‘Tickle Squad, atten-shun!’ Dr Cuddles shouted.

The Tickle Squad snapped to attention, their pink fur glowing in the bright sunlight; their blue eyes glinting. Dr Cuddles walked along the line, straightening up an ear here, flicking a bit of fluff from a shoulder there.

‘Excellent,’ he giggled. ‘Excellent!’

One or two of them giggled with anticipation. Dr Cuddles reached the end of the line and stepped back.

‘Tickle Squad!’ he shouted. ‘You are an elite force and you must show no mercy. You are to conceal yourselves in the great tree rabbit which, by means of magic, shall be transported to the Horned Baron’s castle. Once inside the castle walls, you are to wait until darkness, observing complete silence at all times. That means no giggling, Number Seven!’ The seventh bear along stifled a giggle. ‘On the stroke of midnight you are to burst from the tree rabbit and take over the castle. Any resistance is to be met with extreme tickling – to the death, if necessary!’

The bears nodded impassively, not a trace of emotion registering on their pink, furry faces.

‘Good luck, Tickle Squad,’ Dr Cuddles cried. ‘To the tree rabbit!’

Turning smartly, the bears set off in a line, marching in step to Dr Cuddle’s barked commands. ‘Lef’, lef’, lef’ right, lef’!’

Joe watched helplessly as the Tickle Squad approached the great tree rabbit. ‘Is there nothing we can do?’ he said. ‘Brenda? Randalf? Roger?’

Brenda rattled her chains and shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Joe, they took me completely by surprise,’ she said.

‘I knew this was a bad idea,’ said Randalf, shaking his head. ‘We should never have come on this hopeless quest. Why, I could be at home right now tucked up in my king-sized bed if it wasn’t for you lot.’

‘Shut up, Randalf!’ said Veronica.

Joe turned to Roger the Wrinkled. ‘Can’t you do something, sir?’ he said. ‘As the most powerful and important wizard in Muddle Earth.’

Roger’s face wrinkled up into a crinkled smile. ‘Don’t worry, young man,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I already have.’

‘But I can’t help worrying,’ said Joe. ‘If Muddle Earth is taken over by Dr Cuddles, how will I ever get home?’

The first pink, blue-eyed teddy bear of the Tickle Squad approached the steps leading up into the giant tree rabbit. Dr Cuddles followed, Quentin by his side.

‘To think, Mildred,’ said a nearby chestnut tree to her sister. ‘They cut down Edna and Deirdre to build that great big wooden rabbity thing.’

‘It’s a disgrace, Millicent,’ came the reply.

‘Well, if it means we’ve seen the back of Dr Cuddles,’ said a great spreading tree behind them, ‘then it’ll have been worth it.’

‘You’ve got no heart, Bernard,’ trilled the chestnut trees. ‘You’re as hard as mahogany.’

The first bear was halfway up the stairs. The animated tree rabbit’s wheels twitched, eager to set forth. Joe’s heart was pounding loudly. Any moment now, the whole Tickle Squad would disappear inside the tree rabbit, Dr Cuddles would secure the trapdoor and they’d be off – off to the Horned Baron’s castle.

Just then, Joe heard a little sigh. Looking down, he caught sight of something glinting by his feet. He looked down and gasped. For there, tapping lightly against the side of Roger the Wrinkled’s hogskin high-heeled bootees, was a tiny teaspoon.

Joe recognized it at once!

From the ornate curlicues on its handle, he knew it was the one he had retrieved after the cutlery stampede; the one he had seen again amongst Margot the dragon’s treasure. Now it was here. But how? And why?

Roger the Wrinkled’s face creased up. ‘Just in time,’ he said. ‘Where are the others?’

The teaspoon sighed and did a little pirouette. It tipped its bowl back the way it had come.

‘Look!’ cried Joe. ‘There they are!’

Emerging from the surrounding woods, a great army of cutlery was advancing. Knives, forks and spoons there were; cleavers and ladles, graters and tongs – all clattering across the clearing in a cloud of dust, their silver blades, bowls and prongs gleaming brightly in the noonday sun.

Roger the Wrinkled turned to the teaspoon. ‘It’s up to you now,’ he said.

