Build a Book Workshop Intro

 

Introduction

The Build a Book Workshop is about getting your students to create a book in a limited amount of time. They look at the whole process of how a book is made: writing, editing, selecting, designing, illustrating and marketing. This workshop enables students to see what is involved in producing a book and motivates them to start and to complete a piece of writing. 

They actually produce a book. It becomes a tangible object that sits on a shelf. You may also opt to have the book as an e-book and a web site if you wish. 

This process is very adaptable and can easily be used to build a book in a day, two days, a week, a month, a term or a year.

Some work needs to be carried out behind the scenes, some of which is quite technical, and this guide shows you how. If the technical work is too much, we also show you ways of getting help with that as effectively as possible.

Everything described in this manual for teachers is based on the experience of producing anthologies of children’s writers with schools. All of the books have supported a charity – in two cases this was the schools own library - and in all cases students’ confidence in their writing has increased.    

The Build a Book Workshop can be extremely cross-curricular and offers your students opportunities to:

·         improve their writing

·         understand the world of publishing

·         work collaboratively

·         understand the wider community

·         support the wider community

·         understand how businesses work

·         improve their IT skills

·         take part in an enterprise activity

 

This manual contains a step-by-step guide to setting up a Build a Book Workshop and making sure that a book is produced at the end of it. There are several choices at each stage of the process. It is probably a good idea to read it from cover to cover to start with and then work through it section by section when you have a clearer idea of your workshop shape. 

You may also order a book containing photocopiable resources from our web site. You may purchase this as a hard copy or as a PDF file. Also a template for formatting your book is available from our web site. 

Other Ways of Being: The Lady Rose

“We won’t be too long. We should be back before it’s dark.”

“And don’t let any strangers in. Oh, I wish you’d come with us. I don’t like leaving you on your own.” 

“I’ll be all right, Mum.”

“She will. Nobody’ll be able to get in anyway. The bank’s too steep.”

Kerry wished they would just get going. She’d not had any privacy to talk to Alex since they’d come on this stupid holiday and she was dying to call him without her parents hearing. “Just go. I’m fourteen now. I can look after myslef.” 

At last she heard the dinghy rowing away from the houseboat. She took out her phone and found Alex’s number.

“So you haven’t forgotten me, then,” he said when he answered. “I thought you must be having so much fun with your Mum and Dad going up and down the Broads on the lady Rose.”

“Ha! Ha! Never been so bored in my life!”

“Ooh. I wish you was here so that I could snog you.” 

Me too, thought Kerry.  “I wish you was here and all. I’m all alone on the boat. There’s two lovely cosy cabins.”

“Don’t say that. That’s just too frustrating.” 

“What you been doing anyway?”

“Oh you know. Not much.”

But she bet he had. They’d have all gone off to MacDonald’s or the cinema. And Lucy would have been there. She didn’t trust Lucy. Lucy fancied Alex and made no secret of it.

Her phone pipped twice.  Damn. It had lost the signal. So much for having a nice romantic talk with Alex then.

Still, it was good having some time to herself. She did her nails and washed her hair. She listened to her iPod for a bit, until the battery ran flat. She plugged it in to recharge and then she made herself a coffee. She flicked though the magazines she’d brought with her.

She tried her phone again. No signal.

She was getting hungry. Hopefully her parents would also bring some food with them when they came back with someone to look at the boat.  

She went to her cabin and picked up her book. She couldn’t settle to read it though. She even considered doing some of the homework she’d brought with her. But no, that would be desperate. She wasn’t quite that bored.

She’d been sitting still for quite a long time and was beginning to get cold. Perhaps she could go to sleep for a bit. That might make the time go quicker. She went back to her cabin and snuggled down under the duvet. She was soon warm and she drifted into a gentle doze. She didn’t think she actually slept. Something must have happened though. Her legs suddenly jerked and she sat upright in bed. It was dark now. But there was a red glow coming from the main deck.

“Hi, Mum, Dad,” she called. Had they got back and were they doing something to the boat?

There was no answer. 

She flicked the light switch.  Nothing happened.  Well, they had warned her about that. They’d said the power wouldn’t last very long.  But why weren’t they back yet? What was the time? She picked up her phone.  Darn! The battery had gone now.  Oh, great. Even if she could get her signal back they wouldn’t be able to let her know anything.

She rummaged in her drawer for her torch and flicked it on, so that she could see her wristwatch. Blimey! It was half past eight. Where were they?   

So what was that red light, anyway?

She edged her way on to the main deck. The light was in fact bright enough for her to be able to see where she was going. It cast a really strange glow over the small area. She could see now that it was coming from a bulb on the dashboard. She switched her torch on so that she could read the writing next to the bulb. “Pump-out required.” What the heck did that mean?  Then she remembered half-heartedly watching the man at the boatyard giving her dad instructions about looking after the houseboat. “If that light comes on,” he’d said. “You’ll have to get her to the nearest service depot and have the septic tank pumped out. Don’t let anybody go to the lavatory until it’s done.”

Oh gross! She wouldn’t even be allowed to go for a pee now. She was convinced she could smell raw sewage. This really sucked. Where the hell were they?

Could something have happened to them? It was getting really worrying now. She shivered and her tummy rumbled.   

There were a few biscuits she thought, in the kitchen cupboard. She felt for the door and found the biscuits and a half-full box of cereal. That would keep her going a bit at least. Of course, she’d used up the last of the milk in her coffee.

She felt her way back to her cabin and sat munching the biscuits and the cereal with the duvet wrapped round her. When she’d had enough, she snuggled back down into bed.

It was annoying, this? Where the heck were they? Perhaps they couldn’t get back up the river with help because of the tide. Perhaps they couldn’t get under the bridges. Yes, that would be it. They’d be back in the morning, she guessed. Anyway, once it was light she might be able to get help. She might even be able to get off the boat and walk across the fields. The steep bank would be a bit of a challenge but she was sure she’d manage it if she could see what she was doing.  Best get some sleep now.  Yes, that would be the best idea. It got light early enough these days. Sleeping would make the morning come more quickly.

When she woke with a start later she had the sense that a couple of hours had gone by.  And she needed a pee. Did she dare use the loo, though?

The sickly smell of sewage warned that she shouldn’t. Best use a bucket and throw it overboard.  Gross. Bloody parents. Bugger them for bringing her on this holiday in the first place, and for leaving her on her own and for letting the septic tank get full.

She reached out for her torch. She couldn’t find it. Perhaps she’d knocked it off the bedside table. She knelt down on the floor and felt for it. It was no good. It just wasn’t there. She didn’t fancy trying to find the bucket in the dark.  Could she mange to go over the side of the boat? What if she fell in? She’d have to do something, though. She’d wet herself if she didn’t go soon. Oh why couldn’t she have been born a bloke. They had it easier.

She fumbled her way on to the outer deck. There was a little bit of moonlight and her eyes soon adjusted enough for her to be able to see what she was doing. It was cool out there, despite it being the middle of August. She managed to make her way over to the side that was away from the bank. She undid her trousers and pulled them and her pants down. She took her jumper off and tied it round her waist and then tied each arm though one of the rings on the side of the boat. She just managed to position her bottom so that it was over the side of the boat. Then for some reason, she couldn’t pee.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered to herself. She was dying to go and yet she couldn’t. It did come, eventually and then she couldn’t stop. It must have been one of the most unsuccessful wees she’d ever had. Because she wasn’t far enough over the side of the boat not much of it went into the water but ran down her legs and then into her trousers. It was a relief, though all the same and she guessed that in the grander scheme of things it didn’t matter that much.    

