Free Black and Blue Magic by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Page A

loose train tickets and,” he smiled ruefully, “fall out of buses.”
    Harry couldn’t help feeling sympathetic. “Isn’t there any chance that you’ll get over it? The enchantment, I mean.”
    “There is one faint hope,” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “According to one old and obscure book on spells, there is a way to escape.” Mr. Mazzeeck reached into a pocket inside his coat and brought out a worn and discolored scrap of paper. He unfolded it carefully and handed it to Harry. The fancy faded print said:
    Mog will not remove a curse,
    Till Better triumphs over Worst.
    Till Bad-to-Worse
    Has been Reversed
    And out of Error—Good has Burst.
    “Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of thing that’s likely to happen.” Mr. Mazzeeck said, taking the paper from Harry and putting it away. “But I always carry it with me to keep up my spirits. Even a faint hope is better than none.”
    Harry hadn’t understood much of what he had read, but he was inclined to agree that it didn’t sound too likely.
    “And in the meantime,” Mr. Mazzeeck went on, “I am a wanderer. All over the world ... places where magic is unappreciated or practically unknown ... hard beds ... tired feet ... terrible food ... here one day and gone the next ... trains, ships, buses, and taxis.”
    “Why don’t you fly?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t it be faster?”
    Mr. Mazzeeck looked a little embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’m a bit old-fashioned, but aeroplanes make me uneasy. Don’t they make you a bit nervous?”
    “Well, no,” Harry said. “I haven’t flown any lately, but I used to a lot when I was a little kid and I loved it. But that’s not exactly what I meant. I meant this way.” He pointed to the rolled-up carpet in the suitcase.
    “Ah, but don’t you see, that is not possible. When I was deprived of my sorcerer’s credentials, I was expressly forbidden the use of the company’s products. It has been a hard sentence. I often yearn for the days when I could make use of the magic that I am now forbidden.” Mr. Mazzeeck’s eyes went dreamy. “Particularly the magic tablecloth,” he murmured.
    “You mean you can’t use any of these things yourself?” Harry asked.
    “Almost none. I am allowed a limited use of the lamp.”
    “You mean, like when you used it to come up to my room?”
    “No,” Mr. Mazzeeck said. “That’s not the use I was referring to. I am allowed to summon the genii of this particular lamp, but only as a means of communication with my superiors at the head office. In fact, my orders to leave San Francisco tonight were brought by genii. It’s a bit faster than airmail.”
    “I guess it would be, at that.” Harry said.
    Mr. Mazzeeck reached into his pocket and took out his big old watch. “Dear me,” he said. “I must be going if I am to catch my train. We must make our decision quickly.” He opened the lid all the way and stood staring into the suitcase. Then his face crinkled into a smile. “Of course. What could be better?” He dug hastily through the jumble and came up with a small object that seemed to be a tiny silver vase or bottle. The metal looked thick and heavy, and it was engraved all over with a pattern of what appeared to be tiny leaves or feathers.
    “There you are,” Mr. Mazzeeck said, handing it to Harry. “A small token of my everlasting gratitude.”
    “Er—thanks. Thanks a lot,” Harry said.
    “Go on, open it.”
    The deeply embossed silver top was attached to a wide wooden cork. Inside the bottle there was a thick white liquid that looked very much like the stuff ladies put on their hands when they finish doing the dishes. “What is it?” Harry asked.
    “Well, in our new catalogue it’s listed as Volo Oil,” Mr. Mazzeeck said disapprovingly. “But actually it’s a very old product. Not one of these gadgety bits of trickery that are so popular nowadays, you can be sure of that. The ointment is made from a formula that has been known to the better sorcerers for