The hospital room was silent in anticipation. All eyes were on the sofa, where Gramma Flopett was examining her youngest grandson. She brushed his fine, light hair with a bony finger before looking up at the five pairs of worried eyes. “He’s a good boy,” she said. Everybody let out a sigh of relief. “But—” The breaths were drawn back in quickly. “But he’s tangled up like a knot.”
Worried looks were exchanged as Gramma handed the boy to the father. An aunt began to speak, but her husband stopped her. Nobody ever asked Gramma Flopett to clarify. She never said more than she had to. The room was silent as the old woman shuffled to the door, refusing any help from her stronger relatives. For a moment, she stood at the door.
“What are you naming him, Bethany?”
“Athanasius,” the mother answered.
Gramma Flopett nodded in approval, then left the hospital room. The moment the door clicked shut, the silence was discarded for a buzz of enthusiastic discussion. What could she have meant? Tangled up? The child was barely two days old! A thought floated around in everybody’s head, but it took nine-year-old Lysistrata to put it into words. She looked from face to face, then solemnly declared:
“Gramma’s going nuts!”
For the next few months, the Flopett family paid careful attention to both Gramma and Baby Thanny. Neither woman nor baby showed any signs of problems, though Athanasius did have an odd preoccupation with atlases. When things started disappearing slightly more often than usual, nobody thought anything of it. It was harder to keep track of things with a new baby around, so missing pens were to be expected. In any case, nothing important ever decided to get itself lost. As far as the Flopetts were concerned, that year had been perfectly fine.
The trouble began two weeks after Athanasius turned two. His father, Leonidas Flopett, had mislaid the car keys. They had searched through the whole house twice, and were halfway through a third one when Lysistrata noticed the keys hanging from a branch of the maple tree in their back yard. It had been odd, but the incident was quickly forgotten. Or at least it was until Athanasius’ favourite teddy bear appeared on the very same branch. Soon, to the family’s utter astonishment, everything they ever lost began to appear on the branch.
As years went by, it became clear that the incidents were magical. Uncle Heredotus claimed a platypus had flown past his bedroom window one evening. A motley crew of cows, sheep and alligators crowded the 401 and caused a traffic jam the same day the Flopetts had planned to go on a road trip. The family mail always managed to end up in a kitchen cupboard, and even though Athanasius only ever bought white socks, he would always end up with odd pairs in rainbow colours. At school, his pencils would turn into baby carrots, which he had to discreetly shove into his pockets. All in all, things were beginning to get slightly ridiculous.
Gramma Flopett had been very interested to hear their stories. Often, she would look pointedly at Athanasius and say, “That boy’s tangled up like a knot, he is.” The family laughed this off, but beneath the laughter was a very real concern. What on Earth could she possibly mean?
It was only a matter of time before young Athanasius’ magic would get him into trouble. As he grew older, he seemed to gain a sort of control over his powers, but once in a while, things got out of control. When that happened, all the suppressed energy would gush out and put ten thousand cows in the House of Commons before Athanasius could get a word in edgeways. After a year of inactivity, seven-year-old Athanasius Flopett should have realised that an eruption was imminent.
He did not. Mrs Cleare was not amused.
Try as they might, the Flopetts could not convince the teacher of poor Athanasius’ uncontrollable powers. Though she’d seen the paint jars emptying themselves, she refused to believe that that was how it really happened. To her, Athanasius was a rude, disobedient child who never thought about others, and nothing would budge that opinion. The poor boy was forced to write several letters of apology, and serve out two weeks of afterschool detentions. That was when Uncle Heredotus first suggested the magic lessons.
Athanasius had refused. Sure enough, a year later, the magic did its tricks again. This time, it was on the playground. Everything had been peaceful when a platypus had appeared and zoomed through the air, hitting a girl on the back of the head. She accused Athanasius, and Mrs Cleare had been all too quick to believe it. After all, if she was sure of one thing, she was sure that platypuses did not fly.
The year after that, a purple goat took large bites out of a boy’s art project. Then, there was the incident with the squid, and the time his hand got glued to another boy’s knee. By the time he was twelve, Mrs Cleare had hundreds of little episodes to support her theory that Athanasius Flopett was a danger to society. It would have surprised her to know that the boy thought she was pleasant enough, and harboured absolutely no resentment.
