greg had said Mrs Witherspoon would like to use him for target practice, and now she was. She even looked like she was enjoying it.

  The teacher waved forward Charlotte Gilmour, who was decked out in the garb of an ancient huntress, complete with bow and a quiver of arrows.

  “You don’t want to get on my bad side,” Greg warned her, struggling with his bonds. “My dad plays golf with policemen and lawyers. Hundreds of them.”

  Charlotte fitted an arrow to her bow and raised it to fire. Before Lewis could make a move to interfere, she loosed off the shot. Greg yelped as the arrow thudded into the wall right by his left ear.

  “Arthur, I believe you’re next,” said Mrs Witherspoon as she scribbled a note on the clipboard she was holding.

  The Chiz lurched forward with a double-headed throwing axe in his paws. Lewis’ heart sank and Greg tugged furiously at the rope. The Chiz couldn’t hit the Great Wall of China if his nose was stuck to it, so if he was trying to miss, the result was certain doom for Greg.

  “Chiz, maybe you’d like to pass on this,” Greg pleaded. Even from a distance Lewis could see the cold sweat dotting his brow.

  “Quiet, Gregory, or I’ll have to gag you!” Mrs Witherspoon snapped. The idea obviously appealed to her, as it had to Lewis on more than one occasion.

  The Chiz lifted the axe clumsily and puffed his cheeks in and out as he always did when he was on the brink of wrecking something.

  Lewis burst into the room with a desperate cry of, “Stop!”

  All eyes turned to him, and thankfully the Chiz lowered his axe.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mrs Witherspoon demanded.

  “You, uh, have to let him go,” Lewis said unconvincingly.

  “You are interrupting my class,” said Mrs Witherspoon, bristling with displeasure.

  Lewis swallowed hard. He had an awful premonition that he was about to be transformed into a frog. “He has to report to the headmaster,” he improvised.

  Seeing that Mrs Witherspoon was unswayed, Greg put on an imploring voice, “The headmaster! No, anything but that!”

  “Mr Hawkins is tired of him messing around in class,” said Lewis. “I think he’s going to boil him in oil or something.”

  “That’s right, probably something worse,” Greg added.

  Mrs Witherspoon raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Well, under the circumstances, I suppose I shall have to let him go.”

  She pulled a jagged knife out of the folds of her black robe and cut Greg down. “But mind you don’t miss your anatomy class!” she warned him.

  “Right,” Greg grunted warily.

  He followed Lewis out of the room without breaking into a run, but only just.

  Behind the door they heard Mrs Witherspoon call out, “Right, now we need a volunteer!”

  “I thought school was rough before!” Greg exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

  “At least there wasn’t a test,” said Lewis pointedly.

  “That’s funny,” Greg frowned. “You should start a career as a comedian.”

  “If I hadn’t come along when I did,” Lewis reminded him, “they’d be peeling you off the wall with tweezers.”

  “I can’t believe the Chiz was really going to throw that thing,” Greg wondered. “After all the times I let him borrow my skateboard.”

  “You know, if you don’t stop thanking me,” Lewis cut in, “I’m going to start blushing.”

  Greg gave a terse nod and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You did just fine. Really fine.”

  Lewis accepted that this was the best he was going to get. “Anytime,” he said.

  When they reached the main door, Greg asked, “Where are we going anyway?”

/>   “Home,” Lewis answered decisively. “That’s where this whole mess started and that’s where we’ll find a way to undo it. If there is a way.”

  They had no sooner stepped outside than they were hailed by a gruff, overloud voice they recognised only too well. “Just the boys I’ve been looking for,” it said like a judge passing sentence.

  It was Mr Benson, the gym teacher. As a troll, he didn’t look much different. His face was even rounder, his mouth wider, his belly bigger, and there was an orange tinge to his leathery skin, but other than that, he was still the same Mr Benson. And he smelled exactly the same: a malodorous blend of three-day-old sweat and cheap aftershave.

  “I’m short a couple of players for the hogball team,” he explained, tapping the pair of spiked clubs he had stuffed under his arm.

