Free The Sword in the Grotto by Angie Sage Page B

party for him,” Wanda said. “Perhaps he would like to drive a race car or something. My mom did that when she turned forty. And Sir Horace already has his own crash helmet.”
    I wasn’t so sure about that. Something told me that Sir Horace and racing cars would not go together well.
    â€œOr we could just get him a really good present,” said Wanda. “But it’s no good buying him a pair of socks because he’s got no feet. Or aftershave because he doesn’t shave. Or handkerchiefs because he’s got no nose, or boxer shorts because he’s got no—”
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know. There’s no need to go on and on , Wanda,” I told her. SometimesWanda does not know when to stop.
    The party food was no problem. Brenda had a whole cupboard stuffed full of chips and candy. In fact, it was so full that when Wanda opened the door, a torrent of bags of gummi bears fell on our heads. One of them burst, so we had to eat all the bears, as Aunt Tabbyalways says, “If you make a mess, Araminta, you clean it up.”

    We had very nearly cleaned up all the bears when a massive THUD echoed through the walls of the kitchen. It rocked the cupboard, and another shower of gummi bears leaped out and hit Wanda on the head.
    â€œOuch! Wharrer at ?” she said.
    â€œI don’t know, do I?” I told her. Wanda still thinks I know what’s going on in this house, but I don’t.
    Wanda gulped down the last of the bears. “It sounded like someone heaved a huge sack of potatoes out of a window right at the top of the house,” she said.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” I told her. “Who would want to throw a huge sack of potatoes out of the—Uncle Drac!” Suddenly I just knew what had happened. I ran out the door and crashed straight into Aunt Tabby.
    â€œIt’s Drac!” yelled Aunt Tabby. “Come on, Araminta—quick!” Aunt Tabby picked herself up from the floor and zoomed off around the corner and along the long corridor that winds through the basement. I couldn’t see her very well, as all the lights in the corridor burned out years ago and she always wears black, but that didn’t matter. I knew exactly where she was headed—to the bat turret poo hatch.
    Wanda was close behind me. “Why,” she puffed, “would Uncle Drac want to throw a sack of potatoes out of a window? And what’s the fuss, anyway? We can always pick them up. Potatoes don’t break or anything. It’s not like he threw a sack of eggs out of the—”
    â€œOh, be quiet, Wanda,” I told her.
    Like I said before, Wanda is picky and does not know when to stop. She doesn’t think, either, because if Wanda had stopped to think for one moment, she would have realized that the THUD we heard was Uncle Drac in his sleeping bag falling four floors down from the top of the bat turret. Which was not a good thing, particularly for Uncle Drac.
    Aunt Tabby skidded to a halt at the far end of the corridor. In front of her, at the base of Uncle Drac’s bat turret, was the bat poo hatch. It was like a huge and very heavy cat flap. Aunt Tabby heaved it open and grabbed Uncle Drac’s shovel, which was leaning up beside it. Then she started digging.
    Aunt Tabby was like a dog digging for its bone. Bat poo flew everywhere as she frantically heaved great shovel loads out of thehatch. I got out of the way quickly, but Wanda, who had not seen the hatch before, was not as fast.
    â€œEeow!” she yelled as a large shovelful of bat poo splattered over her. “That’s disgusting!”
    â€œShh, Wanda,” said Aunt Tabby, “I thought I heard Drac. Araminta, can you hear something?”
    I listened as more shovelfuls of bat poo flew through the air.
    â€œErrrgh…” A faint groaning came from inside the turret.
    â€œDrac, Drac, are you all right?” yelled Aunt Tabby. “Hold on, Drac, we’re