On any other Saturday, Trevor Talbot would have slept in, but this was no ordinary Saturday.  It was the Saturday that Trevor would turn ten, at exactly ten o'clock.  At eight o'clock, his alarm clock blared and Trevor complained so loudly that anybody who heard him would think he was being murdered.  He lay with his face half-buried in his pillow, his left eye open and searching for the clock face.

    'Eight o'clock?' He thought upon deciphering the meaning of the big hand and the little hand.  'But, it's Saturday!  It's the weekend, why-?'

    He remembered before he finished his thought, and quicker than you could say "zing-a-ling" he was out of bed, washed, dressed and heading downstairs.  He took the stairs two at a time, half-running, and almost tripped over Mr Wiggles, the fluffy brown cat his mother had adopted only the week before.  Mr Wiggles hated Trevor and Trevor hated Mr Wiggles, who was fat in addition to fluffy and who took every opportunity to try and trip him.  'He's a cat, he doesn't know any better!' Mrs Talbot would reason and then Mr Wiggles would flash Trevor a look of deep reproach and smug superiority.  He fixed Trevor with just such a look as the boy leapt the last five steps, but Trevor was in such a good mood he didn't care.

    'Good morning, Mr Jiggly-Wiggly,' said Trevor, using his own little pet name for the fat cat, who was getting fatter every day.  The cat hissed at him, but Trevor had already disappeared into the kitchen.

    The kitchen was its usual spotless self, the counter-tops bare and sparkling under the bright sunlight streaming through the window opposite the entrance.  In the middle of the room was a round wooden table with two things on it: a bowl of assorted fruit and a note.  Trevor picked up the latter and sat down as he read it.

    'Happy birthday, sweetheart!

I have gone to the shops to get some things for dinner and I will be back soon - though, if past Saturdays are any indication, you will still be sound asleep an hour after I get back.  If you are awake, make yourself some breakfast and we'll save the pancakes for lunch.

    Love, Mum.

P.S.  If anything strange happens, don't worry, I will explain when I get back.

P.P.S.  Please don't burn the house down.'

    Trevor read the note three times and then wondered what strange things she was talking about, and what did she mean - don't burn the house down?  He already knew not to burn the house down and had never even played with matches before.  He shook his head, putting the note out of his mind and thinking instead of the promised pancakes, his favourite breakfast food, especially with lemon and sugar.  He stood up with the intention of making jam toast to tide him over until lunchtime and did a double-take.

    Sitting on the previously empty counter-top was a plate of pancakes, sprinkled with a light dusting of sugar and steaming as though freshly made.  Hanging half over the side of the plate was a slice of lemon.  Trevor thought this must be some trick his mother was playing on him - that she had been waiting in the backyard or something to surprise him.  Perhaps she had gone back there after leaving the pancakes?  This in mind, he went to the other door in the kitchen, which led into the backyard.  The door creaked on its hinges as he swung it open and peered out.

    The backyard was empty, but Trevor still thought  this was some little trick his mother was playing, revenge for the little prank he had pulled on her birthday - she was finding bits of frosting in the most random places for weeks after that mess.  He decided to check the rest of the house.  He went into the hall and tiptoed up to the lounge, but it was empty.  He turned and walked carefully through the obstacle course of doors and clutter that was the laundry, the bathroom and the garage, but they were empty as well. 

    Ten minutes later, Trevor had checked every inch, every nook and cranny of the house, inside and out, but his mother wasn't anywhere.  He sighed and went back to the kitchen - she had won this round.  When he got there, the pancakes were cold and the lemon juice had made them soggy. He sighed again and tipped them into the rubbish bin, washed and dried the plate and was about to put them away when the phone rang.  He crossed the kitchen to where it hung on the wall.

    'Hello?'

    'Hey, Trev, you psyched or what?'

    'You know it, Steve, when are you coming over?'

    'After lunch, but I'm staying the night, right?  You checked with your mum?'

    Trevor bit his lip.  It had taken all of his begging and pleading and bargaining to have Steve over in the first place, he hadn't wanted to jeopardise his luck by asking for too much.

    'You didn't, did you?' said Steve, as though he had read Trevor's mind.  There was a short pause, and then Steve added: 'Not to worry, there' s nothing in this world I cannot talk my way in to or out of.  Just you wait, I'll chuck your mum the old Stanley charm.'

    Trevor laughed.  'Didn't seem to work too well on Sarah Wyler yesterday.'

    'I looked like I was covered in blood,’ Steve said, also laughing.  It was impossible not to laugh at the memory of Sarah pouring red paint over Steve's head during art class for calling her a full-on babe.  'I stayed up half the night trying to wash it all out and I still look like Ronald MacDonald with a sunburn!  But, the past is the past and let's forget it.  Besides, that didn't count - I was prevented from using the full force of my charm by having to whisper so the Dragon didn't hear.'

    The Dragon was the Art teacher, Mrs Trundle.  She was thin and old and frail-looking, but cross her or dare to talk when you weren't supposed to, and her fury could drive even the toughest to tears.  Trevor himself had been told off by her twice, once for daring to leave his seat because he had forgotten his sharpener and needed to use the one by the door and, before that, for not bringing his sharpener to class when she had specifically told the class, time and time again, to remember to bring them.

    Carried away by his thoughts, Trevor realised that he had missed everything that Steve had said.

    'Sorry, could you repeat that?'

    He could almost see Steve standing in his lounge room, rolling his eyes.  'One of these days, I am going to say something like "I have a spare million dollars, if you want it" and you will miss out because you were day-dreaming.'

    'Sorry.'

    'Save it, mate, it's cool.'  On the other end of the line, Steve’s dad was speaking to him.  'Right, Dad,' he said and then spoke to Trevor again.  'Sorry, Trev, I've got to go.  Don't worry about the sleep over, I'll get my parents to talk to your mum, they should be able to convince her.  See-ya!'

    'Bye,' Trevor said and there was a click as Steve hung up on his end.  Trevor put the phone back in its charger and turned to find, to his bewilderment, a fresh plate of pancakes sitting where the other had been, identical to the last in every way.  He picked up the plate and pushed at the top pancake with his finger, to make sure it was real.  It was soft and a little springy, the way a pancake should be, and as Trevor lifted his finger a few tiny grains of sugar hung on.  He licked them away and his mouth watered at their sweetness.  The pancakes were definitely real.  'At least I'm not going mad,' he thought and he went to the table.

    He downed the pancakes in less than a minute, they were so good, and when he was done he wanted more.  He turned around and looked at the bench expectantly, but no more pancakes had appeared.  He shrugged and washed and dried the plate, and then he went into the lounge to watch TV until his mum came home.