She fumbled her way back to her cabin, stripped her trousers and pants off and managed to find some clean ones. She was shivering now. She guessed it was partly because she was scared. It wasn’t really all that cold.

She still didn’t want to get undressed and get into bed properly. She thought she’d better be ready for anything. She lay on the bed and pulled the duvet over her. She couldn’t sleep, though. Perhaps she should change her mind about getting undressed? If she got into bed properly maybe she would sleep? She dismissed that thought. She knew she’d got to be prepared for all eventualities though she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting.

Surely it must get light soon? The days were still pretty long. The night couldn’t last forever, could it?

The she heard the scrabbling noise. What could that be? Rats, perhaps? They couldn’t have got into the toilet tank, could they? Surely it was all sealed in? She held her breath. The noise stopped. What, so it had been her own chest squeaking as she breathed? Maybe. She had to breathe again eventually.

Then she heard something else. A sort of creaking. Was the tide changing? Would she need to go out and adjust the ropes? Surely she it had been low tide when they moored here? At least that would mean that worse the boat would float away from the bank a little. That wasn’t disastrous. If need be tomorrow she could swim over to the other bank. She tried to look out of the small cabin window. She couldn’t see a thing. It was as black as ever out there. She pressed her ear against the class. Yes, she could hear water running. The tide was surely changing.

Suddenly the boat rocked. Her heart lurched. Had something bumped into it? She held her breath. It creaked above her. It sounded like a footstep. Then came another. Were they back?

She went to call out then just stopped herself in time. What if it wasn’t them? It could be anybody. Could that sound of water running before have been a boat arriving? Surely not. It had been the wrong sort of sound. So, if there was someone out there, they’d come across the fields. Who would be out in the fields at this time of night?

Had she remembered to lock the main door? She thought she had. She moved as quietly as she could to her cabin door and slid the bolt across. She’d only done that once before, right at the beginning of the holiday. It had stuck and she’d had a real job to get it open.  Her dad had told her not to lock it again. “It’s not as if you’ve got anything to hide, have you? You don’t lock yourself in at home, do you?”  It would be a problem getting it open again tomorrow. But she would face that in daylight. For now, she just needed to keep whoever was up there out.

It had gone quiet above her. Had she imagined it? Could it have perhaps been some sort of animal? She held her breath again and listened carefully.

Then the footsteps began again. They were definitely human. She heard him rattle the door. Well, at least that proved that she’d locked it. That was something. The footsteps went back again. She heard him jump from the boat and land on the bank. So, it was possible to get on to the bank. Then nothing.

She lay still for what she thought was about ten minutes. Tentatively then she stretched over towards the small window and raised the small blind. A hideous face was looking in. A mouth opened into a wide grin and she could see some rotten teeth and gaps where other teeth ought to have been.

She let the blind drop and flung herself back down on the bed. This was a nightmare. This must be a nightmare and she would wake up any moment now. Please let it be a nightmare.

She lay shivering on her bed for another ten minutes. Then she lifted the blind again. No one there. What should she do?

She decided she was going to get away. If she went off across the fields she’d get to civilisation eventually. She found a warm jumper and pulled it on. She still couldn’t find the torch. But perhaps it would be lighter outside and her eyes would get used to it.

She managed to undo the bolt on her cabin door without any trouble. Perhaps she’d loosened it the first time or perhaps she’d got stronger because she was scared.  Either way, she was out in seconds and could actually now see quite well to find her way to the main door. The clouds had cleared completely now and the moon was shining brightly. She opened the door and stepped onto the outer deck.

He was standing there. He was holding a drill.

“Get out of my way, you pervert!” she cried as she pushed past him.

The man lost his footing and fell neatly into the water.

“I hope you drown,” she muttered. She jumped for the bank. She landed fine but her left foot turned as it hit the ground, making her slip and hit her head on the mooring post. Stars twirled above her head and she had a pleasant warm feeling as she felt herself slip into the water, feet first.

She was going to die. She was sure of it. She tried to imagine what it would be like at her funeral and wondered whether Alex would cry.

 

When she came to she was back in her bed inside her cabin. She was in her pyjamas. Light was streaming in thought the window.

Had she dreamt it all? Her head did hurt, though. And she could hear someone knocking on the cabin door.

“Police!” cried a female voice. “May we come in?”

“I don’t believe you,” said Kerry. “Go away.”

“Well, if we’d wanted to hurt you we would have come in by now. Look out of your window. And here’s my ID card.”

Kerry raised the blind again. Sure enough she could see a policeman standing on the bank. He waved and smiled.

She pulled herself out of bed and picked up the card that the police officer had pushed under the door. It looked genuine enough but you could never be too sure, could you?

“You might be pretending to be police officers. How do I know you’re real?”

“You’ll just have to believe us, Kerry, my love. We’ve come to tell you about your parents. There’s been an accident. But don’t worry.  They’re going to be all right.” 

She opened the door. The police woman smiled at her.  

“There was a man here. I pushed him in the water.”  Kerry thought she was going to be sick. What if she’d killed him? 

“We know.  He came and told us this morning. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for him we wouldn’t have found your boat so quickly. He was able to tell us exactly where you were moored. ”

“That’s right love. Tom Jenkins. He’s a bit simple, but harmless enough. He didn’t do anything to you, did he? ”

Kerry shook her head. 

“Good.”

“So, would you like to get some clothes on and we’ll take you to your parents.” The policewoman rubbed her arm and smiled.

The sick feeling went away. She felt quite relaxed as she had a quick wash in cold water and then got dressed. Until she noticed the two large bruises on her thighs and remembered she had no idea how she had got out of the water and into bed.   

     

   

Other Ways of being: The Gargoyle

 

  "Wow!" Zizzi muttered, "even better than it looks from the computer pictures."

He had never been so impressed by any other planet he had visited. Blues, browns and green swirled around each other, tempered by white puffs of mist.

He was pleased as well with his new Ranger X57 telescope. It was so powerful, that he had been able to examine in detail this planet which had always fascinated him. And he was even more pleased with his Scout 750 Traveller which had brought him into the Earth's orbit. He would be able to take a good look now at these strange figures that adorned the grand buildings he had found out were called cathedrals. His powerful Extender computer had made a thorough analysis of the Earth language spoken in these parts and he would be able to use its translator to understand anything he read or heard. The Mentor would surely be pleased with his project. He was going to investigate why the Earthlings had representations of Zogoids - Zizzi's own race - on their churches.

The traveller was now entering the Earth's orbit. Zizzi activated the vessel's visibility shields. He stared out through the scanner screen.

.Zizzi slowed the craft right down. He would have to be careful about switching from visibility shields to the chameleon drives - even the powerful Scout could not handle both at once. In the spilt second that the 750 became visible, he must make sure that no-one saw him.

Zizzi smiled at the computer's choice of chameleon stance: the Scout would look like one of the strange figures he was about to investigate, and would wait on the wall of the big cathedral. He quickly flicked the visibility shield off and the chameleon mode switch on. But something was not right. He looked again  at the computer screen. Oh no! Yes, the Scout looked like a gargoyle alright - the only one on the West Face!

"But perhaps no-one will see," thought Zizzi. "It is dark, after all."

Dark was something Zizzi did not know on Zogo.  When that planet turned away from the sun, artificial daylight flooded the living areas. Not the soft yellow light he saw now coming from the cathedral and the street lights. Zizzi decided he liked the artificial light on earth better. It was more mysterious somehow.