The teaspoon sighed softly, tripped lightly down the stairs from the podium and climbed on top of a rock. It tapped lightly, bringing the swelling ranks of cutlery to attention. Then it performed a short dance, nodding first at the tree rabbit and then to the Tickle Squad, before leaping down and leading the army of cutlery in a charge.

The knives clashed their blades menacingly, the forks twanged their prongs and the spoons clattered their bowls together as they raced towards a startled-looking Dr Cuddles and a terrified Quentin.

‘Tickle Squad!’ screamed Cuddles in a high-pitched wail. ‘He-e-elp me!’

The squad tumbled back down the steps and formed a tight cordon round their leader. At the front of the ranks of cutlery, a line of steak knives advanced menacingly, while a horde of assorted forks and soup spoons swarmed round the back. The egg slicer led the cake forks and fish knives on one side, whilst a tiny silver toothpick (engraved with the name Simon) marshalled the kebab skewers and heavy ladles on the other. The Tickle Squad was surrounded. And, with every attempted escape swiftly repelled with a poke of a knife or a prod of a fork or a rap on the back of a furry paw by a spoon, there was nothing they could do.

From the centre of the tight huddle of teddy bears, Dr Cuddles’s voice rang out. ‘I’m not finished yet!’ he shouted.

‘I think you’ll find that you are,’ said Roger the Wrinkled from the podium. He turned to the teaspoon. ‘Take them away,’ he said.

As one, the great circle of cutlery moved towards the back door of the Giggle House, pushing, prodding and poking the Tickle Squad along with them.

‘Come on, everyone,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘Pick up your balls and chains and follow me, or you’ll miss all the fun.’

They followed the cutlery into the house and crowded round the kitchen doorway, looking into Dr Cuddles’s richly furnished sitting room. In the middle of the daisy-covered orange carpet, the army of cutlery surrounded the Tickle Squad, which was clustered before the locked spell book lectern like shipwrecked sailors in a sea of shiny metal. In the corner, a group of heavy ladles had Cuddles and Quentin pinned to the wall.

From the doorway, Joe watched, intrigued. All of a sudden, with a neat double back-flip, the tiny silver toothpick (Simon) jumped up on to the locked box and began picking at the lock.

‘No!’ shouted Dr Cuddles. ‘Don’t do that!’

The trapdoor opened. The Tickle Squad tumbled down. The trapdoor slammed shut.

‘Hooray!’ shouted Joe above the sound of Henry’s excited barking.

‘Pork pies and custard!’ bellowed Norbert. ‘I mean, hooray!’

‘Bravo!’ cried the wizards. ‘You haven’t lost your touch, Roger.’

‘Well done, sir!’ said Veronica.

‘Allow me to add my humble congratulations,’ said Randalf. ‘I never doubted you for a moment, sir.’

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ said Roger the Wrinkled modestly. ‘It was Dr Cuddles who gave me the idea.’

‘I did?’ said Dr Cuddles, from the corner.

‘You wanted something bright and shiny to tempt a dragon, remember? What better than the baron’s own silver cutlery?’ Roger smiled, his face a mass of wrinkles. ‘Oh, you thought you were so clever, allowing me to read only one word at a time from the spell book, looking over my shoulder the whole time. You were so busy fussing over the Great Book of Spells that you didn’t notice the little spell of my own that I was working on.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Cuddles, darkly.

Roger cleared his throat. ‘One teaspoon to rule them all, one teaspoon to heed them, one teaspoon to bring them all to Giggle Glade and lead them! I give you . . .’ He finished with a flourish. ‘The Lord of the Teaspoons!’

The wizards broke into applause. The little teaspoon by his feet gave a soft sigh and bowed.

‘Curses!’ muttered Dr Cuddles.

‘So, you see,’ Roger the Wrinkled went on, ‘the moment he sent the cutlery off, his fate was sealed. Of course, they took their time getting here, but all’s well that ends well. And as for you!’ He rounded on the pink, starey-eyed Dr Cuddles. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ he said.

‘It’s not my fault. I had a terrible childhood,’ he said, glaring at Randalf.

