Author's Note: Sorry... it's very long. :) Read and review, people!

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Chapter Three

Which Is Far Too Full Of Pink

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"Er-hem." Wizard Norland twinkled at Charmain. "Do you mind, my dear?"

Charmain did not look up from her book.

He coughed again.

Charmain still didn't look up.

Very firmly, he took hold of the book and pulled it away from her.

She looked up at him. "Oh! Sorry, Great Uncle William."

He chuckled quietly and sat down next to her. "That's quite all right. Unfortunately, I must go to the Royal Mansion for the day. The King needs my help – something to do with an old book he found, apparently. Can I trust you and Peter not to make any mischief?" He smiled at her. "If it's possible, I would appreciate you moving my armchair to the window. It's so nice to sit in the summer sunlight, don't you think?" He patted her shoulder affectionately. "Naturally, you needn't do anything else around the house. If you want to, you can go to Market Square and do some shopping, but don't take Waif with you. There are cats everywhere at the moment, I don't know why."

Charmain smiled at him. "Thanks, Great Uncle William. Why don't you take Waif with you? She'd love to see Jamal and his dog."

"What a wonderful idea." He stood up stiffly. "I will see you tonight. I will probably be home around seven. Oh – and order supper before I get home? Just tap the pantry door and say 'Supper, with –' I think roast chicken would be very nice, don't you? With potatoes, I think, and that carrot and onion thing that Peter does so well. Of course, it all comes raw, but you have that little book of food spells, don't you? Have a lovely day, my dear."

"You too, Great Uncle William," Charmain said, looking longingly at her book.

He walked awkwardly towards the door, leaning on his walking stick. He turned towards Charmain. "Oh – and Charmain, dear?"

"Yes?"

"If you and Peter get into a fight, please don't use magic. Last time, it took a week for the apple tree to stop throwing rotten apples at passer-bys."

She laughed. "Great Uncle William, I learned my lesson. You needn't worry."

He twinkled at her again and left to have much the same conversation with Peter, omitting 'for the apple tree to stop throwing rotten apples' and replacing it with 'for the mould to fall off Charmain's best dress.'

Peter went to the study as soon as Wizard Norland had left. "Charmain, I have got a wonderful idea."

"Hmm?" Charmain flicked a page of her book.

"Stop reading and I'll tell you!"

She put her book down. "What is it, then? Are we going to set the kitchen on fire? Paint the roof green?"

Peter did not take offence at her sarcasm. "No. We're going to redecorate the living room."

Charmain was interested in spite of herself. "Oh yes? And how are we going to do that?"

"With magic, naturally." Peter grinned and took a book from the floor. "'Household Spells,'" he recited. "'Chapter Three, Redecoration and Renovation.' Didn't you say yourself that it looked boring?"

Charmain nodded. "It is very dull down there. All mouse-coloured. But shouldn't we ask Great Uncle William first?"

"No!" said Peter excitedly. "We'll do it as a surprise. He'll be so pleased. It's his birthday, or did you forget?"

Charmain's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no! I did forget! My father gave me a cake to give him, but I didn't even wish Great Uncle William a happy birthday before he left."

Peter looked smug. "I did. Anyway, it might get us out of having to do the laundry tomorrow."

Charmain was a little doubtful. "All right," she said eventually.

They had to flip through Household Spells for a while before finding something that looked promising. A Spell to Change the Colour of Walls, it said.

Charmain read the list of ingredients aloud, interrupting herself with comments and instructions.

"A grey feather – Peter, could you pull one off the feather duster? A hair from the tail of a dog – that's easy, I'll grab one of Waif's from her bed. A sheet of paper – go get that from the study, would you? A blade of grass – that shouldn't be a problem. An egg – pantry, I suppose. A silk handkerchief – what an odd ingredient! I think I have one. Two purple flowers – from one of the hydrangeas perhaps. A glass bowl – kitchen? And a twig – there'll be some in the backyard. This spell needs two people. Well, that's easy enough."

