Mixed Magics

                       by Diana Wynne Jones

There are thousands of worlds, all different from ours. Chrestomanci's world
is the one next door to us, and the difference here is that magic is as
common as music is with us. It is full of people working magic—warlocks,
witches, thaumaturges, sorcerers, fakirs, conjurers, hexers, magicians,
mages, shamans, diviners, and many more—from the lowest Certified witch
right up to the most powerful of enchanters. Enchanters are strange as well
as powerful. Their magic is different and stronger, and many of them have
more than one life.

Now, if someone did not control all these busy magic users, ordinary people
would have a horrible time and probably end up as slaves. So the
government appoints the very strongest enchanter there is to make sure no
one misuses magic. This enchanter has nine lives and is known as the
Chrestomanci. You pronounce it KREST-OH-MAN-SEE. He has to have a
strong personality as well as strong magic. —Diana Wynne Jones

CONTENTS:

WARLOCK AT THE WHEEL

STEALER OF SOULS

CAROL ONEIR'S HUNDREDTH DREAM

THE SAGE OF THEARE

                               *******


                        Warlock at the Wheel

The Willing Warlock was a born loser. He lost his magic when Chrestomanci
took it away, and that meant he lost his usual way of making a living. So
he decided to take up a life of crime instead by stealing a motorcar,
because he loved motorcars, and sell-ing it. He found a beautiful car in
Wolvercote High Street, but he lost his head when a policeman saw him
trying to pick the lock and cycled up to know what he was doing. He ran.

The policeman pedaled after him, blowing his whistle, and the Willing
Warlock climbed over the nearest wall and ran again, with the whistle still
sounding, until he arrived in the backyard of a one-time Accredited Witch
who was a friend of his. "What shall I do?" he panted.

"How should I know?" said the Accredited Witch. "I'm not used to doing
without magic any more than you are. The only soul I know who's still in
business is a French wizard in Shepherd's Bush."

"Tell me his address," said the Willing Warlock.

The Accredited Witch told him. "But it won't do you a scrap of good," she
said unhelpfully. "Jean-Pierre always charges the earth. Now I'll thank you
to get out of here before you bring the police down on me, too."

The Willing Warlock went out of the witch's front door into Coven Street
and blenched at the sound of police whistles still shrilling in the distance.
Since it seemed to him that he had no time to waste, he hurried to the
nearest toyshop and parted with his last half crown for a toy pistol. Armed
with this, he walked into the first post office he came to.

"Your money or your life," he said to the postmistress. The Will-ing Warlock
was a bulky young man who always looked as if he needed to shave, and
the Postmistress was sure he was a desperate character. She let him clear
out her safe.
The Willing Warlock put the money and the pistol in his pocket and hailed a
taxi in which he drove all the way to Shepherd's Bush, feeling this was the
next best thing to having a car of his own. It cost a lot, but he arrived at
the French wizard's office still with £273 6s 4d in his pocket.

The French wizard shrugged in a very French way. "What is it you expect me
to do for you, my friend? Me, I try not to offend the police. If you wish me
to help, it will cost you."

"A hundred pounds," said the Willing Warlock. "Hide me some-how."

Jean-Pierre did another shrug. "For that money," he said, "I could hide you
two ways. I could turn you into a small round stone—"

"No, thanks," said the Willing Warlock.

"—and keep you in a drawer," said Jean-Pierre. "Or I could send you to
another world entirely. I could even send you to a world where you would
have your magic again—"

"Have my magic?" exclaimed the Willing Warlock.

"—but that would cost you twice as much," said Jean-Pierre. "Yes, naturally
you could have your magic again, if you went somewhere where
Chrestomanci has no power. The man is not all-powerful."

"Then I'll go to one of those places," said the Willing Warlock.

"Very well." In a bored sort of way, Jean-Pierre picked up a pack of cards
and fanned them out. "Choose a card. This decides which world you will
grace with your blue chin."

As the Willing Warlock stretched out his hand to take a card, Jean-Pierre
moved them out of reach. "Whatever world it is," he said, "the money there
will be quite different from your pounds, shillings, and pence. You might as
well give me all you have."

So the Willing Warlock handed over all his £273 6s 4d. Then he was
allowed to pick a card. It was the ten of clubs. Not a bad card, the Willing
Warlock thought. He was no fortune-teller, of course, but he knew the ten
of clubs meant that someone would bully somebody. He decided that he
would be the one doing the bullying, and handed back the card. Jean-Pierre
tossed all the cards carelessly down on a table. The Willing Warlock just
had time to see that every single one was the ten of clubs, before he found
himself still in Shepherd's Bush but in another world entirely.

He was standing in what seemed to be a car park beside a big road. On
that road, more cars than he had ever seen in his life were rushing past,
together with lorries and the occasional big red bus. There were cars
standing all around him. This was a good world indeed!

The Willing Warlock sniffed the delicious smell of petrol and turned to the
nearest parked car to see how it worked. It looked rather different from the
one he had tried to steal in Wolvercote. Experi-mentally he made a magic
pass over its bonnet. To his delight, the bonnet promptly sprang open an
inch or so. The French wizard had not lied. He had his magic back.

The Willing Warlock was just about to heave up the bonnet and plunge into
the mysteries beneath when he saw a large lady in uni-form, with a yellow
band around her cap, tramping meaningfully toward him. She must be a
policewoman. Now he had his magic back, the Willing Warlock did not
panic. He simply let go of the bonnet and sauntered casually away. Rather
to his surprise, the policewoman did not follow him. She just gave him a
look of deep contempt and tucked a message of some kind behind the
wiper of the car.

All the same, the Willing Warlock felt it prudent to go on walk-ing. he
walked to another street, looking at cars all the time, until something made
him look up. In front of him was a grand marble building. CITY BANK, it
said, in rich gold letters. Now here, thought the Willing Warlock, was a
better way to get a car than simply steal-ing it. If he robbed this bank, he
could buy a car of his very own. He took the toy pistol out of his pocket and
went in through the grand door.

Inside, it was very hushed and polite and calm. Though there were quite a
lot of people there, waiting in front of the cashiers or walking about in the
background, nobody seemed to notice the Will-ing Warlock standing
uncertainly waving his pistol. He was forced to go and push the nearest
queue of people aside and point the pistol at the lady behind the glass
there.

"Money or your life," he said.

They seemed to notice him then. Somebody screamed. The lady behind the
glass went white and put her thumb on a button near her cash drawer.
"How—how much money, sir?" she faltered.

"All of it," said the Willing Warlock. "Quickly." Maybe, he thought afterward,
that was a bit greedy. But it seemed so easy.

Everyone, on both sides of the glassed-in counter, was standing frozen,
staring at him, afraid of the pistol. And the lady readily opened her cash
drawer and began counting out wads of five-pound notes, fumbling with
haste and eagerness.

While she was doing it, the door of the bank opened and some-one came
in. The Willing Warlock glanced over his shoulder and saw it was only a
small man in a pin-striped suit, who seemed to be star-ing like everybody
else. The lady was actually passing the Willing Warlock the first bundle of
money when the small man shouted out in a very big voice, "Don't be a
fool! He's only joking. That's a toy pistol!"

At once everyone near turned on the Willing Warlock. Three men tried to
grab him. An old lady swung her handbag and clouted him around the head.
"Take that, you thief!" A bell began to ring loudly. And, worse still, an
unholy howling started somewhere outside, coming closer and closer.
"That's the police coming!" screamed the old lady, and she went for the
Willing Warlock again.

The Willing Warlock turned and ran, with everyone trying to stop him and
getting in his way. The last person who got in his way was the small man
in the pin-striped suit. He took hold of the Willing Warlock's sleeve and
said, "Wait a minute—"

The Willing Warlock was so desperate by then that he fired the toy pistol
at him. A stream of water came out of it and caught the small man in one
eye, drenching his smart suit. The small man ducked and let go. The Willing
Warlock burst out through the door of the bank.

The howling outside was hideous. It was coming from a white car labeled
police, with a blue flashing light on top, which was rac-ing down the street
toward him. There was rather a nice car parked by the curb, facing toward
the police car. A big, shiny, expensive car. Even in his panic, and as he
wondered how the police had been fetched so quickly, that car caught the
Willing Warlock's eye. As the police car screamed to a stop and policemen
started to jump out of it, the Willing Warlock tore open the door of the nice
car, jumped into the seat behind the steering wheel, and set it going in a
burst of des-perate magic.

Behind him, the policemen jumped back into their car, which then did a
screaming U-turn and came after him. The Willing War-lock saw them
coming in a little mirror somebody had thoughtfully fixed to the windscreen.
He flung the nice car around a corner out of sight. But the police car
followed. The Willing Warlock screamed around another corner, and
another. But the police car stuck to him like a leech.

The Willing Warlock realized that he had better spare a little magic from
making the car go in order to make the car look differ-ent. So as he
screamed around yet another corner into the main road he had first seen,
he put out his last ounce of magic and turned the car bright pink. To his
relief, the police car went past him and roared away into the distance.
The Willing Warlock relaxed a little. He had a nice car of his own now and
he seemed to be safe for the moment. But he still had to learn how to
make the thing go properly, instead of by magic, and as he soon
discovered, there seemed to be all sorts of other rules to driving that he
had never even imagined.

For one thing, all the cars kept to the left-hand side, and motorists seemed
to get very annoyed when they found a large pink car coming toward them
on the other side of the road. Then there were some streets where all the
cars seemed to be coming toward the pink car, and the people in those cars
shook their fists and pointed and hooted at the Willing Warlock. Then
again, sometimes there were lights at crossroads, and people did not seem
to like you going past them when they were red.

The Willing Warlock was not very clever, but he did realize quite soon that
cars were not often pink. A pink car that broke all these rules was bound to
be noticed. So while he drove on and on, looking for some quiet street
where he could learn how the car really worked, he sought about for some
other way to disguise the car. He saw that all cars had a plate in front and
behind, with letters and numbers on. That made it easy.

He changed the front number plate to WW100 and the back one to XYZ123
and let the car return to its nice shiny gray color and drove soberly on till
he found some back streets lined with quiet houses. By this time he was
quite tired. He had never had much magic, and he was out of practice
anyway. He was glad to stop and look for the knob that made the engine
go.

There were rows of knobs, but none of them seemed to be the one he
wanted. One knob squirted water all over the front window. Another opened
the side windows and brought wet, windy air sigh-ing in. Another flashed
lights. Yet another made a loud hooting, which made the Willing Warlock
jump. People would notice!

He became panicky and found his neck going hot and cold in gusts, with a
specially cold, panicky spot in the middle, at the back, just above his collar.
He tried another knob. That played music. The next knob made voices
speak. "Over and out ... Yes. Pink. I don't know how he got a respray that
quick, but it's definitely him..."

The Willing Warlock, in even more of a panic, realized he was listening to
the police by magic, and that they were still hunting him. In his panic he
pressed another knob, which made wipers start furi-ously waving across the
windscreen, wiping off the water the first knob had squirted.

"Doh!" said the Willing Warlock, and put up his hand irritably to rub that
panicky cold spot at the back of his neck. The cold place was connected to
a long, warm, hairy muzzle. Whatever owned the muzzle objected to being
wiped away. It let out a deep bass growl and a blast of warm, smelly air.

The Willing Warlock snatched his hand away. In his terror, he pressed
another button, which caused the seat he was in to collapse gently
backward until he was lying on his back. He found himself staring up into
the face of the largest dog he had ever seen. It was a great pepper-colored
brute, with white fangs to match the size of the rest of it. Evidently he had
stolen a dog as well as a car.

"Grrrrr," repeated the dog. It bent its great head until the noise vibrated
the Willing Warlock's skull like a road drill, and sniffed his face loudly.

"Get off," said the Willing Warlock tremulously.

Worse followed. Something surged in the backseat beside the huge dog. A
small, shrill voice, sounding very sleepy, said, "Why have we stopped for,
Daddy?"

"Oh, my gawdl" said the Willing Warlock. He turned his eyes gently
sideways under the great dog's face. Sure enough, there was a child on the
backseat beside the dog, a rather small child with red-dish hair and a
slobbery, sleepy face.

"You're not my daddy," this child said accusingly.

The Willing Warlock rather liked children on the whole, but he knew he
would have to get rid of this one somehow. To steal a car and a dog and a
child would probably put him in prison for life. Peo-ple really did not like
you stealing children.

Frantically he reached forward and pushed knobs. Lights lit, wipers swatted
and unswatted, voices spoke, a hooter sounded, but at last he pushed the
right one, and the seat rose gracefully upright again. He used his magic on
the rear door, and it sprang open.

"Out," he said. "Both of you. Get out and wait, and your daddy will find
you."

Dog and child turned and stared at the open door. Their faces, puzzled and
slightly indignant, turned back to the Willing Warlock. It was their car, after
all.

The Willing Warlock tried a bit of coaxing. "Get out. Nice dog. Good boy."

"Grrrr," said the dog, and the child said, "I'm not a boy."

"I meant the dog," the Willing Warlock said hastily. The dog's growl
enlarged to a rumble that shook the car. Perhaps the dog was not a boy
either. The Willing Warlock knew when he was beaten. It was a pity, when
it was such a nice car, but this world was full of cars. Provided he made
sure the next one was empty, he could steal one anytime he liked. He
slammed the rear door shut and started to open his own.

The dog was too quick for him. Before he had reached the han-dle, its great
teeth were fastened into the shoulder of his jacket, right through the cloth.
He could feel them digging into his skin under-neath. And it growled harder
than ever. "Let go," the Willing War-lock said, without hope, and sat very
still.

"Go on driving," commanded the child.

"Why?" said the Willing Warlock.

"Because I like driving in cars," said the child. "Towser will let you go when
you drive."

"I don't know how to make the car go," the Willing Warlock said sullenly.

"Stupid," said the child. "Daddy uses those keys there, and he pushes on
the pedals with his feet."

Towser backed this up with another growl and dug his teeth in a little.
Towser clearly knew his job, and his job seemed to be to back up anything
the child said. The Willing Warlock sighed, thinking of years in prison, but
he found the keys and located the pedals. He turned the keys. He pushed
on the pedals. The engine started with a roar.

Then another voice spoke. "You have forgotten to fasten your seat belt," it
said. "I cannot proceed until you do so."

It was here that the Willing Warlock realized that his troubles had only just
begun. The car was bullying him now. He had no idea where the seat belt
was, but it is amazing what you can do if a mouthful of white fangs are
fastened into your shoulder. The Willing Warlock found the seat belt. He
did it up. He found a lever that said "forward" and pushed it. He pressed on
pedals. The engine roared, but nothing else happened.

"You are wasting petrol," the car told him acidly. "Release the hand brake. I
cannot pro—"

The Willing Warlock found a sort of stick in the floor and moved it. It
snapped like a crocodile, and the car jerked. "You are wasting petrol," the
car said, boringly. "Release the foot brake. I cannot pro-ceed—"

Luckily, since Towser was growling even louder than the car, the Willing
Warlock took his left foot off a pedal first. They shot off down the road.
"You are wasting petrol," the car told him.

"Oh, shut up," the Willing Warlock said. But nothing shut the car up, he
discovered, except not pressing so hard on the right-hand pedal.

Towser, on the other hand, seemed satisfied as soon as the car moved. He
let go of the Willing Warlock and loomed behind him on the backseat, while
the child sat and chanted, "Go on, go on, go on driving."

The Willing Warlock kept on driving. There is nothing else you can do if a
child, a dog the size of Towser, and a car all combine to make you. At least
the car was easy to drive. All the Willing Warlock had to do was sit there
not pressing the pedal too much and keep turning into the emptiest
streets. He had time to think. He knew the dog's name. If he could find out
the child's name, then he could work a spell on them both to make them let
him go.

"What's your name?" he asked, turning into a wide straight road with room
for three cars abreast in it.

"Jemima Jane," said the child. "Go on, go on, go on driving."

The Willing Warlock drove, muttering a spell. While he did, Towser made a
flowing sort of jump and landed in the passenger seat beside him, where
he sat in a royal way, staring out at the road. The Willing Warlock cowered
away from him and finished the spell in a gabble. The beast was as big as
a lion!

"You are wasting petrol," remarked the car.

Perhaps these things caused the Willing Warlock to muddle the spell. All
that happened was that Towser turned invisible.

There was an instant shriek from the backseat. "Where's Towser?"

The invisible space on the front passenger seat growled horri-bly. The
Willing Warlock did not know where its teeth were. He hurriedly revoked the
spell. Towser loomed beside him, looking reproachful.

"You're not to do that again!" said Jemima Jane.

"I won't if we all get out and walk," the Willing Warlock said cunningly.

A silence met this suggestion, with an undercurrent of snarl to it. The
Willing Warlock gave up for the moment and kept on driving. There were no
houses by the road anymore, only trees, grass, and a few cows, and the
road stretched into the distance, endlessly. The nice gray car, labeled
"WW100" in front and "XYZ123" behind, zoomed gently onward for nearly
an hour. The sun began setting in gory clouds, behind some low green hills.

"I want my supper," announced Jemima Jane. At the word sup-per, Towser
yawned and started to dribble. He turned to look thoughtfully at the Willing
Warlock, obviously wondering which bits of him tasted best. "Towser's
hungry, too," said Jemima Jane.

The Willing Warlock turned his eyes sideways to look at Towser's great pink
tongue draped over Towser's large white fangs. "I'll stop at the first place
we see," he said obligingly. He began turn-ing over schemes for giving both
of them—not to speak of the car—the slip the moment they allowed him to
stop. If he made himself invisible, so that the dog could not find him—

He seemed to be in luck. Just then a large blue notice that said HADBURY
SERVICES came into view, with a picture of a knife and fork underneath. The
Willing Warlock turned into it with a squeal of tires. "You are wasting
petrol," the car protested.

The Willing Warlock took no notice. He stopped with a jolt among a lot of
other cars, turned himself invisible, and tried to jump out. But he had
forgotten the seat belt. It held him in place long enough for Towser to fix
his fangs in the sleeve of his coat, and that seemed to be enough to make
Towser turn invisible, too. "You have forgotten to set the hand brake," said
the car.

"Doh!" snarled the Willing Warlock miserably, and put the hand brake on. It
was not easy, with Towser's invisible fangs grating his arm.

"You're to fetch me lots and lots," Jemima Jane said. It did not seem to
trouble her that both of them had vanished. "Towser, make sure he brings
me an ice cream."

The Willing Warlock climbed out of the car, lugging the invisible Towser. He
tried some more cunning. "Come with me and show me which ice cream you
want," he called back. Several people in the car park looked around to see
where the invisible voice was coming from.

"I want to stay in the car. I'm tired," whined Jemima Jane.

The invisible teeth fastened in the Willing Warlock's sleeve rum-bled a
little. Invisible dribble ran on his hand. "Oh, all right," he said, and set off
for the restaurant, accompanied by four invisible heavy paws.

Maybe it was a good thing they were both invisible. There was a big sign on
the door: no dogs. And the Willing Warlock still had no money. He went to
the long counter and picked up pies and scones with the hand Towser left
him free. He stuffed them into his pocket so that they would become
invisible, too.

Someone pointed to the Danish pastry he picked up next and screamed,
"Look! A ghost!" Then there were screams further down the counter. The
Willing Warlock looked. A very large chocolate gateau, with a snout-shaped
piece missing from it, was trotting at chest level across the dining area.
Towser was helping himself, too. People backed away, yelling. The gateau
broke into a gallop and barged out through the glass doors with a splat. At
the same moment, someone grabbed the Danish pastry from the Willing
Warlock's hand.

It was the girl behind the cash desk, who was not afraid of ghosts. "You're
the Invisible Man or something," she said. "Give that back."

The Willing Warlock panicked again and ran after the gateau. He meant to
go on running, as fast as he could, in the opposite direction from the nice
car. But as soon as he barged through the door, he found the gateau
waiting for him, lying on the ground. A warning growl and hot breath on his
hand suggested that he pick the gateau up and come along. Teeth in his
trouser leg backed up this sugges-tion. Dismally, the Willing Warlock
obeyed.

"Where's my ice cream?" Jemima Jane asked ungratefully.

"There wasn't any," said the Willing Warlock as Towser herded him into the
car. He threw the gateau, the scones, and a pork pie onto the backseat.
"Be thankful for what you've got."

"Why?" asked Jemima Jane.

The Willing Warlock gave up. He turned himself visible again and sat in the
driving seat to eat the other pork pie. He could feel Towser snuffing him
from time to time make sure he stayed there. In between, he could hear
Towser eating. Towser made such a noise that the Willing Warlock was
glad he was invisible. He looked to make sure. And there was Towser,
visible again in all his hugeness, sitting in the backseat licking his vast
chops. As for Jemima Jane, the Willing Warlock had to look away quickly.
She was chocolate all over. There was a river of chocolate down her front
and more plas-tered into her red curls like mud.

"Why aren't you going on driving for?" Jemima Jane demanded. Towser at
once surged to his huge feet to back up the demand.

"I am, I am!" the Willing Warlock said, hastily starting the engine.

"You have forgotten to fasten your seat belt," the car reminded him
priggishly. And as the car moved forward, it added, "It is now lighting-up
time. You require headlights."

The Willing Warlock started the wipers, rolled down the win-dows, played
music, and finally managed to turn on the lights. He drove back onto the
big road, hating all three of them. And drove. Jemima Jane stood up on the
backseat behind him. The gateau had made her distressingly lively. She
wanted to talk. She grabbed one of the Willing Warlock's ears in a sticky
chocolate hand for balance and breathed gateau fumes and questions into
his other ear.
"Why did you take our car for? What are all those prickles on your chin for?
Why don't you like me holding your nose for? Why don't you smell nice?
Where are we going to? Shall we drive in the car all night?" and many more
such questions.

The Willing Warlock was forced to answer all these questions in the right
way. If he did not answer, Jemima Jane dragged at his hair, or twisted his
ear, or took hold of his nose. If the answer he gave did not please Jemima
Jane, Towser rose up growling, and the Willing Warlock had quickly to think
of a better answer. It was not long before he was as plastered with
chocolate as Jemima Jane was. He thought that it was not possible for a
person to be more unhappy.

He was wrong. Towser suddenly stood up and staggered about the
backseat, making odd noises.

"Towser's going to go sick," Jemima Jane said.

The Willing Warlock squealed to a halt on the hard shoulder and threw all
four doors open wide. Towser would have to get out, he thought. Then he
could drive straight off again and leave Towser by the roadside.
As he thought that, Towser landed heavily on top of him. Sitting on the
Willing Warlock, he got rid of the gateau onto the edge of the motorway. It
took him some time. Meanwhile the Willing Warlock wondered if Towser
was actually as heavy as a cow, or whether he only felt that way.

"Now go on, go on driving," Jemima Jane said when Towser at last had
finished.

The Willing Warlock obeyed. He drove on. Then it was the car's turn. It
flashed a red light at him. "You are running out of petrol," it remarked.

"Good," said the Willing Warlock feelingly.

"Go on driving," said Jemima Jane, and Towser, as usual, backed her up.

The Willing Warlock drove on through the night. A new and unpleasant
smell now filled the car. It did not mix well with choco-late. The Willing
Warlock supposed it must be Towser. He drove and the car boringly
repeated its remark about petrol until, as they passed a sign saying
bentwell services, the car suddenly changed its tune and said, "You have
started on the reserve tank." Then it became quite talkative and added,
"You have petrol for ten more miles only. You are running out of petrol—"

"I heard you," said the Willing Warlock. "I shall have to stop," he told
Jemima Jane and Towser, with great relief. Then, to stop Jemima Jane
telling him to drive on, and because the new smell was mixing with the
chocolate worse than ever, he said, "And what is this smell in here?"

