Common London's residents still do recall The Five Legs Emu Invasion, The Week of Jumping Eggs and Raining Ticks and Cockroaches at November. But Dick most proud of The City's Hard Drives Suicide. But that memorable winter Monday, he wasn't able to recall anything enjoyable at all. Those days he was loosing his taste for the practical jokes, friendly get-togethers, females, and life in general.

  At this point, on the behalf of the more slow witted part of the audience, we have to point out the fact, that all of the Gutter's friends were wizards, with some odd witch or two thrown in to increase the disaster rate. And his marvel of a wife, Marry, and his five years old angel of a daughter, Gingy, namesake of the Grandma Gingema - were witches in the most ancient sense of the word. You see, every one in the most venerable line of Gutters were, traditionally, wizards and witches.

 - Just so - "were", - growled the paterfamilias, gloomily observing the trembling ceiling. Upstairs little Gingy tried to turn wildly protesting cat Kisser into a baby owl. The fight didn't resolve for an hour and halve by now. It didn't really bothered the older Gutter. Young thing is entitled to some entertainment; she could use an owl in any case. The cradle, flowing in the middle of dining room or, more to the point - its inhabitant - he, now, was the case for a great deal of upset.

  Charming baby - plump, rosy cheeked and a natural shouter was welcomed into the family about halve a year ago. His screaming, shitting rate, permanent disdainful expression - everything was a case for the endless mirth to the happy parents. There was but one problem..., no - disaster: the little Porridge has no magic bone in his tiny body.

  We have to mention - the new-born wizard is an earthquake that just moved into your bedroom. Every whim of the magic babe literally turns your house over, to stand on ins roof. Toys, exploding like a fireworks, bottles, filling themselves with the milk from the neighbour's refrigerators... Only a witch of the mother may keep in some loosely defined borders this taifoon-hurican-tsunamy. And when the teeth are coming... then even the father gotta take a vacation to look after the wizardling. Its burning drapes and weeping gorgulias all around, otherwise.

  Baby Gutter turned out to be nothing of the kind. Surely he shouted, spitted, gave the overnight performances no less, than your other new-born; but there was the rather exceptional lack of the explosions, fireworks and other cataclysms, that were so normal to expect. From the start, the parents were boastful of the calm and responsible son of theirs, but in no time the neighbours envy turned to compassion. Did you ever heard about a healthy three month old, that didn't case a cat to fly into the ceiling or exploded all the china in the house for his bellyache?

  Porridge Gutter was born a common muddle<muddlus vulgaris> - by now, there were no doubts about it. Than was the wizard's name for these miserable wretches, who weren't able to go through the walls, make a fire by the sheer willpower and mutate reversibly.

  Venerable clan of Gutters didn't remember such a shamefully setback as giving birth to a muddle. For one crazy moment of weakness old Gutter even suspected poor Porridge in the bastard origin!harbouring a suspicion in a witch's infidelity, you need some really hard evidence, that'll stand in court of law and, by preference, in the court of high too>. But The Astrology Department made a quick job of this horrible doubts: the extremely rare combination of Mars, Saturn, Jupiter and falling down Russian satellite brought the imminent muddlehood to every being, who was so careless as to born on the same day as the young Porridge.

  Even more briskly and even violently dealed with his doubts Marry Gutter herself. Some of the spells she used in that fight were outlawed on the grounds of their immorality, as well as brutality. Marry, being nice and calm person, promptly cooled down and almost forgiven the old man Gutter, however he nursed his bodily and moral hurts with the considerable help by the "Vampire's Blood" till the dawn.

   Small wonder that papa Dick wasn't at his best in that memorable Monday morning. He waved his wand distractedly, marking the dull thuds by Gingy or Kisser hitting the ceiling, making the little Porridge's cradle to fly up and down, going on its way through some advanced pilotage forms. Usually it worked wonders on his son, but today even two Nesterov's Loops followed by the "Barrel" and upside down pass under the table produced no visible results.

