The Merlin Conspiracy
Diana Wynne Jones
                        2003



          A 3S digital back-up edition 1.0
    click for scan notes and proofing history


                        Contents

    1- Roddy
•


    1|2
    2- Nick
•


    1|2
    3- Roddy
•


    1|2
    4- Nick
•


    1|2
    5- Roddy
•


    1|2|3|4
    6- Nick
•


    1|2|3
    7- Nick continued
•
     1|2|3
     8- Roddy
 •


     1|2|3|4
     9- Nick
 •


     1|2|3|4
     10- Roddy and Nick
 •


     1 Roddy | 2 Nick | 3 Roddy | 4 Nick
     11- Roddy and Nick
 •


     1 Roddy | 2 Nick | 3 Roddy | 4 Nick
     | 5 Roddy | 6 Nick
     12- Roddy and Nick
 •


     3 Roddy
     4 Nick

  I saw a dark space open in front of me and
someone came stumbling from around a corner
towards me. The first thing I noticed about this
person was that he had a little blue flame sitting
on his forehead. “0h good,” I said. “You’re a
wizard .”
  I knew he could see and hear me. But he didn’t
seem any too certain that he was a wizard. My
heart sank rather.
  Roddy Hyde lives in a world of magic,
pageantry and ritual. The daughter of two court
wizards, she travels with the King’s Progress,
ready to take part in whatever ceremony is
required, as it occurs. Presiding over all is the
Merlin, who is entrusted with the magical health
of the Isles of Blest.
  Nick Mallory’s world seems quite ordinary in
comparison – which isn’t surprising because it’s
plain old Earth. So when he finds himself
suddenly elsewhere, it is a dream come true,
literally.
  In Roddy’s world, the current Merlin expires
and a new one takes his place. Yet something is
wrong – the rituals have been upset and nothing
is going the way it should. Roddy needs help, and
certain powers indicate that Nick is the answer to
her problems. And Nick is cool about helping her
– in theory – but it’s a bit worrying that she
seems to mistake him for a magic-user.
  As their stories unfold side by side, the Merlin
Conspiracy deepens…


  Other titles by Diana Wynne Jones
  Chrestomanci Series
  Charmed Life*
  The Magicians of Caprona*
  Witch Week*
  The Lives of Christopher Chant*
  Mixed Magics*
  Black Maria*
  A Tale of Time City
  Howl’s Moving Castle*
  Castle in the Air*
  The Homeward Bounders
  Archer’s Goon*
  Eight Days of Luke
  Dogsbody
  Power of Three
  Wilkins’ Tooth
  Stopping for a Spell
  For older readers Fire and Hemlock
  Hexwood The Time of the Ghost
  For younger readers
  Wild Robert *Also available on tape
  Collins
  8 An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers




             To Rowan Dalglish

  First published in hardback in Great Britain by
Collins 2003
  Collins is an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
  77-8S Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith,
  London W6 8JB
  The HarperCollins website address is: www.
fireandwater. com
  135798642
  Text © Diana Wynne Jones 2003
  ISBN 0 00 7151411
  Diana Wynne Jones asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of the work.
  Printed and bound in England by Clays Ltd, St
Ives plc
  Conditions of Sale
  This book is sold subject to the condition that it
shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,
re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without
the publisher’s prior written consent in any form,
binding or cover other than that in which it is
published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed on the
subsequent purchaser.




                  1
                Roddy
                               1
                                                             ^»
  have been with the Court all my life, travelling with the
King’s Progress.

  I didn’t know how to go on. I sat and stared at this
sentence, until Grundo said, “If you can’t do it, I will.” If
you didn’t know Grundo, you’d think this was a generous
offer, but it was a threat really. Grundo is dyslexic. Unless
he thinks hard, he writes inside out and backwards. He was
threatening me with half a page of crooked writing with
words like “inside” turning up as “sindie” and “story” as
“otsyr.”

  Anything but that! I thought. So I decided to start with
Grundo – and me. I am Arianrhod Hyde, only I prefer
people to call me Roddy, and I’ve looked after Grundo for
years now, ever since Grundo was a small, pale, freckled boy
in rompers, sitting completely silently in the back of the
children’s bus. He was so miserable that he had wet himself.
I was only about five myself at the time, but I somehow
realised that he was too miserable even to cry. I got up and
staggered through the bumping, rushing bus to the clothes
lockers. I found some clean rompers and persuaded Grundo
to get into them.