"Me," Jemima Jane said, rather defiantly. "I went in my pants. It's your
fault. You didn't take me to the Ladies'."

At which Towser at once sprang up, growling, and the car added, "You are
running out of petrol."

The Willing Warlock groaned aloud and went squealing into Bentwell
Services. The car told him reproachfully that he was wasting petrol and then
added that he was running out of it, but the Willing Warlock was too far
gone to attend to it. He sprang out of the car and once more tried to run
away. Towser sprang out after him and fastened his teeth in the Willing
Warlock's now tattered trouser leg. And Jemima Jane scrambled out after
Towser.

"Take me to the Ladies'," she said. "You have to change my pants. My clean
ones are in the bag at the back."

"I can't take you to the Ladies'!" the Willing Warlock said. He had no idea
what to do. What did one do? You have one grown-up male Warlock, one
female child, and one dog fastened to the Warlock's trouser leg that might
be male or female. Did you go to the Gents' or the Ladies'? The Willing
Warlock just did not know.

He had to settle for doing it publicly in the car park. It made him ill. It was
the last straw. Jemima Jane gave him loud directions in a ringing bossy
voice. Towser growled steadily. As he struggled with the gruesome task,
the Willing Warlock heard people gathering around, sniggering. He hardly
cared. He was a broken Warlock by then. When he looked up to find himself
in a ring of policemen and the small man in the pin-striped suit standing
just beside him, he felt nothing but extreme relief. "I'll come quietly," he
said.

"Hello, Daddy!" Jemima Jane shouted. She suddenly looked enchanting, in
spite of the chocolate. And Towser changed character, too, and fawned and
gamboled around the small man, squeaking like a puppy.

The small man picked up Jemima Jane, chocolate and all, and looked
forbiddingly at the Willing Warlock. "If you've harmed Pru-dence, or the dog
either," he said, "you're for it, you know."

"Harmed!" the Willing Warlock said hysterically. "That child's the biggest
bully in the world—bar that car or that dog! And the dog's a thief, too! I'm
the one that's harmed! Anyway, she said her name was Jemima Jane."

"That's just a jingle I taught her, to prevent people trying name magic," the
small man said, laughing rather. "The dog has a secret name anyway. All
Kathayack Demon Dogs do. Do you know who I am, Warlock?"

"No," said the Willing Warlock, trying not to look respectfully at the fawning
Towser. He had heard of Demon Dogs. The beast proba-bly had more magic
than he did.

"Kathusa," said the man. "Financial wizard. I'm Chrestomanci's agent in this
world. That crook Jean-Pierre keeps sending people here, and they all get
into trouble. It's my job to pick them up. I was coming into the bank to
help you, Warlock, and you go and pinch my car."

"Oh," said the Willing Warlock. The policemen coughed and began to close
in. He resigned himself to a long time in prison.

But Kathusa held up a hand to stop the policemen. "See here, Warlock," he
said, "you have a choice. I need a man to look after my cars and exercise
Towser. You can do that and go straight, or you can go to prison. Which is
it to be?"

It was a terrible choice. Towser met the Willing Warlock's eye and licked
his lips. The Willing Warlock decided he preferred prison.

But Jemima Jane—or rather Prudence—turned to the policemen, beaming.
"He's going to look after me and Towser," she announced. "He likes his
nose being pulled."

The Willing Warlock tried not to groan.

                                *******


                            Stealer of Souls
Cat Chant was not altogether happy, either with himself or with other
people. The reason was the Italian boy whom Chrestomanci had
unexpectedly brought back to Chrestomanci Castle after his trip to Italy.

"Cat," said Chrestomanci, who was looking rather tired after his travels,
"this is Antonio Montana. You'll find he has some very inter-esting magic."

Cat looked at the Italian boy, and the Italian boy held out his hand and
said, "How do you do. Please call me Tonino," in excellent English, but with
a slight halt at the end of each word, as if he was used to words that
mostly ended in o. Cat knew at that instant that he was going to count the
days until someone took Tonino back to Italy again. And he hoped someone
would do it soon.

It was not just the beautiful English and the good manners. Tonino had fair
hair—that almost grayish fair hair people usually call ash blond—which Cat
had never imagined an Italian could have. It looked very sophisticated, and
it made Cat's hair look a crude straw color by comparison. As if this was not
enough, Tonino had trusting brown eyes and a nervous expression, and he
was evidently younger than Cat. He looked so sweet that Cat shook hands
as quickly as he could without being rude, knowing at once that every-one
would expect him to look after Tonino.

"Pleased to meet you," he lied.

Sure enough, Chrestomanci said, "Cat, I'm sure I can trust you to show
Tonino the ropes here and keep an eye on him until he finds his feet in
England."

Cat sighed. He knew he was going to be very bored.

But it was worse than that. The other children in the castle thought Tonino
was lovely. They all did their best to be friends with him. Chrestomanci's
daughter, Julia, patiently taught Tonino all the games you played in
England, including cricket. Chrestomanci's son, Roger, joined in the cricket
lessons and then spent hours gravely comparing spells with Tonino.
Chrestomanci's ward, Janet, spent further hours enthusiastically asking
Tonino about Italy. Janet came from another world where Italy was quite
different, and she was interested in the differences.

And yet, despite all this attention, Tonino went around with a lost, lonely
look that made Cat avoid him. He could tell Tonino was acutely homesick.
In fact, Cat was fairly sure Tonino was feeling just the way Cat had felt
himself when he first came to Chrestomanci Castle, and Cat could not get
over the annoyance of having someone have feelings that were his. He
knew this was stupid—this was partly why he was not happy with
himself—but he was not happy with Julia, Roger, and Janet either. He
considered that they were making a stupid fuss over Tonino. The fact was
that Julia and Roger normally looked after Cat. He had grown used to being
the youngest and unhappiest person in the castle until Tonino had come
along and stolen his thunder. Cat knew all this perfectly well, but it did not
make the slightest difference to the way he felt.
To make things worse, Chrestomanci himself was extremely interested in
Tonino's magic. He spent large parts of the next few days with Tonino
doing experiments to discover just what the extent of Tonino's powers was,
while Cat, who was used to being the one with the interesting magic, was
left to wrestle with problems of magic theory by himself in Chrestomanci's
study.

"Tonino," Chrestomanci said, by way of explanation, "can, it seems, not
only reinforce other people's spells but also make use of any magic other
people do. If it's true, it's a highly unusual ability. And by the way," he
added, turning around in the doorway, looking tall enough to brush the
ceiling, "you don't seem to have shown Tonino around the castle yet. How
come?"

"I was busy—I forgot," Cat muttered sulkily.

"Fit it into your crowded schedule soon, please," Chrestomanci said, "or I
may find myself becoming seriously irritated."

Cat sighed but nodded. No one disobeyed Chrestomanci when he got like
this. But now he had to face the fact that Chrestomanci knew exactly how
Cat was feeling and had absolutely no patience with it. Cat sighed again as
he got down to his problems.

Magic Theory left him completely bewildered. His trouble was that he could,
instinctively, do magic that used very advanced Magic Theory indeed, and
he had no idea how he did it. Sometimes he did not even know he was
doing magic. Chrestomanci said Cat must learn theory or he might one day
do something quite terrible by mis-take. As far as Cat was concerned, the
one thing he wanted magic to do was to solve theory problems, and that
seemed to be the one thing you couldn't use it for.

He got six answers he knew were nonsense. Then, feeling very neglected
and put-upon, he took Tonino on a tour of the castle. It was not a success.
Tonino looked white and tired and timid almost the whole time and
shivered in the long, cold passages and on all the dark, chilly staircases.
Cat could not think of anything to say except utterly obvious things like
"This is called the small drawing room" or "This is the schoolroom, we have
lessons here with Michael Saunders, but he's away in Greenland just now"
or "Here's the front hall, it's made of marble."

The only time Tonino showed the slightest interest was when they came to
the big windows that overlooked the velvety green lawn and the great
cedars of the gardens. He actually hooked a knee on the windowsill to look
down at it. "My mother has told me of this," he said, "but I never thought it
would be so wet and green."

"How does your mother know about the gardens?" Cat asked.

"She is English. She was brought up here in this castle when Gabriel de
Witt, who was Chrestomanci before this one, collected many children with
magic talents to be trained here," Tonino replied.
Cat felt annoyed and somehow cheated that Tonino had a con-nection with
the castle anyway. "Then you're English, too," he said. It came out as if he
were accusing Tonino of a crime.

"No, I am Italian," Tonino said firmly. He added, with great pride, "I belong
to the foremost spell house in Italy."

There did not seem to be any reply to this. Cat did think of say-ing, "And
I'm going to be the next Chrestomanci—I've got nine lives, you know," but
he knew this would be silly and boastful. Tonino had not been boasting
really. He had been trying to say why he did not belong in the castle. So
Cat simply took Tonino back to the playroom, where Julia was only too
ready to teach him card games, and mooched away, feeling he had done his
duty. He tried to avoid Tonino after that. He did not like being made to feel
the way Tonino made him feel.

Unfortunately, Julia went down with measles the next day, and Roger the
day after that. Cat had had measles long before he came to the castle, and
so had Tonino. Janet could not remember whether she had had them or not,
although she assured them that there was measles in the world she came
from, because you could be injected against it. "Maybe I've been injected,"
she suggested hopefully.

Chrestomanci's wife, Millie, gave Janet a worried look. "I think you'd better
stay away from Roger and Julia all the same," she said.

"But you're an enchantress," Janet said. "You could stop me get-ting them."

"Magic has almost no effect on measles," Millie told her. "I wish it did, but
it doesn't. Cat can see Roger and Julia if he wants, but you keep away."

Cat went to Roger's bedroom and then Julia's and was shocked at how ill
they both were. He could see it was going to be weeks before they were
well enough to look after Tonino. He found him-self, quite urgently and
cold-bloodedly (and in spite of what Millie had said) putting a spell on
Janet to make sure she did not go down with measles, too. He knew as he
did it that it was probably the most selfish thing he had ever done, but he
simply could not bear to be the only one left to look after Tonino. By the
time he got back to the schoolroom, he was in a very bad mood.

"How are they?" Janet asked him anxiously.

"Awful," Cat said out of his bad mood. "Roger's sort of purple and Julia's
uglier than ever."

"Do you think Julia's ugly then?" Janet said. "I mean, in the nor-mal way."

"Yes," said Cat. "Plump and pudgy, like you said."

"I was angry when I told you that and being unfair," said Janet. "You
shouldn't believe me when I'm angry, Cat. I'll take a bet with you, if you
like, that Julia grows up a raving beauty, as good-looking as her father.
She's got his bones to her face. And, you must admit, Chrestomanci is
taller and darker and handsomer than any man has any right to be!"

She kept giving little dry coughs as she spoke. Cat examined her with
concern. Janet's extremely pretty face showed no sign of any spots, but her
golden hair was hanging in lifeless hanks, and her big blue eyes were
slightly red about the rims. He suspected that he had been too late with
his spell. "And Roger?" he asked. "Is he going to grow up ravingly beautiful,
too?"

Janet looked dubious. "He takes after Millie. But," she added, coughing
again, "he'll be very nice."

"Not like me then," Cat said sadly. "I'm nastier than everyone. I think I'm
growing into an evil enchanter. And I think you've got measles, too."

"I have not!" Janet exclaimed indignantly.

But she had. By that evening she was in bed, too, freckled purple all over
and looking uglier than Julia. The maids once again ran up and down stairs
with possets to bring down fever, while Millie used the new telephone at
the top of the marble stairs to ask the doctor to call again.

"I shall go mad," she told Cat. "Janet's really ill, worse than the other two.
Go and make sure Tonino's not feeling too neglected, there's a good boy."

I knew it! Cat thought, and went very slowly back to the play-room.

Behind him the telephone rang again. He heard Millie answer it. He had
gone three slow steps when he heard the telephone go back on its rest.
Millie uttered a great groan, and Chrestomanci at once came out of the
office to see what was wrong. Cat prudently made himself invisible.

"Oh, lord!" Millie said. "That was Mordecai Roberts. Why does everything
happen at once? Gabriel de Witt wants to see Tonino tomorrow."

"That's awkward," Chrestomanci said. "Tomorrow I've got to be in Series
One for the Conclave of Mages."

"But I really must stay here with the other children," Millie said. "Janet's
going to need all magic can do for her, particularly for her eyes. Can we put
Gabriel off?"

"I don't think so," Chrestomanci replied, unusually seriously. "Tomorrow
could be Gabriel's last chance to see anyone. His lives are leaving him
steadily now. And he was thrilled when I told him about Tonino. He's
always hoped we'd find someone with backup magic one day. I know what,
though. We can send Cat with Tonino. Gabriel's almost equally interested
in Cat, and the responsibility will do Cat good."

No, it won't! Cat thought. I hate responsibility! As he fled invis-ibly back to
the playroom, he thought, Why me? Why can't they send one of the wizards
on the staff, or Miss Bessemer, or someone? But of course everyone was
going to be busy, with Chrestomanci away and Millie looking after Janet.

In the playroom Tonino was curled up on one of the shabby sofas deep in
one of Julia's favorite books. He barely looked up as the door seemed to
open by itself and Cat shook himself visible again.

Tonino, Cat realized, was an avid reader. He knew the signs from Janet and
Julia. That was a relief. Cat went quietly away to his own room and
collected all the books there that Janet had been trying to make him read
and that Cat had somehow not got around to—how could Janet expect him
to read books called Millie Goes to School anyway?—and brought the whole
armful back to the playroom.

"Here," he said, dumping them on the floor beside Tonino. "Janet says
these are good."

And he thought, as he curled up on the other battered sofa, that this was
exactly how a person got to be an evil enchanter, by doing a whole lot of
good things for bad reasons. He tried to think of ways to get out of looking
after Tonino tomorrow.

Cat always dreaded going to visit Gabriel de Witt anyway. He was so
old-fashioned and sharp and so obviously an enchanter, and you had to
remember to behave in an old-fashioned polite way all the time you were
there. But these days it was worse than that. As Chrestomanci had said,
old Gabriel's nine lives were leaving him one by one. Every time Cat was
taken to see him, Gabriel de Witt looked iller and older and more gaunt,
and Cat's secret dread was that one day he would be there, making polite
conversation, and actually see one of Gabriel's lives as it went away. If he
did, he knew he would scream.

The dread of this happening so haunted Cat that he could scarcely speak to
Gabriel for watching and waiting for a life to leave. Gabriel de Witt told
Chrestomanci that Cat was a strange, reserved boy. To which Chrestomanci
answered "Really?" in his most sarcastic way.

People, Cat thought, should be looking after him, and not break-ing his
spirit by forcing him to take Italian boys to see elderly enchanters. But he
could think of no way to get out of it that Millie or Chrestomanci would not
see through at once. Chrestomanci seemed to know when Cat was being
dishonest even before Cat knew it himself. Cat sighed and went to bed
hoping that Chresto-manci would have changed his mind in the morning and
decided to send someone else with Tonino.

This was not to be. At breakfast Chrestomanci appeared (in a sea green
dressing gown with a design of waves breaking on it) to tell Cat and Tonino
that they were catching the ten-thirty train to Dulwich to visit Gabriel de
Witt. Then he went away, and Millie, who looked very tired from having sat
up half the night with Janet, rustled in to give them their train fare.

Tonino frowned. "I do not understand. Was not Monsignor de Witt the
former Chrestomanci, Lady Chant?"
"Call me Millie, please," said Millie. "Yes, that's right. Gabriel stayed in the
post until he felt Christopher was ready to take over, and then he
retired—Oh, I see! You thought he was dead! Oh, no, far from it. Gabriel's
as lively and sharp as ever he was, you'll see."

There was a time when Cat had thought that the last Chrestom-anci was
dead, too. He had thought that the present Chrestomanci had to die before
the next one took over, and he used to watch this Chrestomanci rather
anxiously in case Chrestomanci showed signs of losing his last two lives
and thrusting Cat into all the huge respon-sibility of looking after the magic
in this world. He had been quite relieved to find it was more normal than
that.

"There's nothing to worry about," Millie said. "Mordecai Roberts is going to
meet you at the station, and then he'll take you back there in a cab after
lunch. And Tom is going to drive you to the station here in the car and
meet you off the three-nineteen when you get back. Here's the money, Cat,
and an extra five shillings in case you need a snack on the way
back—because efficient as I know Miss Rosalie is, she doesn't have any
idea how much boys need to eat. She never did have, and she hasn't
changed. And I want to hear all about it when you get home."

She gave them a warm hug each and rushed away, murmuring, "Lemon
barley, febrifuge in half an hour, and then the eye salve."

Tonino pushed away his cocoa. "I think I am ill on trains."

This proved to be true. Luckily Cat managed to get them a car-riage to
themselves after the young man who acted as Chrestomanci's secretary had
dropped them at the station. Tonino sat at the far corner of the smoky little
space, with the window pulled down as low as it would go and his
handkerchief pressed to his mouth. Though he did not actually bring up his
breakfast, he went whiter and whiter, until Cat could hardly credit that a
person could be so pale.

"Were you like this all the way from Italy?" Cat asked him, slightly awed.

"Rather worse," Tonino said through the handkerchief, and swal-lowed
desperately.

Cat knew he should sympathize. He got travel-sick himself, but only in cars.
But instead of feeling sorry for Tonino, he did not know whether to feel
superior or annoyed that Tonino, once again, was more to be pitied than he
was.

At least it meant that Cat did not have to talk to him.

Dulwich was a pleasant village a little south of London and, once the train
had chuffed away from the platform, full of fresh air sway-ing the trees.
Tonino breathed the air deeply and began to get his color back.

"Bad traveler, is he?" Mordecai Roberts asked sympathetically as he led
them to the cab waiting for them outside the station.
This Mr. Mordecai Roberts always puzzled Cat slightly. With his light,
almost white, curly hair and his dark coffee complexion, he looked a great
deal more foreign than Tonino did, and yet when he spoke, it was in
perfect, unforeign English. It was educated English, too, which was another
puzzle, because Cat had always vaguely sup-posed that Mr. Roberts was a
sort of valet hired to look after Gabriel de Witt in his retirement. But Mr.
Roberts also seemed to be a strong magic user. He looked at Cat rather
reproachfully as they got into the cab and said, "There are hundreds of
spells against travel sickness, you know."

"I think I did stop him being sick," Cat said uncomfortably. Here was his old
problem again, of not being sure when he was using magic and when he
was not. But what really made Cat uncomfortable was the knowledge that if
he had used magic on Tonino, it was not for Tonino's sake. Cat hated
seeing people be sick. Here he was doing a good thing for a bad selfish
reason again. At this rate he was, quite definitely, going to end up as an
evil enchanter.

Gabriel de Witt lived in a spacious, comfortable modern house with wide
windows and a metal rail along the roof in the latest style. It was set
among trees on a new road that gave the house a view of the countryside
beyond.

Miss Rosalie threw open its clean white front door and wel-comed them all
inside. She was a funny little woman with a lot of gray in her black hair,
who always, invariably, wore gray lace mit-tens. She was another puzzle.
There was a big gold wedding ring lurking under the gray lace of her
left-hand mitten, which Cat thought might mean she was married to Mr.
Roberts, but she always had to be called Miss Rosalie. For another thing,
she behaved as if she were a witch. But she wasn't. As she shut the front
door, she made brisk gestures as if she were setting wards of safety on it.
But it was Mr. Roberts who really set the wards.

"You'll have to go upstairs, boys," Miss Rosalie said. "I kept him in bed
today. He was fretting himself ill about meeting young Anto-nio. So excited
about the new magic. Up this way."

They followed Miss Rosalie up the deeply carpeted stairs and into a big
sunny bedroom, where white curtains were gently blowing at the big
windows. Everything possible was white—the walls, the carpet, the bed
with its stacked white pillows and white bedspread, the spray of lilies of
the valley on the bedside table—and so neat that it looked like a room no
one was using.

"Ah, Eric Chant and Antonio Montana!" Gabriel de Witt said from the bank
of pillows. His thin, dry voice sounded quite eager. "Glad to see you. Come
and take a seat where I can look at you."

Two plain white chairs had been set one on each side of the bed and about
halfway down it. Tonino slid sideways into the nearest, looking thoroughly
intimidated. Cat could understand that. He thought, as he went around to
the other chair, that the whiteness of the room must be to make Gabriel de
Witt show up. Gabriel was so thin and pale that you would hardly have
seen him among ordinary colors. His white hair melted into the white of the
pillows. His face had shrunk so that it seemed like two caves, made from
Gabriel's jut-ting cheekbones and his tall white forehead, out of which two
strong eyes glared feverishly. Cat tried not to look at the tangle of white
chest hair sticking out of the white nightshirt under Gabriel's too-pointed
chin. It seemed indecent, somehow.

But probably the most upsetting thing, Cat thought as he sat down, was
the smell of illness and old man in the room and the way that, in spite of
the whiteness, there was a darkness at the edges of everything. The
corners of the room felt gray, and they loomed. Cat kept his eyes on
Gabriel's long, veiny enchanter's hands, folded together on the white
bedspread, because these seemed the most nor-mal things about him, and
hoped this visit would not last too long.

"Now, young Antonio," Gabriel said, and his pale lips moved in a dry way
Cat could not look at, "I hear that your best magic is done when you use
someone else's spell."

Tonino nodded timidly. "I think so, sir."

Cat kept his eyes on Gabriel's unmoving, folded hands and braced himself
for an hour or more of talk about magic theory. But to his surprise, the kind
of talk Cat could not understand only went on for about five minutes. Then
Gabriel was saying, "In that case I would like to try a little experiment,
with your permission. A very lit-tle simple one. As you can see, I am very
feeble today. I would like to do a small enchantment to enable myself to
sit up, but I believe it would not come to much without your help. Would
you do that for me?"

"Of course," Tonino said. "Would—would a strength spell be correct for this?
I would have to sing, if that is all right, because that is the way we do
things in the Casa Montana."

"By all means," agreed Gabriel. "When you're ready then."

Tonino put back his head and sang, to Cat's surprise, very sweetly and
tunefully, in what seemed to be Latin, while Gabriel's hands moved on the
bedspread, just slightly. As the song finished, the pillows behind Gabriel's
head rebuilt themselves into a swelling stack, which pushed the old man
into sitting position. After that, they pushed him away from themselves so
that he was sitting up on his own, quite steadily.

"Well done!" said Gabriel. He was clearly delighted. A faint pink crept over
his jutting cheeks, and his eyes glittered in their caves. "You have very
strong and unusual magic, young man." He turned eagerly to Cat. "Now I
can talk to you, Eric. This is important. Are your remaining lives quite safe?
I have reason to believe that some-one is looking for them as well as for
mine."

Cat's mind went to a certain cardboard book of matches, more than half of
them used. "Well, Chrestomanci has them locked in the castle safe, with a
lot of spells on them. They feel all right."

Gabriel's eyes glittered into distance while he considered Cat's lives, too.
"True," he said. "They feel secure. But I was never totally happy while
Christopher's other life was locked in there. I put his last life into a gold
ring, you know, and locked it in that same safe—this was at a time when
he seemed to be losing a life once a week, and something had to be done,
you understand—but it was a great relief to me when he married and we
could give the life to Millie as her wedding ring. I would greatly prefer it if
your lives were equally well guarded. A book of matches is such a flimsy
thing."