 - Twinkle, twinkle little star... would you sleep where you are... Would you ever shut up, Mordevolt take you! - Mary teleported

from the kitchen to his wild roar.

 - How dare you tell it! You are just calling trouble on our heads! - she put the baby to sleep, and with the same wave of her wand pressed the poor thing against her bosom.

  Marry was right: Mordevolt was the terror of the magic world, his very name - forbidden. Brave wizards trembled, when he was mentioned - just in case; cowards trembled around the clock, even while eating, and replaced the horrible name with He-the-Sounding-of- Whoose-Name-Creats-Some-Phonetic-Defficalties.

  Born wizard, giving reasons for the exceptional hopes from his youth, He-Whoose-Name-Shouldn't-Be-Prononced-in-Public- Places meet the great Leonardo da Vinchy's ghost. After the fateful meeting, he took into his stubborn head, that the future doesn't lie in the mossy spells any more, but in the science and technology progress. The best of the magic school Perverts lectors, he thrown away his promising doctor's thesis "Some Aspects of the Verwolfe's Demography" and took to the radio controlled planes and other gadgets. He became the laughingstock, but not for a long time. Once upon a time, his seemingly harmless strangeness turned to a real nightmare.

  Not a single wizard get away the day, when You-Know-Who-I- Mean, driven out of his mind by his opponents, draw from the mysterious depths of his evil looking coat The Great Black Tube and levelled it onto the unbelievers. There were six mighty magicians and wizards there - but no one managed to oppose the Tube action, as the shrewd Mordevolt created it without single spell, with canning electronics of the Taiwan origin alone. In a moment the magicians were replaced by the few disoriented muddles, suffering from shock and amnesia too.

   It was the end of happy tranquility of the world of magic. Pale as Death Incarnated, Mordevolt embraced the frightening name The Enemy of the Wizardry(TEW). His flashing Tube turned the mighty magefolk into weak muddles, wherever he appeared. Fearless wizards-Arnolds, covered with the grounded mail shirts hunted He- Whoose-Name-I-Managed-to-Forget-Once-More for ten years, but TEW, who dishonestly refused to shy from the good old magic tricks, slipped away every time, leaving in his wake a track of the muddled heroes. The number of his victims reached 665 and nobody was eager to become #666, even as the number was counted lucky. It wasn't as if everybody had to acknowledge the facts, however.

 - Mordevolt! - the growing noises from upstairs forced papa Gutter to rise his voice, - Mordevolt-Mordevolt-Mordevolt! What a foolish superstitions, Mary! It is more simple by far just to borrow the dumb Tube from the dumb Mordevolt, than to use superstitions to successfully call for troubles. You may repeat that stupid name Mordevolt 666 times to no avail!

 - Ding-dong! Ding-dong! - answered him the doorbell promptly.

 - It seems, the neighbours have finally lost their patience with Gingy. I'll try to settle her down for a time being, you just work it out with the neighbours. - With that Marry flied straight through the ceiling upstairs, where Gingy was surrounded by ten rather annoyed copies of Kisser, smallest cat no bigger than mouse, while the largest one broke the roof with its head to fit in the room.

  Gutter staffed the wand into his robe's pocket and slowly made his way into the hall. He felt no desire whatsoever to speak with anybody at all, much less - with some neighbour, who was well out of his stock of patience, most probably - used it up for days ahead.

 - Who dares to bother me in the morning? - he hoped to unsettle the visitor with this novel opening line.

 - He-Whoose-Name-Thrown-The-Black-Shadow-Over-The-Helpless- World.

 - I am not really used to be the butt of the practical jokes, you bastard!

  Daddy Gutter was going to show the as yet anonymous joker the cost of making even the best joke in the wrong place and time. Whoever-Gets- Ironical-Over-The-Head-of-The-Superstitions-Department would most probably have a few visits to stomatologist, oculist, traumatology and otolaryngologist in his nearest future. Without the second thought about making some kind of preparation, he opened the door.

  And looked at... Mordevolt. As a trained magician he froze on his place but for a moment. Next moment his wand was pointed at Mordevolt with the short battle spell already flying from his bluish lips.