She got up to get everything that she hadn't told Peter to get when he came back, sweating heavily. "It's hot up there," he said by way of explanation. He put the three things on the arm of the sofa. "Could I open the window?"

"I'm sure you could, if you wanted," said Charmain vaguely. "Drat this ingredient! A silk handkerchief, of all things. I only have one, and I'd rather like to keep it."

"Could I open the window?" Peter repeated, not listening to what she was saying. "It's quite hot."

"Yes, you are," said Charmain, even more distractedly. Realising what she had said, she blushed slightly. "Yes, go ahead, open the window."

Peter had already flicked open the latch and was pushing the window open. A cool breeze rushed through, slightly rearranging the hydrangeas on the coffee table. Revelling in the fresh air, they didn't notice.

"That's better," he said happily. "Now, I'll get the grass, the twig and the flowers if you get the glass bowl, the egg and the silk handkerchief."

"Bother that!" said Charmain. "I'm keeping my good handkerchief. I'm sure cotton will do just as well." She tossed her plait over her shoulder and fetched her oldest cotton handkerchief from her room. "There. It doesn't matter so much if I lose this one."

Peter was already in the living room when Charmain got back from searching. He had put the grass and the twig by the other things, but was looking at the flowers with a slightly worried look. He showed them to Charmain.

"They're not really properly purple, they're sort of mauve," he said. "I couldn't find any really purple ones. I think they'll do, though."

Charmain agreed and looked back at the book to read the instructions.

"Stage One: Place hair and grass into the bowl, and break the egg into it."

Peter, listening, had already done this.

"Stage Two: Mix together with twig.

"Stage Three: Lay the feather on top of the mixture, making sure not to let it sink.

"Stage Four: Clasp hands with the other magician over the bowl, and say 'Deuce' at the same time."

Charmain put the book down and held her hands over the bowl. Peter hesitated.

"Come on, Peter," she said crossly. "This was your idea."

Peter sighed and took her hands in his.

His hands are so warm, she thought.

She nodded. "Deuce!" they said in unison.

The feather seemed to shiver a little and sunk slowly into the eggy mixture.

Peter dropped Charmain's hands like they were hot coals, and picked the book up from the floor.

"Stage Five," he said. "Write upon the paper with the mixture, using the twig as a pen, the colour you wish the walls to be, and fold the paper in two."

He looked at Charmain. "What colour?"

"Off-white," she said confidently. He wrote it quite neatly on the paper, and folded it. He looked back at the book.

"Stage Six: Fold the paper small enough that it fits in the bowl, and place it on top of the mixture, reciting the word 'Margarine' as you do so."

"Stage Seven," Charmain said, taking the book from Peter. "Stand the twig in the bowl, and drape the handkerchief over the twig.

"Stage Eight: Both magicians should take a flower and say 'Mosquito' three times, dipping the flower into the mixture each time. On the last recital, leave the flower in the mixture."

"Do we have to say 'Mosquito' at the same time?" Peter wanted to know.

Charmain looked back at the spell. "It doesn't say. We probably should, just in case. It can't do any harm."

"Mosquito, mosquito, mosquito!" they both said, dipping the flowers in the mixture.

Again, nothing seemed to happen, although Peter later swore that the flowers had changed from a pink-mauve to a blue-mauve.

"Stage Nine," said Charmain, "and this is the last one, thank heavens! Clasp hands over the bowl as in Stage Four, and say 'Florentines' in unison."

Peter sighed and took Charmain's hands. "Florentines!" he said, Charmain following half a beat behind.

Something definitely happened then. Bright orange smoke rose from the bowl, almost suffocatingly thick. Peter and Charmain both ran to the window and stuck their heads out, coughing.

"Something must have gone wrong," said Charmain between coughs.

"Nonsense," said Peter, wheezing. "The smoke's already started to go away."

They turned around, and Charmain screamed. True, the smoke was dissipating, but the walls were not even nearly off-white. The floor, the coffee table and the trolley were no longer dark wood. The chairs were no longer mouse-coloured.

