The Spell of Whirldungen

By A. J. Madelin

When a mysterious letter arrives during the summer holidays, Chris Spratt’s life is changed in a way he could never have imagined. Along with his friends Rosie, Ollie and Will, Chris has been given a place at the strange school of Cluifers, owned by the evil Dr Black.  
When the friends discover that Dr Black has magically created the school to find a way to destroy them, they realise they must find the awful and long-hidden Spell of Whirldungen before Black can get his hands on it. 
Accompanied by magical friends, shape-shifting moggy-cloggs, Chris’ genie and a talking book who knew Chris’ missing father, readers travel with Chris and his friends to the amazing Library of Leaves in the Academy of Mandria – a magical and, as it turns out, highly dangerous place. What with cloaks that can kill, gargoyles that come to life and a terrible spell to find, Chris and his friends are on a steep learning curve with no room for error. Who will get to the Spell of Whirldungen first?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Apr 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789010855

A. J. Madelin

A. J. Madelin has always loved writing, painting, storytelling and reading books about magic. During her time as a classroom assistant, she enjoyed creating stories for the children. She lives with her husband in Farnham, Surrey.

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Copyright © 2018 A. J. Madelin

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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ISBN 978 1789010 855

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

To Gary and Chris for all their love and support.

Contents

1.Weird Beginnings

2.Purple and Black Post

3.The Fletton

4.A Strange School

5.The High Quintar

6.A Glimpse into the Past

7.Moggy-clogg

8.Cluifers

9.Tom

10.Ms Musty and

11.Madam Franzipan

12.The Spriggan

13.Woodball

14.Snakes in the Basement

15.The Book

16.Along the Dark Passage

17.The Portal

18.Zac

19.The Book Wakes Up

20.A Spell Most Dyre

21.Gumpers

22.The Portal Finder

23.Hiding Humbugs

24.Peculiar Plants

25.Curses and Coat Hooks

26.Babagazi

27.The Library Of Leaves

28.Ned the Gnome

29.The Best Laid Plans

30.Checkmate

31.Another Purple Letter

1

Weird Beginnings

Chris felt so scared he could hardly breathe. The tall, hooded figure had appeared out of nowhere. Silent and threatening, it stood a little way in front of him. Chris knew he should run, but his legs seemed frozen. He tried to shout, but his voice wouldn’t work. Suddenly, the figure started to drift towards him, the long cloak it wore, moving over and round it like sinister fingers of black fog. About an arm’s length away, the figure stopped. The hood of the strange garment slowly slid away and Chris saw a man’s face. He had pale, glowing eyes and long black hair with a single white streak. For a brief moment he stared at Chris, then with a swirl of his cloak, raised his hand to his mouth. Chris glimpsed something small in his fingers, but couldn’t see what it was. All at once there was a sound. It was shrill and jarring, came two or three times and then died away. In the deep silence that followed, it occurred to Chris that the man had called something… Something awful.

Chris woke up, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He turned on the bedside light and stared at the familiar surroundings of his room. He had to make sure he really was awake and the nightmare over. He’d had other nightmares and hardly taken any notice of them, but there was something about this one. What was it? The man was creepy enough to scare anyone, but it was more than that. As he thought about it, the answer suddenly came to him and he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt – the nightmare was a warning. And there was something else, he’d been holding a weapon. He could still feel the shape of it in his hand. Chris frowned. How did he know all this? Why now? Why this time? It didn’t make any sense.

He thought some more and, with a shock, realised it was the fourth time this week he’d had this particular nightmare! And before that? It must’ve been quite a few times. So when had it started? He closed his eyes, concentrating… It was the fifteenth of April – the night of his birthday. He remembered waking up the next day and wondering if he’d eaten too much cake.

Chris opened his eyes and remembered something else, almost as scary as the nightmare itself. How ever many times he’d tried, he’d never been able to talk about it because other words seemed to come out instead. An unpleasant thought wormed its way into his head. What if he kept having the nightmare for the rest of his life? A mile or so from where Chris lay in bed, was the village of Fransham and an old, derelict place called Wits End Farm. The farm had been empty for a long time and its land and buildings were smothered by a vicious tangle of undergrowth and prickly, stabbing trees.

