Uncle Wizard studied his spell book, scribbled down a few notes, then examined the contents of his potions cabinet. A hundred dusty bottles lined the shelves. There were rows of colourful powders, and tubes of frothing, bubbling liquids; but there was not a single potion he needed for his teapot spell.
He stared at his notes and frowned.
‘I’m sure I had frozen goblin breath?’
‘You did,’ said Bob the Pigeon. ‘It melted!’
‘Oh yes, so it did! I should really have put that one in the fridge. What a smell that was!’
Bob shook his head. Uncle Wizard had been muddling through his potions cabinet for hours. He could have made a thousand cups of tea in the time, but oh no, he was going to make a magical teapot. A teapot that never ran out of tea, no matter how much you poured.
It was certain to be a disaster.
‘Look,’ said Bob, ‘why don’t you just throw any old powders into your magic pot, then blow us up. That’s what’s going to happen anyway.’
Uncle Wizard shook a determined finger.
‘Not this time Bob! I might not have any of the right potions, nor do I understand a single word of this spell, but why should that stop me? This magical teapot is going to be a winner!’
Bob sighed, put down his magazine and waddled off to hide inside a kitchen cupboard. He curled up in a saucepan, pulled the lid over his head and braced himself for the explosion.
‘One infinite teapot coming up!’
Uncle Wizard rubbed his hands. He stared at the ancient lettering and elaborate diagrams of the spell, decided it was all too confusing, and decided to just make it up as he went along. He grabbed the most colourful bottles and dustiest tubes from his potions cabinet and set to work.
Into his magic-pot they went.
‘Three hippopotamus-eggs,’ he cried. ‘Two spoonful’s of bingo-juice. Eight slivers of moon-fog. A dabble of deep-fried bubble-mud, and a dash of magnetic-balloon gloop.’
His magic-pot rattled like a washing-machine full of bricks. Colours flipped and curdled. Sparks of lightning zapped about like shooting stars.
‘And finally,’ cried Uncle Wizard, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘Two bottles of whiz-bang powder!’
Kaaaboooooooooom!
The spell exploded in a carnival of light and colour. Magic whipped through the wigwam like a tornado. A radiator rattled, an armchair swivelled, a lampshade turned into a pink spotted slip-slap snake. There was a bang, a boom, a blinding flash. Uncle Wizard coughed and spluttered, then wafted away the smoke. Eagerly he looked to the kitchen table.
There was a teapot. A perfect teapot!
‘Success!’ he cried. ‘Unlimited tea anytime we want!’
Bob clambered out of the cupboard and stared at the teapot. He tugged at his bobble-hat uneasily.
‘Are you sure? Since when did teapots wear capes and green-tights.’
Uncle Wizard frowned at the teapot. It certainly was a strange colour; luminous green. On one side of the teapot was a large crest with the letters ‘CT’ emblazoned upon it. On the other was a flowing cape of red silk. It also had a black mask above its snout.
Uncle Wizard grimaced.
‘It’s not a traditional teapot,’ he said with a nod. ‘I mean, to some it might look more like a superhero. But, don’t worry, this spell was a winner. Tea for everyone!’
Bob looked on doubtfully as Uncle Wizard collected two cups from the kitchen. He placed them on the table, then reached for the teapot.
He never got anywhere near it.
With a sudden cry the teapot leapt into the air. It flew around the wigwam, its red cape fluttering behind it, then came face-to-face with a rather startled Uncle Wizard.
‘Sir, this is no time for tea. Somewhere out there is a teabag in distress. I fear this is the work of my arch enemy, Instant-Coffee Man. I will stop his evil ways if it’s the last thing I do! Pray for my safe return. I must away!’
And with that the teapot flew out of the wigwam’s doors, crying:
‘Captain Teapot to the rescue!’
Bob watched it disappear down Happy Apple Lane, then shrugged.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?
Uncle Wizard nodded slowly.
‘Probably a good idea.’
The End
Copyright Richard Anderson 2013
He stared at his notes and frowned.
‘I’m sure I had frozen goblin breath?’
‘You did,’ said Bob the Pigeon. ‘It melted!’
‘Oh yes, so it did! I should really have put that one in the fridge. What a smell that was!’
Bob shook his head. Uncle Wizard had been muddling through his potions cabinet for hours. He could have made a thousand cups of tea in the time, but oh no, he was going to make a magical teapot. A teapot that never ran out of tea, no matter how much you poured.
It was certain to be a disaster.
‘Look,’ said Bob, ‘why don’t you just throw any old powders into your magic pot, then blow us up. That’s what’s going to happen anyway.’
Uncle Wizard shook a determined finger.
‘Not this time Bob! I might not have any of the right potions, nor do I understand a single word of this spell, but why should that stop me? This magical teapot is going to be a winner!’
Bob sighed, put down his magazine and waddled off to hide inside a kitchen cupboard. He curled up in a saucepan, pulled the lid over his head and braced himself for the explosion.
‘One infinite teapot coming up!’
Uncle Wizard rubbed his hands. He stared at the ancient lettering and elaborate diagrams of the spell, decided it was all too confusing, and decided to just make it up as he went along. He grabbed the most colourful bottles and dustiest tubes from his potions cabinet and set to work.
Into his magic-pot they went.
‘Three hippopotamus-eggs,’ he cried. ‘Two spoonful’s of bingo-juice. Eight slivers of moon-fog. A dabble of deep-fried bubble-mud, and a dash of magnetic-balloon gloop.’
His magic-pot rattled like a washing-machine full of bricks. Colours flipped and curdled. Sparks of lightning zapped about like shooting stars.
‘And finally,’ cried Uncle Wizard, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘Two bottles of whiz-bang powder!’
Kaaaboooooooooom!
The spell exploded in a carnival of light and colour. Magic whipped through the wigwam like a tornado. A radiator rattled, an armchair swivelled, a lampshade turned into a pink spotted slip-slap snake. There was a bang, a boom, a blinding flash. Uncle Wizard coughed and spluttered, then wafted away the smoke. Eagerly he looked to the kitchen table.
There was a teapot. A perfect teapot!
‘Success!’ he cried. ‘Unlimited tea anytime we want!’
Bob clambered out of the cupboard and stared at the teapot. He tugged at his bobble-hat uneasily.
‘Are you sure? Since when did teapots wear capes and green-tights.’
Uncle Wizard frowned at the teapot. It certainly was a strange colour; luminous green. On one side of the teapot was a large crest with the letters ‘CT’ emblazoned upon it. On the other was a flowing cape of red silk. It also had a black mask above its snout.
Uncle Wizard grimaced.
‘It’s not a traditional teapot,’ he said with a nod. ‘I mean, to some it might look more like a superhero. But, don’t worry, this spell was a winner. Tea for everyone!’
Bob looked on doubtfully as Uncle Wizard collected two cups from the kitchen. He placed them on the table, then reached for the teapot.
He never got anywhere near it.
With a sudden cry the teapot leapt into the air. It flew around the wigwam, its red cape fluttering behind it, then came face-to-face with a rather startled Uncle Wizard.
‘Sir, this is no time for tea. Somewhere out there is a teabag in distress. I fear this is the work of my arch enemy, Instant-Coffee Man. I will stop his evil ways if it’s the last thing I do! Pray for my safe return. I must away!’
And with that the teapot flew out of the wigwam’s doors, crying:
‘Captain Teapot to the rescue!’
Bob watched it disappear down Happy Apple Lane, then shrugged.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?
Uncle Wizard nodded slowly.
‘Probably a good idea.’
The End
Copyright Richard Anderson 2013
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