Cat knew this. But Chrestomanci seemed to him to be the best guardian
there could be. "Who do you think is looking for them?" he asked.

"Now that is the odd thing," Gabriel answered, still looking into distance.
"The only person who seems to fit the shapes of the magics I am sensing
has, I swear, been dead and gone at least two hundred years. An enchanter
known as Neville Spiderman. He was one of the last of the really bad ones."

Cat stared at Gabriel staring into distance like a bony old prophet. On the
other side of the bed, Tonino was staring, too, look-ing as scared as Cat
felt. "What," Cat asked huskily, "makes you think it might be someone from
the past?"

"For this reason—" Gabriel began.

Then the thing Cat had been dreading happened.

Gabriel de Witt's face suddenly lost all expression. Behind him, the pillows
began slowly subsiding, letting the old man down into lying position again.
As they did so, Gabriel de Witt seemed to climb out of himself. A tall old
man in a long white nightshirt unfolded himself from the old man who was
lying down and stood for a moment looking rather sadly from Cat to Tonino,
before he walked away into a distance that was somehow not part of the
white bed-room.

Both their heads turned to follow him as he walked. Cat realized he could
see Tonino through the shape of the departing old man, and the lilies of
the valley on the bedside table, and then the corner of the white wardrobe.
The old man was getting smaller all the time as he walked, until at last he
was lost into white distance.

Cat was astonished not to find himself screaming—although he almost did
when he looked back at Gabriel de Witt lying on his pil-lows and found
Gabriel's face blue-pale and more sunken than ever, and his mouth slowly
dropping wider and wider open. Cat could not seem to utter a sound, or
move either, until Tonino whispered, "I saw you through him!"

Cat gulped. "Me, too. I saw you. Why was that?"

"Was that his last life?" Tonino asked. "Is he truly dead now?"
"I don't know," said Cat. "I think we ought to call someone."

But it seemed as if someone already knew. Footsteps thumped on the
carpet outside and Miss Rosalie burst into the room, followed by Mr.
Roberts. They both rushed to the bed and stared anxiously down at Gabriel
de Witt as if they expected him to wake up any minute. Cat snatched
another look at that gaping mouth and strange blue-wax complexion, and
thought that he had never seen anyone more obviously dead. He had seen
his parents just before their funeral, but they had looked almost asleep and
not like this at all.

"Don't worry, boys," Miss Rosalie said. "It's only another life gone. He's still
got two more."

"No, you're forgetting the life he gave to Asheth," Mr. Roberts reminded
her.

"Oh, so I am," Miss Rosalie said. "Silly of me. But he's still got one left.
Why don't you go downstairs, boys, until the new life takes over? It can
sometimes be quite a while."

Cat and Tonino jumped thankfully out of their chairs. But as they did so,
Gabriel stirred. His mouth shut with a snap and his face became the face of
a person again—a person who looked pale and unwell, but full of strong
feelings despite that.

"Rosalie," he said, weak and fretful, "warn Chrestomanci. Neville Spiderman
is sniffing around this house. I felt him very clearly just now."

"Oh, nonsense, Gabriel!" Miss Rosalie said, brisk and bossy. "How could he
be? You know Neville Spiderman—whatever his real name was—lived at the
time of the first Chrestomanci. That was more than a hundred years before
you were born!"

"I felt him, I tell you!" Gabriel insisted. "He was there when my last life
was leaving."

"You can't possibly know that," Miss Rosalie insisted.

"I do know. I made a study of the man," Gabriel insisted in return. His voice
was more and more weak and quavery. "When I was first made
Chrestomanci, I studied him, because I needed to know what a really evil
enchanter was like and he was the most ingenious of the lot. And this is
very ingenious, Rosalie. He's trying to make himself stronger than any
Chrestomanci ever was. Warn Christopher he's not safe. Warn Eric
particularly."

"Yes, yes, yes," Miss Rosalie said, so obviously humoring him that Gabriel
began rolling about in distress, spilling bedclothes on to the floor. "Of
course I'll warn them," Miss Rosalie said, hauling blankets back. "Settle
down, Gabriel, before you make yourself ill, and we'll do everything you
want." She made meaningful faces at Mr. Roberts to take Cat and Tonino
out of the room.
Mr. Roberts nodded. He put a hand on each boy's shoulder and steered
them out onto the landing. Behind them, as he gently shut the door, they
heard Gabriel say, "Listen, Rosalie, my mind is not wandering! Spiderman
has learned to travel in time. He's dangerous. I mean what I say."

Gabriel de Witt sounded so weak and so upset that Mr. Roberts said,
looking extremely worried, "Look, I think you boys had better go home now.
I don't think he'll be well enough to talk to you again today. I'll call you a
cab and telephone the castle to say you'll be back on an earlier train."

There was nothing Cat wanted more by this time. Tonino, from the look of
him, felt the same. The only thing Cat regretted was that they were going
to miss lunch. Still, Miss Rosalie's idea of lunch was usually a tomato and
some lettuce, and they did have Millie's five shillings. He followed Mr.
Roberts downstairs, thinking of doughnuts and station pies.

Luckily there was a cab just clopping along the road as they reached the
front gate. It was one of those old-fashioned horse-drawn hackneys, like a
big upright box on wheels, with the driver sit-ting up on top of the box. It
was shabby and the horse was scrawny, but Mr. Roberts hailed it with
strong relief and paid the driver for them as the boys climbed in. "You can
just catch the twelve-thirty," he said. "Hurry it along, driver."

He shut the door and the cab set off. It was smelly and jolting, and its
wheels squeaked, but Cat felt it was worth it just to get away so soon. It
was not far to the station. Cat sat back in the half dark inside the box and
felt his mind go empty with relief. He did not want to think of Gabriel de
Witt again for a very long time. He thought about station pies and corned
beef sandwiches instead.

But half an hour of jolting, smelling, and squeaking later, some-thing began
puzzling him. He turned to the other boy in the dimness beside him.
"Where were we going?"

Tonino—if that was his name; Cat found he was not at all sure—shook his
head uncertainly. "We are traveling northeast," he said. "I feel sick."

"Keep swallowing then," Cat told him. One thing he seemed to be sure of
was that he was supposed to look after this boy, whoever he was. "It can't
be that far now," he said soothingly. Then he won-dered what, or where,
was "not far." He was a little puzzled to find he had no idea.

At least he seemed to be right about its not being far. Five min-utes later,
just as the other boy's swallowing was getting quite des-perate, the cab
squealed to a stop with a great yell of "Whoa there!" from the driver up
above, and the door beside Cat was pulled open. Cat blinked out into gray
light upon a dirty pavement and a row of old, old houses as far as he could
see in both directions. We must be in the outskirts of London, he thought.
While Cat puzzled about this, the driver said, "Two blondie lads, just like
you said, governor."

The person who had opened the door leaned around it to peer in at them.
They found themselves face-to-face with a smallish elderly man in a dirty
black gown. The peering round brown eyes and the brown whiskery face, full
of lines and wrinkles, were so like a mon-key's that it was only the soft
black priestly sort of hat on the man's head that showed he was a man and
not a monkey. Or probably not. Cat found, in some strange way, that he
was not sure of anything.
The monkey's flat mouth spread in a grin. "Ah, yes, the right two," the man
said, "as ordered." He had a dry, snapping voice, which snapped out, "Out
you get then. Make haste now."

While Cat and Tonino obediently scrambled out to find them-selves in a
long street of the old tumbledown houses—all slightly different, like
cottages built for a town—the man in the black gown handed up a gold coin
to the driver. "Charmed to take you back," he muttered. It was hard to tell
if he was speaking to himself or to the driver, but the driver touched his hat
to him anyway with great respect, cracked his whip, and drove away,
squealing and clattering. The cab seemed to move away from them up the
tumbledown street in jerks, and each jerk seemed to make it harder to see.
Before it quite reached the end of the street, it had jerked out of sight
entirely.

They stared after it. "Why did that happen?" Tonino asked.

"Belongs to the future, doesn't it?" the monkeylike man snapped. Again he
might have been talking to himself. But he seemed to notice them then.
"Come along now. No stupid questions. It's not every day I hire two
apprentices from the poorhouse, and I want you indoors earning your keep.
Come along."

He turned and hurried into the house beside them. They fol-lowed, quite
bewildered, past an unpainted front door—which closed with a slam behind
them—into a dark, wooden hallway. Beyond this was a big room that was
much lighter because of a row of filthy windows looking out onto bushes. As
the monkey-man hur-ried them on through it, Cat recognized the place as a
magician's workshop. It breathed out the smell of magic and of dragon's
blood, and there were symbols chalked over most of the floor. Cat had a
tan-talizing feeling that he should have known what most of those
sym-bols were supposed to do, and that they were not quite in any order
he was used to, but when he thought about this, the symbols meant
nothing to him.

The main thing he noticed was the row of star charts along one wall. There
were eight of them, getting newer and newer from the old, brown one at
the far left, to the one on the right, after a gap where a ninth chart had
been torn down, which was white and freshly drawn.

"Gave up on that one. Too well protected," the monkey-man remarked as
Cat looked at the gap. Again he was probably talking to himself, for he
swung around at once and opened a door at the end of the room. "Come
along, come along," he snapped, and hurried on a down a sideways flight of
stone steps into the cold stone basement under the house. Cat, as he
hurried after, only had time to think that the last chart, after the torn-down
one, had looked uncomfortably familiar in some way, before the
monkey-man swung around on both of them at the bottom of the steps.
"Now then," he said, "what are your names?"

It seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, but they stood shiv-ering on
the chilly flagstones, staring from him to one another. Nei-ther of them had
the least idea.

The man sighed at their stupidity. "Too much of the forgettery," he
muttered in that way that seemed to be talking to himself. He pointed to
Cat. "All right," he said to Tonino. "What's his name?"

"Er—" said Tonino, "it means something. In Latin, I think. Felix, or
something like that. Yes, Felix."

"And," the man said to Cat, "his name is?"

"Tony," said Cat. This did not strike him as quite right, any more than Felix
did, but he did not seem to be able to get any closer than that. "His name's
Tony."

"Not Eric?" snapped the man. "Which of you is Eric?"

They both shook their heads, although Cat had a faint, fleeting idea that
the name meant a protected kind of heather. That was such an idiotic idea
that he gave it up at once.

"Very well," snapped the man. "Tony and Felix, you are now my apprentices.
This room here is where you will eat and sleep. You will find mattresses
over there." He pointed a brown, hairy hand at a dim corner. "In that other
corner there are brooms and dustpan. I require you to sweep this room and
make it as clean and tidy as you can. When that is done, you may lay out
the mattresses."

"Please, sir—" Tonino began. He stopped, looking frightened, as the
withered old monkey face swung around to stare at him. Then he said
something that was obviously not what he had started to say. "Please, sir,
what should we call you?"

"I am known as Master Spiderman," snapped the man. "You will address me
as Master."

Cat felt a small, chilly jolt of alarm at the name. He put it down to the fact
that he was already disliking this monkey-faced old man very much indeed.
There was a smell that came off him, of old clothes, mustiness, and illness,
which reminded Cat of—of—of something he could not quite remember,
except that it made him frightened and uneasy. So, to make himself feel
better, he said what he knew Tonino had really been going to say.

"Sir, we haven't had any lunch yet."

Master Spiderman's round monkey eyes blinked Cat's way. "Is that so?
Well, you may have food as soon as you have swept and tidied this room."
At that, he turned and ran up the stone steps to the door, with his musty
black coat swirling. He stopped at the top. "Do not try to do any magic," he
said. "I'll have nothing like that here. Nothing stupid. This place is in a
time apart from any other time, and you must behave yourselves here." He
went out through the door and shut it behind him. They heard a bolt shoot
home on the other side of it.

That door was the only way out of the basement. The only other opening in
the stone walls was a high-up window, fast shut and too dirty to see
through, which let in a meager gray light. Cat and Tonino stared from the
door to the window, and then at one another. "What did he mean," asked
Tonino, "to do no magic? Can you do magic?"

"I don't think so," said Cat. "Can you?"

"I—I can't remember," Tonino said miserably. "I am blank."

So was Cat, whenever he thought about it. He was uncertain of everything,
including why they were here and whether he ought to be frightened about
it or just miserable. He clung to the two things he was certain about:
Tonino was younger than he was, and Cat ought to be looking after him.

Tonino was shivering. "Let's find the brooms and start sweep-ing," Cat said.
"It'll warm us up, and he'll give us something to eat when we've done it."

"He might," Tonino said. "Do you believe him or trust him?"

"No," said Cat. This was something else his fuzzy mind was clear about
completely. "We'd better not give him an excuse not to give us any food."

They found two worn-down brooms and a long-handled dustpan in the
corner by the stairs, along with a heap of amazingly various rubbish—rusty
cans, cobwebby planks, rags so old they had turned into piles of dirt,
walking sticks, broken jars, butterfly nets, fishing rods, half a carriage
wheel, broken umbrellas, works of clocks, and things that had decayed too
much for anyone to guess what they had once been—and they set about
cleaning the room.

Without needing to discuss it, they started at the end where the stairs
were. It was clearer that end. The rest of the room was filled with a clutter
of old splintery workbenches and broken chairs, which got more and more
jumbled toward the far end, where the entire wall was completely draped in
cobwebs, thicker and dustier than Cat would have thought possible. For
another thing, when they were near the stairs, they could hear Master
Spiderman creaking and muttering about in the room overhead, and it
seemed reasonable to think that he could hear them, too. It was in both
their minds that if he heard them truly hard at work, he might decide to
bring them something to eat.

They swept for what seemed hours. They used the least smelly of the old
rags for dusters. Cat found an old sack, into which they nois-ily poured
panloads of dust, cobwebs, and broken glass. They thumped with their
brooms. Tonino hauled out another load of rub-bish from another corner,
making a tremendous clatter, and found the mattresses among it. They
were filthy, lumpy things, so damp they felt wet.

Cat slammed about making a heap of the most broken chairs and hung the
mattresses over it in a gust of mildew smell, to air. By this time, slightly to
Cat's surprise, more than half the room was clear. Dust hung in the air,
making Tonino's nose and eyes run, filling their clothes and their hair, and
streaking their faces with gray. Their hands were black, and their fingernails
blacker. They were hungry, thirsty, and tired out.

"I need a drink," Tonino croaked.

Cat swept the stairs a second time, very noisily, but Master Spiderman
gave no sign of having heard. Perhaps if he called out...? It seemed to take
a real effort to muster the courage. And, somehow, Cat could not bring
himself to call Master Spiderman Master, try as he would. He knocked
politely on the door and called out, "Excuse me, sir! Excuse me, please,
we're terribly thirsty."

There was no reply. When Cat put his ear to the door, he could no longer
hear any sounds of Master Spiderman moving about. He came gloomily back
down the stairs. "I don't think he's there now."

Tonino sighed. "He will know when this room is cleared and he will come
back then, but not before. I am fairly sure he is an enchanter."

"There's nothing to stop us having a rest anyway," Cat said. He dragged the
two mattresses over to the wall and made a seat out of them. They both
sat down thankfully. The mattresses were still extremely damp and they
smelled horrible. Both of them tried not to notice. "How do you know he's
an enchanter?" Cat asked, to take his mind off the smell and the wetness.

"The eyes," said Tonino. "Your eyes are the same."

Cat thought of Master Spiderman's round, glossy eyes and shuddered.
"They're nothing like the same!" he said. "My eyes are blue."

Tonino put his head down and held it in both hands. "Sorry," he said. "For a
moment I thought you were an enchanter. Now I don't know what I think."

This made Cat shift about uncomfortably. It was frightening, if he let
himself notice it, how whenever he thought about anything, particularly
about magic, there seemed to be nothing to think. There seemed to be only
here and now in this cold basement, and the horri-ble bad-breath smell
coming up from the mattresses, and the damp creeping up with the smell
and coming through his clothes.

Beside him, Tonino was shivering again. "This is no good," Cat said. "Get
up."

Tonino climbed to his feet. "I think it is a spell to keep us obedi-ent," he
said. "He told us we could lay the mattresses out after the room was
clean."
"I don't care," said Cat. He picked up the top mattress and shook it, trying
to shake the smell—or the spell—out.
This proved to be a bad mistake. The whole basement became full, almost
instantly, of thick, choking, bad-smelling, chaffy dust. They could hardly see
one another. What Cat could see of Tonino was alarming. He was bending
over, coughing and coughing, a terri-ble hacking cough, with a whooping,
choking sound whenever Tonino tried to breathe in. It sounded as if Tonino
were choking to death, and it frightened Cat out of what few wits he
seemed to have.

He dropped the mattress in a further cloud of dust, snatched up a broom,
and in a frenzy of fear and guilt ran up the stairs, where he battered on the
door with the broom handle. "Help!" he screamed. "Tony's suffocating! Help
!"

Nothing happened. As soon as Cat stopped beating on the door, he could
tell from the sort of silence beyond that Master Spiderman was not
bothering to listen. He ran down again, into the thick, thick dust, seized
the choking Tonino by one elbow, and pushed him up the stairs.

"Get up by the door," he said. "It's clearer there." He could hear Tonino
choking his way upward as he himself ran toward the dirty, murky high-up
window and slammed the end of the broom handle into it like a spear.

Cat had meant to smash out a pane. But the grimy glass simply splintered
into a white star and would not break any further however hard Cat poked
at it with the broom. By this time he was coughing almost as wretchedly as
Tonino. And angry. Master Spiderman was trying to break their spirits. Well,
he was not going to! Cat dragged one of the heavy, splintery workbenches
under the window and climbed on it.

The window was one of the kind that slides up and down. Stand-ing on the
bench brought Cat's nose level with the rusty old catch that held the two
halves shut in the middle. He took hold of the catch and wrenched at it
angrily. It came to pieces in his hand, but at least it was not holding the
window shut anymore. Cat threw the broken pieces down and gripped the
dirty frame with both sets of fingers. And pulled. And heaved. And rattled.

"Let me help," Tonino said hoarsely, climbing up beside Cat, and breathed
out hugely because he had been holding his breath as he came across the
room.

Cat moved to one side gratefully and they both pulled. To their joy, the top
half of the window juddered and slid, making an opening about four inches
wide above their heads. Through it, they could just see the bottom of a set
of railings, level with the pavement outside, and pairs of feet walking
past—feet in old-fashioned sorts of shoes with high heels and buckles on
the front.

This struck them as strange. So did the way that warm wafts of fresh air
came blowing in their faces through the open gap at the same time as
clouds of the dust went streaming out. But they did not stop to think about
either of these things. It had dawned on both of them that if they could
pull the top half of the window right down, they could climb through and
get away. They hung by their hands from the top of the window, pulling
grimly.

But no amount of pulling seemed to get the window any further open. As
Cat left off, panting, Tonino hammered the lower half of the window with
his fist and shouted at the next pair of buckled shoes that walked past.
"Help! Help! We're shut in!"

The feet went by without pausing.

"They didn't hear," said Cat. "It must be a spell."

"Then what do we do?" Tonino wailed. "I am so hungry!"

So was Cat. As far as he could tell, it was at least teatime by then. He
thought of tea going on at the castle, with cress sandwiches and cream
cakes—Hang on! What castle? But the flash of memory was gone, leaving
just the notion of cress sandwiches, luxurious ones with all the crusts cut
off, and cakes oozing jam and cream. Cat's stomach grumbled, and he felt
ready to wail like Tonino. But he knew he had to be sensible, because he
was older than Tonino.

"He said we could have food when we'd cleaned the whole room," he
reminded Tonino. "We'd better get on and finish it."

They climbed down and set to work again. This time Cat tried to organize it
properly. He made sure they worked only in short bursts, and he found two
not-so-broken chairs so that they could sit on them and rest while the
latest lot of dust was sucked away out through the open window. Slowly
they worked their way toward the far end of the basement. By the time the
light filtering in past the dirt on the window was golden, late-evening light,
they were ready to start on the end wall.

They were not looking forward to this. From ceiling to floor, that end was
draped in a mass of filthy, dust-hung cobwebs at least two feet thick,
fluttering and heaving gray and sinister in the small draft from the window.
Under the draped webs, they could just see another of the splintery
workbenches. On it, in the very middle, there seemed to be a small black
container of some kind.

"What do you think that is?" Tonino wondered.

"I'll see. More old rubbish, I expect." Cat shudderingly put his left hand
through the cobwebs, hating the sticky, tender touch of them, and took
hold of the black thing.

As soon as his fingers closed around it, he had a feeling it was important.
But when he had pulled it gently out, avoiding touching the cobwebs where
he could, it was just an old black canister with a round hole clumsily
punched in its lid. "Only a tin tea caddy," he said. "It looks as if someone's
tried to make it into a money box." He shook it. Something inside rattled
quite sharply.
"See what's in there," said Tonino. "It might be valuable."

Cat pried at the lid, getting a big new patch of black dirt on his front as he
did so. The tin was coated in generations of sooty grease. But the lid was
quite easy to move and came off with a clatter. Inside were a very few red
kidney beans. Seven of them.

Cat tipped them out onto his hand to be sure, and they were indeed, most
disappointingly, beans. They must have been in that tin a very long time.
Four of them were wrinkled and shriveled, and one was so old it was just a
withered brown lump. It was clear they were nothing valuable at all.

"Beans!" Cat said disgustedly.

"Oh, yes," said Tonino, "but think of Jack and the Beanstalk."

They stared at one another. In an enchanter's basement anything was
possible. Both had visions of mighty bean plants growing through the
ceiling and on through the roof of the house, and each of them climbing
one, away from Master Spiderman and out of his power. And while they
stared, they heard the sound of the door being unbolted at the other end of
the room.

Cat hastily thrust the handful of beans into his pocket and jammed the lid
back on the canister while Tonino picked up his broom. Tonino waited until
Cat had carefully put the old tin back through the cobwebs, into the
dust-free circle on the wooden bench where it had stood before, and then
reached up with the broom and began virtuously sweeping billows of
cobweb off the wall.

Master Spiderman threw open the door and raced down the stone steps,
shouting, "No, no, no, you wretched boy! Stop that at once! Don't you know
a spell when you see one?" He came rushing through the room and
advanced on Tonino with his hand raised in a fist.

Tonino dropped the broom with a clatter and backed away. Cat was not
sure whether Master Spiderman was going to hit Tonino or cast a spell on
him, but he got between them quickly anyway. "You've no call to hurt him,"
he said. "You told us to clean the place up."

For a moment, Master Spiderman bent over the two of them, clearly
seething with rage. Cat smelled the unclean old-man smell from Master
Spiderman's breath and the mildew from his black coat. He looked into the
round glaring eyes, and at the moving wrinkles and long hairs on Master
Spiderman's face, and he felt as much sick as he was frightened.
"And you promised us some food when we'd done it," he added.

Master Spiderman ignored this, but he seemed to control his rage a little.
"For this spell," he said, in that way he had of almost talking to himself.
There were little flecks of white around his wide, lipless mouth. "For this
spell, I have kept myself alive for countless years beyond my natural span.
This spell will change the world. This spell will give me the world! And one
miserable boy nearly ruins it by try-ing to sweep it off the wall!"

"I didn't know it was a spell," Tonino protested. "What is it sup-posed to
do?"

Master Spiderman laughed—a private sort of laugh, with his mouth closed
as if he were shutting in secrets. "Supposed?" he said. "It is supposed to
make a ten-lifed enchanter, who is to be more pow-erful than any of your
Chrestomancis. It will do so, as long as neither of you meddles with it
again. Don't dare touch it!"