The people who lived in Fransham called Wits End ‘The Eyesore’ and were always complaining how it spoilt their tidy village, but there was nothing they could do about it. Someone had bought the old farm quite a few years ago, although they had never lived there or farmed the land. And so ‘The Eyesore’ just got worse and worse, until now. Until this particular midnight in August.

Just as Chris finally drifted back to sleep, purple flames burst into life over the ruins of Wits End and out of them a new building, vast and shadowy, rapidly took shape.

The moment the building was finished, the flames spread over the land belonging to the farm and changed the tangled trees and undergrowth into tidy woodlands and neat, well-kept grounds. Along the boundaries of the farm they caused a high stone wall to spring up with a grand, pillared entrance and big, spiky gates.

Finally, a large sign wreathed in purple fire sprouted out of the grass verge to one side of the gates. It said:

Cluifers Day and Boarding School

Co-Ed 9–18 Years

Then the flames disappeared and the magic, for that’s what it was, changed. Travelling round the world in an instant, it made all the adults on the planet believe whatever it wanted them to believe.

Savouring the last traces of this magic, Doctor Cluifer Black stood on one of the balconies of his newly-created school. Evil, utterly ruthless and completely without mercy, Doctor Black came from another world. Not a world far away in another galaxy, but one as close to this world as a raindrop on your skin. But you couldn’t get there without the help of magic. Of course Doctor Black knew how to travel between the two worlds. He’d been here before.

Doctor Black closed his eyes, mulling things over in his mind. Two facts he was sure of – a date of birth and the location for his school. Buying the old farm all those years ago had been a wise move. He yawned, opened his eyes and stared at the dark shapes of the trees and bushes in the grounds. So far it had all gone to plan. Using so much magic had left him tired and drained, but he would recover – he had a deadly purpose to spur him on. He shivered, suddenly feeling the pre-dawn chill, and immediately the cloak he was wearing wrapped itself more tightly around him.

The cloak was a horrible creation. Woven from a poisonous black fog and stitched with threads of terror, it would smother anyone – save its master – who put it on. It was called the Cloak of Nightmares. Standing beside Doctor Black, was his wife Nocturna. Nocturna was wearing a cloak as well. Hers was a slick, shiny garment whose colour shifted between the crimson brightness of fresh blood and the deepest rusty-plum of stale blood. Made from material dyed in gory deeds and sewn with needles of utmost cruelty, only Nocturna could wear it. Anyone else would bleed to death in an instant. She adored her hideous cloak. It was called the Cloak of Sanguinolent.

Nocturna looked at her husband. Now? she asked.

Cluifer Black nodded.

Nocturna opened her arms, spreading her cloak like crimson wings. Come my darlings, she whispered.

In the gloom below, three cat-like creatures appeared and, in less than six heartbeats, climbed the ivy-clad wall to the balcony. They were yowlgurs, creatures created by Nocturna from the darkest of dark magic. Tolattern, Deathary and Sobeedvile were the names of these horrors. Bigger than leopards and covered in stiff, black fur that looked as if it had been brushed the wrong way, they carried their whip-like tails high over their backs. Their ears and muzzles were long and pointed, and when they opened their greedy mouths you could see every one of their wicked, needle-like teeth. Padding silently up to Nocturna, they sat down at her feet and stared at her with mad, red eyes.

Nocturna took three purple and black striped envelopes from a pocket in her cloak, and held them up for her pets to see. Immediately, sensing some great wrongdoing in the making, they growled and gnashed their teeth and slid their great tearing claws in and out of their huge, hairy paws in appreciation of the evil talents of their mistress.

Nocturna smiled approvingly and gave them an envelope each to hold between their teeth. Then she whispered addresses and directions into their long, pointed ears. It had started!

2

Purple and Black Post

Heaps of mail, Mum! Chris waved the handful of post he was carrying.

Mrs Spratt looked at her son and smiled. Oh thanks, love. I expect most of it’ll end up in the recycle bin.

