The day of the magician’s return grew closer. Most of the animals had come round to the idea of contributing in some way. Some of them were keen to start right away, but Whetū insisted they talk to the magician first. It was his farm, after all.
The animal most excited about his new job was, most surprisingly, the bull. After the initial shock had faded, he could often be found in his field, practising dance steps with a long-stemmed rose between his teeth. Then he’d whip it out and hold it to his chest, crooning, “Your eyes are as brown as a mud puddle in winter,” and, “I love your hooves, were they on sale?”
Errant still hadn’t found a way to turn the lamb back to normal. Whetū thought he’d be worried about it, but Errant was as cocky as ever. Whenever she peered behind the barn to see if he’d made any progress, she saw Errant sitting in front of the lamb’s cage, waving a paw and muttering a string of unintelligible words. There was nearly always a puff of coloured smoke. Errant was very good at conjuring coloured smoke. Sometimes there was an explosion. But always, the air would clear to reveal the lamb pacing up and down in the cage, rats’ blood smeared around its muzzle, glaring at Errant as though he’d like nothing more than to gobble him up.
“Will Errant be in terrible trouble?” she asked Ramses, the day the magician was due back at the farm.
“Oh, I should think so,” the ram replied. “But he doesn’t care. He was a stage assistant for so long, he knows all the magician’s little tricks. Even if he was fired, the magician wouldn’t dare let him go in case he betrayed his secrets. Magicians rely on being secretive about their magic. If everybody knew how to do it, nobody would bother going to the shows.”
There was another explosion from behind the barn, and a faint trickle of purple smoke filtered through the beams of the wall.
“I don’t believe he’s trying very hard at all,” said Whetū. “I think he’s just pretending.”
“You’re probably right,” said Ramses. “But there’s nothing to be done until the magician returns. Don’t worry, Whetū, you’ve done an excellent job.”
Whetū was pleased. She got to her feet, and bidding the ram goodbye, went out of the barn to check on the lazy pigs.
The wind swirled around the yard, and Whetū shivered. The day had started off sunny enough, but the weather was closing in, and it was very cold. A huge bank of grey cloud billowed in from the west. The clouds began to swirl in a circle, faster and faster. The grey clouds turned black. There was a sizzling blast of lightning, and a great white streak of light hit one of the trees in the forest. The tree exploded in a shower of sparks, and then came a crash of thunder so loud she clapped her hands to her ears.
She ran to the sty, half expecting the clouds to open up and a torrent of water to come splashing down, but there was no rain at all.
“Are you all right in there?” she called over the wall to the lazy pigs, who were lying in a heap as usual. None of them seemed troubled by the storm; the pig with white, black and pink splotches was fast asleep.
“I could do with a little more morning tea,” said the white pig, plaintively. “It took all my energy just to eat the first lot.”
“I was talking about the storm,” said Whetū. “You’re not frightened?”
There came another sizzle of lightning followed by a deafening crash of thunder.
“Storm?” said the white pig. “That’s not a storm. That’s the magician returning. And from the sounds of it, he’s in a fearful temper. Now, about my morning tea?”
Whetū ignored the pig. She ran out into the middle of the yard and stared upward. The clouds were circling so fast, she became dizzy watching them and almost lost her balance. There was a funny, burnt sort of smell that tickled her nostrils, and the air was crackling with electricity. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and the hair on her head stuck straight up into the air. The clouds bulged downward, elongating into a pointed triangle over the middle of the empty field.
“It’s a tornado!” Whetū cried, but she was wrong. The triangle of cloud fell lower and lower and finally touched the ground with a huge bang. Sparks flew out of it, and Whetū shielded her eyes with her hands.
There was silence. A bird began to sing. She felt her hair brush her cheeks as it dropped back into place. The sun shone warm on her face. She opened her eyes. Summer had returned to the farm. The sky was blue and calm. It was as though nothing had happened at all – apart from the magician striding towards her with a furious scowl on his face.
“WHERE IS THAT RABBIT?”