He stepped around them and made gestures at the wall, rather as if he
were plaiting or twisting something. The gray swath of cobweb that Tonino
had brought down billowed itself and lifted upward. Master Spiderman made
flattening and twiddling motions with his hands then, and the cobwebs
began moving this way and that, grow-ing thicker as they moved, and
wafting themselves up to stick to the ceiling. Cat thought he could see a
host of little half-invisible creeping things scurrying about among the gray
swath, repairing the spell the way Master Spiderman wanted it, and had to
look away. Tonino, however, stared at them, amazed and interested.

"There," Master Spiderman said at last. "Don't go near it again." He turned
to leave.

"Hang on," said Cat. "You promised us something to eat. Sir," he added
quickly, as Master Spiderman swung angrily around at him. "We have
cleaned the room, sir."

"I'll give you food," Master Spiderman said, "when you tell me which of you
is Eric."

As before, the name meant nothing to either of them. But they were both
so hungry by then that Cat instantly pointed to Tonino and Tonino just as
promptly pointed at Cat. "He is," they said in chorus.

"I see," snapped Master Spiderman. "You don't know." He swung around
again and hurried away, muttering to himself. The mutters turned into
distinct speech while Master Spiderman was clambering up the steps. He
must have thought they could not hear him from there. "I don't know which
of you is either, damn it! I'll just have to kill both of you—one of you more
than once, I imagine."

As the door shut with a boom, Cat and Tonino stared at one another, really
frightened for the first time. "Let's try the window again," Cat said.

But the window still would not budge. Cat was standing on the workbench,
wagging the broom handle out through the open space in hopes of breaking
the spell on it, when he heard the door opening again. He came down
hastily and kept hold of the broom for a weapon.

Master Spiderman came through the door with a lighted lamp, which he put
down on the top step. They were glad to see the light. It was getting quite
dark in the basement by then. They watched Mas-ter Spiderman turn and
push a tray out onto the top step beside the lamp. "Here is your supper,
boys," he said. "And here is what I want you to do next. Listen carefully. I
want you to watch that spell at the end of the room. Don't take your eyes
off it. And the moment you see anything different about it, you are to come
and knock on the door and tell me. Do that, and you shall have a currant
cake each as a reward."

There was a sort of oily friendliness about Master Spiderman now that
made both boys very uneasy. Cat nudged Tonino, and Tonino at once began
trying to find out what this new friendliness was about. "What are you
expecting to happen to the spell?" he asked, looking very earnest and
innocent.

"So we know what to look for," Cat explained.

Master Spiderman hesitated, obviously wondering what to tell them. "You
will see a disturbance," he said. "Yes, a disturbance among the webs. It
will look quite strange, but you must not be frightened. It will only be the
soul of an enchanter who is presently on his deathbed, and it will, almost
at once, turn harmlessly into a bean. Make sure that the bean has dropped
correctly into the container on the bench and then tell me. Then you shall
each have a currant cake. You will do that and you shall have a cake each.
You are good boys, are you not?"

"Oh, yes," they both assured him.

"Good." Master Spiderman backed out through the door and shut it again.

Cat and Tonino went cautiously up the stairs to look at the tray. On it were
a tin jug of water, a small stale loaf, and a block of cheese so old and
sweaty that it looked like a piece of soap someone had just washed with.

"Do you think it's poisoned?" Tonino whispered.

Cat thought about it. In a way it was a triumph that they had forced Master
Spiderman to give them anything to eat, but it was quite plain that, even
so, Master Spiderman was not going to waste decent food on people he
was planning to kill. Giving them this food was just to lull them. "No," Cat
said. "He'd use better food. I bet it's the currant cakes that are going to be
poisoned."

Tonino was evidently thinking as well, while they carried the lamp and the
tray down the steps and set both up on a workbench in the middle of the
room. "He said," he observed, "that he has kept himself alive much longer
than his normal lifetime. Do you think he does this by killing boys—his
apprentices?"

Cat dragged the two least rickety chairs up beside the bench. "I don't
know," he said, "but he might. I think when that enchanter's ghost gets
here, we ought to ask it to help."

"A good idea," said Tonino. Then he added dubiously, "If it can."
"Of course it can," Cat said. "He'll still be an enchanter even if he is a
ghost."

They tore the hard bread into lumps and set to work to gnaw at these and
the rubbery cheese, taking it in turns to swig water out of the tin jug. The
water tasted stale and pondlike. Cat's stomach began to hurt almost at
once. Perhaps, he thought, his reasoning had been wrong, and this nasty
supper was poisoned after all. On the other hand, it could be that this food
was simply indigestible—or just that the mere idea of poison had made his
stomach think it was.

He watched Tonino carefully to see if he was showing any signs of
poisoning. But Tonino evidently trusted Cat's judgment. Under the soft
lamplight, Tonino's eyes became brighter as he ate, and his dirty,
drawn-looking cheeks became rounder and pinker. Cat watched him use his
teeth to scrape the very last of the cheese off the rind and decided that
there was no poison in this food. His stomach unclenched a little.

"I'm still hungry," Tonino said, laying the rind down regretfully. "I'm so
hungry I could even eat those dry beans."

Cat remembered that he had crammed those beans into his pocket when
Master Spiderman had come charging down the steps. He fetched them out
and laid all seven under the lamp. He was surprised to see that they were
glossier and plumper than they had been. Four of them had lost their
wrinkles entirely. Even the oldest and most withered one looked more like a
bean and less like a dried brown lump. They glowed soft reds and purples
under the light. "I wonder," he said, pushing at them with a finger. "I
wonder if these are all enchanters, too."

"They might be," Tonino said, staring at them. "He said he was to make a
ten-lifed enchanter. Here might be seven lives, with an eighth one coming
soon. Where does he get the other two lives from, though?"

From us, Cat thought, and hoped that Tonino would not think of this, too.

But at that moment the newest and glossiest bean gave a sudden jump
and flipped over, end to end. Tonino forgot what they had been talking
about and leaned over it, fascinated. "This one is alive! Are all the others
living, too?"

It seemed that they were. One by one, each of the beans stirred and then
flipped, until they were all rolling and hopping about, even the oldest bean,
although this one only seemed to be able to rock from side to side. The
newest bean was now flipping so vigorously that it nearly jumped off the
workbench. Cat caught it and put it back among the others. "I wonder if
they're going to grow," he said.

"Beanstalks," Tonino said. "Oh, please, yes!"

As he spoke, the newest bean split down its length to show a pale,
greenish interior, which was clearly very much alive. But it was not so much
like a bean growing. It was more like a beetle spreading its wings. For an
instant the boys could see the two mot-tled purplish red halves of its skin,
spread out like wing covers, and then these seemed to melt into the rest of
it. What spread out then was a pale, greenish, transparent growing thing.
The growing thing very quickly spread into a flatness with several points,
until it looked like nothing so much as a large floating sycamore leaf made
of greenish light. There were delicate veins in it and it pulsed slightly.

By this time five of the others were splitting and spreading, too. Each grew
points and veins, but in slightly different shapes, so that Cat thought of
them as an ivy leaf, a fig leaf, a vine leaf, a maple leaf, and a leaf from a
plane tree. Even the oldest seventh bean was trying to split. But it was so
withered and hard and evidently having such difficulty that Tonino put a
forefinger on each half of it and helped it break open. "Oh, enchanters,
please help us!" he said, as the bean spread into a smaller, more stunted
shape.

Wild service tree leaf, Cat thought, and wondered a little how he knew
about trees. He looked sadly at the cluster of frail, quivering, greenish
shapes gathered by the base of the lamp and realized that Tonino had been
right to be doubtful in the first place. The green shapes might once have
been enchanters—Cat thought Tonino was right about that—but they were
not ghosts. These beings were soft, helpless and bewildered. It was like
asking newly hatched butterflies for help.

"I don't think they can help," he said. "They don't even know what's
happened to them."

Tonino sighed. "They do feel awfully old," he agreed. "But they feel new,
too. We shall have to help them instead. Make them hide from Master
Spiderman."

He tried to catch the old, stunted leaf, but it fluttered away from his
fingers, frantically. This seemed to alarm the rest. They all flut-tered and
trembled and moved in a glowing group to safety behind the tin jug.

"Leave off! You're frightening them!" Cat said. As he said it, he heard a sort
of scuffling from behind him, at the end of the room. He and Tonino both
whipped around to look.

There, glowing faintly among the draped cobwebs, another leaf-shaped
thing, a big one, was struggling among the clinging, dusty threads. It was
struggling even more frantically than the stunted leaf had struggled to get
away from Tonino, but every flap and wriggle only brought it further into
the midst of the tangled webs and lower and lower toward the black
canister.

"This is the dead enchanter!" Tonino said. "Oh, quickly! Help it!" Cat got up
slowly. He was rather afraid of the thing. It was like the times when a bird
gets into your bedroom—a panic that was des-perately catching—but when
he saw the thing suddenly turn into a bean and plummet toward the black
canister, he raced to the end of the room and pushed his hands nervously
into the gray tangled shrouds of cobweb. He was just in time to deflect it
with the edge of his left hand. The bean pinged against the canister and
bounced out onto the floor. Cat scooped it up. The instant it was in his
hand, the bean split and grew and became a bigger, brighter, and more
pointed leaf shape than any of the others. Cat carried it, whirring between
his hands, and deposited it carefully beside the rest, where it lay beside
the others as part of a transparent, pulsing, living group, shining under the
lamp. Like a shoal of fish, Cat thought.

"He's coming!" gasped Tonino. "Make them escape!" Cat heard the door at
the top of the steps opening. He flapped his hands at the cluster of leaf
shapes. "Shoo!" he whispered. "Hide somewhere!" All the leaf shapes
flinched from his hands but, mad-deningly, they all stayed where they were,
hovering behind the tin jug.

"Oh, go!" Tonino implored them as Master Spiderman came storming down
the steps. But they would not move.

"What are you boys playing at?" Master Spiderman demanded. He went
hurrying through the room toward the draped cobwebs. "According to my
star chart, Gabriel de Witt died nearly twenty min-utes ago. His soul must
have arrived here by now. Why have you not knocked on the door? Are you
too busy feeding your faces to notice? Is that it?"

He stormed past the lamp and the workbench without looking at them. All
the leaf shapes flinched as the angry gust of his passing hit them. Then, to
Cat's extreme relief, the big new leaf shape lifted one side of itself in a
sort of beckoning gesture and slid quietly over the edge of the bench into
the shadows underneath it. The others turned themselves and flitted after
it, like a row of flatfish diving, with the old, stunted one hastening after in
last place. Cat and Tonino turned their eyes sideways to make sure they
were hidden and then looked quickly back at Master Spiderman. He was
hurling cobwebs right and left in order to get at the black canister.

He snatched it up. He shook it. He turned around, clutching it to his chest,
in such amazement and despair that Cat almost felt sorry for him. "It's
empty!" he said. His face was the face of the saddest monkey in the most
unkind zoo in any world. "Empty!" he repeated. "All gone—all the souls I
have collected are gone! The souls of seven nine-lifed enchanters are
missing, and the new one is not here! My lifetime's work! What has gone
wrong?" As he asked this, the grief in his face hardened suddenly to anger
and suspicion. "What have you boys done?"

Cat had been prepared to feel very frightened when Master Spi-derman
realized it was their fault. He was slightly surprised to feel more tense than
frightened and quite businesslike. It was a great help to have Tonino
opposite him, looking calm and sturdy. "They got out," he said.

"They started to grow," Tonino said. "They were beans, you know, and
beans grow. Why are you upset, sir? Were you meaning to swallow them?"

"Of course I was!" Master Spiderman more or less howled. "I have been
intercepting the souls of dead Chrestomancis for more than two hundred
years, you stupid little boy! When there were nine, and I swallowed them, I
would be the strongest enchanter there has ever been! And you let them
get out!"

"But there were only eight," Tonino pointed out.

Master Spiderman hugged the canister to himself and spread his mouth into
a wide smile. "No," he said. "Nine. One of you boys has my ninth soul, and
the other eight have no way to get out of this room." And he shouted,
loudly and suddenly, "Where have they gone?"

Cat and Tonino both jumped and tried to look as if they had no idea. But
the shout obviously terrified the dead souls lurking under the table. One of
the middle-size ones, the one like a fig leaf, made a dash for freedom,
between the broken rungs of Cat's chair and out toward the stairs and the
open door at the top. The others all followed an instant later, as if they
could not bear to be left behind, streaming after it in a luminous line.

"Aha!" shouted Master Spiderman. He dropped the canister and ran at an
incredible speed through the room and up the first three stairs, where he
was just in time to block the path of the escaping souls. Above him the
door banged shut. The line of leaf shapes swirled to a stop almost level
with the lowest stair, where they dithered in the air a little and then darted
away sideways with the big new soul in the lead and the smallest, oldest
one fluttering rather des-perately in the rear.

At this, Master Spiderman leaped down the steps and snatched up a
butterfly net from the heap of rubbish. "Lively, are you?" he muttered.
"Soon put a stop to that!" Two more butterfly nets left the heap and
planted themselves, one in Cat's hand and one in Tonino's. "You let them
out," he said. "You get them caught again." And with that, he went leaping
after the streaming line of souls with his butter-fly net held sideways to
scoop them up.

Cat and Tonino jumped up and began pretending to chase the fleeing souls,
too, getting in Master Spiderman's way whenever they could. Tonino
galumphed backward and forward, waving his net and shouting, "Got you!"
and "Oh, bother, I missed!" in all the wrong places and particularly when he
was nowhere near the streaming line of souls. Cat sprinted beside Master
Spiderman, and whenever Mas-ter Spiderman lunged to scoop up the souls,
Cat made sure to lunge, too, and either to jog Master Spiderman's elbow or
to cross Master Spiderman's butterfly net with his own so that he missed.

Master Spiderman howled and snarled at him, but he was too intent on
catching the souls to do anything to Cat. Around the base-ment they sped,
like people in a mad game of lacrosse, with Tonino galloping in the middle,
upsetting broken furniture into their path, while the line of shining,
desperately frightened souls sped around the room at waist level, swerved
outward to miss the draped cob-webs, and rushed along the wall with the
window in it, slightly higher up.

Window! Cat thought at them as he chased beside Master Spi-derman.
Window's open! But they were too frightened to notice the window and
streamed on toward the steps again. There the ivy leaf soul must have had
the idea that the door was still open and tried to dart up the steps. The
others all stopped and swirled around to fol-low it.

Seeing this, Master Spiderman shouted, "Aha!" again and rushed toward
them with his net ready. Cat and Tonino had to do some fast and artistic
jumping about on the stairs, or the whole lot would have been scooped up
there and then.
Then separate, you fools! Cat thought. Why don't you all fly dif-ferent
ways?

But this, it seemed, the terrified souls could not bear to do. Cat could feel
them thinking that they would be lost if they were alone. They streamed on
in a cluster, up into the corner of the room and then on around it again,
just below the ceiling, with Master Spider-man close behind, net raised, and
Cat pelting after him. There was a heart-stopping moment then when the
old, small soul flew too near the draped cobwebs and got tangled in them.
Again the other souls swirled to a stop and waited. Cat only got there just
in time. Butter-fly nets clashed as Cat managed to stumble into the
cobwebs and carve them apart to let the trapped soul loose.

As it went fluttering after the others, Tonino galloped across the room and
squeezed behind the bench that Cat had stood on to open the window. The
bench went over with a crash. The line of souls had just gathered speed
again, but this brought them almost to a stand-still. Tonino stood waving
his net back and forth beside the window, trying to give them a hint.

The souls understood—or at least the big new one that had been Gabriel de
Witt seemed to. It made for the window in a glad swoop. The luminous
green line of the others followed and all went whirling out through the gap
into the dark night as if they had been sucked out by the draft.

Thank goodness! Cat thought, leaning on his butterfly net and panting. Now
he won't need to kill us either.

Master Spiderman uttered a great scream of rage. "You opened the window!
You broke my spells!" He made a throwing motion toward Cat and then at
Tonino. Cat felt a light, strong stickiness close about him. He had barely
time to think that it felt remarkably like when you brush through a cobweb
by accident before Master Spiderman was rushing up the basement steps.
Cat and Tonino, sweaty and breathless and covered with dirt as they were,
found they were forced to rush up the steps behind him.

"I am not letting you out of my sight from now on!" Master Spi-derman
panted as they pelted through the room overhead. They were going too fast
for Tonino, who nearly fell on his face as they reached the hallway. Cat
dragged him upright while Master Spiderman was hurling open the front
door, and they pelted on, out into the street. It was pitch-dark out there.
Curtains were drawn over the windows of all the houses and there were no
kinds of streetlights anywhere. Mas-ter Spiderman stopped, panting
heavily, and seemed to be staring wildly around.

For a second or so Cat had hopes that the escaped souls had got away, or
at least had had the sense to hide.
But the souls had no sense. They did not have proper brains to have sense
with, Cat thought sadly. They were hovering in a little cluster at the end of
the street, just as greenly luminous and easy to see as they had been in
the basement, and bobbing anxiously together as if they were discussing
what to do now.

"There!" Master Spiderman cried out triumphantly. He dived down the
street, nearly pulling Cat and Tonino over.

"Oh, fly away! Go somewhere safe!" Tonino panted as they stumbled on
down the pavement.

The souls saw them at the last possible moment—or they made up their
nonminds what to do, Cat was not sure which. At all events, as Master
Spiderman's butterfly net was sweeping toward them, they swirled upward
in a spiral, with the big soul that had been Gabriel de Witt's leading, and
vanished across the roof of the house on the corner.

Master Spiderman screamed with frustration and rose into the air, too. Cat
and Tonino were lugged up into the air after him, spin-ning and dangling
sideways. Before they could right themselves, they were being towed
across chimney pots and roofs at a furious speed.

By the time Cat had hauled on Tonino and Tonino had clutched at Cat, and
they had discovered that they could use the butterfly nets they still held to
balance themselves upright in the air, they were going even faster, with the
wind of speed in their eyes and whipping at their hair. They could see the
small green cluster of souls fleeing ahead of them above a ragged field
with donkeys in it and then above a wood. There was a big half-moon that
Cat had not noticed before, lying on its back among clouds, which served to
show the souls up even more bright and green.

"Faster!" Master Spiderman snapped, as they all hurtled across the wood,
too.

"Go as fast as he does, go as fast as he does," Cat heard Tonino whisper.

This was exactly what seemed to happen. Master Spiderman snapped,
"Faster!" several times, once when the moon vanished and there were
suddenly a thousand more roofs and chimneys whirling beneath them, again
when it came on to rain briefly, and yet again when there was a full moon
shining down on some kind of park below. Yet the small green cluster of
souls speeding ahead stayed precisely the same distance in front of them.
The dark landscape underneath changed again, but they were still no
nearer, and no far-ther away either.

"Curses!" panted Master Spiderman. "They're traveling into the future. This
is a hundred and fifty years now. Boys, give me your strength. I command
it!"

Cat felt energy draining strongly out of him through the invisible cobwebs
that were towing him after Master Spiderman. Although this was not a
pleasant feeling, it seemed to lift some of the fuzzy blankness in his mind.
Cat found dim memories flitting through his head as they sped on, of faces
and places mostly—a castle, a hand-some dark-haired man saying
something sarcastic, a lady in mittens, a very old man lying in bed. And a
smell. Around the very old man in bed there had hung the same musty, sick
smell that came strongly, in gusts, off Master Spiderman as he whirled
along in front. But Cat could not put these memories together to make
sense. It was easier to notice that the chimney pots beneath now seemed
to be growing out into the countryside, in lines along the sides of fields,
and to listen to Tonino, who was still whispering, "Go as fast as we do, go
as fast as we do!" over and over.

"Are you using his spell or something?" Cat whispered.

"I think so," Tonino whispered back. "I seem to remember doing this
before."

Cat seemed to remember Tonino could do this sort of thing, too, but before
he could discover how he knew, the landscape below jerked into another
different shape. There were handsome gas street-lights down there now,
trees lining wide roads and houses that stood apart from one another in
gardens. Ahead, the small glowing group of souls hurtled across a village
green and then over a dimly gleam-ing railway line.

"I know this place!" Cat said. "I think we were here this morning."

Almost at the same time, Master Spiderman was making con-fused noises.
"I thought he was taking them to his home," he said, "but we have passed
it. Where are they going then?"

In front of them, the souls streamed above some tall trees and almost
instantly dived down beyond, toward a tall building with rows of lighted
windows. Still making puzzled noises and grunting with the effort, Master
Spiderman dragged himself and Cat and Tonino across the treetops after
them.

They were in time to see the souls, in a luminous line with the big one still
leading, go streaming sedately in through the big arched door in the middle
of the building. At the sight, Master Spiderman yelled with rage and
plunged them all downward so quickly that Cat had to shut his eyes. It was
even quicker than falling.

They landed with a fairly violent bump on what was luckily a soft lawn.
Tonino and Cat got up quickly, but Master Spiderman was winded and
staggered about gasping, looking so thin and bent and hollow-faced that he
might almost have been a real monkey. They could see him clearly,
propping himself on his butterfly net and puff-ing, because there was a
large light over the arched door of the build-ing. The light shone on letters
carved into the stone of the arch:

                       HOSPITAL OF THE SACRED HEART

"A hospital!" Master Spiderman panted. "Why would they want to come here
? Don't stand there staring, you stupid boys! We have to catch them!" And
he was off again, using the butterfly net like a walking stick and muttering,
"Oh, why do I always get so old when I come to the future? Come on, you
wretched boys, come on!"

He dragged them in through the doorway into a most obvious hospital
corridor, long, pale green, and well lit, and smelling so strongly of
antiseptic that it drowned even the smell of Master Spi-derman. Cat and
Tonino both became extremely conscious of how dirty they were. They tried
to hang back. But there near the end of the corridor, almost transparent
yellow in the strong light, was the little cluster of souls, floating nervously
near a staircase, as if they were again undecided what to do. The sight
seemed to inspire Mas-ter Spiderman to a second wind. He broke into a
gallop, waving his butterfly net, and the boys were dragged into a gallop,
too.

When they were halfway along the corridor, a nun came out of a doorway,
carrying a kidney dish. She was one of those nuns with a headdress that
was made of big starched points, like a ship in full sail.

Not a headdress to dodge in, Cat would have thought. But dodge she did as
Master Spiderman came charging down on her like a wild monkey in a flying
black coat, with Cat and Tonino helplessly sprint-ing behind him. The nun's
headdress gave an outraged rattle, and she backed into a doorway,
clutching her kidney dish and staring as they all rushed past.

The souls saw them coming and made up their minds. The big one darted
for the staircase, and the others went streaming after, up alongside the
crisp green line painted on the wall. Master Spiderman hopped on one foot
in order to stop, spun around, and went hammer-ing up the stairs behind
them. So, perforce, did Cat and Tonino.

As they all got to the top, another nun was just coming through a swing
door, holding it open with her back so that she could wrestle a big tray with
bottles on it through the door, too. The souls swirled neatly around her
huge starched headdress and on into the ward beyond. The nun did not see
them. But she saw Master Spiderman with his face stretched into a grin of
effort bounding toward the door like a maniac monkey, and the two dirty,
perspiring, cobwebby boys behind him. She dropped the tray and screamed.

Master Spiderman barged her aside and dashed into the ward, dragging the
boys with him.

They were in a long, dimly lighted space with a row of beds on either side.
The souls were about halfway down the room, flitting cautiously in their
usual cluster. But the place was not quiet. Cat had the strange feeling that
they had just burst into a rookery. The air rang with peculiar cawing noises.