“That woman’s blind,” was what Gramma Flopett had to say about it. “She don’t see that he’s tangled up like a knot.” The family exchanged looks and shrugged. If Athanasius was tangled up like a knot, then Gramma was the only person who could see it—or so they thought.
The classroom was silent with anticipation. Athanasius stared at the teacher, his boots dripping water on to the floor. He was late, but only by five minutes. Surely Mrs Cleare was glaring a bit too intensely for the situation? After all, it was snowing outside, and he had to walk all the way. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he would always manage to break some rule in front of Mrs Cleare. He wanted to please her. He really, really did. Athanasius was about to explain when something very odd happened.
Mrs Cleare disappeared. She didn’t walk out or run away. She was just gone. The stunned class stared for a few seconds before beginning to chat. A world where teachers disappeared was just fine for them. Athanasius, as soon as he recovered from shock, left the room to inform the office. Ten minutes later, a cheerful substitute teacher was sitting at Mrs Cleare’s desk, and Athanasius was free to consider what he had just done.
Three weeks later, Mrs Cleare was found in a mental hospital in Mexico. It was at that point that Leonidas put his foot down. Athanasius was going to be treated by a proper magician. He dialled the number, had a long talk with a man named Fennen Halcyk, and set up a meeting that very weekend. Athanasius was more than a little apprehensive.
They first met in the living room of the Flopett family home. When the door opened, everybody had been excited—only to be underwhelmed when Mr Halcyk walked through the door. Not only was the man several inches shorter than thirteen-year-old Athanasius, but he also looked far too young to be a master of magic.
Mr Halcyk seemed oblivious of the disapproval. He walked straight up to Athanasius and declared, “That boy’s tangled. Tangled up like a knot.”
The Flopetts stared at him in amazement. Gramma laughed and clapped her hands. “That’s what I’ve been telling them! Since he was born! Tangled up like a knot!”
“Gramma,” Lysistrata said gently, “We have no idea what you mean by that.”
“No?” Mr Halcyk examined Athanasius’ arm carefully. “Seems clear to me. The boy’s got magic, but it’s all twisted up inside of him. Like a curse.”
“A curse!” repeated Uncle Heredotus.
“Not my Athanasius!” cried Bethany, grabbing Leonidas for support. “Can you fix it, Mr Halcyk? Will my baby be okay?”
“Mother!” Athanasius did not appreciate being called a baby, especially not in front of a complete stranger. “I’m thirteen.”
There was a silence as Mr Halcyk continued to stare at Athanasius’ arm. One could hear each person breathing, and even separate Gramma’s rasp from Bethany’s anxious sighs. Tension began to build. The clock ticked. Mr Halcyk continued to stare at the same spot on Athanasius’ arm.
Lysistrata cleared her throat. “The curse, Mr Halcyk?”
He started, as if woken from some reverie. “Oh, yes! Of course!”
What happened next remained in the Flopett family’s memories for the rest of their lives. Mr Halcyk took a few deep breaths, then plunged his hands into Athanasius’ chest. The boy could feel something being pulled and wrenched apart, and then, finally, a pressure lifted. He looked down at his torso, which was quite intact, then at his stunned family. Thirteen years of astonishing magic had still not prepared them to see somebody’s hands dive right through solid flesh.
“That feels better,” Athanasius remarked. “Thank you, Mr Halcyk.”
“Is it over?” asked Leonidas. “Is the magic gone?”
The little magician smiled. “It’s not gone, Mr Flopett. It’ll be easier to handle, but he’s going to need some guidance.” He added, “I’d be happy to take him on as an apprentice.”
“For how much?”
Mr Halcyk seemed surprised at the notion. He shook his head quickly. “No, no, no! You don’t pay a master. It’s—it’s services and things. We can sit down and work it out…” The two men walked off towards the dining room, discussing the details of an apprenticeship. For about five minutes, the family sat in total silence. Then, Gramma began to laugh again.
“I told you, didn’t I? I told you so! Tangled like a knot! Even the magician said so!”
Athanasius looked at the sign above the shop. Fennen’s Books. It matched the name on the scrap of paper, so he pushed open the door and walked in. He was going to get magic lessons.