    As he walked into the lounge, he heard yelling outside and went to the window in time to see Mr Roach, the grumpy old man who lived across the street, yelling at Timmy Milton and his little sister Millie for almost running into his car with their bikes.  Millie was crying by the time Mr Roach finally stopped shouting and told them to go away and bother someone else, and Trevor recalled the last time he had had a run in with the old grouch.  It had been only two weeks ago and the old man's tirade was, as usual, about the safety of his beloved brown Ford, which itself looked like a roach, in Trevor's opinion.  It hadn't been his fault that the car got hit, Trevor hadn't actually been the one who kicked the rock, but when everyone else scattered and he had been dumb enough to stay put, what did Trevor expect would happen?

    'I wish that old car would just break already,' Trevor thought bitterly, 'then, at least, Mr Roach would have something new to complain about.' 

    Trevor dropped the curtain and was halfway across the room when a thunderous, heart-stopping crash nearly deafened him.  Panicked shouts followed.  Trevor ran back to the window, pulled open the curtain and gasped.  A boulder the size of a horse seemed to have fallen out of the sky and landed right on top of Mr Roach's car.  Even from this far away, Trevor could see that Mr Roach had gone as red as one could possibly go and was literally shaking with rage, his mad eyes searching the growing crowd of spectators for someone to blame for this catastrophe. 

    The old man's eyes swept over the window and Trevor hurriedly let go of the curtain.  Then he shook his head - he was being ridiculous, acting so guilty.  Sure, he had wished the car to be destroyed moments before it was crushed by a giant boulder that appeared out of nowhere, but there could be any number of explanations.  No, it wasn't his fault at all.

    Trevor collapsed onto the couch and tried to ignore the old man's explosive screaming - Mr Roach, it seemed, had given up trying to find one person to blame and so blamed everyone.  He flicked through the channels, trying to find something to watch, and just as he found a cartoon that looked okay, Mr Wiggles came in and sat in front of him, staring up at Trevor accusingly.

    'What do you want, you dumb cat?'

    Mr Wiggles glared at him and then, to Trevor's horror, replied.  'Who're you calling dumb, freak?'

    Trevor looked wide-eyed at the fat, fluffy cat.  Mr Wiggles hopped up on the couch and Trevor quickly shuffled to the other end.  Then, deciding that this wasn't far enough, he got up off the couch and went to stand by the opening.  After taking a few minutes to recover, Trevor took a cautious step towards the couch, his eyes fixed on Mr Wiggles.

    'You can talk?' he said, realising afterwards just how stupid his question was - of course the cat could talk, that's why he freaked out in the first place!  But, Trevor wasn't sure.  He could have been imagining things, or he could be dreaming.  He had once had a dream on Christmas morning about waking up and opening his presents, and when he woke up from that dream and gone down to open his presents for real it turned out that he was still dreaming.  All in all, he had opened his presents ten times on that one Christmas morning.  This might be no different - a simple dream, or daydream.

    Mr Wiggles meowed sullenly, but didn't speak, and Trevor took this as confirmation that he had imagined things, about the cat anyway.  The pancakes were real enough, he could still taste them, and the crushed car wasn't going to magically fix itself, but there was no doubt that Mr Wiggles certainly could not talk.

        It was a little past nine o'clock when Trevor's mum arrived home, honking the car horn as she pulled into the driveway as her way of politely requesting that Trevor get off his backside and help bring the shopping in.  He went, of course, with a lot of grumbling.  It was his birthday, after all, why should he have to help out on his birthday - next she'd be telling him to do his homework (a truly ludicrous suggestion even when it wasn't his birthday).

    'What happened over there?' said Mrs Talbot, pointing to the still enraged Mr Roach standing by his flattened car.  The old man had been screaming so loudly for so long that, though it looked like he was screaming, it was as though someone had turned the volume way down to barely more than a whisper.

    'No idea,' said Trevor, trying his best to rearrange his face into one of confusion rather than guilt.  His mother looked at him and something seemed to click behind her eyes and she frowned.

    'Well, at least you didn't burn the house down.'  She opened the boot and gave two of the four shopping bags to Trevor before grabbing the others for herself.  The boot closed with a SLAM! that made several onlookers across the road jump and look around in annoyance.  How dare someone interrupt the entertaining show of the Angry Grandpa Mime!  Mrs Talbot glared right back at the neighbours until they turned back to watch the performance, and then she turned to Trevor.  'Let's go inside and I'll give you your present.'

    Trevor didn't like the sound of that.  PRESENT.  No "s" on the end.  Meaning that he was getting just the one, no more.  He followed his mother through the front door feeling miserable, until he realised that getting just one present might mean that it was something really cool and expensive.  As he sank back onto the couch, trying to ignore Mr Wiggles who had come back in and was staring at him - the whole Mr-Wiggles-Can-Speak incident still firmly in his mind - he thought of what the present might be.  The new PlayStation was number one on his wish list, closely followed by a dog, which could chase Mr Wiggles away when he annoyed Trevor.  But, his hopes of getting either were dashed when his mother walked into the lounge carrying a wrapped present that looked an awful lot like....

    'A book?' said Trevor when he had unwrapped it, his worst fears confirmed.  It was bound in purple leather, blank on the back and on the spine.  On the cover was a picture of a big gold padlock.  He opened it to find that every page was blank.  Extremely disappointed but not wanting to be rude, Trevor muttered a quick, 'Thanks, Mum, I love it.'

    Mrs Talbot let out a laugh as she plopped down on the couch next to him.  'There's no point in lying, Trevor Talbot, I can read you like ... Well, like that.'  She pointed at the book on his lap.  When he did not cheer up, she sighed.  'Yes, it's a book.  But, it is not like any book you've ever seen before.'

    'Yeah, other books have words in them.'

    She nudged him playfully and said, 'Wise guy.  I'll have you know that there ARE words in that book.  You just can't see them because the book is locked.  See?'  She took the purple volume from him and showed him the golden padlock on the front cover.  'To open it, you have to say the magic word.'

    Trevor rolled his eyes - his mother was either playing a really stupid trick on him, or she had finally cracked.  Still, he played along. 'Let me guess, the magic word is "please?"'

    Mrs Talbot chucked the book back to him, smiling.  'Wrong!  The magic word is: OLPRELNE.'

    'Olpr-what?'  Trevor looked at his mother like she was crazy, and the fact that she seemed deadly serious told him that she had, in fact, finally cracked.

    'Ol-prel-knee.  Say it back to me.'

    'It’, Trevor said and his mother frowned.  'Okay, okay. Ol-prel-knee'

    As soon as the last syllable was spoken, the cover of the purple book in Trevor's lap glowed so bright that it was near-blinding.  Trevor covered his eyes, though even with his eyelids squeezed shut behind the safety of his hands, the light was still unbearable.  Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the light vanished and, when Trevor opened his eyes and looked down at the cover, the golden padlock had been replaced by beautiful golden letters, written with thick, artistic strokes.  The ends of each letter turned into beautiful spiral patterns, all joining at the bottom half of the page, melting into the outline of a five-pointed star, a circle at the tip of each point, each containing a different image: a flame, a leaf, a water droplet, a wisp of air, and at the top of the star, a spiral.