It took him a second or so to realize that the cawing was coming from little
white cradles that were hooked to the bottom of each bed. All the people in
the beds were ladies, all looking rather exhausted, and in each cradle there
was a tiny, wrinkly, red-faced newborn baby—at least, there were two of
them in the cradle nearest Cat—and it was the babies who were making the
noise, more and more of them, as the nun's scream and the crash of the
bottles, followed by the thunder of the door and the shout of anger Master
Spiderman gave as he towed Cat and Tonino between the beds, woke every
sin-gle baby there up.

"We're in a maternity ward," Cat said, wishing he could back straight out of
here again.

Tonino was horribly out of breath, but he managed to grin. "I know. The
souls are being clever after all."

Master Spiderman was shouting, "Stop them! Don't let them get into any
babies! They'll be gone for good then!" He dived at the cluster of souls with
his butterfly net raised.

The souls did seem to be showing intelligence at last. As Master Spiderman
dived, they rose up in a group above his waving net and then peeled apart
in eight different directions. For a second or so, Master Spiderman did
manage to keep most of them up in the air by swatting at them and
shouting, but then two dived over behind him.

Like a pair of shooting stars, the ivy leaf and the fig leaf shot downward to
two of the cradles. Each poised for a moment over a yelling baby and then
softly descended into the baby's wide-open bawling mouth. And were gone.
A look of acute surprise crossed the face of each baby. Then they were
yelling louder than ever with their faces screwed up and their short arms
batting the air. It must feel very strange, Cat thought, suddenly to find you
had two souls, but he could not see that it did any harm. And it was the
perfect place to hide from Master Spiderman.

He nudged Tonino. "I think we'd better help them."

Tonino nodded. They set off down the ward just as things began to get
difficult. Master Spiderman was speeding this way and that, scooping at
darting souls, and most of the new mothers, tired as they were, were
beginning to sit up and object. They could not seem to see the souls, but
they could see Master Spiderman.

"What do you think you're doing?" several ladies demanded.

Another said, "I'm not letting that madman near my baby!" She picked her
howling baby out of its cradle, just as the fluttering maple leaf soul was
poised above it, and hugged it to her chest. The maple leaf was forced to
swoop on to the next cradle, where Master Spiderman's butterfly net
scooped at it and missed.

"He's a lunatic," said the mother in the next bed. "Ring the bell for help."

"I already did," said a mother in the bed opposite. "I rang twice now."

"It's too bad!" several mothers said. And several more shouted at Master
Spiderman to get out or they would have the law on him.

Meanwhile soul after soul darted away from Master Spiderman and vanished
into babies. By this time only two were left, the oldest and the newest. The
oldest leaf was still stunted, though it seemed to have grown a little, but it
was evidently bewildered and weak. All its efforts to get into babies were
timid and slow, and whenever Master Spiderman's butterfly net swept
toward it, all it seemed able to do was to flutter up toward the ceiling
again, where the newest and biggest leaf shape hovered, perhaps trying to
tell the old leaf what to do.

The old soul timorously descended again as Cat and Tonino set off to help
it. Master Spiderman pelted back to catch it. But he skid-ded to a stop
when the ward doors clapped open, and an awesome voice asked, "And
what, pray, is the meaning of this?"

It was the Mother Superior. It did not take the hugeness of her starched
headdress, the severity of her dark blue habit, the large sil-ver cross
hanging from her waist, or even her six feet of height to tell you who and
what she was. It was obvious. Such was the power of her personality that
as she advanced down the ward, nearly all the babies stopped crying.

The big soul that had been Gabriel de Witt hastily plunged from near the
ceiling and was just in time to vanish into the only baby still crying. The
mothers who were sitting up all hurriedly lay down again, and the one who
had picked her baby up guiltily popped it back into its cradle and lay down,
too. Cat and Tonino, feeling as guilty as the rest, stood still and tried to
look as if they were visiting a new little brother or sister. Master
Spiderman's flat mouth hung open as if the Mother Superior had cast a spell
on him. But Cat did not think it was magic. As the Mother Superior's cold
eye passed over him, he knew it was pure personality. He wanted to sink
into the floor.

"I do not," said the Mother Superior to Master Spiderman, "wish to know
what you are doing here, my good man. I want you simply to take your
butterfly net and your filthy street urchins, and leave. Now."

"Very good, ma'am." Master Spiderman cringed. His hairy mon-key face
twisted with guilt. For an instant it seemed as if he were going to do as he
was told and go away. But the stunted and bewil-dered old soul, which had
been hovering miserably up near the ceil-ing, suddenly decided that the
Mother Superior was the one to keep it safe. It came down in a fluttering
spiral and landed on her great white headdress, where it nestled, frail and
quivering, upon the high-est starched point. Master Spiderman stared at it
urgently, with round monkey eyes.

"Off you go," said the Mother Superior, "my good man."

Master Spiderman's face bunched up. "I'll have this one at least," Cat heard
him mutter. He made one of his throwing gestures. "Freeze," he said.

The Mother Superior promptly became as stiff and still as a statue. Most of
the babies started to cry again.

"Good," said Master Spiderman. "I never did hold with nuns. Nasty religious
creatures." He stood on tiptoe to swat the roosting old soul into his net.
But the Mother Superior's headdress was just too high for him. It flapped
and rattled as he hit it, and the Mother Superior herself swayed about, and
the soul, instead of being swatted into the net, was shot off sideways into
the cradle that contained the twins. Both were bawling just then.

Cat saw the soul dive thankfully, but he did not see which twin got it,
because Master Spiderman pushed him angrily aside and tried to unhook
the cradle from the bed. "I'll have this one at least!" he cried out. "I'll start
all over again, but I'll have one!"

"You will not!" said the mother of the twins. She climbed out of bed and
advanced on Master Spiderman. She was enormous. She had huge arms
that looked as if they had plowed and reaped fields, made dough, and
pounded washing clean until they were stronger than the arms of most
men. The rest of her was in a vast white night-gown with a frill around its
neck, and on top of the frill was a sur-prisingly pretty and very determined
face.

Cat took one look at her and respectfully handed her his butterfly net as
she marched past him. She gave him a nod of thanks and absently turned it
back to front, with the net near her hand. "Let go that cradle," she said, "or
I shall make you very sorry."

Master Spiderman hastily hooked the cradle onto the bed again and backed
away. "Let's be reasonable here, madam," he said in his most oily and
placating manner. "You have two fine babies there. Suppose I were to give
you a gold piece for the pair of them."

"I never," said the huge lady, "heard anything so disgusting in my life!" And
she swung the shaft of the butterfly net with both hands.

Master Spiderman had just time to yell. "Two gold pieces then!" before the
handle of the net met his head with a whistling crack. His hat came off,
revealing his wispy brown scalp, and he tottered side-ways, shrieking.
Tottered some more and fell against the Mother Supe-rior. Cat and Tonino
were just in time to hold her upright by leaning against her as Master
Spiderman slid howling down the front of her.

And as he slid, his bare head hit the silver cross hanging from the Mother
Superior's waist. There was a strange crackling sound, fol-lowed by a strong
smell. Master Spiderman jerked all over and hit the floor with an empty sort
of flop. Cat found himself staring down at an old brown dead thing, that
was so dried out and so withered that it might have been a mummified
monkey. It looked as if it had died centuries before.

Cat's first act was to look anxiously around for any sign of Mas-ter
Spiderman's soul. He did not want that getting into a baby. But it seemed
almost as if any soul Master Spiderman had had was gone long ago. He
could see and feel nothing of it. Then he looked down at the brown
mummified thing again and thought, shuddering, If that's an evil enchanter,
I don't want to be anything like that! At which point, he found he
remembered who he was and that he was an enchanter, too. And he was
suddenly so engulfed in feelings and memories that he could not move.
Around him the babies were all crying at full strength, and most of their
mothers were cheering. The mother of the twins was sitting on her bed
saying she felt rather queer.

"I'm not surprised!" said the Mother Superior. "You did very well, my dear. A
good flush hit—one of the best I've ever seen."

On the other side of the Mother Superior, Tonino was doing what Cat
realized he should have been doing hours ago and shouting at the top of
his strong, clear voice, "Chrestomanci! Chrestomanci, come here quickly!"

There was a blat of warm moving air, like a train passing, com-bined with a
strange spicy smell from another universe entirely, and Chrestomanci was
standing in the ward, almost face-to-face with the Mother Superior.

The effect was extremely odd. The Conclave of Mages seemed to require
Chrestomanci to wear a skinny thigh-length white tunic above enormously
baggy black trousers. It made him look even taller than the Mother
Superior, and a great deal thinner.

"Ah, Mother Janissary," he said. "Good evening. We met last year, I
believe."

"At the canonical conference, and my name is Mother Justinia," the Mother
Superior replied. "I am extremely glad to see you, Sir Christopher. We seem
to have a spot of bother here."

"So I see," said Chrestomanci. He looked down at the remains of Master
Spiderman and then across at Cat and Tonino, After that, his gaze traveled
around the ward, the howling babies and the staring mothers, and he began
to get his most bewildered look. "It seems a little late in the day for
hospital visiting," he said. "Perhaps someone will tell me why we are all
here." His brow creased and he made a lit-tle gesture, at which all the
babies stopped crying and fell peacefully asleep. "That's better," he said.
"Tonino, you explain."

Tonino told it, clearly and well. There were several occasions when Cat
might have interrupted with some further explanations, but he scarcely said
anything, because he was so ashamed. It was not just that he, a nine-lifed
enchanter, had let Master Spiderman cast a spell on him to make him forget
what he was—and he knew he should have noticed the spell; it must have
been inside that old hack-ney cab—but the fact that he, Cat, had been so
busy resenting Tonino that he had nearly got both of them killed.

It made him feel worse that Tonino kept saying that Cat had behaved well
and that Cat had been managing to work magic in spite of Master
Spiderman's spells. Cat did not think either of these things was true. The
most he could say for himself was he was glad he had been sorry for the
trapped souls, enough to help rescue them. And he supposed he was glad
to find he liked Tonino after all. Tonino had been so calm and sturdy
through it all—the perfect companion. And he suspected that Tonino's
backup magic had done twice as much as his own.
"So Gabriel de Witt is dead," Chrestomanci said sadly.

"Not really," Tonino said, gesturing around at the sleeping babies. "He is
here somewhere."

"Ah, yes, but I imagine he—or she—doesn't know who he is now,"
Chrestomanci answered. He sighed. "So Neville Spiderman was hiding out in
a time bubble, collecting the souls of all the Chrestomancis, was he? And
probably killing apprentices to pro-long his own life while he waited. It was
lucky he kidnapped the two of you. We'd never have caught him without
that. But now we have, I think we'd better get rid of what's left of him; it
looks infec-tious to me. How old is this hospital?" he asked the Mother
Supe-rior.

"About seventy years old," she replied, rather surprised.

"And what was here before it was built, do you know?" Chrest-omanci
asked.

She shrugged, rattling her headdress. "Just green fields, I think."

"Good," said Chrestomanci. "Then I can send him back in time without
moving him. It's a bit hard on the person who falls over him in the field,
but it fits with what I remember. He was supposed to have been found
dead in a ditch somewhere near Dulwich. Will everyone please stand back?"

Cat, Tonino, and Mother Justinia all backed away a pace. Before they had
quite finished moving, a blue glow appeared around the monkeylike thing
on the floor, and Neville Spiderman was gone. This was followed by a
rapidly evaporating puddle with a strong smell of hospital.

"Disinfectant," Chrestomanci explained. "Now, we have eight souls to
account for still. Cat, can you remember which babies they all went to?"

Cat was more ashamed than ever. The babies all looked alike to him. And it
had all been so confusing, with souls darting in all direc-tions. "I've no
idea," he confessed. "One of the twins, but I don't know which. And that's
all."

"They all went everywhere," Tonino explained. "Won't their mothers know?"

"Most people," said Chrestomanci, "can't see souls. It takes magic. Oh,
well. We'll have to do it the hard way."

He turned around and snapped his fingers. The young man who acted as
Chrestomanci's secretary jumped into existence farther up the ward. He was
obviously not used to this kind of summons. He was in the middle of tying
a spotted bow tie and almost dropped it. Cat could see him staring around
at the mothers, the babies, and the Mother Superior and then at the filthy
and disheveled boys, and try-ing to look as if he saw such things every day.

"Tom," Chrestomanci said to him, "be a good fellow and go around and get
the names and addresses of all the mothers and every baby here, will you?"

"Certainly, sir," Tom said, trying to look efficient and under-standing.

Some of the mothers looked indignant at this, and Mother Justinia said, "Is
that really necessary? We like to be confidential here."

"Absolutely necessary," Chrestomanci said. He raised his voice so that all
the mothers could hear him. "Some of your babies are going to grow up
with very powerful magic. They might have strange memories, too, which
could frighten both you and them. We want to be able to help them if this
happens. We also want to educate them properly in the use of their magic.
But since none of us knows which children are going to have these gifts, we
are going to have to keep track of you all. So we are going to give each
baby here a gov-ernment grant of five hundred pounds a year until he or
she is eigh-teen. Does this make you feel better about it?"

"You mean they get the money if they have magic or not?" some-body
asked.

"Exactly," said Chrestomanci. "Of course they only get the grant when they
come to Chrestomanci Castle once a year for magical testing."

"Mine might have magic anyway," someone else murmured. "My mother's
father—"

The twins' mother said, "Well, I'm taking the money. I was at my wits' end
how to give them all they need. I wasn't reckoning on twins. Thank you,
sir."

"My pleasure, madam," Chrestomanci said, bowing to her. "Tom will give
you any further details." Tom, who had just conjured him-self a notebook
and a pen, looked pleading and alarmed at this. Chrestomanci ignored him.
"He can cope," he said to Cat. "That's what he's paid for. You and Tonino
look as if you need a bath and a square meal. Let's take you both home."

"But—" said Cat.

"But what?" asked Chrestomanci.

Cat did not know how to put the shame he felt. He was fairly sure he had
been starting to turn into someone like Neville Spiderman, but he did not
dare tell Chrestomanci that. "I don't deserve any-thing," he said.

"No more than those twins deserve five hundred pounds a year each,"
Chrestomanci said cheerfully. "I don't know what's biting you, Cat, but it
seems to me that you've managed rather well in a dangerous situation
without thinking you can rely on magic to help you. Think about it."

Beside Cat, Tonino exclaimed. Cat looked up from the floor to find they
were in the grand central hall of Chrestomanci Castle, standing in the
five-pointed star under the chandelier. Millie was rushing down the marble
stairs to meet them.
"Oh, you found them!" she called out. "I've been so worried. Mordecai
telephoned to say he put them in a cab that disappeared at the end of the
street. He was terribly upset. And Gabriel de Witt died this evening, did
you hear?"

"After a fashion," Chrestomanci said. "In one way Gabriel's still very much
with us." He looked from Millie to Cat and Tonino. "Dear, dear. Everyone
looks exhausted. I tell you what. I can borrow a villa in the south of France
once the measles have abated—with a swimming pool. Tonino can go on to
Italy from there. Would you like that, Tonino?"

"Yes, but I cannot swim," Tonino said.

"Neither can I," Cat said. "But we can both learn."

Tonino beamed at him and Cat was glad to discover he still liked Tonino,
rather a lot.

                                *******


                  Carol Oneir's Hundredth Dream

Carol Oneir was the world's youngest best-selling dreamer. The newspapers
called her the Infant Genius. Her photograph appeared regularly in all the
daily papers and monthly magazines, either sitting alone in an armchair
looking soulful or nestling lov-ingly against her mama.

Mama was very proud of Carol. So were Carol's publishers, Wizard Reverie
Ltd. They marketed her product in big bright blue genie jars tied with
cherry-colored satin ribbon; but you could also buy the Carol Oneir Omnibus
Pillow, bright pink and heart-shaped, Carol's Dreamie Comics, the Carol
Oneir Dream Hatband, the Carol Oneir Charm Bracelet, and half a hundred
other spin-offs.

Carol had discovered at the age of seven that she was one of those lucky
people who can control what they dream about, and then loosen the dream
in their minds so that a competent wizard can spin it off and bottle it for
other people to enjoy. Carol loved dreaming. She had made no less than
ninety-nine full-length dreams. She loved all the attention she got and all
the expensive things her mama was able to buy for her. So it was a terrible
blow to her when she lay down one night to start dreaming her hundredth
dream and nothing happened at all.

It was a terrible blow to Mama, too, who had just ordered a champagne
breakfast to celebrate Carol's Dream Century. Wizard Reverie Ltd. was just
as upset as Mama. Its nice Mr. Ploys got up in the middle of the night and
came down to Surrey by the milk train. He soothed Mama, and he soothed
Carol, and he persuaded Carol to lie down and try to dream again. But Carol
still could not dream. She tried every day for the following week, but she
had no dreams at all, not even the kinds of dreams ordinary people have.
The only person who took it calmly was Dad. He went fishing as soon as
the crisis started. Mr. Ploys and Mama took Carol to all the best doctors, in
case Carol was overtired or ill. But she wasn't. So Mama took Carol up to
Harley Street to consult Herman Mindelbaum, the famous mind wizard. But
Mr. Mindelbaum could find nothing wrong either. He said Carol's mind was
in perfect order and that her self-confidence was rather surprisingly high,
considering.

In the car going home, Mama wept and Carol sobbed. Mr. Ploys said
frantically, "Whatever happens, we mustn't let a hint of this get to the
newspapers!" But of course it was too late. Next day the papers all had
headlines saying CAROL ONEIR SEES MIND SPECIALIST and IS CAROL ALL
DREAMED OUT? Mama burst into tears again, and Carol could not eat any
breakfast.

Dad came home from fishing later that day to find reporters sit-ting in rows
on the front steps. He prodded his way politely through them with his
fishing rod, saying, "There is nothing to get excited about. My daughter is
just very tired, and we're taking her to Switzerland for a rest." When he
finally got indoors, he said, "We're in luck. I've managed to arrange for
Carol to see an expert."

"Don't be silly, dear. We saw Mr. Mindelbaum yesterday," Mama sobbed.

"I know, dear. But I said an expert, not a specialist," said Dad. "You see, I
used to be at school with Chrestomanci—once, long ago, when we were
both younger than Carol. In fact, he lost his first life because I hit him
around the head with a cricket bat. Now, of course, being a nine-lifed
enchanter, he's a great deal more important than Carol is, and I had a lot
of trouble getting hold of him. I was afraid he wouldn't want to remember
me, but he did. He said he'd see Carol. The snag is, he's on holiday in the
South of France, and he doesn't want the resort filling with
newspapermen—"

"I'll see to all that," Mr. Ploys cried joyfully. "Chrestomanci! Mr. Oneir, I'm
awed. I'm struck dumb!"

Two days later Carol and her parents and Mr. Ploys boarded first-class
sleepers in Calais on the Swiss Orient Express. The reporters boarded it,
too, in second-class sleepers and third-class seats, and they were joined by
French and German reporters standing in the corridors. The crowded train
rattled away through France until, in the middle of the night, it came to
Strasbourg, where a lot of shunt-ing always went on. Carol's sleeper, with
Carol and her parents asleep in it, was shunted off and hitched to the back
of the Riviera Golden Arrow, and the Swiss Orient went on to Zurich without
her.

Mr. Ploys went to Switzerland with it. He told Carol that, although he was
really a dream wizard, he had skill enough to keep the reporters thinking
Carol was still on the train. "If Chrestomanci wants to be private," he said,
"it could cost me my job if I let one of these near him."

By the time the reporters discovered the deception, Carol and her parents
had arrived in the seaside resort of Teignes on the French Riviera. There
Dad—not without one or two wistful looks at the casino—unpacked his rods
and went fishing. Mama and Carol took a horse-drawn cab up the hill to the
private villa where Chrestomanci was staying.

They dressed in their best for the appointment. Neither of them had met
anyone before who was more important than Carol. Carol wore niched blue
satin the same color as her genie bottles, with no less than three
hand-embroidered lace petticoats underneath it. She had on matching
button boots and a blue ribbon in her carefully curled hair, and she carried a
blue satin parasol. She also wore her diamond heart pendant, her brooch
that said carol in diamonds, her two sapphire bracelets, and all six of her
gold bangles. Her blue satin bag had diamond clasps in the shape of two
C's. Mama was even more magnificent in a cherry-colored Paris gown, a pink
hat, and all her emeralds.

They were shown up to a terrace by a rather plain lady who, as Mama
whispered to Carol behind her fan, was really rather over-dressed for a
servant. Carol envied Mama her fan.

There were so many stairs to the terrace that she was too hot to speak
when they got there. She let Mama exclaim at the wonderful view. You
could see the sea and the beach and look into the streets of Teignes from
here. As Mama said, the casino looked charming and the golf links so
peaceful. On the other side, the villa had its own pri-vate swimming pool.
This was full of splashing, screaming children, and to Carol's mind, it rather
spoiled the view.

Chrestomanci was sitting reading in a deck chair. He looked up and blinked
a little as they came. Then he seemed to remember who they were and
stood up with great politeness to shake hands. He was wearing a
beautifully tailored natural silk suit. Carol saw at a glance that it had cost
at least as much as Mama's Paris gown. But her first thought on seeing
Chrestomanci was, Oh, my! He's twice as good-looking as Francis! She
pushed that thought down quickly and trod it under. It belonged to the
thoughts she never even told Mama. But it meant that she rather despised
Chrestomanci for being quite so tall and for having hair so black and such
flashing dark eyes. She knew he was going to be no more help than Mr.
Mindelbaum, and Mr. Mindelbaum had reminded her of Melville.

Mama meanwhile was holding Chrestomanci's hand between both of hers
and saying, "Oh, sir! This is so good of you to interrupt your holiday on our
account! But when even Mr. Mindelbaum couldn't find out what's stopping
her dreams—"

"Not at all," Chrestomanci said, wrestling for his hand rather. "To be frank,
I was intrigued by a case even Mindelbaum couldn't fathom." He signaled to
the serving lady who had brought them to the terrace. "Millie, do you think
you could take Mrs. ... er... O'Dear downstairs while I talk to Carol?"

"There's no need for that, sir," Mama said, smiling. "I always go everywhere
with my darling. Carol knows I'll sit quite quietly and not interrupt."
"No wonder Mindelbaum got nowhere," Chrestomanci mur-mured.

Then—Carol, who prided herself on being very observant, was never quite
sure how it happened—Mama was suddenly not on the terrace anymore.
Carol herself was sitting in a deck chair facing Chrestomanci in his deck
chair, listening to Mama's voice floating up from below somewhere. "I never
let Carol go anywhere alone. She's my one ewe lamb..."

Chrestomanci leaned back comfortably and crossed his elegant legs. "Now,"
he said, "be kind enough to tell me exactly what you do when you make a
dream."

This was something Carol had done hundreds of times by now. She smiled
graciously and began, "I get a feeling in my head first, which means a
dream is ready to happen. Dreams come when they will, you know, and
there is no stopping them or putting them off. So I tell Mama, and we go
up to my boudoir, where she helps me to get settled on the special couch
Mr. Ploys had made for me. Then Mama sets the spin-off spool turning and
tiptoes away, and I drop off to sleep to the sound of it gently humming and
whirling. Then the dream takes me..."

Chrestomanci did not take notes like Mr. Mindelbaum and the reporters. He
did not nod at her encouragingly the way Mr. Mindel-baum had. He simply
stared vaguely out to sea. Carol thought that the least he might do was to
tell those children in the pool to keep quiet. The screaming and splashing
were so loud that she almost had to shout. Carol thought he was being
very inconsiderate, but she kept on.