It was the next morning and Sylvia Spratt was sitting at her kitchen table drinking a mug of herbal tea and watching TV. Mrs Spratt was an attractive lady with blonde hair and a kind, forgiving nature. She had four children, Chris and three girls – Maudie, Libby and Becca. The girls were fifteen years old and identical triplets. Like their mother they were very pretty and like her, had blue eyes.

Chris was eleven. He had light brown hair and hazel eyes that sometimes turned quite green. He was about average height for his age and good at wrestling. The wrestling came in useful sometimes. Chris hated bullies. On the last day of term he’d ended up having a fight with a boy in his class who was picking on one of the first years. Chris had wrestled him to the ground and sat on him. He was also a brave boy, although so far his bravery had not really been put to the test.

As Chris put the pile of post on the table, a long stripy envelope slid out from the heap and landed on his mum’s lap.

What’s this? Mrs Spratt picked up the strange envelope. She stared at it for a second then put on her glasses for a better look.

Chris pulled up a chair beside her and stared at the strange envelope as well. Purple and black stripes? He screwed up his nose. Weird. But despite saying this, he had to admit the stripy envelope was impressive. The purple stripes were deep and rich and the black stripes had a velvety look to them, even though they were clearly made from paper. Exactly in the middle of the envelope was a silver label with his mum’s name and address in black, spidery writing.

He helped himself to a bowl of cereal. Looks posh, but there’s no stamp.

Mrs Spratt continued to stare at the envelope. No… It must have been delivered by hand. She turned it over. A wax seal! I’ve never had a letter with a wax seal before.

Chris looked at the blob of black wax and could just make out the letters ‘C. R. B.’ on it.

Never… his mum repeated, her eyes still on the envelope. But she made no move to open it.

Like I said – weird. Weird and posh. Go on then, Chris said between mouthfuls, see who it’s from. But his mum went on staring at the strange, stripy envelope with its strange, black seal. Finding her behaviour a bit odd, Chris stopped munching. You alright, Mum?

Mrs Spratt shook her head. I think I feel a bit headachy, she said slowly. It must be all these stripes.

Chris’s eldest sister, Maudie, came into the kitchen. Still half-asleep she slumped on the empty chair next to her mum. Mum, I think there’s a spot coming on my nose. Can you see it?

Mmm? Mrs Spratt’s eyes remained fixed on the stripy envelope.

Mum, are you listening?

Mrs Spratt glanced briefly at Maudie. Then she turned her attention back to the envelope in her hand.

Something was very wrong, Chris thought. Why did his mum keep staring at the envelope? Blimey, Maudie! he said loudly. It’s minging – mega pus! He waited for his mum to tell him off, but she didn’t take any notice.

Maudie leant round Mrs Spratt to glare at her brother. Like it’s any of your business! She shook her mum’s arm. "Mother! You haven’t even looked at it."

Oh Mother, I’ve got this ginormous spot on my nose. Am I going to die? said Chris, clutching his throat and making gargling noises.

SHUT – UP! Maudie shook her mum’s arm again, quite roughly this time. "MUM!" she shouted in Mrs Spratt’s ear.

With an effort, Mrs Spratt tore her eyes away from the envelope. Oh for goodness’ sake, Maudie! she snapped. This is just another of your fusses over nothing! Her gaze returned to the stripy envelope.

No one spoke. Maudie sulked in injured silence, while Chris puzzled about what was wrong with his mum. Being irritable was so unlike her. She always had time for all of them and only really got cross when pushed to extremes.

The silence was finally broken by his sister Libby wandering sleepily into the kitchen. What’s for breakfast, Mum? she said, yawning.

Chris wasn’t at all surprised when his mum didn’t respond. Worried, but unsure how to make things better, he stared at Libby’s black PJs with their blue, bunny pattern and decided they did nothing for her. Come to that, neither did her uber-sized bunny slippers which, in his opinion, not only looked stupid but also posed a constant threat of tripping her up. Despite the slippers, Libby made it to the table and sat down.

Libby was closely followed by Becca, the youngest of the triplets. Is there any fruit? she asked in a voice full of suffering. "I so completely can’t eat cereal." For some reason Becca had her duvet wrapped round her which trailed behind her on the floor. She flopped onto the remaining chair.