  Lewis had never cared much for sports and the sort of game this equipment implied made him go pale. “Hogball?” he repeated limply.

  “Two of the team went down injured in the last game,” Mr Benson growled. “Worse than that, somebody fell on the hog and killed it.”

  “We’d love to help out, but we can’t,” Greg said.

  “Why not?” the gym teacher challenged.

  “Because…” Greg said vaguely. He gave Lewis a nudge then saw that his younger brother was too distressed by the prospect of contact sports to be any help.

  “Because I’ve got to get him home. He’s having a seizure,” Greg blurted out.

  He stared expectantly at Lewis. So did Mr Benson.

  Lewis couldn’t think how to fake a seizure, so, to his own surprise, he started to bark. Greg smiled weakly and patted him on the back.

  Mr Benson shook his head in disgust. “There’s too much of this going on,” he complained. “If you boys spent more time on the sports field and less time messing around with magic, we wouldn’t have this kind of trouble.”

  He stomped into the school in search of alternative victims.

  Greg breathed a sigh of relief. “It was my turn to save you,” he said. He grabbed Lewis by the arm and dragged him towards the gate. “Come on. It’s time you got us out of this.”

  As soon as they cleared the schoolyard they broke into a trot, hoping to avoid further encounters with giants, trolls or any other sort of monster. They were scarcely halfway home when they were ambushed – again.

  6. NO FUN WITH A FAIRY

  One second the pavement was empty. The next, there was a flash that made them grab each other for protection.

  Lindsay was floating in the air in front of them. She was a good metre off the ground, supported evidently by the large butterfly wings fluttering at her back. Her hair glinted like gold and she wore a short, gossamer gown. Her glasses were studded with what looked like real diamonds.

  “Where did you come from?” Greg cried. He could hardly believe that with all the other things that had gone wrong, Lindsay had ambushed them two days running. This time she really had appeared out of thin air.

  Lindsay made a huffy face. “I have a seat by the window and I saw you running off. I thought there might be some fun going on, so I left when Mr Guthrie wasn’t looking. I mean, who ever died from not learning hieroglyphics?”

  “Nobody yet!” Greg said pointedly.

  “Greg, be nice to her,” Lewis whispered, pulling his brother aside. “We could use her help.”

  “To do what? Style our hair?”

  “Look, she’s harmless. If we let her tag along, maybe she knows something that could help us out.”

  Greg looked dubious, but grudgingly nodded. He turned to Lindsay with a smile that wouldn’t have fooled anyone but her.

  “Lindsay, you look nice. Your outfit, your hair, your, uh…wings. Nice.”

  Lindsay beamed radiantly for a second then vanished. Greg let out a yelp when she reappeared only centimetres from his face.

  “Sorry, Greg,” Lindsay apologised, clasping her hands together and lowering her eyes. “Sometimes I just twinkle without meaning to.”

  Greg tried to stop himself making a sickly face. “Twinkle?”

  Lindsay nodded shyly. “That’s what we fairies call it.”

  “It’s a good trick, Lindsay,” said Lewis.

  “Oh, it’s something any fairy can do,” Lindsay responded modestly.

  “You see,” Lewis said into Greg’s ear, “she can twinkle!”

  “Yes, that’s going to be a big help,” Greg answered sceptically.

  “So why did you run out of school?” Lindsay asked.

  “It’s Lokiday,” Lewis said nonchalantly, “so we thought we’d take the rest of the day off.”

  “We’re going to go home and relax,” said Greg, “take a nap, watch some TV.”

  “What’s teevee?” Lindsay asked naively.

  “You know, where you watch those singing shows and that thing about the models,” said Lewis.

  Lindsay gave him a blank stare.

  “Never mind,” Lewis said.

  A thoughtful look came across his face as they carried on down the street with Lindsay hovering above them. “Lindsay, do you remember when we met around here yesterday?”

  “What’s yesterday?” Lindsay asked unconcernedly. She was still looking at Greg.

  “The day before today,” Lewis said.

  “And today’s Lokiday,” Lindsay said.

  “Right,” Lewis agreed.