"I have learned not to be frightened and to go where the dream takes me.
It is like a voyage of discovery—"

"When is this?" Chrestomanci interrupted in an offhand sort of way. "Does
this dreaming happen at night?"

"It can happen at any time," said Carol. "If a dream is ready, I can go to my
couch and sleep during the day."

"How very useful," murmured Chrestomanci. "So you can put up your hand in
a dull lesson and say, 'Please can I be excused to go and dream?' Do they
let you go home?"

"I ought to have explained," Carol said, keeping her dignity with an effort,
"that Mama arranges lessons for me at home so that I can dream anytime I
need to. It's like a voyage of discovery, sometimes in caves underground,
sometimes in palaces in the clouds—''

"Yes. And how long do you dream for? Six hours? Ten minutes?"
Chrestomanci interrupted again.

"About half an hour," said Carol. "Sometimes in the clouds or maybe in the
southern seas. I never know where I will go or whom I will meet on my
journey—"
"Do you finish a whole dream in half an hour?" Chrestomanci interrupted yet
again.

"Of course not. Some of my dreams last for more than three hours," Carol
said. "As for the people I meet, they are strange and wonderful—"

"So you dream in half-hour stretches," said Chrestomanci. "And I suppose
you have to take a dream up again exactly where you left it at the end of
the half hour before."

"Obviously," said Carol. "People must have told you: I can con-trol my
dreams. And I do my best work in regular half-hour stints. I wish you
wouldn't keep interrupting when I'm doing my best to tell you!"

Chrestomanci turned his face from the sea and looked at her. He seemed
surprised. "My dear young lady, you are not doing your best to tell me. I do
read the papers, you know. You are giving me pre-cisely the same flannel
you gave the Times and the Croydon Gazette and the People's Monthly and
doubtless poor Mindelbaum as well. You are telling me your dreams come
unbidden—but you have one for half an hour every day—and that you never
know where you'll go in them or what will happen—but you can control your
dreams perfectly. That can't all be true, can it?"

Carol slid the bangles up and down her arm and tried to keep her temper. It
was difficult to do when the sun was so hot and the noise coming from that
pool so loud. She thought seriously of demoting Melville and making
Chrestomanci into the villain in her next dream—until she remembered that
there might not be a next dream unless Chrestomanci helped her. "I don't
understand," she said.

"Let's talk about the dreams themselves then," said Chrestomanci. He
pointed down the terrace steps to the blue, blue water of the pool. "There
you see my ward, Janet. She's the fair-haired girl the others are just
pushing off the diving board. She loves your dreams. She has all
ninety-nine of them, though I am afraid Julia and the boys are very
contemptuous about it. They say your dreams are slush and all exactly the
same."

Naturally Carol was deeply hurt that anyone could call her dreams slush,
but she knew better than to say so. She smiled gra-ciously down at the
large splash that was all she could see of Janet.

"Janet is hoping to meet you later," said Chrestomanci. Carol's smile
broadened. She loved meeting admirers. "When I heard you were coming,"
Chrestomanci said, "I borrowed Janet's latest Omnibus Pillow." Carol's smile
narrowed a bit. Chrestomanci did not seem the kind of person who would
enjoy her dreams at all.

"I enjoyed it rather," Chrestomanci confessed. Carol's smile widened. Well!
"But Julia and the boys are right, you know," Chrestomanci went on. "Your
happy endings are pretty slushy, and the same sort of things happen in all
of them." Carol's smile nar-rowed again distinctly at this. "But they're
terribly lively," Chrest-omanci said. "There's so much action and so many
people. I like all those crowds—what your blurbs call your 'cast of
thousands'—but I must confess I don't find your settings very convincing.
That Ara-bian setting in the ninety-sixth dream was awful, even making
allowances for how young you are. On the other hand, your fair-ground in
the latest dream seemed to show the makings of a real gift—" By this time
Carol's smile was going broad and narrow like the streets of Dublin's Fair
City. She was almost caught off guard when Chrestomanci said, "And
though you never appear in your dreams yourself, a number of characters do
come in over and over again—in various disguises, of course. I make it
about five or six main actors in all."

This was getting far too close to the things Carol never told even Mama.
Luckily some reporters had made the same observation. "This is the way
dreams are," she said. "And I am only the Seeing Eye."

"As you told the Manchester Guardian," Chrestomanci agreed, "if that is
what they meant by 'Oosung Oyo.' I see that must have been a misprint
now." He was looking very vague, to Carol's relief, and did not seem to
notice her dismay. "Now," he said, "I suggest the time has come for you to
go to sleep and let me see what happened to send your hundredth dream
so wrong that you refused to record it."

"But nothing went wrong!" Carol protested. "I just didn't dream."

"So you say," said Chrestomanci. "Close your eyes. Feel free to snore if you
wish."

"But—but I can't just go to sleep in the middle of a visit!" Carol said.
"And—and those children in the pool are making far too much noise."

Chrestomanci put one hand casually down to the paving of the terrace.
Carol saw his arm go up as if he were pulling something up out of the
stones. The terrace went quiet. She could see the children splashing below,
and their mouths opening and shutting, but not a sound came to her ears.
"Have you run out of excuses now?" he asked.

"They're not excuses. And how are you going to know whether I dream or
not without a proper dream spool and a qualified dream wizard to read it?"
Carol demanded.

"Oh, I daresay I can manage quite well without," Chrestomanci remarked.
Though he said it in a mild, sleepy sort of way, Carol sud-denly
remembered that he was a nine-lifed enchanter and more important than
she was. She supposed he thought he was powerful enough on his own.
Well, let him. She would humor him. Carol arranged her blue parasol to
keep some of the sun off her and settled back in her deck chair, knowing
nothing was going to happen...

...And she was at the fairground, where her ninety-ninth dream had left off.
In front of her was a wide space of muddy grass, covered with bits of paper
and other rubbish. She could see the Big Wheel in the distance behind
some flapping tents and half-dismantled stalls and another tall thing that
seemed to be most of the Helter-Skelter tower. The place seemed quite
deserted.

"Well, really!" Carol said. "They still haven't cleared anything up! What are
Martha and Paul thinking of?"

As soon as she said that, she clapped her hands guiltily to her mouth and
whirled around to make sure that Chrestomanci had not come stalking up
behind her. But there was nothing behind her but more dreary,
litter-covered grass. Good! Carol thought. I knew nobody could come behind
the scenes in a Carol Oneir private dream unless I let them! She relaxed.
She was boss here. This was part of the things she never even told Mama,
though, for a moment, back on the terrace at Teignes, she had been afraid
that Chrestomanci was on to her.

The fact was, as Chrestomanci had noticed, Carol did only have six main
characters working for her. There was Francis, tall and fair and handsome,
with a beautiful baritone voice, who did all the heroes. He always ended up
marrying the gentle but spirited Lucy, who was fair, too, and very pretty.
Then there was Melville, who was thin and dark, with an evil white face,
who did all the villains.

Melville was so good at being a Baddie that Carol often used him several
times in one dream. But he was always the gentleman, which was why
polite Mr. Mindelbaum had reminded Carol of Melville.

The other three were Bimbo, who was oldish and who did all the Wise Old
Men, Pathetic Cripples, and Weak Tyrants; Martha, who was the Older
Woman and did the Aunts, Mothers, and Wicked Queens, either straight
wicked or with Hearts of Gold; and Paul, who was small and boyish-looking.
Paul's specialty was the Faithful Boy Assistant, though he did Second
Baddie, too, and tended to get killed quite often in both kinds of parts.
Paul and Martha, since they never had very big parts, were supposed to see
that the cast of thousands cleared everything up between dreams.

Except that they hadn't this time.

"Paul!" Carol shouted. "Martha! Where's my cast of thou-sands?"

Nothing happened. Her voice just went rolling away into empti-ness.

"Very well!" Carol called out. "I shall come and find you, and you won't like
it when I do!"

She set off, picking her way disgustedly through the rubbish, toward those
flapping tents. It really was too bad of them, she thought, to let her down
like this, when she had gone to all the trou-ble of making them up and
giving them a hundred disguises, and had made them as famous as she
was herself, in a way. As Carol thought this, her bare foot came down in a
melted ice cream. She jumped back with a shudder and found she was, for
some reason, wearing a bathing suit like the children in Chrestomanci's
pool.

"Oh, really!" she said crossly. She remembered now that her other attempt
at a hundredth dream had gone like this, too, up to the point where she
had scrapped it. Anyone would think this was the kind of dream ordinary
people had. It wouldn't even make a decent Hatband dream. This time,
with a sternly controlled effort, she made herself wear her blue button
boots and the blue dress with all its pet-ticoats underneath. It was hotter
like that, but it showed that she was in charge. And she marched on, until
she came to the flapping tents.

Here it nearly came like a common dream again. Carol walked up and down
among empty tents and collapsed stalls, under the great framework of the
Big Wheel and repeatedly past the topless Helter-Skelter tower, past
roundabout after empty roundabout, without see-ing a soul.

It was only her stern annoyance that kept her going until she did see
someone, and then she nearly went straight past him, thinking he was one
of the dummies from the Waxworks Show. He was sitting on a box beside a
painted organ from a roundabout, staring. Perhaps some of the cast of
thousands did work as dummies when necessary, Carol thought. She had no
idea really. But this one was fair, so that meant he was a Goodie and
generally worked with Francis.

"Hey, you!" she said. "Where's Francis?"

He gave her a dull, unfinished sort of look. "Rhubarb," he said.
"Abracadabra."

"Yes, but you're not doing a crowd scene now," Carol told him. "I want to
know where my Main Characters are."

The man pointed vaguely beyond the Big Wheel. "In their quar-ters," he
said. "Committee meeting." So Carol set off that way. She had barely gone
two steps when the man called out from behind her. "Hey, you! Say thank
you!"

How rude! thought Carol. She turned and glared at him. He was now
drinking out of a very strong-smelling green bottle. "You're drunk!" she
said. "Where did you get that? I don't allow real drink in my dreams."

"Name's Norman," said the man. "Drowning sorrows." Carol saw that she
was not going to get any sense out of him. So she said, "Thank you," to
stop him shouting after her again and went the way he had pointed. It led
her among a huddle of gypsy caravans. Since these all had a blurred
cardboard sort of look, Carol went straight past them, knowing they must
belong to the cast of thou-sands. She knew the caravan she wanted would
look properly clear and real. And it did. It was more like a tarry black shed
on wheels than a caravan, but there was real black smoke pouring out of its
rusty iron chimney.

Carol sniffed it. "Funny. It smells almost like toffee!" But she decided not
to give her people any further warning. She marched up the black wooden
ladder to the door and flung the door open.

Smoke and heat and the smell of drink and toffee rolled out at her. Her
people were all inside, but instead of turning politely to receive their orders
as they usually did, none of them at first took any notice of her at all.
Francis was sitting at the table playing cards with Martha, Paul, and Bimbo
by the light of candles stuck in green bot-tles. Glasses of strong-smelling
drink stood at each of their elbows, but most of the drink smell, to Carol's
horror, was coming from the bottle Lucy was drinking out of. Beautiful,
gentle Lucy was sitting on a bunk at the back, giggling and nursing a green
bottle. As far as Carol could see in the poor light, Lucy's face looked like a
gnome's, and her hair was what Mama would describe as "in tetters."
Melville was cooking at the stove near the door. Carol was ashamed to look
at him. He was wearing a grubby white apron and smiling a dreamy smile
as he stirred his saucepan. Anything less villainous was hard to imagine.

"And just what," said Carol, "do you think you're all doing?" At that, Francis
turned around enough for her to see that he had not shaved for days. "Shut
that blesh door, can' you!" he said irrita-bly. It was possible he spoke that
way because he had a large cigar between his teeth, but Carol feared it
was more likely to be because Francis was drunk.

She shut the door and stood in front of it with her arms folded. "I want an
explanation," she said. "I'm waiting."

Paul slapped down his cards and briskly pulled a pile of money toward
himself. Then he took the cigar out of his boyish mouth to say, "And you
can go on waiting, unless you've come to negotiate at last. We're on
strike."

"On strike!" said Carol.

"On strike," Paul said. "All of us. I brought the cast of thousands out
straight after the last dream. We want better working conditions and a
bigger slice of the cake." He gave Carol a challenging and not very pleasant
grin and put the cigar back in his mouth—a mouth that was not so boyish,
now Carol looked at it closely. Paul was older than she had realized, with
little cynical lines all over his face.

"Paul's our shop steward," Martha said. Martha, to Carol's sur-prise, was
quite young, with reddish hair and a sulky, righteous look. Her voice had a
bit of a whine to it when she went on. "We have our rights, you know. The
conditions the cast of thousands have to live in are appalling, and it's one
dream straight after another and no free time at all for any of us. And it's
not as if we get job satisfaction either. The rotten parts Paul and I do!"

"Measly walk-ons," Paul said, busy dealing out cards. "One of the things
we're protesting is being killed almost every dream. The cast of thousands
gets gunned down in every final scene, and not only do they get no
compensation, they have to get straight up and fight all through the next
dream."

" 'nd never allowsh ush any dthrink," Bimbo put in. Carol could see he was
very drunk. His nose was purple with it, and his white hair looked damp.
"Got shick of colored water. Had to shteal fruit from Enshanted Garden
dream to make firsht wine. Make whishky now. It'sh better."
"It's not as if you paid us anything," Martha whined. "We have to take what
reward we can get for our services."

"Then where did you get all that money?" Carol demanded, pointing to the
large heap in front of Paul.

"The Arabian treasure scene and so forth," said Paul. "Pirates' hoard. Most
of it's only painted paper."

Francis suddenly said, in a loud, slurry voice, "I want recogni-tion. I've been
ninety-nine different heroes, but not a word of credit goes on any pillow or
jar." He banged the table. "Exploitation! That's what it is!"

"Yes, we all want our names on the next dream," Paul said. "Melville, give
her our list of complaints, will you?"

"Melville's our Strike Committee secretary," said Martha.

Francis banged the table again and shouted, "Melville!" Then everyone else
shouted, "MELVILLE!" until Melville finally turned around from the stove
holding his saucepan in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other.

"I didn't want to spoil my fudge," Melville said apologetically. He handed
the paper to Carol. "There, my dear. This wasn't my idea, but I didn't wish
to let the others down."

Carol, by this time, was backed against the door, more or less in tears. This
dream seemed to be a nightmare. "Lucy!" she called out desperately. "Lucy,
are you in this, too?"

"Don't you disturb her," said Martha, whom Carol was beginning to dislike
very much. "Lucy's suffered enough. She's had her fill of parts that make
her a plaything and property of men. Haven't you, love?" she called to Lucy.

Lucy looked up. "Nobody understands," she said, staring mourn-fully at the
wall. "I hate Francis. And I always have to marry him and live hap-hic
-hallipy ever after."

This, not surprisingly, annoyed Francis. "And I hate you!" he bawled,
jumping up as he shouted. The table went over with a crash, and the
glasses, money, cards, and candles went with it. In the terri-fying dark
scramble that followed, the door somehow burst open behind Carol, and
she got herself out through it as fast as she could.

...And found herself sitting on a deck chair on the sunny terrace again. She
was holding a paper in one hand, and her parasol was rolling by her feet.
To her annoyance, someone had spilled a long, sticky trickle of what
seemed to be fudge all down her blue dress.

"Tonino! Vieni qui!" somebody called.

Carol looked up to find Chrestomanci trying to put together a broken deck
chair in the midst of a crowd of people who were all pushing past him and
hurrying away down the terrace steps. Carol could not think who the people
were at first, until she caught a glimpse of Francis among them, and then
Lucy, who had one hand clutched around her bottle and the other in the
hand of Norman, the man Carol had first met sitting on a box. The rest of
them must be the cast of thousands, she supposed. She was still trying to
imagine what had happened when Chrestomanci dropped the broken deck
chair and stopped the very last person to cross the terrace.

"Excuse me, sir," Chrestomanci said. "Would you mind explain-ing a few
things before you leave?"

It was Melville, still in his cook's apron, waving smoke away from his
saucepan with one long, villainous hand and peering down at his fudge with
a very doleful look on his long, villainous face. "I think it's spoiled," he
said. "You want to know what happened? Well, I think the cast of
thousands started it, around the time Lucy fell in love with Norman, so it
may have been Norman's doing to begin with. Anyway, they began
complaining that they never got a chance to be real people, and Paul heard
them. Paul is very ambitious, you know, and he knew, as we all did, that
Francis isn't really cut out to be a hero—"

"No, indeed. He has a weak chin," Chrestomanci agreed.

Carol gasped and was just about to make a protest—which would have
been a rather tearful one at that moment—when she recalled that Francis's
bristly chin had indeed looked rather small and wobbly under that cigar.

"Oh, you shouldn't judge by chins," said Melville. "Look at mine—and I'm no
more a villain than Francis is a hero. But Francis has his petulant side, and
Paul played on that, with the help of Bimbo and his whisky, and Lucy was
with Paul anyway because she hated being forced to wear frilly dresses and
simper at Francis. She and Norman want to take up farming. And Martha,
who is a very frivo-lous girl to my mind, came in with them because she
cannot abide having to clear up the scenery at such short notice. So then
they all came to me."

"And you held out?" asked Chrestomanci.

"All through The Cripple of Monte Christo and The Arabian Knight," Melville
admitted, ambling across the terrace to park his saucepan on the
balustrade. "I am fond of Carol, you see, and I am quite ready to be three
villains at once for her if that is what she wants. But when she started on
the Fairground dream straight after The Tyrant of London Town, I had to
admit that we were all being thoroughly overworked. None of us got any
time to be ourselves. Dear me," he added. "I think the cast of thousands is
preparing to paint the town red."

Chrestomanci came and leaned on the balustrade to see. "I fear so," he
said. "What do you think makes Carol work you all so hard? Ambition?"

There was now such a noise coming from the town that Carol could not
resist getting up to look, too. Large numbers of the cast of thousands had
made straight for the beach. They were joyously rac-ing into the water,
pulling little wheeled bathing huts after them, or simply casting their
clothes away and plunging in. This was causing quite an outcry from the
regular holiday makers. More outcries came from the main square below the
casino, where the cast of thousands had flooded into all the elegant cafes,
shouting for ice cream, wine, and frogs' legs.

"It looks rather fun," said Melville. "No, not ambition exactly, sir. Say rather
that Carol was caught up in success, and her mama was caught up with her.
It is not easy to stop something when one's mama expects one to go on
and on."

A horse-drawn cab was now galloping along the main street, pur-sued by
shouting, scrambling, excited people. Pursuing these was a little posse of
gendarmes. This seemed to be because the white-bearded person in the
cab was throwing handfuls of jewels in all directions in the most abandoned
way. Arabian jewels and pirates' treasure mostly, Carol thought. She
wondered if they would turn out to be glass or real jewels.

"Poor Bimbo," said Melville. "He sees himself as a sort of kingly Santa Claus
these days. He has played those parts too often. I think he should retire."

"And what a pity your mama told your cab to wait," Chrestomanci said to
Carol. "Isn't that Francis, Martha, and Paul there? Just going into the
casino." They were, too. Carol saw them waltzing arm in arm up the
mar-ble steps, three people obviously going on a spree.

"Paul," said Melville, "tells me he has a system to break the bank."

"A fairly common delusion," said Chrestomanci.

"But he can't!" said Carol. "He hasn't got any real money!" She chanced to
look down as she spoke. Her diamond pendant was gone. So was her
diamond brooch. Her sapphire bangles and every one of her gold ones were
missing. Even the clasps of her handbag had been torn off. "They robbed
me!" she cried out.

"That would be Martha," Melville said sadly. "Remember she picked pockets
in The Tyrant of London Town.''

"It sounds as if you owed them quite a sum in wages," Chrest-omanci said.

"But what shall I do?" Carol wailed. "How am I going to get everyone
back?"

Melville looked worried for her. It came out as a villainous gri-mace, but
Carol understood perfectly. Melville was sweet.
Chrestomanci just looked surprised and a little bored. "You mean you want
all these people back?" he said.

Carol opened her mouth to say yes, of course she did! But she did not say
it. They were having such fun. Bimbo was having the time of his life,
galloping through the streets, throwing jewels. The people in the sea were
a happy, splashing mass, and waiters were hurrying about down in the
square, taking orders and slapping down plates and glasses in front of the
cast of thousands in the cafes. Carol just hoped they were using real
money. If she turned her head, she could see that some of the cast of
thousands had now got as far as the golf course, where most of them
seemed to be under the impression that golf was a team game that you
played rather like hockey.

"While Carol makes up her mind," said Chrestomanci, "what, Melville, is
your personal opinion of her dreams? As one who has an inside view?"

Melville pulled his mustache unhappily. "I was afraid you were going to ask
me that," he said. "She has tremendous talent, of course, or she couldn't
do it at all, but I do sometimes feel that she—well—she repeats herself.
Put it like this: I think maybe Carol doesn't give herself a chance to be
herself any more than she gives us."

Melville, Carol realized, was the only one of her people she really liked. She
was heartily sick of all the others. Though she had not admitted it, they
had bored her for years, but she had never had time to think of anyone
more interesting because she had always been so busy getting on with the
next dream. Suppose she gave them all the sack? But wouldn't that hurt
Melville's feelings?

"Melville," she said anxiously, "do you enjoy being villains?"

"My dear," said Melville, "it's up to you entirely, but I confess that
sometimes I would like to try being someone ... well ... not black-hearted.
Say, gray-hearted, and a little more complicated."

This was difficult. "If I did that," Carol said, thinking about it, "I'd have to
stop dreaming for a while and spend a time—maybe a long time—sort of
getting a new outlook on people. Would you mind waiting? It might take
over a year."

"Not at all," said Melville. "Just call me when you need me." And he bent
over and kissed Carol's hand, in his best and most vil-lainous manner.

...And Carol was once again sitting up in her deck chair. This time, however,
she was rubbing her eyes, and the terrace was empty except for
Chrestomanci, holding a broken deck chair, and talking in what seemed to
be Italian to a skinny little boy. The boy seemed to have come up from the
bathing pool. He was wearing bathing trunks and dripping water all over the
paving.

"Oh!" said Carol. "So it was only a dream really!" She noticed she must
have dropped her parasol while she was asleep and reached to pick it up.
Someone seemed to have trodden on it. And there was a long trickle of
fudge on her dress. Then of course she looked for her brooch, her pendant,
and her bangles. They were gone. Someone had torn her dress pulling the
brooch off. Her eyes leaped to the balustrade and found a small burned
saucepan stand-ing on it.
At that, Carol jumped and ran to the balustrade, hoping to see Melville on
his way down the stairs from the terrace. The stairs were empty. But she
was in time to see Bimbo's cab, surrounded by gen-darmes and stopped at
the end of the parade. Bimbo did not seem to be in it. It looked as if he
had worked the disappearing act she had invented for him in The Cripple of
Monte Christo.

Down on the beach, crowds of the cast of thousands were com-ing out of
the sea and lying down to sunbathe, or politely borrowing beach balls from
the other holiday makers. She could hardly tell them from the regular
tourists, in fact. Out on the golf links, the cast of thousands there was
being sorted out by a man in a red blazer and lined up to practice tee
shots. Carol looked at the casino then, but there was no sign of Paul or
Martha or Francis. Around the square, however, there was singing coming
from the crowded cafes—steady, swelling singing, for of course there were
several massed choirs among the cast of thousands. Carol turned and
looked accusingly at Chrestomanci.