Chris listened to his sisters talking in their sleepy ‘moanytones’ as he called it. Still at least they were acting normally. He listened some more… this morning’s topic was hair. Yesterday the girls had spent nearly all day bleaching and dying theirs. Normally their hair was light brown like his. But now Maudie’s was silver-blonde, Becca’s bluey-black and Libby’s cherry-red. The only improvement Chris could see was that it made them easier to tell apart!

He finished his cereal. Mum, aren’t you ever going to open that letter? Getting no reply he shook her arm, but more gently than his sister had done.

His mum frowned. What?

That letter – aren’t you going to open it? He waited anxiously. Finally Mrs Spratt turned it over and broke the seal. Chris picked up some of the wax. It had an odd, slightly perfumed, musty smell that reminded him of his sisters’ incense sticks. Poking the bits into a groove in the table top, he watched as she took out a sheet of purple paper from the stripy envelope and started to read.

From what Chris could see, it had been written in the same spidery writing as the address, but in silver ink to show up on the purple paper. At the top of the page, also in silver, was a crest.

Oh my goodness! I don’t believe it! cried Mrs Spratt. She put the letter down on her plate where she continued to study it.

The girls who were too busy chatting took no notice, but Chris – who’d been trying to see what the letter said – asked, What’s the matter, Mum? What does it say?

Mrs Spratt picked up the purple letter up again. This is from Doctor Black, principal of Cluifers. Well, not just the principal – he actually owns it.

Owns what, Mum?

Mrs Spratt tried to concentrate. Her head felt like fog today. How did she know that Doctor Black owned the world famous school of Cluifers? Of course, she suddenly thought with relief, she must have read it somewhere. It’s just so incredible, she continued, ignoring Chris’s question. Doctor Black’s offering free places for all of you. And I’m sure the fees are astronomical. She started scanning the letter. Dah-di-dah, dah-di-dah– here it is, ‘ …would like to offer a free place at Cluifers for any children in your family between the ages of nine and eighteen.’ It says to make it fair they did a random selection of the electoral role, and our name was picked. She shook her head. Cluifers. I just can’t believe it.

Yeah, but a free place for what, persisted Chris. "What is Cluifers?"

Cluifers? said Libby, surfacing from her conversation about hair and worried she was missing something.

Yes, Cluifers! said Mrs Spratt crossly. I’m talking about Cluifers!

Maudie pulled a face. Why do you keep saying ‘Cluifers’, Mum? It sounds so random.

What’re you all on about? asked Becca.

"I’m not on about anything, Becca, said Mrs Spratt. She looked up from the letter at their blank expressions. Cluifers – the school? Well, it’s not just a school, she corrected herself. Cluifers is the school in the whole country – possibly the world – and you’ve all been offered places there – for free! You can start next term," she said flatly as if there was no more to discuss on the subject.

"Well, I’ve never heard of a school called Cluifers, said Becca. I mean what kind of name is that?"

Where is it, then? asked Chris.

"Fransham! His mother sounded amazed that he didn’t know. We’ve been past it loads of times." For a split second Mrs Spratt did wonder how she knew the school was at Fransham – she hadn’t even looked at the address, but the thought soon left her.

"Mum – there’s no school at Fransham called Cluifers, argued Libby. There’s only the first school on the green by the turning to Nancy’s." (Nancy was Libby’s best friend).

I’m not talking about the first school, Libby, Mrs Spratt said. I keep saying how you girls go around with your eyes shut and this proves it. Of course Cluifers is there – it’s why Fransham’s so well known. The school’s been there for ages – at least two hundred years, maybe more. It’s very old and very famous. She stared at the letter again.

Well I’m not leaving Freydon to go to some decrepit old school with a crappy uniform, however famous it is, said Maudie, who hadn’t twigged the change in her normally mild and democratic parent.

Becca wrinkled her nose. "Me neither. It sounds gross!"

"No one ever listens to me, said Libby. I’m telling you there’s no school at Fransham called Cluifers – period! Someone’s having you…"

Oh my God, Mark Clair! screamed Becca. She grabbed the TV remote, zapped the volume to pain level and stared at the screen with a rapt expression.