‘He’s mad!’ said Randalf, turning bright scarlet. ‘Quite mad, I tell you.’

‘You don’t know what I went through,’ said Dr Cuddles. ‘Dribbled on, dragged about by the ears, forced to sleep in a tiny bed . . .’

‘Bonkers!’ said Randalf. ‘Completely bonkers! And I’ll have you know it’s a king-sized bed.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Roger the Wrinkled sharply. ‘Hand over the key to the spell book, Cuddles, and we’ll put an end to this nonsense once and for all.’

‘The key?’ said Dr Cuddles. His paw went to his neck. ‘Er . . . I appear to have mislaid it.’

‘Another one of your tricks, Cuddles?’ said Roger the Wrinkled.

Randalf reached into his pocket. ‘I think this is what you’re looking for, sir,’ he said.

Roger the Wrinkled frowned. ‘Why, Randalf,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed! How did you manage that?’

‘Oh, like you, sir, I have a few tricks up my sleeve!’ beamed Randalf.

‘On your head, more like!’ said Veronica, perched on Randalf’s pointy hat.

‘Shut up, Veronica!’

Roger the Wrinkled crossed the room to the lectern and put the key in the lock. Instead of turning it, he tapped it three times with his forefinger. There was a soft click. The trapdoor remained shut.

‘It’s all a matter of technique,’ said Roger, as he opened the box and removed the Great Book of Spells. ‘At last,’ he said reverently as he hugged the book tightly to his chest. ‘Now I shall be able to restore some order to Muddle Earth.’

A murmur went round the room. Randalf shuffled awkwardly.

‘Now you’re going to be for it,’ Veronica whispered in his ear.

‘Shut up, Veronica,’ Randalf hissed.

Roger the Wrinkled placed the book down on the lectern and opened it up. Joe moved forward for a better look. The Great Book of Spells had a battered blue cover with a ruled box in the middle, in which was written, Roger the Wrinkled, Head Wizard, Enchanted Lake, Muddle Earth. Subject: SPELLS. It reminded Joe of one of his school exercise books, only five times the size.

Roger turned the yellowing pages, which were all covered in strange black symbols and squiggles, intricate annotated diagrams in red, green and gold, and words laid out like verses in a language Joe had never seen before.

‘Warrior-Hero-Summoning Spell,’ said Roger, looking up at Joe. ‘You see, I haven’t forgotten, young man. Now where are we?’ He turned a couple more pages. ‘Walking Rock Spell . . . Wardrobe Spells; various . . . Ah, here we are. I . . .’ He took a sharp intake of breath. ‘But what is this?’

‘What is what, sir?’ asked Randalf innocently.

‘The very page I require has been torn,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘Half of the spell is missing. What is the meaning of this?’

‘Will you tell him, or shall I?’ said Veronica.

‘Tell him?’ said Randalf. ‘Tell him what?’

‘Randalf!’ squawked Veronica. ‘I’ve covered up for you long enough! I’m warning you, I’m ready to sing like a canary!’

‘Oh, all right!’ Randalf cried. ‘I admit it! It’s all my fault.’ He reached into his pocket a second time and pulled out a folded square of parchment. He opened it up carefully and handed it to Roger the Wrinkled.

‘It’s the missing bit of the spell, Randalf,’ said Roger. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain yourself.’

Randalf grimaced. ‘It was while you were away at the Dress Convention in Goblintown,’ he began. ‘You remember, sir.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Roger quickly. ‘Well, what of it?’

‘Well,’ said Randalf. ‘I . . . I . . . I couldn’t help myself, sir. It was just lying there on the table. So I picked it up and opened it . . . and . . .’

‘You didn’t,’ said Roger, his voice hushed and full of dread. ‘You used the Great Book of Spells.’

‘I did,’ said Randalf, turning red. ‘I . . . I had a go at a spell of animation.’

‘Oh, Randalf,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘That was far too advanced a spell for a beginner.’

‘I know that now, sir,’ said Randalf, with a sniff. ‘I . . . I tried it out on . . .’

‘Don’t tell me!’ said Roger. ‘You tried it out on that childhood toy of yours, Charlie Cuddles!’

