Free The Secret of Platform 13 by Eva Ibbotson Page B

to do a special dance for Raymond on the night.
    And she was right. After all, it wasn’t as though they didn’t know what Raymond was like – that kind of thing gets around – but everyone wanted the King and Queen to be happy . The Island mattered to them; it was their homeland even if they themselves hadn’t been there, and there seemed to be no end to the trouble they were prepared to take.
    The ghosts, during these two days, were everywhere; helping, persuading, taking messages. Even Miriam Hughes-Hughes stopped apologizing and found a Ladies’ Group of Banshees – those pale, ghastly women who wail and screech when something awful is going to happen, and they agreed to come and sing sad songs for the Prince. A troll called Henry Prendergast who lived in the basement of the Bank of England said he thought he could manage some shape-shifting, and Hans tried to forget the hurt that Raymond had done him by calling him creepy , a nd practised weight-lifting till his muscles threatened to crack. As for Odge Gribble, she went off by herself in the Underground to visit an aunt of her mother’s. The aunt was an Old Woman of Gloominess and absolutely marvellous at turning people bald, and she promised to bring some friends along from her sewing circle and amuse Raymond by making donkey’s tails come out of people’s foreheads and that kind of thing.
    But it was Cor who worked himself hardest. Hour after hour, he sat by the lake with his black book practising his monster-raising spell. He didn’t eat, he scarcely slept, but he wouldn’t stop. There was something special about the Monster of the Serpentine, only , he couldn’t remember what it was. There was a lot he couldn’t remember these days, but he wasn’t going to give up. There was nothing Cor wouldn’t have done to bring back the Prince – un-bopped and un-sacked – to the parents who wanted him so much.
    The only thing that still worried the rescuers was how to make Raymond Trottle come to the park. Of course it would be easy to call him by magic as Cor had called the ghosts, but they had promised faithfully not to use any magic directly on the Prince.
    It was Ben who thought of what to do. ‘There’s a boy at Raymond’s school called Paul who’s the son of a duke. Raymond would do anything to keep up with him. If we pretend that Paul’s giving a secret party by the lake, I’m sure Raymond will come.’ Then his face became troubled. ‘Of course, it’s cheating, I suppose. It’s a lie.’
    But Cor was firm about this. ‘Bringing Raymond back to the island is like a military campaign. Like a war. In a war, a soldier might have to tell a lie but he’d still be serving his country . ’
    Ben’s plan worked. Melisande knew a siren who worked in Fortlands showing off the dresses, and she ‘borrowed’ a posh invitation card and Ben pretended that Paul had bribed him to deliver it.
    And just before twelve o’clock on Midsummer’s Eve, Raymond Trottle, in his jazziest clothes, arrived at the edge of the lake – and found a great throne which the trolls had built for him, and a host of people who raised their arms and hailed him as a prince.
    ‘A prince?’ said Raymond. ‘Me?’
    ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ said the Wizard, and told Raymond the story of his birth.
    Raymond listened, and as he did so a smug, self-satisfied smile spread across his face.
    ‘I always knew I was special,’ he said. ‘I knew it,’ – and he climbed on to his throne.

Nine
    There had been nothing like it for a hundred years.
    The witches had made a circle of protection round the lake which no one could cross; everything inside it was invisible to any stray wanderers. Light came from the flaring torches of the wizards and from the glow-worms which Gurkie had coaxed into the trees – hundreds of them, glimmering and winking like stars. And there were real stars too: the night was clear, the moon shone down calmly on the revels.
    ‘Doesn’t it look beautiful !’