Magical Mischief by Anna Dale

Author:Anna Dale
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

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Chapter Sixteen

From Bad to Worse

Scallywag would not stop growling. She did not have to be told that the man who had come into the shop was not a nice fellow at all. She objected to the thumps that his boots made on the floor and the cloying, musky smell that oozed through his clothes. When he leaned over her master’s desk and made loud, angry noises at the kind boy who took her for walks, Scallywag came very close to sinking her teeth into the man’s leg.

‘Steady!’ murmured Arthur. He placed his hand on Scallywag’s head and her growl acquired a less threatening tone. Mr Beaglehole was not the sort of man that you wanted to mess with. If Scallywag’s teeth so much as brushed against Mr Beaglehole’s jeans, Arthur had no doubt that he would drag Scallywag down to the police station, where he would insist that he had been savaged by a dangerous dog.

‘Come out from behind that desk, Goodenough!’ commanded Mr Beaglehole, wrinkling his clean-shaven face into a sneer.

Arthur might have obeyed him if Scallywag had not been sitting, firmly and loyally, on his feet, preventing him from taking even the smallest step in any direction. ‘I . . . I’d prefer to stay here,’ said Arthur, which was the truth. It made him feel more secure to have a metre-wide piece of furniture between himself and his overbearing teacher.

Mr Beaglehole folded his muscular arms and shot Arthur a disconcerting smile. ‘I suppose you think you can do as you please because we’re not at school?’

Arthur found the courage to nod. As Mr Beaglehole had so helpfully pointed out, teachers had no power over their pupils outside the school gates. Arthur started to feel a bit braver. His teacher was not wearing his usual school attire of slacks, a short-sleeved shirt and a stripy tie. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Mr Beaglehole was slightly less intimidating.

‘Where’s the real assistant?’ barked Mr Beaglehole.

Arthur drew himself up to his full height. ‘I can help you if you have an enquiry,’ he said.

Mr Beaglehole snorted with laughter. ‘You?’ he said. ‘A spotty little twelve-year-old?’ Abruptly, Mr Beaglehole’s scornful smile disappeared. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said. ‘I demand to see the manager. It’s shameful to keep a customer waiting, and I’d also like a word with him about the smell in here. Rotten eggs, if I’m not mistaken. Very unhygienic.’

Scallywag continued to growl, her body trembling against Arthur’s shins.

‘The manager’s away,’ said Arthur coolly, ‘and I’m minding the shop for Miss Quint because she had to pop out. Oh, and you got my age wrong. I’m thirteen.’

Mr Beaglehole breathed in sharply. ‘Cheeky little pup!’ he snarled. ‘You won’t be as flippant on Monday when I reveal the results of that last test I set you. In the meantime, I want to know if you have a particular book. It’s called The Future Is Nuclear by Aidan Schmidt.’

Arthur was not prepared to unseat Scallywag in order to search for a book for a man he despised.

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