The Secret of Platform 13 by Eva Ibbotson Page A

there came another burst of clapping.
    The Plodger then thanked the fish and threw him back into the lake and Raymond looked at the ring.
    ‘It isn’t gold,’ he said. ‘It isn’t a proper one. You couldn’t get money for it in a shop.’
    Cor shook his head and the merrow went off looking hurt. It was true that the ring had come out of a Christmas cracker, but what had that to do with anything? The special fish had trusted him; he had given up the ring that had been in his stomach for ten years – the ring that was part of his life as a fish – and all the Prince wanted to know was if he could sell it in a shop.
    After that came the chorus of banshees. They’d had a busy week wailing in a football stadium because they knew that England was going to lose the European Championship, but they’d taken a lot of trouble, putting on their white shrouds and looking properly sinister and sad. And the songs were sinister and sad too – songs about darkness and dread and doom and decay.
    When the banshees had finished, Raymond wanted to know if they were going to be sawn in half.
    ‘There’s always people sawn in half when there’s magic on the telly , ’ he said.
    Needless to say, the banshees didn’t stay around after that and Hans came on to do some weight lifting.
    The ogre had washed off his fernseed and looked truly splendid in his leather shorts and his embroidered braces and the knee socks with the tassel on the side.
    First he picked up a park bench, twirled it over his head, and put it down. Then he plucked out a concrete drinking fountain, balanced it on his nose – and put it back. And then he turned to the statue of Alderman Sir Harold Henfitter which had been put up a month before. The Alderman was cast in bronze and rested on a slab of marble and even Hans had to pull and tug several times before he could free him from the ground.
    But he did it. Then he counted to one . . . to two . . . to three . . . and threw the ten ton Alderman into the air!
    Everyone waited. They waited and waited but nothing happened. Nothing ever would happen – and that was the point, of course. The Alderman had been thrown with such force that he would never come down again. Even now, Sir Harold Hen-fitter is going round and round somewhere in space and will go on doing so until the end of time.
    It is not easy to believe what Raymond did after this amazing trick. He pointed with his fat finger at the giant’s midriff. He giggled. And then he said: ‘A button’s come off his braces!’
    No one could believe their ears. Making personal remarks is rude at any time, but at a moment like this! It was true there had been a slight twang as the button went missing – but it was only on one side and the ogre’s leather shorts had hardly slipped at all.
    Still, the show had to go on. The wizards did some tricks with the weather, making it rain on one side of the lake and snow on the other, and calling up a rumble of thunder with lightning following afterwards – and then it was time for refreshments.
    Gurkie was in charge of these, and instead of arranging for an ice-cream lady to come with her tray, she had laid on something very special. She ran to the big elm growing by the water and called to the glow-worms to come so that the tree was lit as brightly as on a stage. Then she tapped the bark and spoke softly to the tree – and lo, every one of its branches began to bear fruit. There were peaches like golden moons; apples whose red skins glistened; pears as big as two fists put together.
    ‘We beg Your Highness to refresh himself,’ said Gurkie.
    Raymond got out of his throne and waddled over to the tree. Then he said: ‘I don’t like fruit; it’s got pips in it. I want a gobstopper.’
    Everyone lost heart a little after that. Cor didn’t know what a gobstopper was; they hadn’t had them when he lived Up Here and even when the troll called Henry Prendergast drew one for him he didn’t feel like conjuring one up. There