Author's Note: Just a short chapter. By the way, please keep in mind that these are not necessarily in chronological order (although they mostly are).

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Chapter Four

In Which Far Too Much Cooking Is Attempted

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The mangy-looking apple tree in Wizard Norland's backyard, with no warning whatsoever, had erupted into gloriously healthy, vibrant life. The apples ripened very quickly, and by mid-September were dropping onto the grass.

"There's just one thing we can do, I suppose," said Charmain decisively. "We have to do something with these apples, and quickly. They'll all rot before long."
Peter looked gloomy. For some reason, he had turned into the household cook, a task which he did not particularly relish.

Wizard Norland looked approving. "An excellent idea. Apple sauces, apple pies, pork with apples, preserved apples, apples with cheese, baked apples, dried apples, apple cider…" He trailed off, looking dreamy.

Peter looked even glummer.

Waif, for some reason, looked rather smug.

Peter folded his arms. "All right," he said crossly. "But Charmain has to help me."

Waif wagged her tail.

Peter banged a fourth bag of apples down onto the kitchen table. "There!" he said. "That's the last of it." He wiped a hand over his forehead. "They're heavy."

Charmain nodded wearily from a chair in the corner. She slammed a cookbook shut. "All this one does is blather on about what heat the oven needs to be." She grabbed another from the large pile next to her with one hand, trying to put her hair up with the other.

She half-succeeded. Her hair, instead of being in its usual plait, was in a strange lumpy bun that looked as though it was about to fall out. However, it was out of the way. Charmain chewed an apple as she read.

"Here's a nice recipe," she said. "Apple pie with cloves and rosewater – oh, we haven't any rosewater." She spat out a pip and continued, "I'll take some of the apples to Dad, I think. I can get the rosewater at the bakery."

Peter, trying to juggle three apples, stopped. "It's Sunday. The shop will be closed."

Charmain frowned. "Oh, you're right. Well, nothing with rosewater then."

Peter took another cookbook and curled up in the opposite corner. Every now and then, they'd call out likely-sounding recipes to each other.

"Charmain, how about baked apples with a jam filling?"

"That sounds good. Ooh, ham with apple sauce."

"Lovely! Broccoli and apple soup?"

"That sounds interesting. Oh, apple crumble!"

"Delicious! Wait, crystallised apple? That sounds a little odd."

"It does sound good, though. Apple mousse?"

"Oh, eurgh! Apples with anchovies!"

"That does sound very strange. Cabbage with apples sounds strange too, don't you think?"

It took them a while to sort through the various recipe books. There were almost a dozen, as well as the pastry and cake cookbooks that Charmain's father had lent them, and they all had recipes with apples in them. However, as there were about forty ripe apples, it didn't matter too much.

Charmain pulled her hair into a tighter bun, and Peter tied an apron over his clothes. Usually, they would have laughed at each other – Charmain, apart from looking like a very strict school-mistress with her hair up, was wearing her oldest dress, which strained a bit around the bust and shoulders and was in a rather unbecoming shade of pink; Peter was wearing, as well as the apron, a pair of pants and a shirt, both too small and showing a lot of gangly leg and wrist – but they were feeling too serious to do so.

"Let's start," said Peter, after staring nervously at the bags of apples on the table.

Waif was a bit worried. She'd been told to keep out of the kitchen, and odd smells were coming from under the door. She could hear Charmain yelling and Peter yelling back, although she couldn't hear what was being said. She went to sit on Wizard Noland's lap. He patted her.

It was midnight before it quietened down. Wizard Norland and Waif, who had both been told to 'buzz off and get dinner somewhere else,' looked at the door of the silent kitchen. Wizard Norland opened it.

Food everywhere. A large cake covered with apple slices dominated the kitchen table, while a huge bowl of soup perched on the draining board. A massive leg of ham lay in the sink, a jug of apple sauce next to it, and an immense pie on one of the chairs. Even the floor had food on it – a vast apple crumble on a plate next to a table leg, and a giant pitcher of apple juice next to the pantry door. The only spot that did not have any food on it was the corner by the fireplace.

Peter and Charmain were sprawled there, fast asleep. Charmain was curled up with her head on Peter's shoulder, and Peter had his legs stretched out and his head leaning on the wall behind him.

It is fortunate, mused Wizard Norland, that I am well-stocked with pillows and blankets. He gently tucked a pillow under Charmain's head and behind Peter's, and covered the two of them with a blanket. He muttered a charm to stop flies finding the food, and headed wearily to his bedroom.

Waif curled up by the fireplace, in the crook of Charmain's legs.

Charmain, often an early riser, slept a lot longer than she usually would. Indeed, it was after ten before she woke. The food had been bustled away into the pantry, and two large breakfast trays had been set beside them for when they awoke. She nudged Peter awake. "Food! Peter, wake up!"

He did so and, as he often did in the morning, stretched and looked out the window.

"Charmain, you aren't going to like this."

"Like what?" she asked, already halfway through her plate of pancakes.

"The tree."

She stood up and looked out the window. The ground beneath the tree was, again, covered with apples.

She groaned. "I'm eating. I'll deal with them later."

Waif took a pancake in her mouth and gobbled it happily, then trotted outside. Charmain and Peter were never quite sure what had happened, but there was a flash and the apples – both the ones on the ground and the ones in the tree – vanished.

"Waif?" Charmain was first outside. "You funny dog, what did you do?"

Waif wagged her tail, looking very pleased with herself, and jabbed her nose towards the town.

"You sent them into town? Where? The market?"

Waif wagged her tail again.

"Oh, clever girl!" Peter patted her happily. "No more apples! No more cooking!"

"Just a huge amount of dishes to do," said Charmain ruefully.