  This wasn’t easy, because Grundo has always been very
proud. While I was working at it, Grundo’s sister Alicia
turned round from where she was sitting with the big ones.
“What are you bothering with Cesspit for?” she said, tipping
up her long, freckled nose. “There’s no point. He’s useless”
She was eight at the time, but she still looks just the same:
straight fair hair, thick body, and an air of being the person,
the one everyone else has to look up to. “And he’s ugly, ” she
said. “He’s got a long nose.”

  “So have you got a long nose, ” I said, “Lady Sneeze. ” I
always called her “Lady Sneeze” when I wanted to annoy
her. if you say “Alicia” quickly it sounds just like a
well-behaved sneeze – just like Alicia, in fact. I wanted to
annoy her for calling Grundo Cesspit. She only said it
because Sybil, her mother, called Grundo that. It was
typical of the way they both treated him. Grundo’s father left
Sybil before Grundo was born. Ever since I could remember,
Sybil and Alicia had been thick as thieves together. Poor
Grundo was nowhere.

  It got worse when Grundo started lessons with us and
turned out to be dyslexic. Sybil went around sighing, “He’s
so stupid!” And Alicia chanted at him, “Stupid, stupid,
stupid!” Alicia, of course, did everything well, whether it was
maths, magic or horse-riding. She got chosen as a Court
page when she was ten.

  Our teachers knew Grundo was not stupid, but his inside
out way of going on baffled them. They sighed too and
called Grundo “Our young eccentric” and I was the one who
taught Grundo to read and write. I think that was when I
started calling him Grundo. I can’t quite remember why,
except that it suited him better than his real name, which is
Ambrose of all things! Before long, the entire Court called
him Grundo. And while I was teaching him, I discovered
that he had an unexpected amount of inside out magical
talent.

  “This book is boring, ” he complained in his deep, solemn
voice. “Why should I care if Jack and Jill go shopping? Or if
Rover chases the ball?” While I was explaining to him that
all reading books were like this, Grundo somehow turned
the book into a comic book, all pictures and no words. It
started at the back and finished at the front, and in the
pictures the ball chased Rover and Jack and Jill were
bought by the groceries. Only Grundo would think of two
people being bought by a huge chunk of cheese.

  He refused to turn the book back. He said it was more fun
that way, and I couldn’t turn it back into a reading book
whatever I tried. It’s probably still where I hid it, down
inside the cover of the old teaching bus seat. Grundo is
obstinate as well as proud.

  You might say I adopted Grundo as my brother. We were
both on our own. I am an only child and all the other Court
wizards’ children were the same age as Alicia or older still.
The other children our own age were sons and daughters of
Court officials, who had no gift for magic. They were
perfectly friendly – don’t get me wrong – but they just had a
more normal outlook.

  There were only about thirty of us young ones who
travelled in the King’s Progress all the time. The rest only
joined us for Christmas or for the other big religious
ceremonies. Grundo and I always used to envy them. They
didn’t have to wear neat clothes and remember Court
manners all the time. They knew where they were going to
be, instead of travelling through the nights and finding
themselves suddenly in a flat field in Norfolk, or a remote
Derbyshire valley, or a busy port somewhere next morning.
They didn’t have to ride in buses in a heatwave. Above all,
they could go for walks and explore places. We were never
really in one place long enough to do any exploring. The
most we got to do was look round the various castles and
great houses where the King decided to stay.

  We envied the princesses and the younger princes
particularly. They were allowed to stay in Windsor most of
the year. Court gossip said that the Queen, being foreign,
had threatened to go back to Denmark unless she was
allowed to stay in one place. Everyone pitied the Queen
rather for not understanding that the King had to travel
about in order to keep the realm healthy. Some said that the
whole magic of the Islands of Blest – or maybe the entire
world of Blest – depended on the King constantly moving
about and visiting every acre of England.

  I asked my Grandfather Hyde about this. He is a Magid
and knows about the magics of countries and worlds and so
on. And he said that there might be something in this, but
he thought people were overstating the case. The magic of
Blest was very important for all sorts of reasons, he said, but
it was the Merlin who was really entrusted with keeping it
healthy

  My mother did quite often talk of sending me to live with
this grandfather in London. But this would have meant
leaving Grundo to the mercies of Sybil and Alicia, so,
whenever she suggested it, I told her I was proud to be a
member of Court – which was quite true – and that I was
getting the best possible education – which was partly quite
true – and then I sort of went heavy at her and hoped she’d
forget the idea, if she got really anxious and went on about
this being no sort of life for a growing girl, I went on about
the way Grandad grows dahlias. I really do hate dahlias as
a way of life.