    'A Beginners' Guide To Magic,' read Trevor, looking over the fancy golden words.  He looked at his mother, who nodded toward the book, and he turned to the very first page.  There were words there now, written in the same fancy writing as the title on the cover, though these were written using black ink and were much smaller than the title.  He surveyed the page and realised that this first page was actually a letter written by someone named Zalthor, and before he could read even the first word, a deep voice spoke from within the book itself, reading the letter to him.

    'Dear Wizard-In-Training,

    'Congratulations on turning ten and having your powers unlocked.  If you are living in one of the many magical worlds of our universe, then no doubt you knew all about being a wizard and I welcome you to the fold.  If, however, you are not living in a magical world, but rather one where magic is not openly recognised and you and your family are actually living in secret, meaning that until this very moment you had no idea you were a wizard at all and, before being given this book, had a number of strange and unexplainable things occur that freaked you out and made you think you were going mad, then I say to you that you are a wizard, a sorcerer, a mage, a magic user and I welcome you into the fold as well.  Now, to business.

    'As it says above, you are a wizard in training.  You know absolutely nothing about spells, enchantments, jinxes, hexes or anything of the sort.  And, if you are in the second category as outlined in the previous paragraph, then you know even less than that.  Fear not, potential prophet or possible powerhouse, for everything you need to know about the basics of magic and magical creatures from  your world and my world and his world and her world, and every known world in between, can be found in this book. 

    'Now, turn to the first page and begin your new life as a saviour or menace (depending on where you live). 

    'Sincerely,' the voice finished, 'Mr Zalthor.'  There was a slight pause, and then the voice added: 'P.S.  If your name is Trevor Talbot, then I will see you next Saturday.'

    Trevor thought this a little strange and, apparently, so did his mother.  She promptly snatched the book away from him and read the letter herself.  She mouthed the words as she read along and frowned when she reached the extra sentence.

    'Well,' she said after a lengthy silence.  'There you have it then.  Happy birthday, Trevor, you are officially a wizard.'  She seemed to read his mind for, just as he was about to ask what in the heck was going on, she explained: 'it's all in that letter, right at the start.  Or, at least, most of it is.  Earth is one of many worlds that does not openly recognise the existence of magic, though there is a whole secret population living here, spread all over the world that do live with magic all the time.  However, due to circumstances which I won't get in to right now, we were unable to live among them.  All I'll tell you right now is, we are not originally from Earth, but fled here after-'

    DING-DONG!

    Trevor looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was not even midday yet.  Steve wasn't coming until after lunch, he had said on the phone.  And yet, when Mrs Talbot opened the front door (after telling Trevor the magic word to lock the magic book: Lololcrekal), there was Steve Stanley, standing with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his mother waiting politely by his other.

    'Wendy, good to see you!' said Mrs Talbot brightly, as though nothing peculiar was as going on at all - such as telling her son for the first time that he was a wizard or that they were, for lack of a better word, ALIENS, or that they were on the run from some as yet undisclosed person or persons.  No, nothing strange happening here, they were just celebrating a normal boy turning ten, that's all!

    'Sorry to drop in on you early, Tracey,' said the beanpole that was

Mrs Stanley.  She jerked her head towards Steve.  'This one has been talking about this sleep-over non-stop for the last three days, we just couldn't take it anymore!'

    Mrs Talbot looked over at Trevor, who had just remembered that he hadn't mentioned anything about it yet, and he grinned back sheepishly.  She turned back to Steve's mother.  'Sleep-over?'

    'Geez, Mum,' Steve groaned, throwing an apologetic look at Trevor, 'you said you were going to ease your way into it!  Who taught you how to do things delicately, a bull giving a tour of a china shop?'

    'Watch your tone, young man,' said Mrs Stanley, turning stern.  She smiled again as she addressed Mrs Talbot.  'I hope we're not putting you on the spot, Tracey.  Only, Steve was talking about how Trevor wasn't having a party and how, forgive me, a couple of hours of playing catch or video games or something would be no different to any other Saturday, and really wouldn't be all that special, as a birthday should be.  So, with that in mind, would you consent to letting Steve stay the night?'

    It took a little while of convincing - Mrs Talbot was hesitant for reasons which were obvious to her and Trevor and which wouldn't have crossed the minds of the Stanley's if they had had a whole year to think of reasons - but, eventually, Mrs Talbot agreed.

    'Put that book away somewhere safe, Trevor,' she hissed to him while Mrs Stanley was helping Steve set up his inflatable bed in Trevor's bedroom.  'Do not speak a word of it, or of what I have told you, or of being a wizard.  Do you understand?'

    Trevor nodded and he ran upstairs with the book tucked under his arm, to look for a good place to hide it.

    Trevor and Steve had been playing for hours.  At first, Trevor had been nervous that his friend might want to play hide and seek or some other game, which might have led to him stumbling upon the magic book hidden between a stack of towels on the upper shelf of the hallway closet.  However, it turned out that Steve had been called a baby by his brother, Jason, when Steve suggested they play last night, and now he wanted to do more mature things than play little kids' games.  Trevor would have normally protested and told Steve that his brother was being an idiot, but given the circumstances it was perfect.

    'No fair, my controller stopped working!' cried Steve, as Trevor revelled in his victory.  It was the third time in as many races that Steve's controller had given out during the last moments of the race.  'Stupid controller!'

    'Take it easy, Steve,' said Trevor.  He rummaged through the collection of games piled next to him and held one up.  'How about we switch to this?'

    Steve nodded, sighing.  'Sorry, I get a little hot-headed when I play.'

    'Believe me,' Trevor laughed, 'I'm well aware of that.'

    'One more race, please?  Just, can we…'

    'Switch controllers?'  Trevor handed his over.  'Sure.'

    They played another race and, almost as though the game wanted Trevor to win, the controller in Steve's hand gave out again right before the end of the race, allowing Trevor to steal the victory.  Steve looked close to tears as the television announced that he had come second yet again and he didn't ask for another race. 

    'Oh, wait a sec,' said Steve, suddenly getting up and going to his bag.  He opened it up and searched through it, until at last he pulled out a present enclosed in red and yellow wrapping paper with a sparkling blue felt ribbon tied around its middle.  He handed it to Trevor, saying: 'Almost forgot, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!  Sorry about the ribbon, Tessa helped me wrap it.'

    Tessa was Steve’s little sister and was absolutely obsessed with arts and crafts, glitter being her favourite thing to add to projects to make them pretty.  Her favourite colour also happened to be blue, so for everything she ever made or helped to make, the finishing touch was always something blue.