  The wand, however, was pointed at his opponent with its handle. The sharp, working end Dick all but pressed to his own stomach.

 - Lets see, what is the latest fashion in battle spells at the Superstitions, - Mordevolt studied Gutter, which sprouted some tentacles and covered with horny plates all over. - Don't suppose its desirable to part the prominent wizard with such abilities. I'll probably let you keep 'em just for the entertainment value.

   TEW pushed his rigid opponent with a finger and unbalanced him. Gutter turned over to land at Mordevolt's feet with a solid trump.

 - We-ell, here I am. In particular, here I am beginning to think about the life, I chosen for myself. If these pathetic antics are the best the magic world has to face me with, am I fated to turn into a clown, endlessly playing a fool with such a miserable wretches for opponents?

  He-Who-For-a-Long-Time-Lacked-a-Worthy-Adversary stepped over the weakly wreathing Gutter's body, crossed the hall into the dining room, skipped a sceptical eye over the frivolously tapestried walls and suddenly noticed the cradle.

 - A baby, baby wizard. What an unexpected turn of my fate. Just on the very brink of despair...

  Marry flied into the dining room, flicked her wand...

 - No. No. - Mordevolt with contemptuous easy created a greenish sphere, surrounding himself and the cradle; the powerful, nasty looking beam shooting from the tip of the Mary's wand stopped outside with no more, than a screeching sound. - And no more badly educated old wizards too. Here is an opportunity to make an evil deed to be remembered for ages. What an unsurpassable nastiness would it be - to muddle a six month old baby! - Mordevolt looked outside at Gutters, but they were spoiling the moment of his greatest triumph with distinct lack of visible reaction.

  Daddy Dick coolly tried to explain something to Marry, in the short pauses of his so far vain fight with his new-found reptilianhood. The mother listened absentmindedly, while inspecting the sphere and its content from all available angles in turn. Little girl, never letting go of the really offended cat, stick her tongue at TEW.

 - Look at these victims of inbreeding! So, I was right - I have no business here any longer. But the baby, the baby... - He narrowed his eyes dreamily. - I may well retire after such a glorious crime... To leave these sad excuse for wizardry, frighten right out of their tiny minds; to move, say, to Australia and to grow some simple electric sheep there... Now, that's a happiness, isn't it? Its decided! My nameless little friend, you would be my 666-th and the last victim!

  He-Who-Just-Desided-To-Retire-From-Show-Buiseness-And- Return-To-His-Roots took an impressive looking black tube out of his suit and another one from his cloak's pocket. Click - and he had some kind of rifle in his hands. He added more and more new tubes on the device, till it reminded most of the twelve muzzled grenade luncher.

  - I do always prefer my jobs to be done cleanly and completely. I won't settle just for any muddle, no, we'll get here a kind of supermuddle, who, in addition to his complete magic impotence, won't be even able to believe in UFO, Santa Claus and mating from the first sign.

  Mordevolt levelled his monstrous weapon of mage-destruction on Porridge, exhaled happily, and pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

  Violet sparkles right out of the black tubes hit squarely into Porridge's forehead. Lacking any comprehensive way to work on the born muddle, they reflected and promptly returned to their creator. The Spitonyou's Sphere disintegrated without any interesting effects. The Enemy of all Wizards grown more and more pale, gaining transparency in the process.

  So, you treat me thus! - the walls could be already seen right through the rather disgruntled TEW. - Than I just might turn really nasty! - The Mordevolt's wand had jumped from his coat sleave into his hand as by magic. If-you-so-than-here-you-got! - He roared one of the most dangerous spell... to no effect whatsoever. He-Who-Thought-to- Undermine-Other's-Power lost his own by his very own hand.

 - Now I have a grudge to nurse! I am up to some real serious nursing! And when I'll return, I won't show mercy to...