Chrestomanci broke off his Italian conversation in order to bring the small
boy over by one wet, skinny shoulder. "Tonino here," he said, "is a rather
unusual magician. He reinforces other people's magic. When I saw the way
your thoughts were going, I thought we'd better have him up to back up
your decision. I suspected you might do something like this. That's why I
didn't want any reporters. Wouldn't you like to come down to the pool now?
I'm sure Janet can lend you a swimsuit and probably a clean dress as well."

"Well ... thank you ... yes, please ... but..." Carol began, when the small
boy pointed to something behind her.

"I speak English," he said. "You dropped your paper."

Carol dived around and picked it up. In beautiful sloping writing, it said:

Carol Oneir hereby releases Francis, Lucy, Martha, Paul, and Bimbo from all
further professional duties and gives the cast of thousands leave of
indefinite absence. I am taking a holiday with your kind permission, and I
remain
  Your servant,
     Melville

"Oh, good!" said Carol. "Oh, dear! What shall I do about Mr. Ploys? And how
shall I break it to Mama?"

"I can speak to Ploys," said Chrestomanci, "but your mama is strictly your
problem, though your father, when he gets back from the casin—er,
fishing—will certainly back you up."

Dad did back Carol up some hours later, and Mama was slightly easier to
deal with than usual anyway, because she was so confused at the way she
had mistaken Chrestomanci's wife for a servant. By that time, however, the
main thing Carol wanted to tell Dad was that she had been pushed off the
diving board sixteen times and had learned to swim two strokes—well,
almost.
                                 *******


                          The Sage of Theare

There was a world called Theare in which Heaven was very well organized.
Everything was so precisely worked out that every god knew his or her
exact duties, correct prayers, right times for business, utterly exact
character, and unmistakable place above or below the gods.

This was the case from Great Zond, the king of the gods, through every
god, godlet, deity, minor deity, and numen, down to the most immaterial
nymph. Even the invisible dragons that lived in the rivers had their invisible
lines of demarcation. The universe ran like clock-work. Mankind was not
always so regular, but the gods were there to set him right. It had been
like this for centuries.

So it was a breach in the very nature of things when, in the mid-dle of the
yearly Festival of Water, at which only watery deities were entitled to be
present, Great Zond looked up to see Imperion, god of the sun, storming
toward him down the halls of Heaven.

"Go away!" cried Zond, aghast.

But Imperion swept on, causing the watery deities gathered there to steam
and hiss, and arrived in a wave of heat and warm water at the foot of
Zond's high throne.

"Father!" Imperion cried urgently.

A high god like Imperion was entitled to call Zond Father. Zond did not
recall whether or not he was actually Imperion's father. The origins of the
gods were not quite so orderly as their present exis-tence. But Zond knew
that, son of his or not, Imperion had breached all the rules. "Abase
yourself," Zond said sternly.

Imperion ignored this command, too. Perhaps this was just as well, since
the floor of Heaven was awash already, and steaming. Imperion kept his
flaming gaze on Zond. "Father! The Sage of Dis-solution has been born!"

Zond shuddered in the clouds of hot vapor and tried to feel resigned. "It is
written," he said, "a Sage shall be born who shall question everything. His
questions shall bring down the exquisite order of Heaven and cast all the
gods into disorder. It is also writ-ten—"

Here Zond realized that Imperion had made him break the rules, too. The
correct procedure was for Zond to summon the god of prophecy and have
that god consult the Book of Heaven. Then he realized that Imperion was
the god of prophecy. It was one of his precisely allocated duties. Zond
rounded on Imperion. "What do you mean coming and telling me? You're
god of prophecy! Go and look in the Book of Heaven!"
"I already have, Father," said Imperion. "I find I prophesied the coming of
the Sage of Dissolution when the gods first began. It is written that the
Sage shall be born and that I shall not know."

"Then," said Zond, scoring a point, "how is it you're here telling me he has
been born?"

"The mere fact," Imperion said, "that I can come here and interript the
Water Festival shows that the Sage has been born. Our Dis-solution has
obviously begun."

There was a splash of consternation among the watery gods. They were
gathered down the hall as far as they could get from Imperion, but they
had all heard. Zond tried to gather his wits. What with the steam raised by
Imperion and the spume of dismay thrown out by the rest, the halls of
Heaven were in a state nearer chaos than he had known for millennia. Any
more of this, and there would be no need for the Sage to ask questions.

"Leave us," Zond said to the watery gods. "Events even beyond my control
cause this festival to be stopped. You will be informed later of any decision
I make." To Zond's dismay, the watery ones hesitated—further evidence of
Dissolution. "I promise," he said.

The watery ones made up their minds. They left in waves, all except one.
This one was Ock, god of all oceans. Ock was equal in status to Imperion,
and heat did not threaten him. He stayed where he was.

Zond was not pleased. Ock, it always seemed to him, was the least orderly
of the gods. He did not know his place. He was as rest-less and
unfathomable as mankind. But, with Dissolution already begun, what could
Zond do?

"You have our permission to stay," he said graciously to Ock, and to
Imperion: "Well, how did you know the Sage was born?"

"I was consulting the Book of Heaven on another matter," said Imperion,
"and the page opened at my prophecy concerning the Sage of Dissolution.
Since it said that I would not know the day and hour when the Sage was
born, it followed that he has already been born, or I would not have known.
The rest of the prophecy was commendably precise, however. Twenty years
from now, he will start ques-tioning Heaven. What shall we do to stop
him?"

"I don't see what we can do," Zond said hopelessly. "A prophecy is a
prophecy."

"But we must do something!" blazed Imperion. "I insist! I am a god of
order, even more than you are. Think what would happen if the sun went
inaccurate! This means more to me than anyone. I want the Sage of
Dissolution found and killed before he can ask ques-tions."

Zond was shocked. "I can't do that! If the prophecy says he has to ask
questions, then he has to ask them."
Here Ock approached. "Every prophecy has a loophole," he said.

"Of course," snapped Imperion. "I can see the loophole as well as you. I'm
taking advantage of the disorder caused by the birth of the Sage to ask
Great Zond to kill him and overthrow the prophecy. Thus restoring order."

"Logic chopping is not what I meant," said Ock.

The two gods faced one another. Steam from Ock suffused Impe-rion and
then rained back on Ock, as regularly as breathing. "What did you mean,
then?" said Imperion.

"The prophecy," said Ock, "does not appear to say which world the Sage will
ask his questions in. There are many other worlds. Mankind calls them
if-worlds, meaning that they were once the same world as Theare, but split
off and went their own ways after each doubtful event in history. Each
if-world has its own Heaven. There must be one world in which the gods are
not as orderly as we are here. Let the Sage be put in that world. Let him
ask his predestined questions there."

"Good idea!" Zond clapped his hands in relief, causing untoward tempests
in all Theare. "Agreed, Imperion?"

"Yes," said Imperion. He flamed with relief. And being unguarded, he at
once became prophetic. "But I must warn you," he said, "that strange
things happen when destiny is tampered with."

"Strange things maybe, but never disorderly," Zond asserted. He called the
water gods back and, with them, every god in Theare. He told them that an
infant had just been born who was destined to spread Dissolution, and he
ordered each one of them to search the ends of the earth for this child.

("The ends of the earth" was a legal formula. Zond did not believe that
Theare was flat. But the expression had been unchanged for centuries, just
like the rest of Heaven. It meant "Look every-where.")

The whole of Heaven looked high and low. Nymphs and godlets scanned
mountains, caves, and woods. Household gods peered into cradles. Watery
gods searched beaches, banks, and margins. The goddess of love went
deeply into her records, to find who the Sage's parents might be. The
invisible dragons swam to look inside barges and houseboats. Since there
was a god for everything in Theare, nowhere was missed, nothing was
omitted. Imperion searched harder than any, blazing into every nook and
crevice on one side of the world, and exhorting the moon goddess to do the
same on the other side.

And nobody found the Sage. There were one or two false alarms, such as
when a household goddess reported an infant that never stopped crying.
This baby, she said, was driving her up the wall and, if this was not
Dissolution, she would like to know what was. There were also several
reports of infants born with teeth, or six fingers, or suchlike strangeness.
But in each case Zond was able to prove that the child had nothing to do
with Dissolution. After a month it became clear that the infant Sage was
not going to be found.

Imperion was in despair, for as he had told Zond, order meant more to him
than to any other god. He became so worried that he was actually causing
the sun to lose heat. At length the goddess of love advised him to go off
and relax with a mortal woman before he brought about Dissolution
himself.

Imperion saw she was right. He went down to visit the human woman he
had loved for some years. It was established custom for gods to love
mortals. Some visited their loves in all sorts of fanciful shapes, and some
had many loves at once. But Imperion was both honest and faithful. He
never visited Nestara as anything but a hand-some man, and he loved her
devotedly. Three years ago she had borne him a son, whom Imperion loved
almost as much as he loved Nestara. Before the Sage was born to trouble
him, Imperion had been trying to bend the rules of Heaven a little, to get
his son approved as a god, too.

The child's name was Thasper. As Imperion descended to earth, he could
see Thasper digging in some sand outside Nestara's house—a beautiful
child, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Imperion won-dered fondly if Thasper was
talking properly yet. Nestara had been worried about how slow he was
learning to speak.

Imperion alighted beside his son. "Hello, Thasper. What are you digging so
busily?"

Instead of answering, Thasper raised his golden head and shouted. "Mum!"
he yelled. "Why does it go so bright when Dad comes?"

All Imperion's pleasure vanished. Of course no one could ask questions
until he had learned to speak. But it would be too cruel if his own son
turned out to be the Sage of Dissolution. "Why shouldn't it go bright?" he
asked defensively.

Thasper scowled up at him. "I want to know. Why does it?"

"Perhaps because you feel happy to see me," Imperion sug-gested.

"I'm not happy," Thasper said. His lower lip came out. Tears filled his big
blue eyes. "Why does it go bright? I want to know. Mum! I'm not happy!"

Nestara came racing out of the house, almost too concerned to smile at
Imperion. "Thasper love, what's the matter?"

"I want to know!" wailed Thasper.

"What do you want to know? I've never known such an inquiring mind,"
Nestara said proudly to Imperion, as she picked Thasper up. "That's why he
was so slow talking. He wouldn't speak until he'd found out how to ask
questions. And if you don't give him an exact answer, he'll cry for hours."
"When did he first start asking questions?" Imperion inquired tensely.

"About a month ago," said Nestara.

This made Imperion truly miserable, but he concealed it. It was clear to him
that Thasper was indeed the Sage of Dissolution and he was going to have
to take him away to another world. He smiled and said, "My love, I have
wonderful news for you. Thasper has been accepted as a god. Great Zond
himself will have him as cupbearer."

"Oh, not now!" cried Nestara. "He's so little!"

She made numerous other objections, too. But, in the end she let Imperion
take Thasper. After all, what better future could there be for a child? She
put Thasper into Imperion's arms with all sorts of anxious advice about
what he ate and when he went to bed. Imperion kissed her good-bye,
heavyhearted. He was not a god of deception. He knew he dared not see
her again for fear he told her the truth.

Then, with Thasper in his arms, Imperion went up to the middle regions
below Heaven, to look for another world.
Thasper looked down with interest at the great blue curve of the world.
"Why—" he began.

Imperion hastily enclosed him in a sphere of forgetfulness. He could not
afford to let Thasper ask things here. Questions that spread Dissolution on
earth would have an even more powerful effect in the middle region. The
sphere was a silver globe, neither transparent nor opaque. In it, Thasper
would stay seemingly asleep, not moving and not growing, until the sphere
was opened. With the child thus safe, Imperion hung the sphere from one
shoulder and stepped into the next-door world.

He went from world to world. He was pleased to find there were an almost
infinite number of them, for the choice proved supremely difficult. Some
worlds were so disorderly that he shrank from leav-ing Thasper in them. In
some, the gods resented Imperion's intrusion and shouted at him to be off.
In others, it was mankind that was resentful. One world he came to was so
rational that, to his horror, he found the gods were dead. There were many
others he thought might do, until he let the spirit of prophecy blow through
him, and in each case this told him that harm would come to Thasper here.

But at last he found a good world. It seemed calm and elegant. The few
gods there seemed civilized but casual. Indeed, Imperion was a little
puzzled to find that these gods seemed to share quite a lot of their power
with mankind. But mankind did not seem to abuse this power, and the
spirit of prophecy assured him that if he left Thasper here inside his sphere
of forgetfulness, it would be opened by some-one who would treat the boy
well.

Imperion put the sphere down in a wood and sped back to Theare, heartily
relieved. There he reported what he had done to Zond, and all Heaven
rejoiced. Imperion made sure that Nestara married a very rich man who
gave her not only wealth and happiness but plenty of children to replace
Thasper. Then, a little sadly, he went back to the ordered life of Heaven.
The exquisite organization of Theare went on untroubled by Dissolution.

Seven years passed.

All that while Thasper knew nothing and remained three years old. Then,
one day, the sphere of forgetfulness fell in two halves, and he blinked in
sunlight somewhat less golden than he had known.

"So that's what was causing all the disturbance," a tall man mur-mured.

"Poor little soul," said a lady.

There was a wood around Thasper, and people standing in it looking at him,
but, as far as Thasper knew, nothing had happened since he soared to the
middle region with his father. He went on with the question he had been in
the middle of asking. "Why is the world round?" he said.

"Interesting question," said the tall man. "The answer usually given is
because the corners wore off spinning around the sun. But it could be
designed to make us end where we began."

"Sir, you'll muddle him, talking like that," said another lady. "He's only
little."

"No, he's interested," said another man. "Look at him."

Thasper was indeed interested. He approved of the tall man. He was a little
puzzled about where he had come from, but he supposed the tall man must
have been put there because he answered questions better than Imperion.
He wondered where Imperion had got to. "Why aren't you my dad?" he
asked the tall man.

"Another most penetrating question," said the tall man. "Because, as far as
we can find out, your father lives in another world. Tell me your name."

This was another point in the tall man's favor. Thasper never answered
questions; he only asked them. But this was a command. The tall man
understood Thasper.

"Thasper," Thasper answered obediently.

"He's sweet!" said the first lady. "I want to adopt him." To which the other
ladies gathered around most heartily agreed.

"Impossible," said the tall man. His tone was mild as milk and rock firm.
The ladies were reduced to begging to be able to look after Thasper for a
day, then. An hour. "No," the tall man said mildly. "He must go back at
once." At which all the ladies cried out that Thasper might be in great
danger in his own home. The tall man said, "I shall take care of that, of
course." Then he stretched out a hand and pulled Thasper up. "Come along,
Thasper."
As soon as Thasper was out of it, the two halves of the sphere vanished.
One of the ladies took his other hand and he was led away, first on a jiggly
ride, which he much enjoyed, and then into a huge house, where there was
a very perplexing room. In this room, Thasper sat in a five-pointed star and
pictures kept appearing around him. People kept shaking their heads. "No,
not that world either." The tall man answered all Thasper's questions, and
Thasper was too interested even to be annoyed when they would not allow
him any-thing to eat.

"Why not?" he said.

"Because just by being here, you are causing the world to jolt about," the
tall man explained. "If you put food inside you, food is a heavy part of this
world, and it might jolt you to pieces."

Soon after that a new picture appeared. Everyone said, "Ah!" and the tall
man said, "So it's Theare!" He looked at Thasper in a sur-prised way. "You
must have struck someone as disorderly," he said. Then he looked at the
picture again, in a lazy, careful kind of way. "No disorder," he said. "No
danger. Come with me."

He took Thasper's hand again and led him into the picture. As he did so,
Thasper's hair turned much darker. "A simple precaution," the tall man
murmured, a little apologetically, but Thasper did not even notice. He was
not aware what color his hair had been to start with, and besides, he was
taken up with surprise at how fast they were going. They whizzed into a
city and stopped abruptly. It was a good house, just on the edge of a
poorer district. "Here is someone who will do," the tall man said, and he
knocked at the door.

A sad-looking lady opened the door.

"I beg your pardon, madam," said the tall man. "Have you by any chance
lost a small boy?"

"Yes," said the lady. "But this isn't—" She blinked, "Yes, it is!" she cried
out. "Oh, Thasper! How could you run off like that? Thank you so much, sir."
But the tall man had gone.

The lady's name was Alina Altun, and she was so convinced that she was
Thasper's mother that Thasper was soon convinced, too. He settled in
happily with her and her husband, who was a doctor, hard working but not
very rich.

Thasper soon forgot the tall man, Imperion, and Nestara. Some-times it did
puzzle him—and his new mother, too—that when she showed him off to her
friends, she always felt bound to say, "This is Badien, but we always call
him Thasper." Thanks to the tall man, none of them ever knew that the real
Badien had wandered away the day Thasper came, and fallen in the river,
where an invisible dragon ate him.

If Thasper had remembered the tall man, he might also have wondered why
his arrival seemed to start Dr. Altun on the road to prosperity. The people
in the poorer district nearby suddenly discov-ered what a good doctor Dr.
Altun was, and how little he charged. Alina was shortly able to afford to
send Thasper to a very good school, where Thasper often exasperated his
teachers by his many questions. He had, as his new mother often proudly
said, a most inquiring mind. Although he learned quicker than most the Ten
First Lessons and the Nine Graces of Childhood, his teachers were
nonetheless often annoyed enough to snap, "Oh, go and ask an invis-ible
dragon!" which is what people in Theare often said when they thought they
were being pestered.

Thasper did, with difficulty, gradually cure himself of his habit of never
answering questions. But he always preferred asking to answering. At home
he asked questions all the time: "Why does the kitchen god go and report
to Heaven once a year? Is it so I can steal biscuits? Why are there invisible
dragons? Is there a god for every-thing? Why is there a god for everything?
If the gods make people ill, how can Dad cure them? Why must I have a
baby brother or sis-ter?"

Alina Altun was a good mother. She most diligently answered all these
questions, including the last. She told Thasper how babies were made,
ending her account with "Then, if the gods bless my womb, a baby will
come." She was a devout person.

"I don't want you to be blessed!" Thasper said, resorting to a statement,
which he only did when he was strongly moved.

He seemed to have no choice in the matter. By the time he was ten years
old, the gods had thought fit to bless him with two brothers and two
sisters. In Thasper's opinion, they were, as blessings, very low grade. They
were just too young to be any use. "Why can't they be the same age as
me?" he demanded many times. He began to bear the gods a small but
definite grudge about this.

Dr. Altun continued to prosper, and his earnings more than kept pace with
his family. Alina employed a nursemaid, a cook, and a number of rather
impermanent houseboys. It was one of these houseboys who, when
Thasper was eleven, shyly presented Thasper with a folded square of paper.
Wondering, Thasper unfolded it. It gave him a curious feeling to touch, as if
the paper was vibrating a little in his fingers. It also gave out a very strong
warning that he was not to mention it to anybody. It said:

Dear Thasper,
Your situation is an odd one. Make sure that you call me at the moment
when you come face to face with yourself. I shall be watching and I will
come at once.
  Yrs,
     Chrestomanci

Since Thasper by now had not the slightest recollection of his early life, this
letter puzzled him extremely. He knew he was not sup-posed to tell anyone
about it, but he also knew that this did not include the houseboy. With the
letter in his hand, he hurried after the houseboy to the kitchen.
He was stopped at the head of the kitchen stairs by a tremendous
smashing of china from below. This was followed immediately by the cook's
voice raised in nonstop abuse. Thasper knew it was no good trying to go
into the kitchen.
The houseboy—who went by the odd name of Cat—was in the process of
getting fired, like all the other houseboys before him. He had better go and
wait for Cat outside the back door. Thasper looked at the letter in his hand.
As he did so, his fingers tingled. The letter vanished.

"It's gone!" he exclaimed, showing by this statement how aston-ished he
was. He never could account for what he did next. Instead of going to wait
for the houseboy, he ran to the living room, intend-ing to tell his mother
about it, in spite of the warning.

"Do you know what?" he began. He had invented this meaning-less
question so that he could tell people things and still make it into an
inquiry. "Do you know what?" Alina looked up. Thasper, though he fully
intended to tell her about the mysterious letter, found him-self saying,
"The cook's just sacked the new houseboy."

"Oh, bother!" said Alina. "I shall have to find another one now."

Annoyed with himself, Thasper tried to tell her again. "Do you know what?
I'm surprised the cook doesn't sack the kitchen god, too."

"Hush, dear. Don't talk about the gods that way!" said the devout lady.

By this time the houseboy had left, and Thasper lost the urge to tell
anyone about the letter. It remained with him as his own personal exciting
secret. He thought of it as the Letter from a Person Unknown. He
sometimes whispered the strange name of the Person Unknown to himself
when no one could hear. But nothing ever hap-pened, even when he said
the name out loud. He gave up doing that after a while. He had other
things to think about. He became fascinated by Rules, Laws, and Systems.

Rules and Systems were an important part of the life of mankind in Theare.
It stood to reason, with Heaven so well organized. People codified all
behavior into things like the Seven Subtle Politenesses or the Hundred
Roads to Godliness. Thasper had been taught these things from the time
he was three years old.

He was accustomed to hearing Alina argue the niceties of the Seventy-two
Household Laws with her friends. Now Thasper sud-denly discovered for
himself that all Rules made a magnificent framework for one's mind to
clamber about in. He made lists of rules, and refinements on rules, and
possible ways of doing the oppo-site of what the rules said while still
keeping the rules. He invented new codes of rules. He filled books and
made charts. He invented games with huge and complicated rules and
played them with his friends.

Onlookers found these games both rough and muddled, but Thasper and his
friends reveled in them. The best moment in any game was when somebody
stopped playing and shouted, "I've thought of a new rule!"
This obsession with rules lasted until Thasper was fifteen. He was walking
home from school one day, thinking over a list of rules for Twenty
Fashionable Hairstyles. From this it will be seen that Thasper was noticing
girls, though none of the girls had so far seemed to notice him. And he was
thinking which girl should wear which hairstyle when his attention was
caught by words chalked on the wall:

              IF RULES MAKE A FRAMEWORK FOR
                THE MIND TO CLIMB ABOUT IN,
         WHY SHOULD THE MIND NOT CLIMB RIGHT OUT?
               SAYS THE SAGE OF DISSOLUTION

That same day there was consternation again in Heaven. Zond summoned
all the high gods to his throne. "The Sage of Dissolution has started to
preach," he announced direfully. "Imperion, I thought you got rid of him."

"I thought I did," Imperion said. He was even more appalled than Zond. If
the Sage had started to preach, it meant that Imperion had got rid of
Thasper and deprived himself of Nestara quite unnecessar-ily. "I must have
been mistaken," he admitted.

Here Ock spoke up, steaming gently. "Father Zond," he said, "may I
respectfully suggest that you deal with the Sage yourself, so that there will
be no mistake this time?"

"That was just what I was about to suggest," Zond said grate-fully. "Are
you all agreed?"

All the gods agreed. They were too used to order to do otherwise.

As for Thasper, he was staring at the chalked words, shivering to the soles
of his sandals. What was this? Who was using his own pri-vate thoughts
about rules? Who was this Sage of Dissolution? Thasper was ashamed. He,
who was so good at asking questions, had never thought of asking this
one. Why should one's mind not climb right out of the rules after all?

He went home and asked his parents about the Sage of Dissolu-tion. He
fully expected them to know. He was quite agitated when they did not. But
they had a neighbor, who sent Thasper to another neighbor, who had a
friend, who, when Thasper finally found his house, said he had heard that
the Sage was a clever young man who made a living by mocking the gods.

