(By Keith Errington)

Most magic users on the island of Hopeless, Maine, generally practice privately, quietly. This is either because of the public disapproval of magic*, which ranges from malicious tutting to firebrands and pitchforks, or because they have evil intent and wish to be away from prying eyes. Many just want to keep their magical knowledge to themselves and do not want to share it. Good witches don’t want to enable clumsy, unprofessional amateurs who might accidentally cause harm, and evil demons fear a powerful rival might emerge if they share too much.

*Incidentally, public disapproval of magic only extends to public discussion; privately, most islanders will happily turn to magic at the first opportunity if they think it will better their position.

But there will always be one, or two, or perhaps a few whose pursuit of fame will outweigh all these considerations. There are always individuals who will shout from the rooftops their achievements given the opportunity. There are always those who crave the stage, who are addicted to performance and the adulation of their fans.

Malcolm the Mighty actually didn’t have many fans, but he strived for fame nonetheless. And I am almost ashamed to say this, as it is such a storytelling cliché, but… there was a girl… Sheena. She was, perhaps, not the brightest of girls; she hung out with someone called Malcolm the Mighty for a start, but she was pretty and fairly harmless. Malcolm was besotted with her (although neither of them would have understood what the word meant).

Unfortunately for Malcolm, there was a rival, Percy the Powerful. Percy was a slick, silver-tongued boy who, although far from powerful, had caught Sheena’s attention with his good looks, his flowery prose and his large wand.

When I said that Percy was not powerful, that was probably an understatement; the truth was that neither of these wizard wannabes had much magical talent at all. Percy had found a book of magic tricks and the associated props amongst his father’s old belongings; these were parlour amusements no more. But Sheena was impressed with the way he produced flowers from a hat, ‘magically’ unknotted two ropes, and turned water into confetti.

Malcolm, however, was at least the real deal. He was distantly related in some way to a famous witch and was born with a small amount of innate magic, which he had yet to master or even awaken.

Then, one day, things changed. He was in the right place at the right time. An elderly witch fell into a river and was knocked unconscious just as Malcolm was passing, and he dove in and rescued her. In return, she gave him one wish. She told him to think about it carefully and not to think of anything stupid. So he asked for magic beans and… no… wait… that’s not this story, is it? No. Wishes are so lazy. No, what actually happened is that the witch recognised the latent magic in Malcolm and gave him a slight boost, the ability to perform one spell, and only one spell, as many times as he liked. And it would only work if he caused no harm to anyone with it. She asked Malcolm what spell he would like.

Malcolm thought about this for a few seconds: “I have always wanted a flying horse! If I could fly on my horse and pick up Sheena, she was sure to be impressed!”

The Witch gave a snort. “You’ve barely enough talent in you to create a flying ant, young boy. And they can already fly!” She considered him, he seemed like a good lad, and he had just saved her life. “You are lucky I am a powerful witch. I cannot give you a flying horse spell; you do not have the power, but the ability to make another animal fly; I can give you.” And she did, along with a contract to sign, which included a long list of provisos, wherefores, legal clauses and a whole section absolving her of any responsibility for pretty much everything. Malcolm happily signed it. Now he would show that charlatan Percy!

For weeks, Malcolm practised the spell. He started with mice and found that after a little practice, he could make them rise a few inches in the air. Sadly, they did not sprout wings; they just rose up for a few seconds, then fell, and at that point, he would catch them.

After a while, he moved on to bigger creatures. He once levitated a spoonwalker, which was so shocked that it dropped all its spoons on the floor. Malcolm laughed at this, and the spoonwalker fell to the floor. It was unharmed, but it silently gathered up its spoons and left as quickly as it could, clearly grumpy and annoyed.

All the while, Malcolm searched for a horse, but there were none to be found. Not to be deterred, Malcolm searched for other animals that might, at a pinch, serve as a worthy steed for a mighty magician such as himself. Oh, and carry Sheena, too, of course.

Finally, he was ready. He decided the best time to cast the spell would be at dawn, nice and early, to save any public interference. And he had picked a quiet spot round the back of a slate-roofed cottage. There was no smoke issuing forth from the chimneys, so he had assumed that no one was home. As the object of the exercise was to impress Sheena and humiliate Percy, he invited them to see the spectacular feat. He felt strong, he felt magical, he felt… mighty. However, what he actually was, was overconfident.

When Percy and Sheena turned up, they could not believe their eyes. Malcolm had underestimated the comic effect of his set-up. Both Percy and Sheena burst out laughing, for there was Malcolm, sitting on a donkey.

Malcolm went red. Did they not understand how important this was? This was his moment. He waited until they had finished laughing. This took quite a while, as when one stopped, the other’s laughter would set them off again.

“I am about to fly!” Announced Malcolm.

This triggered yet another round of raucous laughter. And Malcolm had to wait again for their attention.

“This is no trickery, no sleight of hand. This is MAGIC!” he announced. More laughter. There is only one thing for it, thought Malcolm, and he said the magic words that he had been given, waved his oakfir wand in his right hand, and gripped the donkey’s mane tightly in the other.

At that point, there was a whoosh, a thud, a thunk and an “Ow” – the latter being Malcom expressing discomfort at having been unseated from the donkey and falling a few feet to the ground. Nobody was quite sure what had happened; magic is not logical, and it has an unsettling effect on the brain and the senses.

“What a waste of time” Sneered Percy. “No flying donkey here!”

“No, wait,” said Sheena wondrously. Where is the donkey? Malcolm has made a donkey disappear! An entire donkey. Oh my!” She looked at Malcolm adoringly as he dusted himself off.

“Well, maybe he used some mirrors or smoke or something. That’s how it’s done, you know” (Percy had clearly never heard of the Magic Circle vow never to divulge how a trick was done.) “I’m going home.” Stated Percy. “Are you coming with me, my princess of the dawn?”

“No.” Said Sheena petulantly, just short of stamping her feet. “I’m staying with Malcolm the Mighty.”

She helped Malcolm up. Suddenly, there was a noise from the cottage, and they both heard a voice shout, “Who’s there?” They both ran away, arm in arm, laughing.

The lady of the cottage came out into her garden in her nightdress and looked up for the source of the strange and unsettling noise she had heard coming from the slates on the roof. There she saw, in the uncanny half-light of an early summer morning, in amongst the chimney pots, a donkey. A donkey. On the roof… her roof. What evil omen could this be? What dark demon had marked her out for this curse? And how the hell had the donkey gotten up there anyway? She shivered, shook herself, and rushed back inside her cottage, bolted the door, went straight back to her bed and pulled the sheets up tightly around her head.