  All of the sudden, some force compelled him to rise above the floor, fly across the room and to harry to the wet welcome of the pet froggies. Little Porridge moved his finger up and down and He-Who- Rised-Against-The-Wrong-Fellow moved into the swamp water headfirst and emerged back with perfect choreography.

  - My baby! You are a magician now! - Marry catched the vainly struggling Porridge and covered him with her lipstick all over. Turning all his resources to self-defence, boy let his new toy to slip from his mind. Mordevolt's spectrum invested almost all the pitiful remainder of his former power into making his escape through the vent, mouthing inaudible curses on his way.

   Gutters didn't remember throwing another celebration just like that one.

  - My sweet! My smart baby! My magician! - Marry thrown happily screeching Porridge to the ceiling. The chairs run away right after turning into the small wild ponies.

 - Porridge - wizard!  Our Porridge is a magician! - getting into the spirit of general festivity, Gingy jumped up and down the sofa, clapping her head with her palm.  Porridge, Porridge, wizard, wizard, wizard!  Croak, croak, croak!  How may that come to being?  Well, just so!  Porridge is a wizard!  Croak, croak, croak!

 - Just as I told, - hummed Dick Gutter, - the Muddling Tube may not hurt a muddle in any way whatsoever.  And, as the round shooted may not possibly just diffuse hurmlessly, the result is pretty much obvious.  Surely, the magic potencial of Mordevolt should have been transfered to Porridge, just as I told you - I mean, I didn't actually told it, but after some considtration -  

  - Miaow, - Kisser fall down onto his carpet tiredly and covered his ears with his paws.

   The news of the miraclous delivery from the Mordevolt's threat flew around the world of magic with the speed of  the generously dosed with gasoline  (under its tail) owl.  The event was celebrated for two months and the best half of British islends were turned upside down in the process.  The Department of Fogging have to invest a lot if effort to write it off onto the Arsenal ( football team ) fans.

  Nobody suspected at the point that the baby Porridge acquired together with the magic powers of Mordevolt the selfless love of Him-who-may-be -called-as -you-please-now to the science and technical progress...

  Porridge Gutter spent the morning of his eleventh birthday on the apple tree.
  Armed with the crossbow with the laser sights ( made with his own hands ), he observed the neighbourhood with the keen eye and sighed courageously.  Kisser the cat made his slow rounds below.  The older Gutters walked at the lawn their rather old and reumatic selfbeating carpets.  From time to time some family member looked at Porridge: the parrents - with concern, the big sis - with indulgence and recently rejuvenated magically Kisser - with the newfound young curiosity of younth.

  Porridge assumed that the laser sights would fool his parents right enough.  But Dick and Marry knew all about the real battle laser, enabled to shoot the crossbow bolts just for shaw from the start.  Porridge was very proud of his weapon, especially of the fact, that he was able to put it together almost without magic.  Well, just a bit of it, just to ensure the proper coherency of radiation and to tamper with the First Law of the Thermodynamics...  But all that is of no import and rather boring.

  But, what motivated Gutter Junior to build his crossbow? - That's, what's more important to our story by far.

  At spring, when our hero was busily produsing bugs ( on the base common cocroach ), he casually overheared some pretty unpleasant discussion:

 - We should have a serious talk with you, my dear, - started his mother.
 - Indeed ! - shouted back his father.
 - I am so worried by our boy, - continued Marry.
 - Hmmm... - hold his end of the discussion Dick Gutter sadly.
 - That, which he makes himself busy with, its - its - I lack the words.  Its -
 - Go on with it! - shouted the head of the family.

  Somewhat alarmed and quite intrigued  Porridge took from the mess in his drawer the first bug he could lay his hands upon, which happend to be some horned radio controlled plastic bettle, fastend on the back of this beast of burden a digital camcorder - and directed his spy to the dining room.  Soon enough he had the picture of his parents on the display of his PC - and at least one amazing mistery was explained right away - the Dick's shouting reflected the proceeding of the footbitch game ( "Madgestic United" ws. " Wizard Pinguins" ), the pitifull failures of his favorite "MU" to get close to their opponent's gates and was not, by any means, directed at his wife.