He watched the people going in and out of the cathedral.

"That will do," he thought. He pointed on the screen to the little girl with black curly hair. She wore a long orange scarf-come-hat, a yellow jumper and yellow tartan trousers.

Zizzi found himself at the cathedral entrance, a yellow scarf-come-hat on his head and white tartan trousers and top. "Not bad," he thought. But then he saw the boy in the striped sweatshirt, black chinos and blue deck shoes. Ooops! Then again, he had never been known for his dress sense on Zogo either.

The boy scuffed his feet along the ground as he walked. Zizzi followed him at a distance. The boy looked bored. Zizzi noticed that lots of people were avoiding walking on some of the stones on the floor that had writing on them. He caught sight of the little girl whose costume he had imitated.

"Words!" she said, pointing down at the paving-stones.

"Yes," said the tall man who was holding her hand. "Those are people's graves. You should try not to walk on them."

"Graves?" asked the little girl.

"Yes, where you put people who have died!"

"Oh!" The girl still looked puzzled.

Zizzi shuddered. How unhygenic! Fancy leaving dead bodies around to rot! On Zogo, once you had stopped living, your body was annihilated. Zapped! Broken up into particles which were recycled at once. Nobody wrote messages about you on the floor!

The boy in the black chinos had his hands in his pockets. The corners of his mouth turned down. His forehead creased in the middle and two lines came up from his nose.

"He looks cross," thought Zizzi.

"Look at this Gareth!" Gareth walked slowly over to where his mother was looking at a box on stilts which came almost up to her shoulders.

"St Swithun's monument. You know, if it rains on the 15th of July, it will rain for another forty days. They say it's because they buried him inside and he wanted to be buried outside!"

"That's rubbish, Mum."

"Funny way to forecast the weather," thought Zizzi. "I wonder how they do it for the other 325 days?" Of course, that was why they had to put all those bodies under the floor. They hadn't learnt how to control the weather on Earth yet. So they had to know what it was going to do!

Zizzi wandered what rain felt like. It hadn't rained on Zogo for centuries. He didn't even know what water felt like. Zizzi's ancestors hadn't liked the feel of water, so they had invented a way of cleaning themselves with gentle laser guns.

Zizzi followed Mum and Gareth round the cathedral. They stopped in front of a group of statues who looked as if they were in a barn. Zizzi thought they were made of wood or stone. They looked like Earthlings, but they were shorter, although if they had been as tall, they would have been much thinner. They were a bit ugly too. But not as ugly as gargoyle or a Zogoid. And their clothes were different from those of the people walking around the cathedral. They all wore long robes which didn't look very practical. Three of them were better dressed than the others, and they wore jewels on their head. They were kneeling down looking at a baby in a primitive crib. There were animals too, less intelligent Earthlings, also staring at the baby.

"Gosh! We wouldn't let the unthinking Zogoids near our newly hatched babies," thought Zizzi. "Not clean!" But he was impressed that they used straw for the baby's bedding, just like what they put the Zogoid eggs in.

"Two thousand years on and nothing's changed much!" said Mum. "Peace on Earth and good will to all men, indeed!"

"It's rubbish, Mum," said Gareth. 

"He's not very impressed by anything," thought Zizzi. "Perhaps he'd like it better on Zogo." Zizzi was fascinated by the cathedral. That soft yellow light was everywhere. And those enormous arrangements of bright red flowers with their pointed leaves. On Zogo, all the plants were very pale, and you always had them to match your room exactly.

Not that Zizzi was dissatisfied with Zogo. There was always plenty to see and do, especially now that he had the new telescope and the Scout. And the Extender computer always came up with good ideas.

The Gareth and the Mum made their way towards the place Zizzi read was called the “North Transept.”  They were soon walking over some highly patterned tiles. Zizzi saw a notice which said that the tiles were from the thirteenth century and that visitors should take care of how they walked on them.

"Better hover across," he thought. To his disgust the Gareth and the Mum just walked across normally. Zizzi hoisted himself into the air, and glided across. Something made the Gareth turn round. His mouth dropped open when he saw Zizzi suspended in the air.

"Mum!" he shouted.

"They're really beautiful, aren't they? said Mum. 

"No, but Mum..!"

It dawned on Zizzi then. Humans don't hover. He dropped to the floor at once.

"Come on," said Mum. "We'd better go and get Grandpa's present. The shop will be shut soon."

Zizzi decided to keep his distance. He looked at some of the decorations on the walls.

"I hope it's not raining. You didn't bring your coat," she continued.

Rain! He would have to see that!

Mum and Gareth were now hurrying towards the exit of the cathedral. Every now and then Gareth looked back towards Zizzi. Zizzi would not meet his eyes. He watched them from the big doorway, - the West Door, he read - as they rushed across to the Cathedral Shop opposite. There was water falling from the sky.

"Rain! Great!" thought Zizzi. "I must try this!" He stepped out into the cold.

The rain was blowing towards the West Face of the cathedral. The droplets of water fell on Zizzi's hands and face. They stung. He had to close his eyes.The scarf was no protection. It only took seconds for his top to be wet through and Zizzi did not like that feeling. It was slimy, like when you touched a Zogosnail, and it was like having lots of pins stuck into you. Like grey dull metal. He felt cold and he shivered. No wonder his ancestors didn't like water. He'd had enough of rain. Should he return straight back to the Scout? But he hadn't found out any more about gargoyles yet. He looked up at the cathedral. Just one ugly face looked down at him and he knew what that was.  A gust of wind pushed him towards the open door of the cathedral shop.

Yes. He would go to the shop! Perhaps he could make Mums and Gareths his project instead. And he would like to find more about that baby who had been born two thousand years ago.

Zizzi watched the shoppers. They seemed to go to a counter with the goods they wanted and then hand over some pieces of metal or a flat rectangle. The Mentor had told him about something like this on Zogo as part of a history lesson. Now if you wanted to buy something, you got the shop on the computer screen and paid for it by authorising credits with your voice. This shop was much more interesting, even if it did take much longer. It was great to be able to see the goods and even touch them.

He spotted the Gareth and the Mum by the counter.

"It's naff," said the Gareth. "But I suppose he'll like it." He was holding one of those stringy things that Zizzi had seen around the necks of some of the men in the cathedral. It was richly coloured and had pictures of those people in that barn again.

Zizzi carried on browsing. He was in the section with books. Zizzi's grandfather used to talk about books. Now the only ones you could get were those you charged up from the computer. Older people liked to read them when they were in the sleeping cells. But most Zogoids preferred to read direct form the computer. He had found some more information about the baby. It was a boy called Jesus. And he had been born in a place called Bethlehem, although his parents came from another place called Nazareth. But he couldn't find out much more from the books, because they were written for Earthlings who knew the full story.

Then he saw it. "A History of Gargoyles". The one on the cover looked just like him. And inside there were ones like the Mentor, like his mother and his father, another just like his bother Tobo and even one like his pet, Horendz, with its long double ears and scaly back. He would have to buy this.

He felt in the pocket of his trousers! Yes, there were some of the strange metal Earthling coins there.  He pulled them out. There were four heavy gold-coloured ones, a strange, large seven-sided silver coloured one, two smaller seven-sided silver ones and an assortment of silver and copper coloured coins, both in two different sizes. He looked at the numbers on the book. £4.99. He supposed he had enough. He would have to watch everyone very carefully at the counter.

But then the Gareth saw him.

"Eh, Mum," he said. "It's that geek again. The one who floated ...."