  Mam had her latest worry session in Northumbria, in the
rain. We were all camped in a steep, heathery valley waiting
for the Scottish King to pay our King a formal visit. It was
so bare that there was not even a house for the King. The
canvas of the royal tent was turning a wet, dismal yellow
just downhill from us, and we were slithering in shiny, wet
sheep droppings while I went on about the way Grandad
grows dahlias.

  “Besides, it’s such a stupid thing for a powerful magician
to do!” I said.
  “I wish you didn’t feel like this about him,” Mam said.
“You know he does a great deal more than simply grow
flowers. He’s a remarkable man. And he’d be glad to have
you as company for your cousin Toby!”

  “My cousin Toby is a wimp who doesn’t mind being
ordered to do the weeding!” I said. I looked up at Mam
through the wet black wriggles of my hair and realised that
my dahlia-ploy hadn’t worked the way it usually did. Mam
continued to look anxious. She is a serious person, my mam,
weighed down by her responsible job in the travelling
Exchequer, but I can usually get her to laugh. When she
laughs, she throws her head back and looks very like me. We
both have rather long pink cheeks and a dimple in the same
place, though her eyes are black and mine are blue.

  I could see the rain was getting her down – having to keep
the water out of her computer and having to go to the loo in
a little wet flapping tent and all the rest – and I saw it was
one of the times when she starts imagining me going down
with rheumatic fever or pneumonia and dying of it. I
realised I’d have to play my very strongest card or I’d be
packed off down to London before lunch.

  “Come off it, Mam!” I said. “Grandad’s not your father.
He’s Dad’s, if you’re so anxious for me to be in the bosom of
my family, why not send me to your father instead?”

  She pulled her shiny waterproof cape around her and
went back a step. “My father is Welsh, ” she said, “if you
went there, you’d be living in a foreign country. All right, if
you feel you really can stand this awful, wandering
existence, we’ll say no more.”

  She went away. She always did if anyone talked about
her father. I thought he must be terrifying. All I knew about
my other grandfather was that Mam had had to run away
from home in order to marry Dad, because her father had
refused to let her marry anyone. Poor Mam. And I’d used
that to send her away. I sighed with mixed relief and guilt.
Then I went to find Grundo.

  Grundo’s lot is always worse when we’re stopped anywhere
for a while. Unless I think of an excuse to fetch him away,
Sybil and Alicia haul him into Sybil’s tent and try to correct
his faults. When I ducked into the dim, damp space, it was
worse than usual. Sybil’s manfriend was in there, laughing
his nasty, hissing laugh. “Give him to me, dear,” I heard
him saying. “I’ll soon make a man of him.” Grundo was
looking pale, even for him.

  The only person at Court that I dislike more than Alicia is
Sybil’s manfriend. His name is Sir James Spenser. He is
very unpleasant. The astonishing thing is that the whole
Court, including Sybil, knows he is nasty, but they pretend
not to notice because Sir James is useful to the King. I don’t
understand about this. But I have noticed the same thing
happening with some of the businessmen who are useful to
the King. The media are constantly suggesting these men are
crooks, but nobody even thinks of arresting them. And it is
the same with Sir James, although I have no idea in what
way he is useful to the King.

  He gave me a leer. “Checking that I haven’t eaten your
sweetheart?” he said. “Why do you bother, Arianrhod? if I
had your connections, I wouldn’t look twice at young
Ambrose.”

  I looked him in the face, at his big, pocky nose and the
eyes too near on either side of it. “I don’t understand you!” I
said in my best Court manner. Polite but stony. I didn’t
think my connections were particularly aristocratic. My
father is only the King’s weather wizard and much further
down the order than Sybil, who is, after all, Earthmistress
to England.

  Sir James did his hissing laugh at me. Hs-ss-szz. “The
aristocracy of magic, my dear child” he said. “Look at your
grandparents! I should think at the very least you’d be
setting your sweet young adolescent cap at the next Merlin!”