    'Cheers, mate,' said Trevor, carefully untying the ribbon and putting it aside before ripping off the wrapping to reveal the cover of the new racing game he wanted.  'Great minds think alike.  Here, chuck it in and let's take her for a spin!'

    They played for a whole other hour, lost in the game, which was better than either of them could have possibly imagined.  Neither controller stopped working even for a second, so there was no complaining (ok, there was SOME complaining, but come on, they're kids) and after the first ten minutes, Trevor forgot all about being a wizard.  He was reminded at dinner.

    An hour after booting up the game, Mrs Talbot called them downstairs to the dining room, where they found dinner ready and waiting.  It was all Trevor's favourites: macaroni cheese and Mrs Talbot's home-made chicken schnitzel.  There was also, she promised, a big bowl of chocolate mousse in the fridge for dessert, if they had room after cake.  They were just tucking in when Trevor felt the sudden need to sneeze.  He tried to control it and failed.

    'Ah-choo!'

    Something small, cold and solid ricocheted off Trevor's hands, bumped against his chest and fell with a final clatter on the table next to his plate.  It was a two dollar coin.

    'Neat trick!' said Steve.  'Do that enough times and we'll be able to buy REAL race cars.'

    Mrs Talbot had gone horribly pale, looking quickly between the coin, Trevor (who still had his hands closed over his face, looking down at the coin in disbelief) and Steve, who was grinning like a madman.  Recovering from the shock, she forced a laugh and said, 'I see you've been practising what your uncle taught you.  I always hated that coin trick, to tell you the truth - he did it so often it became tiresome.  But, at least I know you're doing something other than playing video games all day.'

    Trevor forced an apologetic smile and put the coin in his pocket, praying that he wouldn't sneeze again until Steve went home.  Three times before the end of dinner, Trevor panicked as he felt another sneeze coming, but they were each false alarms.  After dinner, they had cake and, as he was blowing out the candles, Trevor had a mental image of one hundred gold coins flying out of his mouth as he blew.  Luckily, this didn't happen.  He and Steve had cake and chocolate mousse and then went upstairs to watch some movies before bed.

    The next morning, Trevor and Steve woke up well past ten o'clock, exhausted from staying up most of the night.  Mrs Talbot was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking a big cup of coffee, evidently having stayed up late as well.

    'Good morning, boys,' she said as they trudged in, still half asleep.  She nodded to Steve.  'Your mother called.  Your aunt had to have surgery, so she and your father are going into the city for a week or so to take care of her.  She's fine,' Mrs Talbot added, seeing the look of alarm on Steve's face.  'She just needs someone to help her around and it's apparently a two person job.  You'll be staying here until they get back.'

    Steve cheered up immediately.  Five minutes later the doorbell rang and

Mr and Mrs Stanley dropped off some more of Steve's clothes before hugging him goodbye and assuring him, though he no longer needed the assurance, that Aunt Edna would be up and salsa dancing again in no time.

    'What about,' whispered Trevor to his mother as Mrs Stanley comforted her perfectly happy son for the fifth time.  He paused, deciding it best not to mention the words "magic" or "wizard" or "on-the-run-from-people-from-another-world" in case the Stanleys overheard.  'What about what we talked about yesterday, after you gave me my present?'

    'It won't hurt to wait another week,' she hissed back, silencing him with a look as Steve finally managed to convince his mother that he was fine.

    Trevor wasn't so sure they COULD wait another week - according to the letter on the first page of the magic book, he would be meeting the mysterious master wizard, Zalthor, next Saturday.  He wondered exactly how they would meet - would Zalthor come here?  Would he do something normal and come in through the front door?  Would he just appear out of nowhere in the blink of an eye?  Or, would he arrive in some other strange way, like stepping out of the refrigerator while Trevor, his mother and Steve were sitting down to breakfast?

    'Well,' said Mrs Talbot, after Steve's parents left for the city.  The three of them were standing in the lounge, wondering what to do next.  After a short pause she said: 'Well, there's no use in you boys staying inside all day on a beautiful day like this.  Why don't you have a quick breakfast and then go for a walk around the block or something, while I whip us up some chocolate chip biscuits?'

    So, after downing some toast and a glass of orange juice (milk for Steve), Trevor and Steve headed out the front door and out the front gate, turning right onto the footpath.  Across the street, Mr Roach sat sleeping in a fold-out chair next to his beloved car-turned-pancake, the crowd of onlookers having dispersed some time the previous afternoon.  They continued on up the street, moving onto the nature strip to let Mr Tripp and his hulking bulldog Tank pass going the other way, the always insanely happy dog licking their hands as it reached them.

    'Good morning, gents, what’s the word?' said Mr Tripp, speaking his usual greeting and then living up to his name by stumbling as his shoe found a crack in the footpath.  Trevor and Steve fought back a fit of giggles as Tank took the opportunity to circle his owner twice, wrapping his legs with the leash, causing him to stumble again.  They helped him get untangled and Mr Tripp, who always had a better sense of humour that Mr Roach (then again, who didn't?), laughed.  'This mongrel is more trouble than he's worth.'  He gave Tank a scratch behind the ears, which Tank read as a signal to bound on down the footpath.  'See you later!' called Mr Tripp as he was dragged along, already nearing the corner of the street.

    Trevor and Steve waved as Mr Tripp and Tank rounded the corner and then they continued on their way. 

    'I didn't know you had an uncle,' said Steve suddenly.

    'Well, that was random,' said Trevor.  'What are you talking about?'

    'Last night at tea.  The coin trick you did - your mum said your uncle taught that to you?'

    'Yeah, so?'

    Steve grabbed his arm and stopped him, a frown on his face.  'So, why didn't you ever mention him?  I've told you about everyone in my family and you've MET most of them!'

    Trevor laughed.  'Yeah, because pretty much all your family live here in town.  My uncle....'  Trevor hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a good cover story.  Why wouldn't he have mentioned his fake uncle to his best friend in the world?  He couldn't very well tell Steve the truth - that there was no uncle - as Steve would then question why he and his mother had lied in the first place.  At last he said: 'He and Mum had a falling out.  I don't know what it was about, but it was pretty serious.  She doesn't like me talking about him, to anyone.  Sorry.'

    Steve shook his head.  'No worries, I should have kept my fat nose out of it.  It was obvious something was up, with the way you guys were pretending to laugh last night.'

    'It was that obvious we were pretending?'

    'A blind and deaf dimwit would have seen right through it.'

    They said no more about it for the rest of the walk, turning the conversation to upcoming movies they couldn't wait to see and, of course, to gossip.  Trevor had it on good authority that Principal Wallins had taken to waltzing in his office with a hat rack to practise for the upcoming dance-off at the town hall.  Steve, meanwhile, had found out some juicy info about Billy Mason from Billy’s brother.  Apparently, Billy had tried to kiss Janie Smith and had got punched in the face as a result.