  Soon enough footbeachmen worked themselves out to the degree, where thay lost the interest to the game and started fights between themstlves, with the public, proceeded to the judge beating and taken to fly their broomstics out of the MV right into the room to steal the fathers beer from the table.  In short, it wouldn't seam a proper time for the serious talk to anybody, but a wich, who are famous for breaking the hard news in the hard times.  Actually, females needn't use any magic for the effect.

  Marry resolutely moved to stand between her husband and MV.

 - Something should be done about the child, Dick!

 - Yea.  And me too, - ventured his father, starting to realise his wife's anxiety.

 - What do you mean by that?  Dick!  The boy doesn't care for magic any more!  He is interested only in computers, processors and transvestitors!

 - Transistors, dear, - pointed out Dick mildly.  He managed to keep track of the match by peeking out of Marry's armpit. - Those things are called transistors.  Where - ?! - Forward "MU" smartly moved to take the can almost from father's grasp.

  It spelled the double disaster: old man Gutter could easily survive the loss of his drink, but with the judge going to disqualify the thief for the use of doping on the top of it - no, it was too much. - Get the ... judge out of the field!  And you - forward you go!  Forward, I say!  What are you waiting for?  Pass it, you, dummy!  And don't you dare to call me names!

 - I don't care how do you call those things!  The boy needs some attention from his father.  You don't take any part in his upbringing!  You don't pay attention even to me!  Even now!

 - And to me too, - that sounded like Gingy.  Porridge moved his bug and was paid for his efforts by the opportunity to add the face of his sister to the picture. - I told him some hundred times to get me tickets for the night show of the shapeshifters - and what come of it?  And I did already promised to Vadik -

 - He's you new boyfriend, isn't he? - the name catched her mother's interest. - Vadik?  Do you mean our neighbour Vladislav?  The son of Dracula?

 - No, - flashed the girl, - he - he isn't our - I mean, yes, he is a muddle.  But he's very nice!  He is writing poetry: "You bewitched me by you voice's pitch - ".

 - Oh, you rather not.  Unwitch him before it's become too late.  Those mortals are the royal pain in the ass: starts from bewitching him, afterwards you gotta get rid of him - and then, before you turn around he's dead already.  The waste of some perfectly good love potions, aren't them - .  Gingy, where are you?

 - Here, in the kitchen! - come the muted by distance answer.

 - I told you not to go through the walls at home!  Oh, my wall-paper!  Oh, my wall-hangings!

 - And what happend? - both teams were spread on the grass of the field, having mutilated each other brutally.  As the game get short of the ablebodied players, the judge called the brake.  The time came for the medical assistance and other types of recovery operationgs and Daddy Gutter returned to his family for a while. - The walls are cracking?  The builders saved on the spells, I bet.  I'll make the Construction Department answer for it.  On the next Parlamtn's session, or maybe on the next meeting of the Cabinet -

 - Dick, - cut in Marry, - one word more - and there would be an opening in the government. - And it deedn't sound like a joke too. - Listen too me, I won't repeat it any more.  Your son is neglecting magic and taken to designing some mechanical garbage all the time.

 - Impossible! - exclamed Gutter. - Are you sure?

  Marry pointedly nodded in the direction of the horned bug hiding under the table.

 - Yes, you are right - as you always are.  But not exectly, as usual.  You shouldn't worry about it.  Seventeen at august, there would be an owl with the invitation.  We'll have him safely out of our hands - and into the Perverts.  They don't stand this kind of nonsense at Perverts.  They'll put him straght in no time at all.

 - And he would be admitted?  With these inclinations?

 - Don't you worry.  I'll speak with the board - the word of the head of the Superstitions Department does carry some weight still.  And don't you forget, that I am a real candidate for the Prime Mitister office too.  They won't in any case - The footbeach field was gradually filling with the restored players, and Dick Gutter started to lose his connection with reality. - Tetral Quadrig would retire shortly - May replace him - quite possibly - The intrigues should be taken into accoant surely - the Fogging worries me most - But their recent failures - HEY-EY-EY! - Do it! -

  Marry sighed, borrowed the cam from the bag with one smooth, well practiced movement and smashed smartly the microfon carring cockroach, where he was sitting nearby peacefully.  The connection with the dining room was lost.