…the Prime Minister, his wife Mimosa and their son Mark, the nasal voice blared out, seen boarding the plane for their holiday in the Canaries. There was a close up of the PM waving and oozing charm and flashing his dazzling grin at the cameras. Then there was a close up of his wife, but she just gave a simpering smile and looked away. Lastly there was a close up of Mark waving and grinning. Mark had clearly inherited his father’s good looks and dazzling smile, but Mark’s charm didn’t just ooze, it sloshed off him in bucket loads! Mark gave a final wave and smile at the cameras. In the Spratt’s kitchen the girls all groaned.

Chris rolled his eyes in disgust and looked at his mum, but her attention was still on the purple letter.

The reporter’s voice blared on making Chris’s ears ring. We asked Mr Clair if he could tell us any more about the sudden decision, announced in this morning’s early news flash, to send Mark to a fee-paying school for his last two academic years. However, the PM refused to comment. Mark, who is just sixteen and was attending a London grammar school, will be joining the exclusive Cluifers this autumn where he will be board…

OH… MY… GOD! screeched three voices simultaneously.

Mark Clair at the same school as us, moaned Becca.

I know, groaned Maudie. "I so can’t wait."

Me too, said Libby in a voice that suggested she was going to faint.

Thought you said the school wasn’t there, said Chris as the three girls jumped up from the table. And what about crappy uniforms and stuff? he called after them as they ran out the kitchen. Chris knew they were heading for their mobiles, which were banned from the meal table. Libby’s bunny slippers and Becca’s duvet made it halfway across the floor!

Chris turned the TV off. Mum, have I got to go to this school? Can’t they just go? They all want to now.

With an impatient tut, Mrs Spratt actually took her eyes off the letter for a moment. She looked at Chris and he was shocked to see her normally gentle blue eyes so cold and steely. You’re all going, she said firmly. I’m not prepared to discuss it any further. Her gaze returned to the letter.

You’ve not discussed it at all, Chris thought unhappily. Out loud he said, It won’t be the same without Ollie, Rosie and Will. Ollie, Rosie and Will were his closest friends and – until the arrival of Doctor Black’s letter – Chris was going to go to the same local school as them.

His mum didn’t look up. You’ll still see them, she said in a voice that sounded as if she didn’t care at all.

Mum, are you alright?

She didn’t answer.

Chris put some spread on a slice of bread. Something was very wrong. His mum had never been like this before. He sighed, scraped the last of the spread out of the tub and thought about his friends whom he’d known since first school.

Ollie and Rosie Stubbs were twins. However they didn’t look remotely like brother and sister let alone twins. Rosie – real name Rosemary – had long, curly, red hair and green eyes. She was quite small for her age, had an incredibly sharp brain, a fiery temper and only answered to the name Rosie. (There had been more than a few run-ins with teachers over this).

Ollie – Oliver – was a few minutes older than his sister and as easy-going as Rosie wasn’t! Tall and thin with dark hair and brown eyes, Ollie was a quiet, serious boy with a dry sense of humour.

Will – William Jones – was the joker of the four friends. Outstaring a teacher who’d quite justly accused him of something was his all-time favourite joke. The teacher was always the first to look away, deciding that perhaps after all it was his or her mistake! The thing was that, with his blond, curly hair and big blue eyes, Will always looked innocent. Many a person in authority had been completely taken in. Will had an older sister, Antonia, who was friends with Maudie. Antonia was the one person Will could never fool, however hard he tried… Chris’s phone rang, breaking into his thoughts, but his mum didn’t seem to hear it.

Beginning to feel alarmed at her strange behaviour, Chris went to the dresser and picked it up.

Hi Chris! said Rosie. Guess what? Mum and John… (John was Rosie and Ollie’s stepdad) got a really weird letter today and…

Purple and black stripes?

Yes! Did you get one?

Yeah.

Are you going? this time it was Ollie who spoke. Mum said it was a chance in a million and we had to. And John agreed.

Yeah. Mum said I had to, too.

Will’s just rung. He got a letter, said Rosie. He and Tonia are going.

Chris felt a rush of happiness. They’d all still be together. That’s great!

What about the Pains? Rosie wanted to know. The Pains (short for Pains-in-the-Bum) were Chris and his friends’ nickname for his sisters.