The next day someone had washed the words off. But the day after that a
badly printed poster appeared on the same wall.

                 THE SAGE OF DISSOLUTION ASKS
                   BY WHOSE ORDER IS ORDER
                           ANYWAY??
                    COME TO SMALL UNCTION
                        SUBLIME CONCERT HALL
                            TONIGHT 6:30

At 6:20 Thasper was having supper. At 6:24 he made up his mind and left
the table. At 6:32 he arrived panting at Small Unction Hall.

It proved to be a small shabby building quite near where he lived. Nobody
was there. As far as Thasper could gather from the grumpy caretaker, the
meeting had been the night before. Thasper turned away, deeply
disappointed. Who ordered the order was a question he now longed to
know the answer to. It was deep. He had a notion that the man who called
himself the Sage of Dissolution was truly bril-liant.

By way of feeding his own disappointment, he went to school the next day
by a route which took him past the Small Unction Concert Hall. It had
burned down in the night. There were only blackened brick walls left. When
he got to school, a number of people were talking about it. They said it had
burst into flames just before seven the night before.

"Did you know," Thasper said, "that the Sage of Dissolution was there the
day before yesterday?"

That was how he discovered he was not the only one interested in the
Sage. Half his class were admirers of Dissolution. That, too, was when the
girls deigned to notice him. "He's amazing about the gods," one girl told
him. "No one ever asked questions like that before."

Most of the class, however, girls and boys alike, only knew a lit-tle more
than Thasper, and most of what they knew was secondhand. But a boy
showed him a carefully cut-out newspaper article in which a well-known
scholar discussed what he called "the so-called Doc-trine of Dissolution." It
said, long-windedly, that the Sage and his followers were rude to the gods
and against all the rules.

It did not tell Thasper much, but it was something. He saw, rather ruefully,
that his obsession with rules had been quite wrongheaded and had, into
the bargain, caused him to fall behind the rest of his class in learning of
this wonderful new doctrine. He became a Disciple of Dissolution on the
spot. He joined the rest of his class in find-ing out all they could about the
Sage.

He went around with them, writing up on walls:

                        DISSOLUTION RULES OK.

For a long while after that, the only thing any of Thasper's class could learn
of the Sage were scraps of questions chalked on walls and quickly rubbed
out.

                        WHAT NEED OF PRAYER?
            WHY SHOULD THERE BE A HUNDRED ROADS
              TO GODLINESS, NOT MORE OR LESS?

              DO WE CLIMB ANYWHERE ON THE STEPS
                          TO HEAVEN?

          WHAT IS PERFECTION: A PROCESS OR A STATE?

                  WHEN WE CLIMB TO PERFECTION
                 IS THIS A MATTER FOR THE GODS?

Thasper obsessively wrote all these sayings down. He was obsessed again,
he admitted, but this time it was in a new way. He was thinking, thinking.
At first he thought simply of clever questions to ask the Sage. He strained
to find questions no one had asked before. But in the process his mind
seemed to loosen, and shortly he was thinking of how the Sage might
answer his questions. He con-sidered order and rules and Heaven, and it
came to him that there was a reason behind all the brilliant questions the
Sage asked. He felt light-headed with thinking.

The reason behind the Sage's questions came to him the morning he was
shaving for the first time. He thought, The gods need human beings in
order to be gods! Blinded with this revelation, Thasper stared into the
mirror at his own face half covered with white foam. Without humans
believing in them, gods were nothing! The order of Heaven, the rules and
codes of earth, were all only there because of people! It was transcendent.

As Thasper stared, the Letter from the Unknown came into his mind. "Is
this being face-to-face with myself?" he said. But he was not sure. And he
became sure that when that time came, he would not have to wonder.

Then it came to him that the Unknown Chrestomanci was almost certainly
the Sage himself. He was thrilled. The Sage was taking a special
mysterious interest in one teenage boy, Thasper Altun. The vanishing letter
exactly fitted the elusive Sage.

The Sage continued elusive. The next firm news of him was a newspaper
report of the Celestial Gallery's being struck by light-ning. The roof of the
building collapsed, said the report, "only sec-onds after the young man
known as the Sage of Dissolution had delivered another of his anguished
and self-doubting homilies and left the building with his disciples."

"He's not self-doubting," Thasper said to himself. "He knows about the
gods. If I know, then he certainly does."

He and his classmates went on a pilgrimage to the ruined gallery. It was a
better building than Small Unction Hall. It seemed the Sage was going up
in the world.
Then there was enormous excitement. One of the girls found a small
advertisement in a paper. The Sage was to deliver another lecture, in the
huge Kingdom of Splendor Hall. He had gone up in the world again. Thasper
and his friends dressed in their best and went there in a body. But it
seemed as if the time for the lecture had been printed wrong. The lecture
was just over. People were streaming away from the hall, looking
disappointed.

Thasper and his friends were still in the street when the hall blew up. They
were lucky not to be hurt. The police said it was a bomb. Thasper and his
friends helped drag injured people clear of the blaz-ing hall. It was exciting,
but it was not the Sage.

By now Thasper knew he would never be happy until he had found the
Sage. He told himself that he had to know if the reason behind the Sage's
questions was the one he thought. But it was more than that. Thasper was
convinced that his fate was linked to the Sage's. He was certain the Sage
wanted Thasper to find him.

But there was now a strong rumor in school and around town that the Sage
had had enough of lectures and bomb attacks. He had retired to write a
book. It was to be called Questions of Dissolution. Rumor also had it that
the Sage was in lodgings somewhere near the Road of the Four Lions.

Thasper went to the Road of the Four Lions. There he was shameless. He
knocked on doors and questioned passersby. He was told several times to
go and ask an invisible dragon, but he took no notice. He went on asking
until someone told him that Mrs. Tunap at No. 403 might know. Thasper
knocked at No. 403, with his heart thumping.

Mrs. Tunap was a rather prim lady in a green turban. "I'm afraid not, dear,"
she said. "I'm new here." But before Thasper's heart could sink too far, she
added, "But the people before me had a lodger. A very quiet gentleman. He
left just before I came."

"Did he leave an address?" Thasper asked, holding his breath.

Mrs. Tunap consulted an old envelope pinned to the wall in her hall. "It
says here, 'Lodger gone to Golden Heart Square,' dear."

But in Golden Heart Square, a young gentleman who might have been the
Sage had only looked at a room and gone. After that Thasper had to go
home. The Altuns were not used to teenagers, and they worried about
Thasper suddenly wanting to be out every evening.

Oddly enough, No. 403 Road of the Four Lions burned down that night.

Thasper saw clearly that assassins were after the Sage as well as he was.
He became more obsessed with finding him than ever. He knew he could
rescue the Sage if he caught him before the assassins did. He did not
blame the Sage for moving about all the time.

Move about the Sage certainly did. Rumor had him next in Par-tridge
Pleasaunce Street. When Thasper tracked him there, he found the Sage had
moved to Fauntel Square. From Fauntel Square, the Sage seemed to move
to Strong Wind Boulevard, and then to a poorer house in Station Street.
There were many places after that.

By this time Thasper had developed a nose, a sixth sense, for where the
Sage might be. A word, a mere hint about a quiet lodger, and Thasper was
off, knocking on doors, questioning people, being told to ask an invisible
dragon, and bewildering his parents by the way he kept rushing off every
evening. But no matter how quickly Thasper acted on the latest hint, the
Sage had always just left. And Thasper, in most cases, was only just ahead
of the assassins. Houses caught fire or blew up, sometimes when he was
still in the same street.

At last he was down to a very poor hint, which might or might not lead to
New Unicorn Street. Thasper went there, wishing he did not have to spend
all day at school. The Sage could move about as he pleased, and Thasper
was tied down all day. No wonder he kept missing him. But he had high
hopes of New Unicorn Street. It was the poor kind of place that the Sage
had been favoring lately.

Alas for his hopes. The fat woman who opened the door laughed rudely in
Thasper's face. "Don't bother me, son! Go and ask an invisible dragon!" And
she slammed the door again.

Thasper stood in the street, keenly humiliated. And not even a hint of
where to look next. Awful suspicions rose in his mind: he was making a fool
of himself; he had set himself a wild-goose chase; the Sage did not exist.
In order not to think of these things, he gave way to anger. "All right!" he
shouted at the shut door. "I will ask an invis-ible dragon! So there!" And
carried by his anger, he ran down to the river and out across the nearest
bridge.

He stopped in the middle of the bridge, leaning on the parapet, and knew
he was making an utter fool of himself. There were no such things as
invisible dragons. He was sure of that. But he was still in the grip of his
obsession, and this was something he had set him-self to do now. Even so,
if there had been anyone about near the bridge, Thasper would have gone
away. But it was deserted. Feeling an utter fool, he made the prayer sign
to Ock, ruler of oceans—for Ock was the god in charge of all things to do
with water—but he made the sign secretly, down under the parapet, so
there was no chance of anyone seeing. Then he said, almost in a whisper,
"Is there an invisible dragon here? I've got something to ask you."

Drops of water whirled over him. Something wetly fanned his face. He heard
the something whirring. He turned his face that way and saw three blots of
wet in a line along the parapet, each about two feet apart and each the
size of two of his hands spread out together. Odder still, water was
dripping out of nowhere all along the parapet, for a distance about twice as
long as Thasper was tall.

Thasper laughed uneasily. "I'm imagining a dragon," he said. "If there was
a dragon, those splotches would be the places where its body rests. Water
dragons have no feet. And the length of the wet-ness suggests I must be
imagining it about eleven feet long."

"I am fourteen feet long," said a voice out of nowhere. It was rather too
near Thasper's face for comfort and blew fog at him. He drew back. "Make
haste, child-of-a-god," said the voice. "What did you want to ask me?"

"I-I-I—" stammered Thasper. It was not just that he was scared. This was
a body blow. It messed up utterly his notions about gods needing men to
believe in them. But he pulled himself together. His voice only cracked a
little as he said, "I'm looking for the Sage of Dissolution. Do you know
where he is?"

The dragon laughed. It was a peculiar noise, like one of those water
warblers people make bird noises with. "I'm afraid I can't tell you precisely
where the Sage is," the voice out of nowhere said. "You have to find him for
yourself. Think about it, child-of-a-god. You must have noticed there's a
pattern."

"Too right, there's a pattern!" Thasper said. "Everywhere he goes, I just
miss him, and then the place catches fire!"

"That, too," said the dragon. "But there's a pattern to his lodg-ings, too.
Look for it. That's all I can tell you, child of a god. Any other questions?"

"No—for a wonder," Thasper said. "Thanks very much."

"You're welcome," said the invisible dragon. "People are always telling one
another to ask us, and hardly anyone does. I'll see you again." Watery air
whirled in Thasper's face. He leaned over the parapet and saw one
prolonged clean splash in the river, and silver bubbles coming up. Then
nothing. He was surprised to find his legs were shaking.

He steadied his knees and tramped home. He went to his room, and before
he did anything else, he acted on a superstitious impulse he had not
thought he had in him and took down the household god Alina insisted he
keep in a niche over his bed. He put it carefully out-side in the passage.
Then he got out a map of the town and some red stickers and plotted out
all the places where he had just missed the Sage.

The result had him dancing with excitement. The dragon was right. There
was a pattern. The Sage had started in good lodgings at the better end of
town. Then he had gradually moved to poorer places, but he had moved in
a curve, down to the station and back toward the better part again. Now,
the Altuns' house was just on the edge of the poorer part. The Sage was
coming this way! New Uni-corn Street had not been so far away. The next
place should be nearer still. Thasper had only to look for a house on fire.

It was getting dark by then. Thasper threw his curtains back and leaned out
of his window to look at the poorer streets. And there it was! There was a
red and orange flicker to the left—in Harvest Moon Street, by the look of it.
Thasper laughed aloud. He was actu-ally grateful to the assassins!
He raced downstairs and out of the house. The anxious questions of
parents and the yells of brothers and sisters followed him, but he slammed
the door on them. Two minutes' running brought him to the scene of the
fire. The street was a mad flicker of dark figures. People were piling
furniture in the road. Some more people were helping a dazed woman in a
crooked brown turban into a singed armchair.

"Didn't you have a lodger as well?" someone asked her anx-iously.

The woman kept trying to straighten her turban. It was all she could really
think of. "He didn't stay," she said. "I think he may be down at the Half
Moon now."

Thasper waited for no more. He went pelting down the street.

The Half Moon was an inn on the corner of the same road. Most of the
people who usually drank there must have been up the street, helping
rescue furniture, but there was a dim light inside, enough to show a white
notice in the window. rooms, it said.

Thasper burst inside. The barman was on a stool by the window craning to
watch the house burn. He did not look at Thasper. "Where's your lodger?"
gasped Thasper. "I've got a message. Urgent."

The barman did not turn around. "Upstairs, first on the left," he said. "The
roof's caught. They'll have to act quick to save the house on either side."

Thasper heard him say this as he bounded upstairs. He turned left. He gave
the briefest of knocks on the door there, flung it open, and rushed in.

The room was empty. The light was on, and it showed a stark bed, a
stained table with an empty mug and some sheets of paper on it, and a
fireplace with a mirror over it. Beside the fireplace another door was just
swinging shut. Obviously somebody had just that moment gone through it.

Thasper bounded toward that door. But he was checked, for just a second,
by seeing himself in the mirror over the fireplace. He had not meant to
pause. But some trick of the mirror, which was old and brown and speckled,
made his reflection look for a moment a great deal older. He looked easily
over twenty. He looked—

He remembered the Letter from the Unknown. This was the time. He knew
it was. He was about to meet the Sage. He had only to call him. Thasper
went toward the still gently swinging door. He hes-itated. The letter had
said call at once. Knowing the Sage was just beyond the door, Thasper
pushed it open a fraction and held it so with his fingers. He was full of
doubts. He thought, Do I really believe the gods need people? Am I so
sure? What shall I say to the Sage after all? He let the door slip shut
again.

"Chrestomanci," he said, miserably.

There was a whoosh of displaced air behind him. It buffeted Thasper half
around. He stared. A tall man was standing by the stark bed. He was a
most extraordinary figure in a long black robe, with what seemed to be
yellow comets embroidered on it. The inside of the robe, swirling in the air,
showed yellow, with black comets on it. The tall man had a very smooth
dark head, very bright dark eyes, and, on his feet, what seemed to be red
bedroom slippers.

"Thank goodness," said this outlandish person. "For a moment I was afraid
you would go through that door."

The voice brought memory back to Thasper. "You brought me home through
a picture when I was little," he said. "Are you Chrestomanci?"

"Yes," said the tall, outlandish man. "And you are Thasper. And now we
must both leave before this building catches fire."

He took hold of Thasper's arm and towed him to the door which led to the
stairs. As soon as he pushed the door open, thick smoke rolled in, filled
with harsh crackling. It was clear that the inn was on fire already.
Chrestomanci clapped the door shut again. The smoke set both of them
coughing, Chrestomanci so violently that Thasper was afraid he would
choke. He pulled both of them back into the middle of the room. By now
smoke was twining up between the bare boards of the floor, causing
Chrestomanci to cough again.

"This would happen just as I had gone to bed with flu," he said, when he
could speak. "Such is life. These orderly gods of yours leave us no choice."
He crossed the smoking floor and pushed open the door by the fireplace.

It opened onto blank space. Thasper gave a yelp of horror.

"Precisely," coughed Chrestomanci. "You were intended to crash to your
death."

"Can't we jump to the ground?" Thasper suggested.

Chrestomanci shook his smooth head. "Not after they've done this to it. No.
We'll have to carry the fight to them and go and visit the gods instead. Will
you be kind enough to lend me your turban before we go?" Thasper stared
at this odd request. "I would like to use it as a belt," Chrestomanci
croaked. "The way to Heaven may be a little cold, and I only have pajamas
under my dressing gown."

The striped undergarments Chrestomanci was wearing did look a little thin.
Thasper slowly unwound his turban. To go before gods bareheaded was
probably no worse than going in nightclothes, he supposed. Besides, he did
not believe there were any gods. He handed the turban over. Chrestomanci
tied the length of pale blue cloth around his black and yellow gown and
seemed to feel more comfortable.

"Now hang on to me," he said, "and you'll be all right." He took Thasper's
arm again and walked up into the sky, dragging Thasper with him.
For a while Thasper was too stunned to speak. He could only marvel at the
way they were treading up the sky as if there were invisible stairs in it.
Chrestomanci was doing it in the most matter-of-fact way, coughing from
time to time and shivering a little, but keeping very tight hold of Thasper
nevertheless. In no time the town was a clutter of prettily lit dolls' houses
below, with two red blots where two of them were burning. The stars were
unwinding about them, above and below, as if they had already climbed
above some of them.

"It's a long climb to Heaven," Chrestomanci observed. "Is there anything
you'd like to know on the way?"

"Yes," said Thasper. "Did you say the gods are trying to kill me?"

"They are trying to eliminate the Sage of Dissolution," said Chrestomanci,
"which they may not realize is the same thing. You see, you are the Sage."

"But I'm not!" Thasper insisted. "The Sage is a lot older than me, and he
asks questions I never even thought of until I heard of him."

"Ah yes," said Chrestomanci. "I'm afraid there is an awful circu-larity to
this. It's the fault of whoever tried to put you away as a small child. As far
as I can work out, you stayed three years old for seven years—until you
were making such a disturbance in our world that we had to find you and let
you out. But in this world of Theare, highly organized and fixed as it is, the
prophecy stated that you would begin preaching Dissolution at the age of
twenty-three, or at least in this very year. Therefore the preaching had to
begin this year. You did not need to appear. Did you ever speak to anyone
who had actually heard the Sage preach?"

"No," said Thasper. "Come to think of it."

"Nobody did," said Chrestomanci. "You started in a small way anyway. First
you wrote a book, which no one paid much heed to—"

"No, that's wrong," objected Thasper. "He—I—er, the Sage was writing a
book after preaching."

"But don't you see," said Chrestomanci, "because you were back in Theare
by then, the facts had to try to catch you up. They did this by running
backward, until it was possible for you to arrive where you were supposed
to be. Which was in that room in the inn there, at the start of your career. I
suppose you are just old enough to start by now. And I suspect our
celestial friends up here tumbled to this belatedly and tried to finish you
off. It wouldn't have done them any good, as I shall shortly tell them." He
began coughing again. They had climbed to where it was bitterly cold.

By this time the world was a dark arch below them. Thasper could see the
blush of the sun, beginning to show underneath the world. They climbed on.
The light grew. The sun appeared, a huge brightness in the distance
underneath. A dim memory came again to Thasper. He struggled to believe
that none of this was true, and he did not succeed.
"How do you know all this?" he asked bluntly.

"Have you heard of a god called Ock?" Chrestomanci coughed. "He came to
talk to me when you should have been the age you are now. He was
worried—" He coughed again. "I shall have to save the rest of my breath for
Heaven."

They climbed on, and the stars swam around them, until the stuff they
were climbing changed and became solider. Soon they were climbing a dark
ramp, which flushed pearly as they went upward. Here Chrestomanci let go
of Thasper's arm and blew his nose on a gold-edged handkerchief with an
air of relief. The pearl of the ramp grew to silver, and the silver to dazzling
white. At length they were walking on level whiteness, through hall after
hall.
The gods were gathered to meet them. None of them looked cor-dial.

"I fear we are not properly dressed," Chrestomanci murmured.

Thasper looked at the gods, and then at Chrestomanci, and squirmed with
embarrassment. Fanciful and queer as Chrestomanci's garb was, it was still
most obviously nightwear. The things on his feet were fur bedroom slippers.
And there, looking like a piece of blue string around Chrestomanci's waist,
was the turban Thasper should have been wearing.

The gods were magnificent, in golden trousers and jeweled tur-bans, and
got more so as they approached the greater gods. Thasper's eye was
caught by a god in shining cloth of gold, who surprised him by beaming a
friendly, almost anxious look at him. Opposite him was a huge
liquid-looking figure draped in pearls and diamonds. This god swiftly, but
quite definitely, winked. Thasper was too awed to react, but Chrestomanci
calmly winked back.

At the end of the halls, upon a massive throne, towered the mighty figure
of Great Zond, clothed in white and purple, with a crown on his head.
Chrestomanci looked up at Zond and thought-fully blew his nose. It was
hardly respectful.

"For what reason do two mortals trespass in our halls?" Zond thundered
coldly.

Chrestomanci sneezed. "Because of your own folly," he said. "You gods of
Theare have had everything so well worked out for so long that you can't
see beyond your own routine."

"I shall blast you for that," Zond announced.

"Not if any of you wish to survive," Chrestomanci said.

There was a long murmur of protest from the other gods. They wished to
survive. They were trying to work out what Chrestomanci meant. Zond saw
it as a threat to his authority and thought he had better be cautious.
"Proceed," he said.
"One of your most efficient features," Chrestomanci said, "is that your
prophecies always come true. So why, when a prophecy is unpleasant to
you, do you think you can alter it? That, my good gods, is rank folly.
Besides, no one can halt his own Dissolution, least of all you gods of
Theare. But you forgot. You forgot you had deprived both yourselves and
mankind of any kind of free will, by organizing yourselves so precisely. You
pushed Thasper, the Sage of Dissolution, into my world, forgetting that
there is still chance in my world. By chance, Thasper was discovered after
only seven years. Lucky for Theare that he was. I shudder to think what
might have happened if Thasper had remained three years old for all his
allotted lifetime."

"That was my fault!" cried Imperion. "I take the blame." He turned to
Thasper. "Forgive me," he said. "You are my own son."

Was this, Thasper wondered, what Alina meant by the gods blessing her
womb? He had not thought it was more than a figure of speech. He looked
at Imperion, blinking a little in the god's dazzle. He was not wholly
impressed. A fine god, and an honest one, but Thasper could see he had a
limited outlook. "Of course I forgive you," he said politely.

"It is also lucky," Chrestomanci said, "that none of you suc-ceeded in killing
the Sage. Thasper is a god's son. That means there can only ever be one of
him, and because of your prophecy, he has to be alive to preach
Dissolution. You could have destroyed Theare. As it is, you have caused it
to blur into a mass of cracks. Theare is too well organized to divide into
two alternative worlds, as my world would. Instead, events have had to
happen which could not have happened. Theare has cracked and warped,
and you have all but brought about your own Dissolution."

"What can we do?" Zond said, aghast.

"There's only one thing you can do," Chrestomanci told him. "Let Thasper
be. Let him preach Dissolution and stop trying to blow him up. That will
bring about free will and a free future. Then either Theare will heal, or it
will split, cleanly and painlessly, into two healthy worlds."

"So we bring about our own downfall?" Zond asked mournfully.

"It was always inevitable," said Chrestomanci.

Zond sighed. "Very well. Thasper, son of Imperion, I reluctantly give you my
blessing to go forth and preach Dissolution. Go in peace."

Thasper bowed. Then he stood there silent a long time. He did not notice
Imperion and Ock both trying to attract his attention. The newspaper report
had talked of the Sage as full of anguish and self-doubt. Now he knew why.
He looked at Chrestomanci, who was blowing his nose again.

"How can I preach Dissolution?" he said. "How can I not believe in the gods
when I have seen them for myself?"

"That's a question you certainly should be asking," Chrest-omanci croaked.
"Go down to Theare and ask it." Thasper nodded and turned to go.
Chrestomanci leaned toward him and said, from behind his handkerchief,
"Ask yourself this, too: Can the gods catch flu? I think I may have given it
to all of them. Find out and let me know, there's a good chap."

                                 -=*@*=-