  Porridge was shoked.  Moreover, he was forced to give some thought to his future - for the first time in his life.  The Wisard Colledge Perverts may stood in the way on his road to his future as a famous hacker(which he took for granted), like his cousin Ivan in Canada.  It was a setback to reckon with.

  Being a boy of action, he didn't wast any time for moping around and indulging in the self pity, but constructed a simple and efficient weapon to shoot the damned bird before it gets anywhere near the house.  That's how he come to spend the morning of seventeen at august on the apple tree.  For the occasion, Porridge even stooped to using his magesight, but the forsaken owl was in no hurry to make its appearance.

  In the next couple of hours or so, Porridge felt his extremeties going numb and his magesight started to show him the green devils - just like those, reported by Petroff, father of cousin Ivan.  All the family, Kisser the cat included was gathering in the house.  The aroma of the pie was felt even from his tree.  Sitting in the ambush seamed like an unsufferably boring past time, all of a sudden.  Now, add to the picture the sis,  turning up under the tree in the most sunny disposition after getting rid of the dull suitor(Vadim) - .  Gingemma congratulated Porridge with his birthday in her most sweet voice and asked if the presents shoud be moved to the tree, or does he care to go inside?

 - Why won't you bring 'em, if you feel so smart today? - barked Porridge his none to polite reply.

 - It's impossible, I'm afraid, - sung Gingema, - some of 'em aren't easy to bring.

 - Well, lets the Mordevolt have these. - The worry about the owl made Porridge exceedingly rude.

 - Never mind, - sis shrugged, - I shall tell the father that he may cut the Internet off again.

  That come a couple of inches lower the belt, and made Porridge fly from his nest.  His Internet connection was severed for some three weeks already, as the comsequence of seria of chemical experiments, performed by the Gutter Jr. in the broomstic's garage.  To temperate the punishment, father agreed to turn the connection on at holydays - the falure of the Fogging Department and suchlike. And all this time the Fogging reported one success after another, while father's Superstitions managed to fuck up real big and more than once too.  That made his birthday the first browsing opportunity - and the last one in the foreseable future.

  It's all right, - the young sorcerer tried to fool himself, as there was no use to fool anybody else in this matter, - if no owl arrived to the moment, there is no chance of it coming later, no chance at all!  And I should check my mail anyway!  And what about the news?  I'll download the new Miss Sianya!  The last thought send him running and in a minute, he get past his parents and seated himself in front of his keyboard.

  There was a lot of mail, even more, than he expected.  All that congratulations from the virtual friends, all that questions, where the hell did he dissapear, CyberBoy from Caraganda and adds.  There are always some adds.  "Don't delete this important message, till you read it through!  Or why did we waste all that time and go to the effort of composing it?"  But one letter catched his attention right away.  First of all, there was no return address, that pointed on the really old viral content.  Than, the letter jumped about the Inbox, changing its color and subject line on its way.  That was too dumb, even for some ancient script virus and just about prooved the technical idiocy of its creator.  Together with the fancy effects - yes, this is magic at work and nothing else.   Porridge made a note for himself to update his Casper < the electromagnetic host with special effects > - the last ditch defence against the magical intrusion and send the the offending letter stright to the Deleted folder promptly.  The damned thing was triggered by this event.  It waved, escaped the cursor, trembled excitedly and suddenly jumped to the fullscreen mode.

  From the first line, he saw all his efforts were wasted.  Nights in the warkshop, vigil on the apple tree...