    'That explains his black eye,' said Trevor, laughing.  'And, why he stuffed Mike in a locker when he called him a fat loser.  Usually he just throws a hissy fit and goes to a teacher.'

    Half an hour later, they were walking back through the front gate of Trevor's house when they stopped in their tracks simultaneously.  The front door, which they had seen and heard Mrs Talbot close behind them half an hour before, was half open.  Through the opening, they could see partly into the lounge room where stood a statue of a full grown man, facing away from them, that hadn't been there half an hour ago.    Trevor's first thought was that he had accidentally performed more magic, but that didn't seem likely - he hadn't been anywhere near the house when this must have happened.  Then, he remembered what his mother had said about being on the run.  Was this person coming for him and his mother and got turned to stone for his efforts? Moving cautiously, Trevor walked to the door, placing a hand upon the wood.  It felt strange, as though energy was pulsating through it.  As he pushed it open the rest of the way, he saw that there was more than one statue in the house.  Three more were in the lounge room, two men and a woman, and two were at different levels upon the stairs, as though they had been turned to stone while chasing someone.

    'Mum,' he thought.  'They were chasing Mum and she did this.'

    He guessed he shouldn't be surprised that his mother could use magic - his had to come from somewhere, after all - but he felt confused as he ran a hand over the stone shoulder of the man nearest the door.  Until now, everything had seemed like a fantastic dream.  He was a wizard, like in the stories, and was going to have adventures and everything would be fun and games.  But now....

    'Geez, what the heck happened in here?' said Steve. 

    Trevor looked at him and wondered why he looked so worried, and then he saw what his friend was seeing.  Trevor had been so wrapped up in thinking about the statues that he hadn't seen the chaos around him.  The coffee table in front of the couch was broken, as though someone had been thrown through it.  The grandfather clock by the entrance to the lounge was on its side, the glass over the clock face shattered.  The top of the stairs looked as though it had been hit by a grenade, a short piece of wood all that remained of the railing, dangling over a wide hole where the top three steps used to be.

    'Mum,' Trevor whispered.  He ran up the stairs without a second thought, dodging around the statues.  He heard Steve call for him to wait, that they should call the cops or something, but that was the last thing he wanted to do.  He had to make sure that she was okay.  He leapt over the hole at the top of the stairs, panicking slightly that he wouldn't make it, before some unseen force lifted him.  He stopped dead at the top of the stairs.  His heart faltered.

    Mrs Talbot's bedroom was at the very end of the hall, facing the stairs.  The door, always closed during the day, was broken in half and completely off its hinges.  All along the hallway there were long scorch marks.  Dread filled his stomach as he saw a pile of ash on the carpet near the other end of the hall.  It was spread wide, as though people had run right through it, but it still looked to be in the shape of a person.

    'That's not Mum, then,' he thought, calming himself down.  Whoever was chasing her wouldn't have kept going in such a hurry if they had got her.

    'Trevor, help!'

    Trevor suddenly remembered that Steve was with him, and turned to see his friend hanging precariously over the edge of the hole in the stairs.  One hand gripped what remained of the railing and the other was out of sight.  The wood groaned as though close to breaking and Steve swore.  Trevor rushed forward and grabbed Steve's free hand and they worked together until, finally, Steve was safely over and away from the edge of the hole

    'Thanks, mate,' said Steve, breathing heavily.

    Trevor nodded, but didn't have enough breath in him to say anything.  He waited a few moments for his heart to stop hammering in his chest and then Trevor got up and went up the hall towards his mother's bedroom.  He sidestepped the pile of ash, taking care not to let even the edges of his shoes touch what was once a living, breathing person.  He thought momentarily about whom they might have been - did they care at all about hurting his mother, about hurting Trevor?  He pushed the thought aside as he stepped over the broken remains of the bedroom door.

    'Well, it's not that bad in here,' said Steve as he entered the room behind Trevor and looked around.  He was right - besides the broken door, nothing in the bedroom indicated a struggle.  Steve stepped around Trevor, and examined the scene like a cop on TV.  When he reached one of the bed-side tables, he frowned and ran his hand over the top of it.  'What's this?'

    Trevor joined him by the table and saw a fresh carving etched deep into the wood.  It looked, if Trevor had to guess, like a word written in a language that he had never seen.  He touched it, and felt the same strange pulsating that he had felt in the front door.  Suddenly, the etching glowed bright red and an envelope appeared on the table beside it.

    'What is going on here?' Steve hissed, his eyes wide as they locked on Trevor's face, looking as though he was trying to read his mind.  'Trevor?  First the coin thing at dinner last night, then we go for a walk and when we get back it looks like a war has been fought in your house and your Mum is missing, and now this letter just appears out of nowhere!  What is going on?'

    Trevor shifted uncomfortably.  'What makes you think that I have any idea?'

    'We’re best friends, Trev,' said Steve, rolling his eyes as though it was obvious.  'I can read you like a book.  What is going on?'

    He realised there was no point in lying, not just because Steve would know, but because they were wasting time - they needed to find his mother now.  'I'm a wizard.  I found out yesterday, when my powers woke up.  Mum ordered me not to tell you,' he added quickly.  'If it was up to me, we'd have spent last night trying out the spells in my new spell book.  Now that I think about it, that's probably why she asked me not to tell you - magic is supposed to be a secret in this world.'

    Steve stood with his mouth open for so long that, when he eventually did talk, his mouth was so dry that he sounded like he had swallowed a frog.  'You're a wizard?'

    Trevor nodded impatiently.  'We'll get into it later.  I have to read this.'  He held up the envelope.

    He tore open the envelope and felt something fall out.  It landed on the carpet with a barely audible thud and Trevor saw that it was a gold key.  He picked it up, frowning as he examined it: at one end was a five-pointed star that was identical to the one on the cover of his magic book, and at the other end were four prongs joined together to form a cross.  He slipped it into his pocket and opened up the letter.  It was written in his mother's handwriting.  He read it out loud, so Steve could hear it as well.

    'Dear Trevor,

    'If you are reading this, then I have been kidnapped but you are safe.  I pray that the Brotherhood has come for us after your tenth birthday; otherwise it will be too late for me before you have a chance to read this.  I wish I could tell you everything now, but even with the protections I have built around the etching hiding this letter from hostile eyes there can be no guarantees that they have not broken through it.  So, I'll tell you what I can.

    'If I have not already told you, you are a wizard and we are not from Earth.  We come from a world between worlds, the world at the centre of the universe, called Nowhere.  There, magic is openly embraced and accepted, but there are some (the Brotherhood, primarily), who use it for evil means.  It was they who killed your father and forced us to leave our home, and it will have been they who have taken me.  DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME!

    'What does she mean?' Trevor demanded, looking at Steve.  'Of course I've got to look for her - She's in trouble!'