Instead, everything was an eye-searing shade of pink.

Heading into the kitchen, they were relieved to find that everything was the same as normal in there. The bathroom, the bedrooms and the study were all normal as well. However, as Charmain so cheerfully put it, "we have approximately eight hours until Great Uncle William gets back, and one of his favourite rooms in the whole house is bright pink. If we don't manage to fix it by then, we'll be doing all the chores for the next seventeen months. And we'll have to scrub the blue fur off the water tank."

Charmain headed back into the living room, leaving Peter to search for books on getting rid of spells. She noticed that the glass bowl, and everything in it, had completely vanished. She wasn't surprised. However, she was surprised that the book, too, seemed to have disappeared.

She waved her hand at the wall. "Go white!" she screamed. "Now! I order you!"

Nothing happened. She tried again, holding her hand against the wall. Again, nothing happened, except that when she took away her hand, it was the same bright pink as the walls. When she looked at them, so too were the soles of her boots.

Charmain swore quite eloquently.

Peter came back in. He dumped a large pile of books on the sofa. "That's all the ones I could find."

Charmain groaned. "It'll take us hours to look through all of those! We haven't time!"

Peter wasn't listening. He had noticed a hand-shaped mark on the wall where the pink wasn't quite so bright, and boot-marks along the floor.

"Charmain," he said cautiously. "Look at this."

He bent down and rubbed his hand across the floor. When he took his hand away, it was bright pink, but the floor looked quite a bit browner. He wiped his hand on his jacket, leaving a pink stain. He grinned at her. "We don't need spell books! We just need to scrub."

Charmain made a face. She hated scrubbing as much as she hated earthworms.

"Don't look like that," Peter yelled from inside the pantry. "Yes, I know you're scowling. This is the quickest way. Or would you rather read all the books for a possible repair?" He continued without waiting for a reply. "Fill a bucket full of hot water and soap, would you?"

Charmain did so, with very bad grace.

It was midday before Peter and Charmain had found enough rags to clean the living room properly. They also had found a ladder, which would be useful to clean the ceiling. Charmain's stomach was grumbling as she swiped a damp, soapy cloth across the floor.

Unfortunately, it didn't wipe away the pink. In fact, the spot of floor where she had wiped seemed to be glowing even brighter.

"Try it without soap!" yelled Peter.

Glowering, Charmain soaked another rag in plain hot water. This worked a lot better. Peter dumped the soapy water into the garden and refilled the bucket with plain water.

It took them four hours to clean away most of the pink. However, no matter how hard they scrubbed, they couldn't change the colour of the armchair and sofa. They remained obstinately pink. It might have stayed like that, if Peter hadn't hit on the bright idea of finding another spell book, helpfully called Changing Colours: How to Make Things the Colours You Want Them to Be. It was a very thin book, with pages falling out, but the two of them managed to find a suitable spell that only needed a wooden bowl and a fresh leaf.

"Stage One," said Charmain. "Tap the item with the leaf and say the colour you want it to be, while seeing the colour in your mind's eye."

She looked at Peter, who shrugged. "Red," he suggested.

Charmain tapped the sofa with the leaf. "Crimson," she said after a bit of thought.

"Stage Two," said Peter, looking at the book. "Place the leaf in the bowl and place it on top of the item."

She did so.

"Stage Three," said Peter. "Scream as long and loud as you are able to in one breath."

Charmain took a deep breath, placing the bowl on the sofa.

And she screamed.

Peter covered his ears, wincing.

Charmain screamed and screamed and screamed. Finally, she stopped, and flopped on the ground. "What's next?" she rasped.

"Stage Four, and this is the last one. Take the bowl from the item, close your eyes, and clap your hands three times."

Charmain closed her eyes and clapped.

"Did it work?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"Crimson's red, right?"

"Yes."

"Then it worked."

Charmain opened her eyes with relief. The sofa was now a comfortable shade of red that complemented the dark wooden floor. However, the armchair was still painfully bright pink.