‘I prefer Doctor, if you don’t mind,’ said Cuddles stiffly.

Randalf nodded shamefacedly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I did. How could something so soft and cuddly and cute-looking turn into such a monster?’

‘Magic can be a tricky business,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, nodding sagely.

‘He was mad!’ Randalf went on. ‘He grabbed the spell book. I tried to stop him. We had a bit of a tug-of-war. All I remember is a tearing sound, and falling over clutching that page. When I looked round, the Great Book of Spells was gone and I was left with half a warrior-hero-summoning spell. I think you can guess the rest.’ Randalf hung his head. ‘But I tried to put things right. Honestly, I did.’

‘And made things worse and worse in the process,’ said Veronica sharply.

‘Yes, well,’ said Roger the Wrinkled gently. ‘Don’t be too harsh on him, Veronica. I think Randalf here has learned his lesson, haven’t you, my boy?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Randalf meekly.

‘And you must be the oldest wizard’s apprentice ever. I think it’s high time we gave you a houseboat of your own, Randalf, and made you a real wizard at last. What do you think?’

‘Oh, sir!’ said Randalf. ‘Me, a real wizard! With a houseboat of my very own. Did you hear that, Veronica?’

Veronica managed a smile.

Just then, there came a piercing screech from the chamber at the back of the house. ‘Cuddles! Quentin! Where are you?’

Dr Cuddles trembled. Quentin swallowed nervously. ‘Oh, deary me,’ he said, shuddering nervously. ‘I’d forgotten about Ingrid!’

‘Bring me my breakfast!’ she demanded. ‘Scented tea and icing-sugar waffles. Now!’

‘I can’t,’ Quentin muttered. ‘I just can’t take it any more . . .’

‘If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, Joe, I’ll take care of this,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, flicking on through the pages. ‘My word, it is good to have the spell book back.’

He stopped at a Sleeping-Beauty Enchantment, raised his arms and, reading from the yellowed pages, started intoning a brief spell under his breath.

‘Cuddles, I won’t tell you again!’ Ingrid was shrieking. ‘Quentin! Quen—’ The voice abruptly fell still and was replaced with a low, rasping snore.

‘There,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘Fast asleep. And so she will remain until she is awoken from her enchanted slumber by the voice of her loved one.’

‘Loved one! The Horned Baron!’ said Dr Cuddles crossly. ‘Ransom note after ransom note I sent him and he didn’t reply to a single one. I did him a favour if you ask me.’

‘I didn’t ask you, Charlie Cuddles,’ said Roger the Wrinkled calmly. ‘In fact,’ he added, returning to the spell book, ‘there is only one thing I have to say to you.’ He raised his arms once more and uttered a second incantation.

‘It’s not Charlie Cuddles,’ protested Dr Cuddles. ‘It’s Doctor. Doctor Cuddles, do you hear? Doctor Cuddles of Giggle—’

Suddenly he stopped. His pink fur lost its lustre; his blue-eyes lost their sparkle. He tumbled to the ground, where he lay, motionless, silent . . .

For a moment, no one made a sound. The next, the Giggle House exploded with whoops of excitement and cries of joy.

Dr Cuddles was defeated!

Muddle Earth was safe!

Quentin bent down and picked the teddy bear up off the floor and held it up in front of him. ‘I’ve been such a fool,’ he said. ‘But I, too, have learned my lesson. It’s snuggle-muffins and iced decorations for me from now on. Norbert, can we be friends again?’

Norbert smiled. ‘You’ll always find a welcome in my kitchen,’ he said.

Randalf stepped forward, his arms outstretched. Quentin handed him the teddy. ‘Charlie Cuddles, I had no idea you thought of me like that. It really isn’t healthy to bottle up all those negative feelings, you know,’ Randalf said thoughtfully. ‘But in the spirit of reconciliation, I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones – though from now on, you’re sleeping in the cupboard along with Tracy and Mr Hiss.’

Roger the Wrinkled’s face creased up happily. ‘We muddled through, eventually,’ he said, and the other wizards all nodded in earnest agreement.

‘Excuse me, Roger, sir,’ said Joe. ‘The spell, remember?’