Mr. Gutter!
Dear Sir, the College of magic and wizardry Perverts
have the distinct pleasure -

  On the brink of despair, Porridge cut off the power.  The screen was shining with pride - as bright as ever.  He forced himself to the really unconventional measure: he wispered 'Chubabays!' * Sounds like the name of the head of the Energetics Department in Russia, hold responcible(by the general public) for the electrical outages, cut offs and other outrages. - Here and later - translater's comments * with the complicate wave of both hands - this powerfull spell should have disrupt all the electronic gadgets in the radius of five kilometers at least.  The goddamned letter was in no hurry to go away.  Porridge looked around.  Yes, his parents stood right behind his back looking pleased with themselves.

 - Oh! - The old man Gutter failed to produce the proper amazement and looked rather amuzed instead. - So, you are invited to the Perverts!  Great!  I still do remember my own excitement when I got my invitation all that years ago.

 - Yea! - stepped in the mother. - It isn't as if all the young mages got such a honor!

 - Congratulations! - Gingemma materialized out of the thin air ( he could do without her nicely right now, thank you very much! ) - Five years of crammig - and you'll be able to do this! - With these words the fith grade students of Perverts flew right through the wall and returned with Kisser in her hands.  The wallpaper groaned.  Mother frowned.  The cat happily stared at the Gutter Jr. and suddenly winked.

 - You! - screamed Porridge. - You set it all up!  You cheated me!  I won't go anyway!  Uncle Petroff promised to help me to join the Communication College!  But you - !

  Porridge sniffed and stormed out of the room, kicking sis on his way.

  The parrents exchanged a startled look.  The display worked for some time, then it turned off slowly, like an ember.

 - Well, we saved on some shooted owls in any case, - summed it up the father.

  The evening came.  Porridge met it in the apple tree's brunches, in the company of his faithful crossbow.  He grieved.  His parents took turnes with their attempt to talk reason to him and calm him down, but all in vain.  The only words that could get him down from the tree: "You may forget about that Perverts and join the Communication College" - left unsaid.  Gingemma made circles above his head on her broomstick, but her rather sharp "friendly" jokes failed to encourage her brother and his misery managed to soften, in the end even, even her stone hurt: she brought to Porridge pice of pie and leaved silently(!).

 - Mriak, - came from somewhere near the apple tree roots.

 - And what do you need from me? - asked Porridge gloomily.

 - Me-e? - answered Kisser,

 - You! - came the angry answer from the boy.

  Kisser dissapeared in the bushes with some kind of giggling sound.

 - Nobody anderstands me, - thought Porridge for what seemsed to be a hundredth time. - Nobody loves me.  Maybe, I just should shoot myselve with the crossbow - that'll teach you a lesson. - In his imagination he saw again the sweet picture: he lays on the grass in the bright light of the dawn, breathless, with the noble burned ( by laser )  hole in his forehead and all the family: his parents, Kisser and even Gingemma are weeping.  Porridge sighed.  To commit suicide was rather silly, the very thought of returning home sickened him, but there was no future in the sitting on the tree too.

 - Hrrrauuuu! - thundered the street.  Porridge jumped, dropping the crossbow and almost falling.  The huge fireball was homing on him.  "Mordevolt came back", - was his last thought as he embrassed the trunk and closed his eyes.S

 - Here you are!  Nice position.  You have the clear shoot at any approaching owl, gippogriph ( Miphical creature.  It doesn't exist - and never did.  Its mentioned to embelish the story. ) don't have a chance, and a dragon - what about the dragon?  Well, if it comes to dragons, that's it.  The most brilliant strategy would be useless.

  It didn't sound like Mordevolt.  Well, may be, a really strange Mordevolt could just manage it -.  Porridge opened one of his eyes - just a bit.  There was a huge glistening bike floating by the tree, with the unbelievably serious rocker, lost in all that chromium-plated machinery.

 - Harl.  You may call me Harley.  So, your old folk won't let you study science and technology?  They'll rather send you to the wonder-school of Perverts?

 - Yea!  You got it right!  And they'll do it!  What shall I do? - at last Porridge encountered somebody, who was able to understand his predicament.