A loud ringing noise suddenly started coming from the back of Zizzi's chameleon suit. 

"Zotto!" he thought. "I forgot to charge the battery! I've got two minutes to get back to the ship!"

Zizzi was still clutching the book as he ran through the door of the cathedral shop.

"Hey, you haven't paid for that," shouted the man behind the counter. Zizzi speed hovered over the square between the shop and the cathedral. Fortunately, it was dark and the Earthlings couldn't see how he was moving so fast. The Gareth and several others were following him, though.

Only the Gareth saw him jump up. As Zizzi landed on the West Face of the cathedral, next to his Scout, the battery on the suit finally gave up altogether. He now sat there in his Zogoid form.

"Can you see him?" called the Mum. The Gareth turned to face her.

"I.. er .." he started.

Zizzi hurried into the Scout and set her off through the Earth's atmosphere. He would have to do two orbits to get her up to power. He flicked on the Ranger's screen and zoomed on to the cathedral. The Gareth and the Mum were talking to a man in a dark navy uniform.

"He just seemed to jump up," said the Gareth. "But when I looked up there was nothing but a couple of those funny statues. One was about six times as big as the other."

The man in uniform sighed and shut his note book. He looked up.

"Are you on something, Sonny?" he said. "There are no gargoyles on the West Face."

The main screen of the Scout's communication system crackled on. It was the Mentor. Zizzi had been dreading this.

"Well that didn't go too well, did it? You know you will loose your Scout licence if you reveal yourself three times without permission from Explorer Corps. You must be more careful Zizzi."

Zizzi hung his head.

"Well, anyway, cheer up. Did you find out any more about the gargoyles?"

"Well, there aren't any on the West Face of Winchester Cathedral."

"Hm. Was that worth the risk?"

"And I have got a book."

"You stole a book, you mean."

"Mmm. Yes."

"Well, we'll have to find a way to compensate."

"Actually, I was thinking."

"Yes?"

"Maybe gargoyles aren't so interesting. I'd like to find out more about the Gareth. And perhaps about that baby."

"Well, perhaps. We'll discuss it when you get back to Zogo. Peace to Zogoids."

"Peace to Zogoids."

Zizzi was now leaving the Earth's orbit. He took one last look at the planet. It looked like a giant marble, all blue and white swirls. It would be good to return to Zogo, where life was easy and pleasant and much more modern than on Earth. But he would be back! Oh yes, he would be back!

         

Other Ways of Being: Water

See on Amazon

 Carl turned on the tap that would allow water into the levies running through the cabbage fields. It shouldn’t be a problem. There’d been plenty of rain earlier in the year and anyway, they were still connected to the main grid. Ever since everything had settled down after the Changes, there had never been any problem with the water supply. Someone was still managing the big reservoirs, so it seemed, and the climate, despite the predictions of the previous century, was behaving well. The cycles of winter and summer, cold and heat, rain and sunshine, and all that they brought, had carried on just as before.  

It was hot, now, though and it had been pretty dry for the last six weeks. All the crops had to be watered, clearly, but the cabbage was now particularly important. Deprive it of water now and they might lose all of it.

Carl pushed back his base-ball cap and wiped the sweat form his forehead. Any second now he would hear the gurgle that told him the water had arrived in the pipe, and the woosh-woosh as the levy filled. He could imagine himself putting his hand into the cool water, cupping it, and taking a welcome drink. So, what if irrigation water wasn’t recommended? He’d been drinking it for years and had never had any ill effect. What usually took seconds seemed to be taking hours, though, today. Carl shut his eyes and waited.

There was suddenly a loud clunk and the pipe leading up to the tap began to hum.

“What the blazes…?” said Carl to no one in particular.

 

Carl sat in the Great Hall fanning his face with his hat. The air con units still worked but they were used sparingly: since the Changes energy as well as water was precious.

“So you tested the whole network?” said the senior Proctor. “And there was no sign of a leak anywhere?” 

“Nope!” said Carl. He had checked. Absolutely thoroughly. Not that he’s needed to. He and Barnaby always kept the pipes in excellent order. “The leak must be before it gets to us,” he said. “Or else it’s a problem with the reservoir.”  

“Very well,” said the Proctor. “I’ll send a team to investigate. I’d like you or Barnaby Jackson to head the team. Not both of you.”   

It would be the first time anyone had left the Compound in over five years. The last time had been when they’d buried those that had died of the mystery illness. They’d gone as far away from the survivors as they could without putting their lives at risk in other ways. The reservoir was at least a week’s journey away, if they kept stopping to listen for leaks. 

Carl nodded and left the Hall. The coolness of the dark corridors outside was welcome. It didn’t make him feel any more comfortable, though. Now he had to go and have a difficult conversation with Barnaby Jackson. Yet, he felt strangely excited.

 

Carl stared at the great expanse of water that stretched in front of him. He hadn’t realised the reservoir would be so big. It looked still and calm but the breeze was enough to make small waves ripple at its edges. It matched the turquoise of the sky. Where the sides weren’t built-up there were sandy beaches. He suddenly had a longing for the days when people took leisure trips to places such as this. Families having picnics by the side of the water. Kids swimming and young men diving off the rocks. Older guys like him fishing or perhaps taking a boat across.

There was no time for that sort of thing these days. They only survived if they worked.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” said Patrick O’Leary. He was pointing to the high water mark. It was only about a foot above where the water was now. “There must be something blocking it up right here,” he said. All of the pipes they’d listened to had been totally empty.  

Carl nodded and got down from his horse. He was saddle-sore but otherwise glad he’d come instead of Barnaby. There’d been no straw pole in the end. Banrnaby had a wife and three daughters. Carl was single. It had been a no-brainer. And it had all been worth it. They’d seen plenty of water on the way. There were lots of other supplies they could use if there was something wrong with the reservoir, though it would mean piping them. He’d been overwhelmed, too, by the richness of the scenery; the lakes and streams, obviously, but the pine forests with the deep blue sky setting off their dark green needles, and the mountains in the distance, terracotta fingers, nails lacquered with snow. He knew he would have to find other excuses for leaving the Compound. Now he had seen all of this, though, he could not be without it.

“So what’s the plan?” said Bradley Spenser, the one who’d been mainly responsible for finding the way here.

“Try to find out who’s been looking after this place,” said Carl. “And see what’s wrong. Maybe we can help.”    

 

Two hours later they had found out very little. There was a cottage where it looked as if someone had lived for a while. It was untidy and abandoned and whoever had lived there had left in a hurry. There were the maggot-infected remains of what looked like a half-eaten meal on the kitchen table. And it whiffed.

“I’m going to barf if we don’t get out of here soon,” said Wilf Atkins.

Yes, Carl knew what he meant. It stank. But it still didn’t help them to work out why the water supply had failed though the water was plentiful.

“Why don’t we go for a swim and look again later?” suggested Bradley. “It’ll give us a bit more energy.”

Well it wouldn’t hurt,

It was quite good in the end, even if it hadn’t been the type of family holiday leisure day out Carl had thought about earlier. It just wasn’t the same with a group of ugly middle-aged men skinny-dipping and telling dirty jokes. Still it was good to feel clean from the water and then sleepy from the sun on your back as you stretched out to dry. 

Until Patrick shouted out just after he’d gone into the water for the third time. “Cripes, mate, will you look at this? Holy shit, I can’t move it.”

The others rushed back into the water. Patrick kept taking a deep breath and diving down. “It’s a body,” he said. “And it seems to be blocking up the main channel out of the reservoir. There’s some sort of door down there, and it’s half shut. Mates, I think we’ve found the problem.”