‘Ah yes, forgive me, Joe,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, smiling down at him benevolently. ‘Step over here and I shall send you back.’

‘One moment,’ said Joe, hurriedly. ‘I just want to say my goodbyes.’

Roger nodded understandingly.

Joe looked round at Veronica and Norbert, and at Randalf (who, even though he had proven not to be a proper wizard, would always be Randalf the Wise to him) clutching the now harmless teddy bear tightly in his arms.

‘Oh, sir,’ said Norbert, rushing forwards, tears welling up in each of his three eyes. He wrapped his great arms around Joe and squeezed tightly. ‘I’ll miss you!’ he wailed.

‘I’ll . . . miss . . . you . . . too . . .’ Joe gasped as the air was squeezed out of him.

‘Let him go, you great lug,’ said Veronica. She fluttered in front of Joe. ‘Farewell, Joe,’ she said. ‘It has been a pleasure and an honour knowing you.’

‘And you, too, Veronica,’ said Joe as the budgie perched up on the brim of Randalf’s pointy hat. He looked down into Randalf’s eyes. ‘Goodbye, Randalf,’ he said.

‘Farewell, Joe the Barbarian,’ said Randalf. ‘Finest warrior-hero ever in Muddle Earth.’

Joe smiled. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ he said. ‘I am not a warrior-hero. I’m just an ordinary boy who—’

‘Oh, but you are, Joe, whether you like it or not.’

Joe turned to see Brenda and Sniffy standing in the doorway. Brenda smiled, stepped forwards and clasped Joe’s hand in her own.

‘You are a warrior-hero, Joe,’ she said. ‘The best kind. For your heroism, Joe the Barbarian, comes from within.’

Joe looked down at the floor bashfully. Maybe there was a little bit of the warrior-hero in him after all.

‘Come on,’ said Roger, taking him by the arm. ‘It’s time to go home.’

Joe followed Roger the Wrinkled back to the lectern, where the wizard returned to the torn page, smoothed it flat and inspected it closely. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I see.’ Then, a moment later. ‘Yes, I see . . .’ He turned to Joe and Henry. ‘It’s really rather simple.’

He raised his hands, closed his eyes, threw back his head and bellowed a single word.

‘HOME!’

For a moment, Joe thought he must be joking. ‘Home?’ What kind of a spell was that?

But even as he was about to say as much, he noticed something strange beginning to happen. His whole body – from the top of his hair to the tips of his toes – tingled and crackled with silvery strands of electricity. He heard slow, mournful music, and his nose twitched at the smell of burnt toast. The air shimmered and wobbled; it was as if he were looking through water.

There were Norbert and Quentin holding hands. There was Randalf with Veronica perched on his pointy hat. And Brenda and Sniffy and the wizards – and Roger the Wrinkled . . .

‘Right,’ he was saying, his voice sounding distant and echoey, ‘all that remains now is a little unfinished business with that tree rabbit . . .’

And that was all. As his voice faded, so too did his face – and everything else in Muddle Earth. Joe gasped as he found himself tumbling headlong down a long, pulsating tunnel. The strange music grew louder; the smell of burning more pungent until . . .

CRASH!

Joe opened his eyes and looked round. His armour was gone and he was back in his old clothes, sitting at the centre of a great, dusty rhododendron bush. Henry was beside him, his tail wagging uncertainly.

‘We’re back!’ Joe cried out. ‘Henry, we’re home!’

Henry barked excitedly.

Together they scrambled out of the bush and headed off across the grass. ‘Come on, boy,’ Joe shouted. ‘They’re going to be so worried!’

As he went through the gate and up the path, Joe felt himself trembling. It was all so familiar, yet strange – like those first few minutes after returning from a holiday, only more so. He ran round to the back of the house and into the kitchen.

‘Mum! Dad!’ he shouted. ‘I’m back! Hello Ella! Hello twins!’

Ella shook her head and left the room, muttering under her breath. The twins looked at one another and giggled.

‘Did you have a nice walk?’ asked his mum, switching off her vacuum cleaner, which only seemed to make the sound of his dad’s electric drill even louder.

‘Yes,’ said Joe, puzzled. No one seemed to be at all worried. ‘But I’ve been away ages!’ he said.

