But the best part of any party is the bit where the guests have gone and the family is left alone, tired and content.
Terence lay on the hearth rug, chatting to Rover; Lester was sharpening his bedtime sword. Arriman had taken off his antlers, and he and Belladonna were curled up on the sofa making plans. They were going to build a little house on the other side of the park – quite close to the Hall but not too close, so that Terence would learn to manage on his own. Arriman was going to write a book and Mr Leadbetter was already wondering how to stop the magician jumbling up the pages and getting the typewriter ribbon jammed and putting the carbon paper in the wrong way round.
So happy and peaceful did everybody feel that it was quite a while before they noticed that the Wizard Watcher wasn’t quite itself. Its round and beautiful eyes were suspiciously moist and it was allowing the Kraken to slide down its tail as though it didn’t really care what happened.
‘Is anything the matter?’ asked Arriman. Now he came to think of it, the Watcher hadn’t really been itself at the party. It’d eaten hardly anything and talking had seemed an effort.
The monster shook its head.
‘It’s nothing,’ said the Middle Head in a low voice.
‘Not anything, really,’ said the Left-Hand Head.
‘We’re only making a fuss,’ the Right-Hand Head agreed.
By this time, of course, everyone was desperate, and Terence, who had loved the monster from the moment he saw it, put down Rover and came over, quite pop-eyed with concern.
‘Please!’ said Arriman. ‘You must tell us! That’s what friends are for. To share things with.’
The monster sighed heavily.
‘Well,’ said the Middle Head. ‘It’s obvious really, isn’t it?’
‘I mean, what are Wizard Watchers for?’ said the Left-Hand Head.
‘They’re for watching for wizards, aren’t they?’ put in the Right-Hand Head.
‘So when a wizard’s been found,’ said the Middle Head, ‘there isn’t much use for a Wizard Watcher, is there?’
‘Sort of spare, a Wizard Watcher is then, isn’t he?’
‘You could say, useless. Redundant. Finished,’ said the Right-Hand Head, dashing away a tear.
There was an absolutely ghastly silence while everyone took in the monster’s grief and pain.
Then Belladonna stepped forward, her eyes alight.
‘How could you be so foolish?’ she said to the three heads. ‘Surely you know that Wizard Watchers aren’t just for watching FOR wizards? They’re for watching OVER wizards. I thought everyone knew that!’
The monster lifted its heads.
‘Terence may be a mighty and terrible wizard, but he’s a very young one,’ Belladonna went on, while the little boy nodded eagerly.
‘And skinny with it,’ said the Middle Head.
‘Undernourished, you could say,’ said the Right-Hand Head.
‘Short of sleep, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said the Left-Hand Head.
‘It’s my belief a cup of Bovril in the middle of the day wouldn’t hurt,’ said the Middle Head.
‘Nor some hot soup at night. You can’t beat hot soup, I always say.’
‘And plenty of fresh air . . .’
Everyone sighed with relief. The monster had withdrawn into a corner, busy and interested, and they could hear it working out a routine in which a young wizard could blight and smite and blast and wither, but sensibly.
‘You’ll be all right now,’ said Belladonna, drawing the little boy close.
And the wizard who in years to come would be known as Mugg the Magnificent, Flayer of the Foolish and Master of the Shades, looked up at her with shining mud-coloured eyes and said:
‘Oh, yes! There’ll be no one in the world as all right as me!’
Eva Ibbotson, Which Witch?
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