They didn’t want to at first. Then they found out Mark Clair’s going and it’s like they can’t wait to get there.

Yeah, we saw him on TV this morning, said Ollie. What a poser! Anyway, can you come for lunch? Will’s coming and John said he’d take us to see Disaster 3.

Great. I’ll ask. Mum?

Mrs Spratt didn’t seem to hear him.

Hang on… Chris went over to her, but his mum didn’t respond when he asked about going to Ollie and Rosie’s. He tried again and this time she nodded absent-mindedly.

Yeah, that’s cool, Chris said. He watched his mum uneasily. Do you think there’s something weird about the letters? he asked his friend. Only mum keeps staring at hers.

John and mum did too, said Rosie. But the man came about the boiler and they put it away. Ollie reckons they find it hard to believe it’s all free. Look we’d better go. See you later.

Chris hung up and tried to talk to his mum again. You did hear me say about going to Ollie and Rosie’s for lunch, didn’t you?

Nothing.

John’s taking us to see Disaster 3.

Nothing.

It’s on at the North Pole. We’re flying up there this afternoon.

Finally Mrs Spratt spoke. That’s nice, she said in a dreamy sort of voice.

Really concerned about how she was and convinced it was all to do with the purple letter, Chris decided to try and take it from her. He eased the letter gently from his mum’s fingers, expecting any moment she would say something or try and stop him, but she didn’t. She just sat staring at her empty hand! Really spooked by her odd behaviour, Chris put the letter back in the envelope and hid it under some tea towels in the top drawer of the dresser. He wondered if his mum would be cross when she realised what he’d done.

Suddenly, Mrs Spratt took a deep breath. She gave Chris a broad smile. Well, that’s all settled then, she said brightly, in the warm voice she normally used.

Chris noticed his mum made no mention of the letter, which was strange. He expected her to ask where it was, but she didn’t. Ollie, Rosie and Will are going to Cluifers, he said. Their families got picked same as us.

His mum smiled again. There you are, then. It’s going to be such a wonderful opportunity for you all.

Right. Chris wondered how the ‘opportunity’ would turn out. He was really glad his friends were going to Cluifers. The school was bound to be strange if the purple letter was anything to go by.

Mrs Spratt started tidying away the breakfast things. Doctor Black said in his letter that as soon as I write back accepting, the school’ll contact Melphicks about uniforms and arrange a day to get them. It’s nice, isn’t it, a school like Cluifers using our store in Marnham?

So that was that, Chris thought. A new school. Well it would’ve been a new school for him and his friends anyway, but something about this Cluifers felt very odd and, though he couldn’t say why, a bit menacing as well.

Later on, as Chris was getting dressed, he kept thinking about his mum’s strange reaction to Doctor Black’s letter. He decided to get rid of it. He knew she’d get other letters from the school, but maybe they wouldn’t affect her like this one. And if they did, well he’d get rid of them too.

Chris pulled on his jeans and went down to the kitchen. No one was around, so he was able to take the stripy envelope out of the drawer without any awkward explanations. Then he grabbed a box of matches from the shelf and ran down to the far end of the garden where they had their bonfires.

He took out the purple sheet of paper. The silver, spidery writing was quite hard to read, but it only told him all that his mum had said. Finally in place of a signature was a tall, narrow ‘B’ written in black ink that could hardly be seen against the purple paper. Under the ‘B’ was the silver-stamped name, ‘Doctor Cluifer R. Black’.

Chris crumpled up the letter and envelope and set fire to them. Intent on what he was doing, he started as a voice heavily laden with suspicion broke his concentration.

What’re you doing? said Maudie. Mum’s looking for you. She…

A loud snarl cut off what his sister had been going to say and a dark shape shot out of the charred bits of paper.

3

The Fletton

For a couple of seconds the dark shape hovered over Chris like an impossibly low cloud. Suddenly it split in two. One part bore down on him – the other must have got Maudie, as Chris heard her scream before all sound was cut off and everything went dark. Then an unbearably heavy weight started to press him to the ground. Just as he was finding it hard to breathe, he saw a strange flash of blue in the darkness. There was an angry