  “So what do you want to know?”

  “It was your idea to let her tag along,” Greg muttered.

  “The spell’s clouded her mind,” Lewis surmised.

  “She had a head start on that.”

  They walked along to the accompaniment of Lindsay’s chatter about the latest fairy fashions, gossip about what some of the elves at school were up to and her mum’s new crystal ball.

  Greg tried to ignore her. “Have you come up with a plan yet other than letting Tinkerbell follow us around?” he demanded of Lewis.

  Lewis hummed uncertainly. “I’ve got lots of information about time stored on my computer as part of my project. If I could get to it, maybe it could help us sort things out.”

  “Why should your computer be there? It’s probably turned into a toadstool or something.”

  “Not everything’s changed. Your room’s stayed the same and mine’s right next door. Even downstairs some of the furniture’s the same. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  Greg glanced up at Lindsay and said, “Anything’s worth a try.”

  When they turned the corner into Bannock Street, Greg stuck out an arm to stop Lewis going any further. Parked in front of their house was a coach painted red and green led by two tethered goats. As big as horses, they were busily devouring the front hedge.

  In the driver’s seat sat a tall figure in a leather coat with a long, sharp face that looked like it was made of ice. He wiped away a drip from his icicle of a nose and made a half-hearted effort to pull the goats away from the bushes.

  “What’s that doing there?” Lewis asked.

  “I’ll bet it’s got something to do with Aunt Vivien,” Greg groaned.

  Lindsay gaped at the carriage. “Isn’t that the cutest thing! Could you take me for a ride in it?”

  “It’s not ours, Lindsay,” Lewis explained. “We don’t know who it belongs to.”

  “Best not to find out,” Greg said. “The fewer weirdos we run into, the better.”

  They ducked and took a roundabout route to their back garden. They slipped stealthily through the gate and wove a cautious path around the well that had appeared that morning.

  Lindsay bobbed excitedly up and down in the air in front of them. “Is this some kind of a game we’re playing?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s loads of fun,” Greg agreed, signalling her to shut up.

  “Ooh, a Lokiday prank!” Lindsay squeaked. “Can I help?”

  Greg was starting to seethe. “It would be a big help if you got—”

  “See that window up there, Lindsay?” Lewis interrupted in the nick of time. He w
as pointing to his bedroom window. “Could you fly up there and see if anybody’s inside?”

  “Is this part of the prank?” she asked brightly.

  Lewis nodded.

  “Yes, it’s hilarious,” Greg said. “Now will you fly up there?”

  Lindsay flitted up to the window and peered inside.

  “There’s nobody there,” she said just loud enough for the boys to hear.

  “Is my computer there?” Lewis asked eagerly.

  Lindsay frowned, her little nose wrinkling under her glasses. “What’s a computer?”

  “Well, it’s got a glass screen and it can answer questions.”

  Lindsay peered into the room. “Yes, it’s there,” she reported, looking pleased.

  “Going in through the door is too risky,” Greg grimaced. “We’ll have to climb up the drainpipe.”

  “Lindsay can fly,” Lewis said thoughtfully. “Maybe she could carry us up there one at a time.”

  Greg’s face took on an instantaneous look of horror. He clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth before Lindsay could hear him, and repeated with grim determination, “We’ll have to climb up the drainpipe.”

  Lewis looked up. “Lindsay, could you twinkle inside and open the window please?”

  “Yes, if that’s what you and Greg want.”

  “It’s what we both want,” Greg confirmed. He made a face at her as she blinked out of view.

  Marching up to the drainpipe, he took a firm grip with both hands and began hauling himself up. Luckily there were enough cracks in the worn brickwork to provide footholds.

  By the time he reached the top Lindsay had opened the window and was standing back to leave him space. He clambered in and fell to the floor in an ungainly fashion.

  Lewis came puffing over the window ledge and lowered himself to the floor one foot at a time. He could see at once that the room had changed, just like the rest of the house. There were stone statues of dragons and gargoyles dotted about the place, garish hangings on the walls, and the air was so thick with incense it was stifling.