‘About half an hour,’ his mum said. She smiled. ‘Tea’ll be ready at six. Why don’t you pop up to your room and get that homework of yours done. What was it again?’

‘An essay,’ said Joe. ‘My Amazing Adventure.’

‘Have you got any ideas?’

Joe nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face. ‘One or two,’ he said.

Back in Muddle Earth, the great tree rabbit had completed its long journey to the Horned Baron’s castle. Benson – who had noticed it standing next to the gates – had gone out to take a look. He had found a letter clutched in one of its enormous forepaws and taken it to the Horned Baron, who was busy with a spot of moonlight-gardening in the vegetable patch.

‘What now, Benson?’ the Horned Baron snapped, waving his trowel at the manservant irritably. ‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, not to disturb me when Fifi and I are tending to our turnips.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Particularly,’ he added, ‘if you’re about to tell me you’ve received another blooming letter!’

Benson held the envelope out. ‘This one’s different,’ he said.

The Horned Baron opened it up and began reading. The expression on his face turned from mild irritation to unbounded joy. ‘Oh, but this is marvellous news!’ he exclaimed. ‘Listen, Fifi. It’s from Dr Cuddles. Apologies for all my recent tricks . . .’ he read out. ‘I’ve decided to retire. Please accept this little gift as a token of my friendship.’ He turned to Benson. ‘What little gift?’ he said.

‘It’s outside the gates,’ said Benson.

‘Then bring it in, bring it in,’ said the Horned Baron.

‘As you wish, sir,’ said Benson. He left the vegetable garden, returning a moment later with the great tree rabbit trundling slowly beside him.

‘Ooh! A garden sculpture!’ cried Fifi. ‘It’ll look lovely over there by the wall, and it’ll scare all those naughty, greedy tree rabbits and stiltmice away from our turnips. I love it, Horny! I absolutely love it!’

‘So do I,’ said the Horned Baron. He gripped Fifi’s hand. ‘And I love . . .’

Just then there was an ominous creak. It seemed to come from the tree rabbit. Benson, Fifi and the Horned Baron looked up to see a trapdoor at the base of the rabbit drop down, and a huge, pudgy leg appear.

‘Walter?’ came a voice. ‘Walter!’

‘Baroness?’ said Benson.

‘Ingrid?’ gasped Fifi.

‘AAAAARGH!!!’ screamed the Horned Baron.

Joe Jefferson sat at his bedroom desk, pen poised. It was still noisy. Ella’s music was pounding above him, the electric drill and the vacuum cleaner were battling it out below, while the twins were fighting just outside his door.

Not that Joe noticed. Eyes down and head full of memories, he started writing.

Night was falling over Muddle Earth. The sun had set, the sky was darkening and already two of its three moons had risen up above the Musty Mountains. One of these moons was as purple as a batbird. The other was as yellow as an ogre’s underpants on wash-day . . .

As the three coloured moons of Muddle Earth sank low in the sky, they shone across the Musty Mountains and the Perfumed Bog, across Goblintown, Trollbridge, the Enchanted Lake – and a dusty track, along which two figures were hurrying. One of them was Fifi. The other was short, bandy-legged and bald . . .

‘Oh, Fifi,’ he was saying. ‘Free at last! We’ll be together now for ever and ever, growing fields of turnips beyond compare.’

‘You and me, Walter. You and me,’ said Fifi, squeezing his hand tightly. ‘After all this time . . .’ She turned to him. Oh, Walter, you’re as handsome as you were the day I first met you. For shame, hiding those rugged good looks under that horrid horned helmet for so long!’

‘It’s such a relief not having to wear it any more,’ Walter admitted. ‘The weight, the heat, the burden of responsibility – all gone. I feel a new me!’

Meanwhile, back at the castle, a light was shining from a window in the West Wing. Voices floated out from it into the night sky.

‘Ooh, it does suit you. Promise never to take it off. You look magnificent, Benson!’

‘Do you really think so, Baroness?’

‘Oh, Benson, you’re the Horned Baron now, remember!’ A girlish laugh filled the air. ‘You can call me Ingrid!’