    He looked back at the message, but his eyes were watering and the rest was too blurry to read.  Steve took the letter from him and continued, his free hand on Trevor's shoulder, patting reassuringly.

    'They want you and have since before you were born.  I don't know why, but there is one who will know - the Keeper of Magic, Zalthor.

    'You must go to Nowhere and travel to Zalthor's manor, at the bottom of the Bottomless Lake.  I have enclosed a gold key, which will unlock the door that appears when you speak the incantation at the end of this letter.  That door will take you into Nowhere, but you must find your own way from there.'

    'Good luck, Trevor.  B-berro ... I can't read this, its gobbledygook.'

    'You're not supposed to read it,' said Trevor, wiping his eyes and taking the letter.  'I'm the wizard, remember?'

    He looked down at the spell and groaned.  It really was gobbledygook: BERRO'ILNEGAR FA'OLROTOLOH TOLOHEL DE'OLOLRO. It took Trevor ten tries to make any sense of how to say the words, and another three tries after that before he finally got it right.  The words on the page glowed and faded.  But other than that, nothing seemed to happen.

    'Did you say it right?' said Steve, touching the magic words nervously, as if he thought he might get zapped.

    'No idea.'  Trevor was being completely honest.  Maybe nothing happened even if you got one or two of the words right and the rest wrong?  He was about to try again when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. 

    There on the other side of the bed, built right into the far wall, was an elegantly carved door, wide enough that two grown men could walk through it together.  A large five-pointed star, again like that on the cover of the magic book and on the key, protruded from the middle of the door, surrounded by an intricate pattern of weaving and spiralling lines that went all the way around the door.  The handle was made of gold, moulded into the shape of an outstretched hand, reaching for a handshake.  Below the hand was a keyhole in the shape of the five pointed star.  Trevor elbowed Steve, who turned and gaped as he saw it, and then they both walked up to it.

    'Well, open it up!' said Steve, beside himself with anticipation.  Trevor nodded and took the key out of his pocket, and then stopped.

    'Oh, wait,' he said and ran out of the room and down the hall until he came to the closet.  He prayed that the magic book was still where he had left it.  It was and, after he pulled it out, he ran back to the door with the magic book tucked tightly under his arm.

    Steve's eyes went wide when he saw the book.  'Is that …?'

    Trevor nodded and Steve let out an excited squeal.  'Calm down, mate.  This isn't all fun and games.'

    He took the key out of his pocket again and lined up the star with the keyhole, then inserted it and turned.  The lock clicked and Trevor withdrew the key, slipping it back into his pocket before clasping the golden hand.  He tried to turn it, but the hand wouldn't move, and then Trevor realised what he was supposed to do.  The handle moved as he lifted it up and dropped it down and after a few seconds of polite handshaking, the door swung towards him.  Trevor pulled it all the way open and this time it was his turn to gape in amazement.

    'Are you sure you want to come with me?' Trevor asked Steve, who shrugged.

    'What else am I going to do while my parents are away - go to school?'  They both laughed, and then he added, 'Seriously, though, if it was my mum in trouble, I would want you there to help me.  It's only right that I come along, however useless I end up being.'

    'You'll never be useless, mate,' said Trevor, clapping him on the shoulder.

    They crossed over the threshold together, into Nowhere.

    Trevor and Steve came through the door to find themselves in the middle of a field of gold flowers, which seemed to stretch forever in all directions, rising on tall stems so that they were almost as tall as Trevor's shoulder.  The only other thing they could see was the silhouette of a house sitting on a hill on the far horizon.  Trevor closed the door behind him, in case unexpected visitors came into the house, went upstairs with concern and found this portal to another world - they might think it strange.  After he closed the door, two things happened: the door vanished and a crack broke the still air around them like a gunshot.

    'What the heck?' cried Steve, stuffing his fingers in his ears far too late.  'What was that?'

    Trevor shrugged.  'The sound of a vanishing door, I guess.  So, this is Nowhere?'

    'If the door brought us to the right place.  It certainly looks like we're in the middle of nowhere.  What now?' said Steve, picking one of the flowers and sniffing it thoughtfully.  'Whoa, check it out!  It smells like hot chocolate.'

    Trevor took it, but he didn't smell hot chocolate.  He smelled pancakes.  After a few seconds the smell changed and the delicious aroma of his mother's home-made chicken schnitzel wafted into his nostrils.  His mouth started to water and he wondered if the flowers might taste how they smell.  He raised the flower to his open mouth and went to pop it in.

    'NO!!!'

    Trevor jumped, nearly dropping the flower, as a girl suddenly leapt out from the flowers and slapped the flower from his hand.  Steve let out a yell of surprise and tripped over, falling and landing on his backside.  The girl was the same height as them and appeared around the same age.  Trevor stared open-mouthed at the girl who was looking at him as if it had been HE who had hit HER, and not the other way around.

    'Are you insane,' she demanded, her voice high and squeaky, 'or are you just an idiot?'

    Trevor didn't say anything, dumbstruck, and the mysterious girl turned on Steve, who was currently massaging his backside with a grimace on his face.

    'Why didn't you stop him, or are YOU an idiot, too?'  She noticed what he was doing and furrowed her brow as though the jury was in on that subject.  She hesitated a moment, looking uncertain, and then she helped him to his feet.

    Finally, Trevor managed to speak.  'Who are you, and why did you hit me?  And, why were you spying on us?'

    'First of all,' the girl said, brushing her hair out of her face with her fingers, 'I wasn't SPYING on you, exactly.  I was hiding from you.'

    'Hiding?' said Steve.

    The girl nodded.  'We don't get many strangers on our farm, just people Papa knows and trusts and is happy to lend a room for a night – strangers are what Papa says are dangerous and should be avoided.  There are bad people in the world,' she finished.  She looked the boys up and down and added: 'Though, you two don't look capable of hurting a Feelbee - not that you would want to, of course.'

    Trevor and Steve exchanged a look, both looking as though they thought this girl as crazy as she thought they were.  The girl, missing the silent exchange, went on, listing a great many things that neither Trevor nor Steve had ever heard of.

    'An angry Feelbee is even more dangerous than a Blubbertub that's been bitten by a Topsy-fly!' she declared, in a tone which indicated that what she said made perfect sense and was common knowledge to anyone who was not a complete dunderhead.  'Papa was originally going to buy a herd of them - Blubbertubs, not Feelbees - but they are more trouble than they’re worth.  No, it was a lot better and less expensive to grow the Amelnede plants,' she waved a hand over the golden flowers.  'Plus, there's more demand for these than Blubbertub milk!'

    'So, this is an Amelnede plant, then?' said Trevor, picking the flower off the ground.  'Is it poisonous?  Is that why you knocked it out of my hand?'