It took them another hour to get the body out of the water. They were as hot and thirsty after they’d finished that as they were before they’d had their swim. They got him out at last and even managed to open the door so that the water could flow freely again.

“There must be some sort of system to that,” said Bradley. “And I bet he’s the only geyser who knew how it worked.”

They found a set of keys in his pocket. Carl guessed they would be for the cottage and perhaps something to do with some engine room that worked on the gates of the reservoir. 

Carl stared at the body. It was bloated and grey. Half of its face was missing. Eaten by fish, he supposed. Poor guy. “How long do you think he’s been there?” he said.

“About a week before we lost our water supply?” suggested Bradley. “That’s how long it would take the pipes to empty, I’m thinking.”

That made sense, he supposed. He didn’t have time to think about it for long, though. Suddenly they could hear motor-bike engines. 

“Where’ve the bastards get their fuel from?” murmured Wilf, grabbing his clothes and picking up the rifle that never left his side.  It looked good but it would be useless if the visitors posed any real danger: ammunition other than blanks for it had run out more than ten years ago.

“We’d better hide,” said Bradley. 

Carl and Spenser picked up their clothes and followed Wilf into the bushes.

Carl watched the two riders get off their Triumphs. For a few seconds he envied them. Before the Changes he used to own a small Triumph. One of the classier ones like one of those had been next on his shopping list.  

The riders took off their helmets. One of them shook out long straight hair. It looked just like the hair in one of the old shampoo ads. How did they mange to stay so well-groomed?

The strangers walked towards the water’s edge and stood right in front of the bushes where the men were hiding.

“Plenty of water here,” one of them said.  Cripes, it was a girl.

“Shall we set up camp here, then?” the other rider replied. Another female.  

The first girl turned towards where they were hiding. My god, she was gorgeous. Carl wished he could touch her. He’d not come across a woman who’d made him feel like that in a long, long time. He mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. And for the first time in months he was getting an erection that he hadn’t induced himself. She was so close now. It was unbearable. He turned so the others couldn’t see; there had been no time to dress. 

Atkins fired his rifle into the air. The plainer of the two girls shrieked. Then both of them ran towards their bikes. Seconds later they were riding back towards the road. Carl’s erection collapsed.

What did you want to do that for? thought Carl. We could have got to know them, maybe invited them back to the Compound.  They’d surely make good breeding stock? It was getting a bit critical back there. A shadow of the erection returned. He wouldn’t mind being involved in that particular programme. Not of that girl was one of the females.   

All at once, though, he couldn’t move. Cripes, this hadn’t happened since before the Changes. It was a rare form of epilepsy, the doctors had said. They’d given him some medication that kept it under control. Of course that ran out shortly after the troubles started. But he’d never had another attack, and he guessed it was because life was actually even less  stressful once everything had settled down than it had been before it all kicked off. He felt himself topple to the ground.

“God almighty, Carl,” he heard Wilf say. “What’s up?”

Bradley felt his pulse and then put his ear to his chest. “Nothing,” he said. “I think he’s gone.”

Get a mirror, you bastards, Will thought. He was still breathing and he did still have a pulse, though both would be very hard to track without a stethoscope. He could hear and see but he couldn’t move a muscle.

“Poor bugger,” said Wilf.

“Quite a nice way to go, though,” said Bradley.

I’m not dead, you clots, thought Carl. Don’t you dare try to put me six foot under.

“Hey,” laughed Wilf, “you don’t think it was because he got a bit too excited about that one with the blond hair, do you? I’d swear he’s still got a bit of a stiffy.”

“Oh, come on mate,” said Bradley. “You shouldn’t joke about the dead. We’d better do something about these two.”

Fortunately, it was too hot for the men to do more than just dig two very shallow graves, put the two bodies in and cover them with leaves. Carl could still breathe. It was just a matter of waiting.  

 

Six hours had gone by, Carl reckoned, by the time he could move again. It was dark but at least there was a bright moon. The others had taken his clothes and his horse. His first priority was to find something to wear.

When he raided the reservoir keeper’s cottage, he found that the stench that had almost made Wilf barf came not from the leftover meal but from the bodies of the woman and the baby he found upstairs.

“At least you had a woman, you lucky sod,” he whispered to the reservoir-keeper as he laid the woman and child to rest in what had been his own grave, “and she must have been okay  to shag if you managed to impregnate her. Well, you’re lying together again now. Enjoy.”      

He soon got the place tided up and found out how to work the doors and gates on the reservoir. All of the machinery still worked beautifully. He smiled to himself when he thought of the folk back at the Compound amazed at how lucky they were that the reservoir was still holding out. He wondered whether they’d held a memorial service for him.

But he didn’t want to try and get back. There would be too much explaining to do. Besides, it was glorious here. He could enjoy the trees against the sky and the snow-capped mountains all of the time now. The cottage was cosy and there were plenty of fish in the reservoir. If he got a bit lonely, he would go and talk to the graves of the reservoir-keeper and his wife.

And who knows, one day he might hear the sound of a Triumph motorbike again. And it might even deliver a beautiful blond woman.     

Other Ways of Being: The Truth about Old Fuzzy Locks

 See on Amazon

Oh no. It looked as if they were on the move again he thought. 

The edges of the Grotto were beginning to blur. There had been cornfields and orchards around them yesterday. And for several weeks before that. Proper English countryside. Now there were the all too familiar rainbow streaks, which mean that they were once more hurtling through time and space to a new destination.

Perhaps that's why it was hot. Perhaps they were going somewhere warmer.

A pity. Martin liked it here. He knew that his Ma and Pa  liked it there as well.

The rainbow swirls at the edge of the grotto gradually disappeared.

He didn't know whether he should go and look or whether he ought to get the back first. 

Why did he always get so scared? He ought to be used to it by now.

No, Well I'm going anyway, thought Martin. He pushed a rock under the barrel he’d been moving to stop it rolling away. And he set off towards the edge of the Grotto.

He found himself standing on a narrow ledge. He could see for miles - over what looked like snow-covered mountains. And curiously it was just as warm here as in the Grotto. Down below was a lake, filled with milky blue water, not like any other water he had seen before.

This was a new one. Well, you' got to give him that. Still finding new places to send us, even after five hundred years

Suddenly, he thought he heard somebody coming. His eyes grew as wide as pizza.

He ought not to be scared, really. If it' was  a Homeling and it got into the Grotto, it might take a year off our time - especially if we can help it to get out.

Martin could not believe his eyes. It was only Old Fuzzy Locks, the apology for a wizard. How could he be scared of him? But there was someone- or something else with him.

He watched the figure that was making its way with the tatty wizard into the Grotto. It was smaller even than him. Martin couldn't help but envy its smooth skin. He may be still a child himself, and still have to do what his parents said, but five hundred years in the Grotto had made his skin as hard as leather. He put a hand up to his face and felt the crinkles.

Don't come here, he thought. You might never get back home. You might become one of us.

The creature had long, droopy ears and fine pointed fingers. Its eyes were as blue and as milky as the lake down below. Its arms and legs were bare and it was wearing a gold coloured tunic. He couldn’t tell whether it was a boy or girl.

But he didn't really care all that much. He was torn between wanting the creature to stay, fulfil a quest and shorten their time in the Grotto, and wanting him to go safely back to its own world. Because Fuzzy Locks had told them time and time again that something horrible happened to the unsuccessful Homelings.

