The Ogre Downstairs by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

everyone was for bed that night. By nine o’clock, thick silence had fallen on the house. Caspar was just dropping asleep, thinking that he was going to get an all-time low mark in tomorrow’s French test, when Johnny said, irritably and drowsily:
    “Do you think Malcolm was lying about the things in the bottom layer?”
    Caspar wanted to go to sleep so badly that he said, “I’ll get it out of him tomorrow – if you shut up and don’t say another word.”
    It was a rash promise. Johnny held him to it next morning. “I did my bit,” he said. “I didn’t say a word – and I lay awake for nearly a quarter of an hour worrying. Now you go and squidge Malcolm.” Then, seeing how reluctant Caspar was, he added, “Or I won’t tell you a single thing I discover. Ever.”
    “Oh, all right!” Caspar said crossly. And, as they heard Douglas bounding downstairs at that moment, he went across the landing there and then.
    The door was ajar. Caspar opened the hostilities by doing as Malcolm always did – knocking and going in without waiting for an answer. Malcolm was tying his tie in front of the mirror. Caspar, who rarely looked in a mirror if he could help it, and specially not to tie his tie, felt very scornful.
    “What do you want?” said Malcolm.
    “Information,” said Caspar. “Were you lying about the things on the bottom layer or not?”
    “No,” said Malcolm, and, as he tightened the knot of his tie, he whistled, gently and mockingly, We Three Kings of Orient Are .
    Caspar of course perceived the insult. “Then if you weren’t, prove it,” he said.
    “Why?” said Malcolm, and pursed his lips to whistle again.
    “Whistle that again and I’ll knock your head off!” snarled Caspar.
    Malcolm smiled maliciously. “Why not, Capsule?”
    “And don’t call me that, either!”
    “It suits you. Everyone knows you’re a perfect pill,” said Malcolm. Then, just before Caspar had time to explode, he went on patronisingly, “I’ve no objection to proving it, since you’re obviously too stupid to work it out for yourself.”
    “Go on then,” said Caspar.
    Malcolm left the mirror and opened the glass cupboard, where the chemistry set was neatly laid on a shelf. “See?” he said, lifting the lid. “These are all things we’ve heard of. But underneath,” he said, lifting off the first layer and revealing the second, “you’ve got things even Douglas has never heard of. And most of them don’t react in ordinary tests. Do you follow me?”
    “Yes, teacher,” said Caspar. “What does that prove?”
    “Well, you don’t think I’m going to test one for you now, before breakfast, do you?” demanded Malcolm.
    “Yes,” said Caspar.
    “Well, I’m not,” said Malcolm.
    “So you were lying? I thought you were,” said Caspar.
    “I was not !” said Malcolm. “All right. Which one shall I test?”
    “This one,” said Caspar, pointing to a bottle labelled Animal Spirits .
    “That’s a boring one,” said Malcolm. “Nothing happens, even when you taste it, except you feel rather lively for a bit. What about this one?”
    He picked up a slender tube called, as far as Caspar could see, Misc. pulv .
    “What about it?” Caspar said suspiciously.
    “I don’t know,” said Malcolm. “I’ve done everythingI can think of with it, and nothing’s happened. The only thing I haven’t done is taste it.”
    “Taste it!” said Caspar. “Suppose it’s poison?”
    “It says non-toxic,” Malcolm said coolly. “I’m willing taste it, if you’ll agree to taste it too.” He looked patronisingly at Caspar, as if he knew Caspar would not dare.
    Caspar thought he saw his game. “If you think you’re going to get out of it that way, you’re making a big mistake,” he said. “All right. Let’s both taste it.”
    It was clear Malcolm had hoped to get out of it. He uncorked the tube most unwillingly and said, “It’s going to taste pretty nasty, I think.”
    “Hard luck,” said Caspar.