Diana Wynne Jones - Mixed Magics: Four Tales of Chrestomanci

T he Willing Warlock was a born loser. He lost his magic when Chrestomanci took it away, and that meant he lost his usual way of making a living. So he decided to take up a life of crime instead by stealing a motorcar, because he loved motorcars, and selling it. He found a beautiful car in Wolvercote High Street, but he lost his head when a policeman saw him trying to pick the lock and cycled up to know what he was doing. He ran.

The policeman pedaled after him, blowing his whistle, and the Willing Warlock climbed over the nearest wall and ran again, with the whistle still sounding, until he arrived in the backyard of a onetime Accredited Witch who was a friend of his. What shall I do? he panted.

How should I know? said the Accredited Witch. Im not used to doing without magic any more than you are. The only soul I know whos still in business is a French wizard in Shepherds Bush.

Tell me his address, said the Willing Warlock.

The Accredited Witch told him. But it wont do you a scrap of good, she said unhelpfully. Jean-Pierre always charges the earth. Now Ill thank you to get out of here before you bring the police down on me, too.

The Willing Warlock went out of the witchs front door into Coven Street and blenched at the sound of police whistles still shrilling in the distance. Since it seemed to him that he had no time to waste, he hurried to the nearest toyshop and parted with his last half crown for a toy pistol. Armed with this, he walked into the first post office he came to.

Your money or your life, he said to the postmistress. The Willing Warlock was a bulky young man who always looked as if he needed to shave, and the Postmistress was sure he was a desperate character. She let him clear out her safe.

The Willing Warlock put the money and the pistol in his pocket and hailed a taxi in which he drove all the way to Shepherds Bush, feeling this was the next best thing to having a car of his own. It cost a lot, but he arrived at the French wizards office still with 273 6s 4d in his pocket.

The French wizard shrugged in a very French way. What is it you expect me to do for you, my friend? Me, I try not to offend the police. If you wish me to help, it will cost you.

A hundred pounds, said the Willing Warlock. Hide me somehow.

Jean-Pierre did another shrug. For that money, he said, I could hide you two ways. I could turn you into a small round stone

No, thanks, said the Willing Warlock.

and keep you in a drawer, said Jean-Pierre. Or I could send you to another world entirely. I could even send you to a world where you would have your magic again

Have my magic? exclaimed the Willing Warlock.

but that would cost you twice as much, said Jean-Pierre. Yes, naturally you could have your magic again, if you went somewhere where Chrestomanci has no power. The man is not all-powerful.

Then Ill go to one of those places, said the Willing Warlock.

Very well. In a bored sort of way, Jean-Pierre picked up a pack of cards and fanned them out. Choose a card. This decides which world you will grace with your blue chin.

As the Willing Warlock stretched out his hand to take a card, Jean-Pierre moved them out of reach. Whatever world it is, he said, the money there will be quite different from your pounds, shillings, and pence. You might as well give me all you have.

So the Willing Warlock handed over all his 273 6s 4d. Then he was allowed to pick a card. It was the ten of clubs. Not a bad card, the Willing Warlock thought. He was no fortune-teller, of course, but he knew the ten of clubs meant that someone would bully somebody. He decided that he would be the one doing the bullying, and handed back the card. Jean-Pierre tossed all the cards carelessly down on a table. The Willing Warlock just had time to see that every single one was the ten of clubs, before he found himself still in Shepherds Bush but in another world entirely.

He was standing in what seemed to be a car park beside a big road. On that road, more cars than he had ever seen in his life were rushing past, together with lorries and the occasional big red bus. There were cars standing all around him. This was a good world indeed!

The Willing Warlock sniffed the delicious smell of petrol and turned to the nearest parked car to see how it worked. It looked rather different from the one he had tried to steal in Wolvercote. Experimentally he made a magic pass over its bonnet. To his delight, the bonnet promptly sprang open an inch or so. The French wizard had not lied. He had his magic back.

The Willing Warlock was just about to heave up the bonnet and plunge into the mysteries beneath when he saw a large lady in uniform, with a yellow band around her cap, tramping meaningfully toward him. She must be a policewoman. Now he had his magic back, the Willing Warlock did not panic. He simply let go of the bonnet and sauntered casually away. Rather to his surprise, the policewoman did not follow him. She just gave him a look of deep contempt and tucked a message of some kind behind the wiper of the car.

All the same, the Willing Warlock felt it prudent to go on walking. He walked to another street, looking at cars all the time, until something made him look up. In front of him was a grand marble building. CITY BANK, it said, in rich gold letters. Now here, thought the Willing Warlock, was a better way to get a car than simply stealing it. If he robbed this bank, he could buy a car of his very own. He took the toy pistol out of his pocket and went in through the grand door.

Inside, it was very hushed and polite and calm. Though there were quite a lot of people there, waiting in front of the cashiers or walking about in the background, nobody seemed to notice the Willing Warlock standing uncertainly waving his pistol. He was forced to go and push the nearest queue of people aside and point the pistol at the lady behind the glass there.

Money or your life, he said.

They seemed to notice him then. Somebody screamed. The lady behind the glass went white and put her thumb on a button near her cash drawer. Howhow much money, sir? she faltered.

All of it, said the Willing Warlock. Quickly. Maybe, he thought afterward, that was a bit greedy. But it seemed so easy. Everyone, on both sides of the glassed-in counter, was standing frozen, staring at him, afraid of the pistol. And the lady readily opened her cash drawer and began counting out wads of five-pound notes, fumbling with haste and eagerness.