There was a sudden bang and a flash. A cloud of smoke hovered in the air and next to it, not in it, like he was supposed to arrive, Old Fuzzy Locks appeared. He looked worse than ever to-day. There were great tears in his robes. His hat drooped carelessly from his head. His magic wand was broken, and Martin had the distinct impression that the rather nasty smell he had suddenly become aware of was in fact coming from the old wizard.

Suddenly he wanted to get out of there. He wanted to go home and tell them all that a new Homeling had arrived. But he just had to watch what was happening. He had never been there before when a Homeling arrived and had its first meeting with the wizard. He just might learn something. 

He was a little too far away from the wizard and the strange creature to hear what they were saying. But he watched anyway. The wizard turned round and started to make his way out of the Grotto. The Homeling followed.

Should he follow them and see what they did? But what if the Grotto moved on while he was out there? He'd never get back home then.

Martin shrugged. Perhaps if they ever did get back or settled down in one time or place, one of the first things he might do was find a few new friends. Oh, he liked all his friends in the Grotto, especially his best friend Piet. But he did get bored sometimes.

Suddenly the strange creature and the smelly old wizard disappeared from in front of him. All he could see now was the edge of the Grotto and the beginning of the new land.

That decided it. He was going.

Soon he was walking along the narrow ledge. He didn't want to look down. There was nothing between them and the odd looking liquid except a few bits of jagged rock and lots and lots of space. He had no idea what the pale blue stuff was and the mountain looked as if it was made out of sharp glass.

The wizard stopped suddenly, just in front of him. He said something to the Homeling who suddenly jumped off the side of the mountain.

Martin gasped and put his hand in front of his mouth. But instead of falling and being smashed to pieces by the sharp rocks, or drowning in the lake, the Homeling flew up into the air and sped out of sight. He could fly.  Martin wished he could do that.

He heard a door slam. He turned to see where the noise had come from.  

That must be where he lived.  It was a scruffy-looking little cottage. Scruff Locks had brought them to his own world. But why?

Could it be a trick? Oh, he just didn't' care. He was along the ledge in seconds not daring to think of what would happen if his foot slipped.

He stared at the front door. The windows were covered in thick dust and the bottom frame of the door had broken away.

"Home of Alphanosa Omegatoris," he read out aloud. "Illustrious Member of the League Wizards. Knock once if you are of the magic order. Twice if not."

Should he knock? Who the heck is Alphanosa Omegatoris in any case? It certainly wasn't Fuzzy Locks. He couldn't be an illustrious member of anything. He must be just visiting.

 He heard someone cough.

Should he make a move now, while he still could? 

There was another cough.

Martin wanted to move but he couldn't. 

There was another loud cough, followed by a sneeze.

Yes, he'd better go. He started to run. But then he didn't know what was the scariest - meeting this Aloha .. Omy .. whatever or falling from the ledge which seem even narrower now. He could fall at any second.

A couple of times, he felt himself stumble but was relieved when his feet landed back on the path But he couldn't help feeling curious about this Alphy… Omy -whatever.

He was still cursing himself two days later. Why had he chickened out like that? He’d had a real chance to find out more about that old plonker and he’d blown it.

That Alpha …Omy … whatsity, though. He might be a thousand times cleverer than Old Fuzzy Locks. And he might get stuck outside the Grotto, if he went poking around there again.

He decided then. He'd rather that happened than never know, and live on for goodness knows how much longer, knowing that he had had the chance to find out something more and never took it. And he knew Fuzzy Locks wasn't there. Because he was in the Grotto having tea with Ma and Pa.

Martin placed his cap firmly on his head. And he was off. Striding out of the Grotto, feeling really pleased with himself.

It was strange, this place. He was high up in the mountains. And it looked cold out there, everywhere blue and white as if covered I snow. But it wasn't cold at all. It was so hot he needed a sun hat.

It was so good to get out of the Grotto. The ledge didn't scare him so much this time. And gradually it even became fun. In fact, it was quite an adventure. And in no time at all, he was standing outside the little cottage again.

He would ring twice. Whoever lived here might be able to tell him something about Old Fuzzy Locks. He might even be able to help them.

He hesitated for a second and then pulled the handle on the bell twice. He waited. His heart was thumping against his rib cage. But nothing happened. No illustrious wizard came rushing to the door. No-one cast a spell on him.

This was no good. He couldn't just go back and tell Piet he hadn’t found a thing. He pushed at the door. It wasn't locked and it opened easily. Martin walked in as quietly as he could.

It was really gloomy inside. No matter how bright the sun was, it just could not get in through the dust on the windows.

But his eyes did gradually get used to the dark. Enough for him to see just how untidy the cottage was. There were papers all over the floor and more papers and books piled high on a heavy wooden desk. There was a nasty smell coming from somewhere. It became stronger as Martin moved round the room towards the fireplace. Then he saw it. On a small table next to the big arm chair near the fire was a mouldy piece of cheese. It smelt so horrible he thought he was going to be sick.

 But he wasn't. Seconds later a scrabbling noise was coming from under the armchair. Then came some squeaking. And finally growling.

Suddenly a blob of black fur flew through the air and thudded on the ground.

"Tabatha!" cried Martin. He would recognise those evil eyes anywhere. She must be the biggest, ugliest cat that ever existed. There couldn't be more than one like her.  So, Fuzzy Locks must be here after all. Tabatha was his cat.

The animal darted towards the door, the mouse now dead, hanging from its mouth. It glowered at Martin, as if to say 'You keep away. This is all mine.'

"Yes, you take that outside then," said Martin to the big cat, as he opened the door. "Don't you dare start crunching it in front of me."

The cat seemed to scowl at him, and then it pushed past him and rushed out.  A breeze came in and blew some of the papers off the table on to the floor. Martin went to pick them up. Light was now coming into the room He couldn't help noticing that the two pieces of paper were really thick and the print was really elegant. They looked really important. He should put them back carefully, really. But he couldn't resist taking a look. 'Head Office, League of Wizards, Missive to Alphanosa Omegatoris' read Martin. This was something else. He carried on reading.

'Dear Mr Omegatoris,

Whilst the conjuring trick of sending the Lombardy Grotto and the inhabitants thereof to alternative places and times would be admirable in a junior or trainee wizard, it is hardly impressive in one of your experience and standing. Apart from how cruel it is to the inhabitants of the Grotto. We therefore regret to inform you that not only can we not admit you to the Guild of Master Wizards, but also that your membership of the League of Wizards is suspended.

Yours faithfully,

Olando Bericha

So this was where Old Fuzzy Locks lived. Fuzzy Locks was Alpha whatsity.

The second piece of paper had the same heading.

'Dear Mr Omegatoris,' read Martin.

'We are still not satisfied with your performance as a wizard. So, we have decided to issue you with a Direct Challenge. Any of the so-called Homelings who fail in the quests you set them will be suspended in polycubes. They will not suffer, and neither will the Lombarders any more than they do already. You will need to use the three rules of magic to the utmost of their power.

Your suspension from the League of Wizards will remain in force until such time as all Homelings are freed. However, if you succeed in freeing all Homelings at a stroke, you will be reinstated and promoted to Master Wizard.

A word of caution. This will not be easy. The more you fail, the harder it will get, and the less faith you will have in yourself. But remember, we would not have set you this challenge, unless we thought you could do it. Good luck.

Yours sincerely,

The Wizard Master.

So, Old Fuzzy Locks was more than just a scruffy old idiot, after all. But what on earth was a polycube?