    For what seemed like the millionth time, the girl - who still hadn't told them her name or asked them theirs - looked at Trevor as though he dressed up like a baby, speaking in goo-goos and gagas.  Gruffly, he said: 'Would you quit looking at us like that?'

    'Like what?'

    'Like you think Steve and I are idiots!'

    The girl smirked.  'There's an easy solution - stop asking stupid questions.  By the Devine, it's like you don't actually know anything!  This is all basic, common knowledge I'm talking about.  What kind of Nowherian can't recognise an Amelnede plant?  Or Feelbees?  Or-'

    'We're not from Nowhere,' interrupted Steve, before the girl got on what would have undoubtedly been an unstoppable spiel.  'We come from a place called Earth and there are none of these whatchamacallit plants or Feelbees or Blubbertub's or anything in our world.'

    The girl looked from Steve to Trevor, who shrugged and said: 'It's true, though I was born here, according to my Mum before she got kidnapped.  That's why we've come, to find some wizard named Zalthor so I can-'

    He didn't get to finish.  The girl, who until that moment had been backing away from them, perhaps thinking that they might be dangerous after all, suddenly laughed and cried: 'Zalthor!  You're in luck - Papa just got Floatie from him the other day, telling him to keep an eye out for some kid called Trevor.  That's you, is it?'

    Trevor nodded and took a step backwards himself, as the girl's hand shot towards him.  She didn't slap him this time, but instead grabbed his arm in a tight grip and started pulling him in the direction of the house on the horizon.  The girl was surprisingly strong and it took a lot of squirming before he managed to wrench his arm out of her hand.  She looked back at him, a frown on her face.

    'We don't have time for talking anymore,' she said, impatiently.  'I overheard Mr Zalthor talking to Papa, and he said to get you to him as soon as possible after you showed up.  You say you’re not from Nowhere, so you won't know this as well as me, but you don't want to keep a wizard waiting!'

    She tried to grab his arm again, but he side-stepped her.  'I am capable of walking without being dragged along.'

    The girl nodded and her mood brightened considerably, though she was looking very anxious as all three of them ambled through the gold flowers.  Every few steps she shot a furtive glance at Trevor, as though she was afraid he might try to run away.  After half an hour of walking, she apparently accepted that he was coming along without complaint and stopped looking paranoid.  The house appeared to be a little closer than when they had started, but it was still a far way off.

    'So,' said Trevor, 'ARE the flowers poisonous, or what?'

    The girl, who had been staring off into space, didn't appear to have heard him.  He was about to ask again, when she let out a laugh and said: 'Duh!'  She caught the look on his face and apologised.  'Yes, the whole Amelnede plant is poisonous until it is properly crushed up and treated, after which it can be used to cure a whole lot of ailments.  I don't know the whole process of that, though Papa does obviously.  What I can tell you is that the Amelnede plant is made of three parts: the root, which is used to fix cuts and that sort of thing, the leaves, which get rid of poisons, and the flower, which is what you were stupidly about to eat.  The flower helps treat people who are crazy or can't remember stuff.  If you eat a part of the plant when its untreated, however, then the effects are reversed.'

    'So, the flower would have made me crazy?' said Trevor.

    The girl nodded.

    'You know a lot about this stuff,' said Steve.  'I can't imagine that everyone in Nowhere would be able to explain these things so well.'

    She blushed.  'Thanks, you're sweet,' she said, and then smacked herself in the forehead so suddenly that Trevor and Steve both jumped.  'I never introduced myself, did I?  Sorry about that, I'm Maley.  Maley Mesnel.'

    She held out her hand and Trevor and Steve both shook it.

    'You're Steve, right?' she said.  Steve nodded, and she added: 'Were you born in Nowhere, too?'

    'Nope, I've always lived on Earth.  You don't seem too surprised that we come from another world.  If we had said something like that back on Earth, they would have locked us in the loony bin?'

    'In the what?'

    'Never mind,' interjected Trevor.  'They would have thought we were crazy, that's all.'

    'Oh,' she said, and then clearly confused, she added: 'Why would they think that?  Everyone knows that there are an infinite many worlds.  It's-'

    'Common knowledge,' Steve finished.  'Yeah, not on Earth, it's not.'

    Maley laughed, saying: 'Wow, your world is weird,' and then watched unconcerned as what looked like a purple slug with bird wings circled one of the gold flowers.  She caught the bewilderment on their faces and laughed again.  'Don't tell me that you boys have never even seen a Flappyflop before?'  She shook her head and muttered, 'So weird.'

    'Yes, she is,' Steve hissed to Trevor, out of Maley's earshot.

    Trevor nodded silently, and then asked Maley, 'How long do you think it will take to get to your house?'

    'See that house there?' she pointed to the house on the horizon.  They both nodded.  ‘That’s where the plant-pickers live.  We'll get there in two turns and then my house is on the next hill over.  It should take us only three turns to get there from here.  Three tops.'

    Trevor thought about asking what she meant by "turns" but his brain was getting so crammed with new, strange things that he was starting to get a headache.  Instead, he merely nodded and continued to follow her towards the hill, still on the horizon though double in size to when he had last checked.

        Trevor asked Maley to tell him when one turn passed and measured the time on his watch - it turned out that one turn was roughly the same as ten minutes.  As they continued to make their way through the seemingly never-ending field of gold Amelnede plants, Steve filled Maley in on all things Earth while Trevor flicked absentmindedly through his magic book.  For her part, Maley gasped in amazement as the conversation turned to perfectly mundane things, such as traffic lights and money.

    'You don't have money in Nowhere?' said Trevor, looking up from his reading of how to turn invisible.  The key, it seemed, was to picture wherever you were through the eyes of someone else, without you there, and it was best to practise in front of a mirror before trying to out in public, or you'd likely make only your clothes disappear.

    'No, we just trade stuff,' she said, looking at Trevor as though she had forgotten he was there.  She grabbed a handful of gold flowers and held them up.  'These are worthless as they are, unless you're looking to sell poisons at Undertown, but once processed I could trade this little handful for three Blubbertubs, a Grunkalunk and a handful of shiver-berry seeds.'  She noted the look on his face and hastily added: 'Never mind, I'll show you when we get to the farm.'  Then her eyes fell on the open magic book and she started.

    'Are you okay?' Trevor said, as Maley started hopping from one foot to the other excitedly and looked ready to do a cartwheel.

    'You're - you're a WIZARD!' she breathed, awestruck.

    Trevor exchanged a look with Steve.

    'Well, yeah, but I thought it was obvious?'  He held up the magic book.  'I've been carrying this under my arm the whole time we've been walking.'

    'All I saw was an old, purple book.'  Her hands were slowly stretching towards the book, her fingers flexing as though she was dying to reach out and snatch it from him.  Thankfully, she stopped herself and instead said: 'I've never met a real-life wizard before.  I mean, I've spoken to some over the Floatie-ball, but never in PERSON.  THIS IS SO COOL!'