Peter fetched another leaf and repeated the spell, this time performing it on the armchair. Charmain repeated it once more to change the walls from a dull, mousey sort of cream to a pleasant off-white. Charmain tapped her wrist and said, "Time," just as Peter and Charmain had finished pushing the chair underneath the window, as Great Uncle William had asked them to. It was three minutes past six.

"Oh help! The supper!" cried Charmain, and ran into the kitchen. She knocked on the pantry door. "Supper, with chicken and potatoes and carrots and onions," she gasped. There was a sort of plopping noise from the table, and the vegetables appeared, along with a very large chicken – plucked, but still with head and feet attached – landed on the table. The cream appeared too, in a china bowl with a blue flower pattern.

"Urgh," said Charmain, looking at the chicken. "Peter, could you come and help?"

Peter came in and looked at the chicken. "Yuck."

"I know!" wailed Charmain. "What are we going to do?"

He looked thoughtful. "I suppose we should chop the head and feet off."

"You can do that," ordered Charmain. "Just looking at that makes me sick to my stomach. I'll roast the potatoes and then the chicken, and you can do that carrot thing." She ignored Peter's mutterings of 'lazy, so-delicate, bossy thing' and his angry chopping, and tossed the potatoes onto the table. She flapped her hands crossly. "Peel, you stupid things!" She poked the nearest potato. The skin grumpily peeled off, and Charmain tossed it away from her. She kept jabbing the potatoes with her fingers until all the skins had been peeled off.

Peter and Charmain set the table, waiting impatiently for Wizard Norland to return. He was back at exactly seven o' clock, coming into the kitchen via the passage from the Royal Mansion to his house, Waif in tow. "What a day!" he said, sitting in the chair nearest the fireplace. "That book had a very old, very nasty curse on it, and when Princess Hilda opened it, she immediately went blind. It took hours for me to find a cure, and then I had to burn the book. The King was not happy about losing a book from his collection." He patted Waif, as though trying to soothe himself.

"Oh dear," said Charmain sympathetically. "We haven't had an easy d-"

Peter cut her off. "Don't you remember?" he hissed. "It's a surprise."

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Wizard Norland with a slight smile.

"Oh – nothing, Great Uncle William," said Charmain, a little flustered. "Do have some chicken." She pressed the entire platter on him.

He chuckled. "I think I shall, but not quite that much."

The meal passed quite congenially, even though Waif was gobbling her food rather noisily. They talked about inanely normal things, such as the weather, although both Charmain and Peter were dying to tell him about their day. Finally, after everybody had eaten a rather large dinner and put their plates in the sink, Charmain dragged Peter to his feet and smiled at Wizard Norland.

"We've organised a little surprise for you," she said breathlessly. "Would you close your eyes, please?"

"I thought you must have something up your sleeves," he said with a smile. He closed his eyes and waited patiently.

Peter tapped the table. "Tea," he said, very quietly. A large pot of tea appeared, along with several cups and saucers, some teaspoons, a sugar bowl, a jug of milk and three small plates. Charmain went into the pantry. She had hidden a chocolate cake from her father's shop there the day before.

The two of them and Waif walked into the living room, Charmain attempting to balance the cake and hold the door open. Wizard Norland followed, still smiling. Charmain put the cake down on the coffee table – Peter put the various things he was holding down as well – and led him to his armchair.

"Open your eyes," she said, her voice wobbling slightly.

Wizard Norland did so.

"How lovely," he said warmly, after looking around for a good minute. "The sofa and my armchair are both such a nice shade of red, and the walls look a lot more pleasant that colour. And is that a cake I can see?"

Charmain smiled and cut three large pieces. "Peter, pour the tea," she ordered. "Happy birthday, Great Uncle William."

"I thought you had forgotten." He sipped his tea. "Thank you very much, my dears." He paused and looked at them. "If you think that this has gotten you out of doing the laundry tomorrow, think again."

Peter sighed very quietly. "It was worth a shot," he muttered to Charmain.