Martin didn't have time to wonder for long. He suddenly heard footsteps outside. He stuffed the letters in his pocket and hid behind the armchair. 

The footsteps got nearer. The door cracked open a little more. Martin watched a dark shape move into the room.

Well, it didn't look or smell like Old Fuzzy Locks.

The shape moved slowly towards him. Martin held his breath. Whoever it was stopped and looked around, and then started treading carefully between the piles of paper.

“Martin, are you there?" whispered a voice. It was Piet. Martin came out from behind the armchair.

"Well, I'm glad you're all right," said Piet. "I really couldn't work out what you were up to. I just had to follow you. You’re a prize idiot. The Grotto could move again, at any minute. Then where would you be? You're too daft by half, you are. That's your trouble."

Martin decided to ignore him.

"It's a good job I did come here,” said Martin. "You should see what I've found out."

Martin showed his friend the two letters. They sat outside. They knew that Fuzzy Locks wouldn't be back for at least another two hours.

It was a change for them, looking at a different view. In the Grotto, they had to look at the same old things all the time.

"So I wonder where these polycube things are?" said Piet.

"Who knows?" said Martin. "But one thing's for sure; he ain't such an idiot as we thought. He just acts that way."

"He certainly does that," said Piet.

"I suppose we'd better stop calling him Old Fuzzy Locks," said Martin. "His real name's Alpha… " He looked down at the letter.

Piet looked over his shoulder.

"Why don't we call him Alpha Omy for short?" suggested Piet.

It seemed a good idea. But Martin didn't have chance to think about it much. Piet was suddenly shaking his arm and screaming.

"Oh no, look at that will you?"  He was pointing towards the Grotto. The edges were beginning to blur and the rainbow colours were beginning to form. "It's going," he said. "It's off again already."

They ran. They ran as fast as they could. They hardly worried about the narrowness of the ledge along which Marin had walked so carefully just a few days before. Their sides were aching and they were out of breath. But still they ran.

The Grotto was beginning to spin and the rainbow colours were getting brighter and brighter.

"We're not going to make it," panted Piet.

"We will," answered Martin. "Step on it."

They stepped on it. 

Martin actually had his foot on the pathway of the Grotto when suddenly it wasn't there anymore.

"Now look!" moaned Piet. "I told you we shouldn't have come. I told you this would happen."

But something didn't quite make sense to Martin. If the Grotto had moved on, it had done so with Fuzzy Locks, or Alpha Omy even, in it. And Alpha Omy was often in the Grotto. So there must be a direct link between the Grotto and here.

"But I don't get it," said Martin. "We know Fuzzy Locks is in the Grotto."

"Well, it's magic, isn't it?" said Piet.

"Yeah, but why bother with magic, when he could have just walked home?" replied Martin.

"So, who cares?" asked Piet. "What are we going to do now?"

"We could go and explore," said Martin.

"And get into even more trouble?" asked Piet

"Well, just for a couple of hours," answered Martin. "We know he's leaving the Grotto then. Perhaps he'll come back home and perhaps he'll be able to help us get back."

"Him? Be helpful?" asked Piet. "That's not very likely, is it?"

"Well, what do you suggest?" asked Martin. He couldn’t keep the sharp tone out of his voice. Piet was being such a misery again.

Piet shrugged his shoulders.

"Just think," he said. "We could have been sitting at home, getting ready for our dinner, if we hadn't gone chasing Old Fuzzy Locks."

But they weren’t at home. They were here. Didn’t Piet get that?

Martin looked around him. Now that the Grotto had gone, there was nothing but the blue white of the mountains and the milky lake below. There was no sound at all. Certainly no more sign of the Homeling they had seen or of any of the others who lived here.

"I wonder where he went," said Martin.

Piet shrugged his shoulders again. "I hope he hasn't gone into one of those polycubes." .

"Well, I'm going to have a look down there, anyway," said Martin. He set off down the path which would have lead him into the Grotto if it had still been there. Piet followed him. Martin could tell he was unhappy. He was always a pace or two behind, and he seemed to be dragging his feet along the ground.

In the end, there was nothing much to see. It was all so empty. It was funny how they spent all that time wanting to get out of the Grotto, and when they were out, it was  boring.

"Alright," he said.  "Let's go back to his place."

They walked back up. Martin kicked at the ground. This was such a good opportunity to find out more about the wizard, and yes, the letters had been a good find, but there had been nothing more since.

Piet stopped suddenly.

"What if he won't help us though?" he said. "Or can't"

It was Martin's turn to shrug. He really had no idea what they would do if the wizard wouldn't or couldn't help them.

They had almost got to the cottage when there was a sudden loud bang. A cloud of smoke hung in the air. Seconds later the wizard appeared. Next to the cloud, not in it. And then there was that strange smell that always came with Fuzzy Locks nowadays. 

"He's definitely still Fuzzy Locks to-day then," said ed Piet. "Just look at him will you?"

The wizard's beard looked greyer and untidier than ever. His robe was even more torn. His hat drooped so much now that it seemed to be actively looking for something on the ground.  

"I can't even get that right these days," he was muttering to himself. He opened the door and let himself in. Then he slammed the door hard.

"I think you're right," said Martin, and suddenly both boys were laughing helplessly.

"Come on," said Martin, when at last they had calmed down, "let's go and see what he's up to."

Piet did not complain this time, but just followed. Martin pushed open the door of the cottage. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. It seemed to be completely empty.   

"Where's he got to then?" asked Piet. "Are there any more rooms here or what?"

Martin didn't know. But it looked unlikely.

"I'm sure it's just this room. If you think about how big it seems from outside …."

He carried on looking round the untidy little room. There were no doors. Except the one to what he had assumed was a cupboard bed. Well, even wizards had to sleep somewhere didn't they?

"What's in here then?" asked Piet, looking at the same door.

"His bed?" suggested Martin.

"Perhaps he's having a snooze," said Piet.

"Open it and have a look then," said Martin.

"No, you," said Piet, standing there with his arms folded.

Martin went to open the door to the cupboard. But as his hand rested on the handle, the ground moved from beneath his feet. He was twirling round and round in the air. The same rainbows which swirled round the Grotto when it moved were spinning around him now, only brighter and faster. There was a faint smell of ripe peaches.

He was aware of a shadow turning round at his side. Was it Piet? He was moving much too fast to be able to tell for sure. But then the shadow spoke.

"What's going on then?" said Piet's voice. "What's he done now?"

Suddenly they landed roughly on the ground. They were no longer in Old Fuzzy Lock's cottage. Nor were they back in the Grotto. They were in a big hall with a high roof and a shiny wooden floor. And lined up in front of them were row upon row of large cubes. In each cube was a person or a creature, caught forever in the middle of an action.

"The polycubes," said Martin. "These must be the polycubes."   

"Oh heck," said Piet, "how has he managed that?"

The two boys started to wander along the lines of polycubes. There was such an odd collection of different people. There was even a bear in one of them. Martin bit his lip when they came across the little creature they had seen talking to the wizard two days ago. It seemed to be looking at something behind Martin and was pointing with his elegant finger towards the sky. So, that Homeling hadn't made it then.

"I wouldn’t mind getting to know them," said Piet. He was looking at two polycubes, one with a boy in and the other a girl. They looked about the same age as Martin and Piet. Without the leathery skin, of course. Their clothes were made out of shiny metal. The boy was jumping, almost flying, and the girl looked as if she was swimming upwards through the air. "I wonder where they come from?" he added.

But Martin was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"This is really horrid," he said to Piet. "It's as if they're in an exhibition."

