My Grand Silly Windmill UFLI Foundations Lesson 110

Dr. Can Do hammered in the last plank and stepped back with a grin so wide you could see every tooth. 'Behold!' he cried, spreading his arms wide. 'The mightiest windmill this world has ever seen!' Jill leaned on her pickaxe and squinted at the lumpy wooden frame. 'We do not need a windmill at all. We have redstone power for everything.' 'Need?' Dr. Can Do gasped, clutching his chest with both hands. 'Nobody needs a mighty windmill, Jill. You build one because you can.'

By sunset, the tower was finished. But the heavy sails still had to be lifted into place, and Dr. Can Do was up the tower, red-faced and puffing. Jill held up a hot bowl of rabbit stew. 'Dinner is ready. You can finish in the morning.' 'Just... one... more... plank,' he grunted. Then his tummy growled so loud the chickens looked up. 'Fine. Morning it is.'

Before bed, Dr. Can Do stopped at the window. A funny sound had drifted in from the yard. A low groan, and then a creak. He crept out into the yard and looked around, but everything seemed fine. The big golem marched past on its patrol, its heavy feet thumping softly into the grass. He watched it until it turned the corner. 'Just the golem,' he muttered. He shrugged and went back inside to switch off the redstone lights. But as he climbed into bed. Creak. There it was again.

Morning came, and with it, a disaster. The sails lay smashed across the yard. Broken planks. Torn fabric. Bits of wood and cloth scattered all over the grass. 'No!' he cried, throwing his arms wide. 'My windmill! My grand, silly windmill!' Jill crouched beside the wreckage, turning a torn strip of sail over in her hands. She held it up and looked at him. 'Looks like something ripped them right off. Maybe a strong wind?'

He angrily planted his hands on his hips. 'No. We never get wind on this farm. The sails were supposed to spin by redstone, not weather!' Jill looked around slowly. The house was fine. The barn was fine. The fences, the garden, the chicken coop. All standing, all perfect. Only the windmill had been hit. 'If there was a storm,' Jill said softly, 'it only came for your sails.'

They spent all day remaking the sails. Every plank. Every bolt. Every last scrap of cloth. By evening, the windmill stood tall again, and Dr. Can Do stared up at it, wringing his hands. He was worried. He had checked the sky that morning. No clouds. No storms. Not even a breeze. 'Maybe I built it wrong,' he whispered. But he knew he hadn't. Nothing he built was ever wrong. So what had wrecked his windmill?

The walls of the house shook hard. Dr. Can Do's eyes snapped open. Wind. Howling, screaming, crazy wind. It rattled every window in the house. He grabbed his coat, flung it on, and ran out the door. A gust hit him so hard he stumbled back on the porch. In the dark, he could just see the windmill sails spinning wildly, faster and faster, groaning and creaking like they were going to fly apart. 'Not again!' he shouted into the gale. 'Not. My. Windmill!'

Then he saw him. A man in dark robes stood at the base of the tower with his arms up high. Slowly, the stranger lowered his arms. The wind died. The sails creaked to a stop. The man turned to him with the silliest smile in the world. 'I like your windmill,' he said. 'It is fun to spin.' And that is how Dr. Can Do met the Tricky Mage, the wretch who wrecked his windmill. Twice.