The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer by James Norcliffe Page B

oblivious of the effect his one-sided conversation was having.
    ‘What did you do?’ asked the loblolly boy, curious in spite of himself.
    ‘Do? Oh, I turned him into a rat!’ laughed the Sorcerer. Then he dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew the ivory rat he had flourished in front of the loblolly boy on the street corner.
    The loblolly boy looked shocked.
    Seeing his expression, the Sorcerer laughed. ‘No, little loblolly boy, I jest. I would not have turned my own father into a rat !’
    The loblolly boy looked relieved.
    ‘No, I turned him into a parrot,’ laughed the Sorcerer. ‘Silly squawky old fool!’
    For two or three seconds he flapped his elbows and made a loud parrot imitation.
    This was far too much for the waiter. He strode swiftly over to their table and whispered urgently to the Sorcerer. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I must ask you to desist from talking so loudly to yourself. It is disturbing our other guests.’
    At that he hurried away.
    The Sorcerer gazed at his departing back and laughed again. ‘Odious, fool!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who, I may ask, is paying that officious little man’s wages?’
    He turned back to the loblolly boy.
    ‘Are you a little fool too, little fool?’ he asked.
    ‘I must be,’ said the loblolly boy.
    ‘A good answer,’ said the Sorcerer nodding. ‘In fact, the only possible answer.’
    ‘The song …’ began the loblolly boy.
    ‘Song?’
    ‘You know the one about the Jugglers and all, the one you played and sang …’
    ‘Oh yes. Of course.’
    At that point the Sorcerer launched into another rousing rendition of the chorus. The loblolly boy whirled around in alarm to see several of the guests staring pop-eyed towards the Sorcerer, frozen in mid-fork and consternation. The waiter, fortunately was nowhere to be seen.
    Luckily, too, the Sorcerer stopped at the refrain.
    ‘Yes,’ the loblolly boy said hurriedly, ‘that one.’
    ‘What of it?’
    ‘Well, you sang a verse after that, didn’t you?’
    The Sorcerer nodded.
    ‘I don’t remember the Captain singing that verse.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘What was it all about?’
    ‘Oh that,’ said the Sorcerer airily. ‘About being trapped in the clock with people like me and the others?’
    The loblolly boy nodded.
    ‘Quite simple really, the clock with two dead hands is a clock that doesn’t move. It means you’re beyond or perhaps out of time. It means you’re trapped in the limbo land of the loblolly boy along with a few other odd sods.’
    ‘Like?’
    ‘Well, as the song says — the Jugglers, me, the Gadget Man. There are others. Surely the Captain warned you about them.’
    The loblolly boy nodded. ‘Sort of … He warned me about you.’
    ‘Quite right, too,’ said the Sorcerer.
    At that point, the waiter arrived with the Sorcerer’s meal. He did not look happy. Placing it before him, he whispered angrily, ‘I’m very sorry to have to repeat my request, sir, but your ongoing and very noisy conversation not to mention your very loud and unnecessary singing and other impressions are creating considerable disturbance and perturbation among our other guests.’
    ‘Is it?’ asked the Sorcerer. ‘Perturbation, you say?’
    ‘Yes it most certainly is, and once again I must ask, nay implore you to stop!’
    ‘Must you?’
    ‘Yes!’ The waiter’s face was red with the effort of being polite.
    ‘So you’re begging, then?’
    ‘If you put it that way, sir …’ the waiter hissed through gritted teeth.
    ‘You’re not a very good beggar, you know. Do you know who the best beggars are?’
    ‘I don’t believe I do, sir,’
    ‘Dogs, my good chap. Dogs. Dogs make singularly excellent beggars.’
    ‘Do they, sir?’
    ‘Yes, and personally I think you’d make a much better fist of begging were you a dog!’
    The waiter was about to make a response, when the Sorcerer waved his long fingers before his angry face. At once the waiter’s eyes glazed over.
    ‘Sit!’ commanded the