  - Nothing, - said Harley calmly, - just go to school.  Take myself.  All my childhood I dreamed to study psychoanalysis < The existence of any real specialists in the area is under some serious doubts >, but I was send to Perverts in the end.  And what do you think?  Now I am a lecturer at that very school.  Do you think, I teach psychoanalysis?  No way.  I do read the lectures of the as-nice-as-possible-treatment- of-the-magical- may-they- be-damned-animals, here you are.  And what do you think about it?

  Its quite understandable, that Porridge didn't know what to think about all that illogical informational garbage spilled right on his unprotected head by Harley.  But, for a wonder, rocker - lecturer of the hated in absentia Perverts returned him his carefree attitude, even as he kissed it goodbay forever at the morning.  " What do I mean by weaping as a girl? " - told himself Porridge. "  I'll go to that Perverts, if I have to.  Than it'll be just the question of getting myself expelled for - for "

 - for inaptitude, - finished his thought Harley. - And why not?  Myself, I wasn't expelled.  Do you think I do regret it?  Sure, I do.  And what may I do about it?  What do you think?

 - And what do you think? - Porridge desided to turn the tables on Harley. - What shall we do?

 - To blow out the candles.  To unwrap the presents.  To eat the pie, - desided Harley. - And what do you think?

  Porridge agreed.

  The celebration turned out no worse for the delay.  All cheared the unwrapping of the presents: the waistcoat with the creeping pockets, the chessboard, winning against itself all the time, the dissapearing balls < which didn't show anything unusual at the first sight >, the Make Yourself a Gost set and - to the happy amazement of Porridge - the real ( no magic at all! ) muddle made synchrocyclotron.  Even as his parents have had to pack the huge device, which won't fit even into the Gutter's house into the small magic cube, Porridge didn't even dare to dream about such an equipment for his research.

  All the candles are blown out, and all the family with the guests are devouring the five times heated, but never the less wonderfully tasty for it birthday pie, and Harley is fully engaged in the lively conversation with Gutters - his old friends, as Porridge gathered.  Moreover, he understood, that the parents called the lecturer - psychologist, just to get their son down from the tree, but he wasn't irritated in the least - as he felt really nice and cousy.

  The grown-ups agreed, that the next Saturday, before shipping Porridge to the Perverts, Harley would help him to make all the nessesary purchases, and the guest started to make his good byes:

 - So, it was all very nice.  And what do you think?  Really, its so pleasant to fall in such family holyday without ceremonies.  And what - A-a-ah!

  Harley climbed the table and looked from that questional safety on the entering Kisser with the large horrified eyes.

 - Mria, - said the cat, - Mria - Mria.

 - But its a cat, - said the lecturer on the animal handling. - Its the real live cat.

 - Cat, - confirmed quite bewildered Porridge.

 - But its an animal, - said the insulted teacher.  Dick, Marry, why didn't you warned me about your beast?

 - But you are teaching the animal handling! - cried out the boy. - And you are - you are afraid?!

 - They frighten me to death, - said the psychoanalitic. - And what may I do?  How would I reflect on my own fear otherwise?  What do you think?

   Harley nervously jumped his bike and looked on Porridge quite severely:

 - In a week.  Don't make me wait!

  He nodded to the smiling Dick, bowed slightly to Marry and Gingy, gave the last worried look to Kisser, flied out of the window and dissapeared into the night skies.

 - And don't dream of taking the beast with you!  And should you take it - what then?  What do you think?  And what would I do?

  Kisser jumped the window sill and looked after the bike, liking his lips disappointedly.

 - But all the anymals are positively in love with him, - commented Gingemma. - In Perverts too - and you should see some of those!  I don't understand, how he manages that.

 - And what do you think? - muttered Porridge happily, embracing the cube with his new synchrocyclotron and gone to sleep instantly.

  He dreamed about magic beasts - in hot pursuit after Harley in the synchrocyclotron.  The teach raced his bike with healphy acceleration, shouting: " I am an intermediate W-bozon!  And what shall I do? ".  Then he turned into an owl and flied away.

Porridge Gutter, elleven years old, wizard, strolled the London's streets