    'Ok, then,' said Trevor, unable to find a polite response.  He had never been very good at handling praise, he always got embarrassed, and this time was no different.  With all the charisma of a dung beetle, he finished: 'Good to know.'

    This, apparently, was more than good enough for Maley, who treated his clumsy reply as though he had just called her the prettiest, smartest and overall greatest person that he had ever met.  Steve, looking a little annoyed at being ignored, cleared his throat.

    'Say, Maley,' he said, so loudly he was almost shouting, 'did I tell you yet about how I came first in the 100 metre sprint for the regional inter-school athletics competition?'

    Maley read his face perfectly and, though she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, she put on a very convincing show of being impressed.  Then, she turned back to Trevor and said: 'Can you do any tricks yet?'

    The three of them stopped walking long enough for Trevor to try and make it snow, but all he managed to do was give himself a headache.  He sighed - this was going to be a lot harder than the book made it seem.  He thought briefly about trying to make himself disappear, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to be running around a field full of poisonous plants in nothing but his birthday suit.  Besides, even if the spell worked, he hadn't yet looked up how to reverse the effects.

    'Sorry,' said Trevor, 'I guess I need more practise.  To be fair, I only got my powers yesterday and that was the first magic I actually tried to do properly.'

    Slightly disappointed, they resumed walking.  Maley took the time to inform them that they would reach her house in less than two turns, and then she turned her attention to Steve so he could continue to teach her all about the wonderments of Earth.  As the end of the first turn approached, the field of gold suddenly ended as they reached the base of the hill, which didn't seem all that big up close.  It was steep, though, and the boys' legs were screaming for a break by the time they reached the top.  Maley, who had climbed up and down the hill at least five times a day, said they were as weak as Flubberwobbles, but agreed to stop and rest.

    'Where is everyone?' said Trevor, sitting on one of the wood crates stacked by the side of the plant-pickers' house.  The house, three storeys tall and made of a combination of bricks, stone, metal and what looked like diamond, was completely silent and there was nobody in sight, either in or around the house.  In fact, if it wasn't for Maley's assurances that the opposite was true, Trevor would have guessed the house to be deserted.

    'Yeah,' added Steve, rubbing his aching legs.  'Is it their day off, or something?'

    Maley flashed them her are-you-stupid-it's-common-knowledge look, but then seemed to remember that they wouldn't have any idea of whatever was so obvious.  'It's Trading Day.  That's the day of the week where farmers and other people with things to swap go to the market-city down south.  Papa usually goes, but he couldn't today because he was waiting for you to arrive.  Everyone else will be back tomorrow afternoon.'

    'So, Trading Day is like our weekend,' said Steve.  'But, instead of not doing any work, you simply do LESS work?'

    The concept of the weekend was one of the things that Steve had explained to Maley earlier, and one of the topics that she just couldn't seem to grasp ('You just do what you want all day?' ... 'Yeah, well, until you grow up, of course.  Then you have to do work, even on a Saturday!’... 'So ... you just do what you want ... all day?  No work or chores or whatever?’... 'Well, you do get homework from school and jobs to do around the house, but nobody actually does them.’... 'So, you're lazy, then?’... 'No - ugh!  Let's start this again....').  Still, she nodded and then asked them if they had had enough of a break yet.

    'Papa's waiting,' she said.

    So they crossed the top of the hill.  Trevor and Steve stopped, much to the annoyance of Maley, to marvel at the sight before them.  It was a farm the likes of which they had never seen before.  At the base of the hill was a wide, round space where what looked like a cross between a lizard and a centipede (the result as big as a medium-sized dog) was chasing a flock of three-eyed featherless birds, each one with legs a foot long.  To the left of the merry chase was a paddock surrounded by a blue wooden fence, where an elephant-sized yellow pig-creature was glaring up at them while beating its bat-like wings fruitlessly.

    'That's a Grunkalunk,' said Maley, waving cheerfully at the creature, which roared and tried to smash through the fence to get at them.  'His name is Plumpy, because he's so fat.  Normally, a Grunkalunk can fly, but Plumpy's gotten so heavy he can't lift himself off the ground.  The best he can do is run around.  Don't go in there, though,' she added, as though thinking Trevor and Steve would like nothing more than to meet a mean, hungry monster face to face.  'He attacks anyone he doesn't know.'

    Opposite the Grunkalunk's paddock, on the other side of the round space, was what looked like a greenhouse, except that it was taller than the hill and had a great many transparent chimneys sticking up from its roof and here and there out of its walls.

    'That's where we process the Amelnede plants.  One floor for each of the three parts, plus one for storage.  And, that,' Maley said, pointing to the house opposite the hill and over the round clearing, 'that is my and Papa's house!'

    The house was very wide, stretching from the far end of the Grunkalunk paddock to somewhere beyond the entrance to the processing plant.  It was two-storeys high, not counting the attic, and was built using shining silver stone.  It would have looked enormous in any neighbourhood on Earth, but it was absolutely dwarfed by the immense factory.

    'I can see why you need so many workers,' said Trevor, eyes running over the massive building.  'Do they work in the processing plant as well, or just in the fields?'

    'They do both jobs,' she said, sighing (though she didn't call him an idiot this time).  'Not the house, though.  The Cleaners live in there with us, making sure all the rooms are spotless, in case we have visitors - which we do, at least three times a month.  That's my job on Trade Day - to help clean everything and make sure all the guests are comfortable.'

    'So, this place is a farm AND a hotel?' Steve asked as they began down the hill.

    'A what?'

    'A hotel,' he explained.  'It's a place where travellers spend the night when they are on a trip somewhere.'

    'Oh, I guess it is, then.'

    They crossed the round space, dodging around the lizard-centipede ('Tickle is his name,' said Maley, 'He's what we call a Clickaclacka').  Steve did fine until he accidentally tripped over one of the birds, which were apparently called Poleflappers, and landed hard on his back.  Tickle seized the opportunity and started crawling over him, licking his face with a long, green tongue while Steve giggled madly and begged for Trevor and Maley to rescue him.

    'He likes you!' exclaimed Maley, grabbing his hand.  Trevor took his other one and they pulled Steve to his feet with little effort.

    'Well,' said Steve, brushing himself off and grimacing as he wiped sticky slime from his cheeks.  'Now I know why you call him Tickle.'

    Maley laughed and waved for them to follow her.  She stopped so suddenly that they both ran into her, her laugh cutting off at once and her smile faltering, her eyes wide in fright as she looked towards the house.  Marching out of the front door was a tall man who looked like he could punch Superman's head right off without even trying.  He looked like he was going to explode at any moment.

    'Papa,' Maley whispered.  She turned to look desperately at Trevor.  'I may have neglected to do my chores today.  Can you make me invisible until he calms down, please?'