"Yeah," agreed Piet, "but it shows he's cleverer than we thought." 

Martin wanted to protest that it wasn't clever. That it would really be clever if the old fraud did something about it and let all those people out. He opened his mouth ready to speak, when they suddenly heard a loud cough.

"So, we have a couple of Lombarders escaped have we?" said a familiar voice. Old Fuzzy Locks was standing in front of them. He looked as tatty as ever, but he was standing up a bit taller. "You always read other people's mail do you, then?" he asked looking straight at Martin.

Martin felt himself blush. He went to say something.

"You think it's alright, do you," the wizard continued, "just to walk into somebody's home, without as much as knocking?"

Martin tried to think of a reply, but he couldn't. He blushed even deeper. 

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," said the Wizard. "You know, don't you, that I've got a big job on here?"

Martin nodded.

"You do see don't you, that there's more to all this than me just playing tricks on you and the other Lombarders?"

Martin nodded again.

"And you know I've got to use the three rules of magic?"  The wizard sat down suddenly on the little wooden bench at the side of the hall. He sighed. "The trouble is," he said, "I've lost the knack with the first one."

Martin noticed his that Piet was staring at the wizard. He was frowning slightly, but for once he was standing up straight and not trying to hide. 

"Well what's that?" asked Piet. There was a slight tremble in his voice, but at least he was speaking. 

The wizard sighed again.  "It's about having faith. About having the faith that you can do it. The trouble is, the more I can't do it, the harder it gets to have faith."

Martin remembered the letter form the Guild of Wizards.

"Look at me," said Alpha Omy. He held up his arms to show them just exactly how bad his robes had become. The whole of one sleeve had worn away underneath. "I'm not even allowed to go shopping any more. Nor go to the conferences to find out the latest new ideas. And how I used to think I knew it all when I was your age!"

"Oh get a grip!" said Piet. Martin couldn't quite take this in. His moany wimpy friend was telling the moany wimpy wizard what to do. Piet took hold of the wizard's arm and marched him over to the polycube with the long fingered creature in it. He was really walking tall now.

Martin's mouth dropped open. He was truly amazed.

"Just look at that will you?" shouted Piet. He was really getting into this now.  "How can you let that carry on? Do something."

"Oh but I can't. I've tried, but I can't," whimpered the wizard.

"Well you're going to have to," said Piet. Martin's mouth dropped open even further as he saw his friend push the wizard right up to the polycube. He had to smile though, when he noticed how pale Piet had gone and that he was shaking.

"How would you like if that happened to you?" he said.

"Well, something bad has happened to me. Look at me!"

"A few tatty clothes," said Piet, "kicked out of the League of Wizards for a bit. That's nothing!"

Martin wanted to join in. But he was so amazed at how bold his friend had suddenly become, that he couldn't think what to say.  

"Well, go on then," said Piet. "Do something." He sat down next to the wizard, who looked even paler now.

The old man hesitated for a moment. He frowned.

"I can't," he said.

"You can," said Piet. His little outburst seemed to be sapping away all of his strength.   

The wizard sighed again. Then he took a deep breath. He pulled himself up tall and pointed at the cube.

Martin felt a little light headed. The air around him was vibrating gently. He and Piet stared at the polycube. Nothing seemed to happen.

"It's no good," said the Wizard. "I've definitely lost the knack." He sat down on the bench again.

"So what do you have to do?" asked Piet. He had gone quite pale. His voice was definitely back to normal now. Frightened and squeaky.

"You just have to have faith that you can do it," said the old man. "Only I haven't got any left."

Martin stared at the creature in the polycube. It was just a matter of believing that you could free him? Make all that funny solid see-though stuff go away? Suddenly he felt as if he was filling up with some sort energy. There was a real warm glow inside him. He felt as if he was growing taller and taller. The air was really humming now, and he could hear a thousand or more voices whispering. "Have faith. You can do it."

He carried on staring at the trapped creature. I really can get you out of there, he thought. It's down to me. I've got to do it and I can do it.  

Martin' s hand floated up. No matter what he did, he couldn't make it come back down to his side. A hot rush of pins and needles came down from his shoulder and a flash came from the end of his finger. It went towards the creature. This was it. He knew he was going to make a difference.

The heat drained out of Martin and he felt himself go back to his normal size. For a few seconds, there was a sharp pain in his head and he thought he was going to be sick. Then it passed.      

 Suddenly the creature's arm which was pointing upwards floated down to its side. There were bubbles inside the cube.

"It's turned into liquid," said Piet, who seemed not to have noticed the strange things which had been happening to Martin.

"Yes," said Alpha Omy. There seemed to be no strength in him. "I remembered how I used to be when I was your age. Dead cocky and nothing could go wrong. Well done, young man," he continued, looking at Martin now. "You've discovered - and used rather successfully - the first rule of magic."

"So what will happen next?" asked Martin.

"I guess I'll have to use the second rule of magic to turn the cube into air and then the third to break open the cube," he answered. "But it will take some time. And then there's all the others. Perhaps you'll come back and help me sometime?"

"How many are there?" asked Martin.

"Two thousand exactly," replied the wizard.

"Ooh," moaned Piet.

"But at least we've made a start," said the wizard.

"So what are the other two rules of magic?" asked Martin. Could he learn to be a wizard as well? He'd like to be a really good one and join the guild of Master Wizards.

Alpha Omy stood up.

"Anything is possible," he said, as if he could read Martin's thoughts.

"But I'm not giving all of my secrets away in one go," he said. "And you boys must get back to the Grotto. Not a word about this to any-one mind, or," he leant over and looked straight into Martin's eyes, “or I'll turn you both into frogs. And I can, you know."

Alpha Omy laughed until his laugh became a roar. He waved the tatty bent stick he called his magic wand at them. Soon came the rainbow colours again and they were whirling faster and faster through space. Seconds later they were standing outside the cave where Piet lived.

"Not bad for someone who's been chucked out of the League of Wizards," commented Piet. 

"And where do you think you two have been?" screeched an angry voice. Piet's ma was standing at the entrance to her cave with one hand on her hip. "Your dinner's getting cold."

"We've been talking to Alpha Omy," stammered Piet.

"Who?" boomed Mrs Lintern.

"Alpha Omy," repeated Piet. "You know, Old Fuzzy Locks."

"Oh, him," said Mrs Lintern, calming down a little. "He ought to know better than to keep you talking at dinner time."

"Well, he's cleverer than what you think, Ma," said Piet. "And he's got to get the Homelings out of the polycubes."

“Oh for goodness sake,” muttered Martin. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“Are you all right boy?” asked Mrs Lintern, suddenly looking worried. She put her hand out to feel Piet’s forehead. “Well, you don't seem to have a temperature. But maybe I'd better give you a dose of feverfew anyway. Get yourself inside!"

"But Ma," protested Piet. "His name's really Alpha Omy and he's such an idiot as you think.!”

"Come on, son," said Mrs Lintern, more gently now "the feverfew will help." She turned to Martin. "You'd better get home, as well, my dear. Your parents will be worried, what with the Grotto moving and all."

Martin nodded at Mrs Lintern. Piet scowled at him. Martin had to move quickly before he started to giggle. Feverfew! Gross. But it served him right for opening his big mouth.

Martin stared out past the edge of the Grotto. They were by the sea now. The light of the setting sun was catching the heads of the waves.

They were pink ponies , not white horses. That looked like another good place to explore. Maybe he'd actually miss going to different places if the Grotto did settle down one day.