  Sybil said sharply, “What?” and Alicia gave a gasp. When
I looked at her, she was speckled pink with indignation.
Alicia has even more freckles than Grundo. Sybil’s long,
jowly face was furious. Her pale blue eyes were popping at
me.

  I didn’t understand what made them so angry. I just
thought, Bother! Now I shall have to be very polite – and
rather stupid – and pretend I haven’t noticed. This was
typical of Sir James. He loved making everyone around him
angry “But we’ve got a perfectly good Merlin!” I said.

  “An old man, my dear!” Sir James said gleefully. “Old
and frail.”

  “Yes!” I said, truly puzzled. “But there’s no knowing who’ll
be the next one, is there?”

  He looked at me pityingly. “There are rumours, dear child.
Or don’t you listen to gossip with your naïve little ears?”

  “No!” I said. I’d had enough of his game, whatever it was.
I turned, very politely, to Sybil. “Please would it be all right
if I took Grundo to watch my father work?”

  She shrugged her thick shoulders, “if Daniel wants to
work in front of a staring child, that’s his funeral, I suppose.
Yes, take him away. I’m sick of the sight of him. Grundo, be
back here to put on Court clothing before lunch or you’ll be
punished. Off you go.”

  “There’s motherly love for you!” I said to Grundo as we
hurried off into the rain.

  He grinned. “We don’t need to go back. I’ve got Court
clothes on under these. It’s warmer!”

  I wished I’d thought of doing the same. It was so chilly
that you wouldn’t have believed it was nearly Midsummer.
Anyway, I’d got Grundo away. Now I just had to hope that
Dad wouldn’t mind us watching him. He doesn’t always like
being disturbed when he’s working.

  When I cautiously lifted the flap of the weather tent, Dad
was just getting ready. He had taken off his waterproof cape
and was slipping off his heavy blue robe of office and rolling
up his shirtsleeves. He looked all slim and upright like that,
more like a soldier preparing for a duel than a wizard about
to work on the weather.

  “Over in that corner, both of you!” he said. “Don’t distract
me or you’ll have the King after us in person. He’s given me
very exact instructions for today!’ He turned a grin on us as
he said this, to show he didn’t at all mind having us there.

  Grundo gave him one of his serious, deep looks. “Are we
allowed to ask questions, sir?”

  “Most probably not!” said my father. “That’s distracting.
But I’ll describe what I’m doing as I go along, if you want.
After all,” he added, with a wistful look at me, “one of you
might wish to follow in my footsteps some day!”

  I love my dad, though I never see very much of him. I
think he really does hope that I might turn out to be a
weather worker. I’m afraid I am going to be a great
disappointment to him. Weather does fascinate me, but so
does every other kind of magic too. That was true even then,
when I didn’t know more than the magic they teach you in
Court, and it’s more true than ever now.

  But I loved watching Dad work. I found I was smiling
lovingly as he stepped over to the weather table. At this stage
it was unactivated and was simply a sort of framework
made of gold and copper wires resting on stout legs that
folded up for when we travelled. The whole thing folded
away into a worn wooden box about four feet long which I
had known for as long as I could remember. It smelt of
ozone and cedarwood. Dad and that box went together
somehow.

  He stood beside the table with his head bent. It always
looked as if he was nerving himself up for something.
Actually, he was just working the preliminary magics, but
when I was small I always thought that weather-working
took great courage and I used to worry about him. But I’ve
never lost the queer amazement you feel when the magic
answers Dad’s call. Even that day, I gasped quietly as
mistiness filled the framework. It was blue, green and white
at first, but almost at once it became a perfect small picture
of the Islands of Blest. There was England in all its various
greens, except for the small brown stains of towns, with its
backbone of the Pennines and its southern hills as a sort of
hipbone. All the rivers were there as tiny blue-grey threads,
and dark green clumps of woodlands – very important each
of these, Dad tells me, because you bring the picture into
being by thinking of water, wood and hill – but it still
defeats me why I could even see the white cliffs in the south.
And Scotland was there, too, browner, with travelling ridges
of grey and white cloud crossing the brown. The fierce
greyness at the top was a bad storm somewhere near John
O’Groats. Wales lurked over to one side, showing only as
dim greens under blue-grey clouds. But Ireland was entirely
clear, living up to the name of Emerald Isle, and covered in
big moving ripples of sunlight.

  Dad walked round it all, bending over to look at the
colours of the seas particularly. Then he stood back to see the
patterns of the slanting, scudding clouds. “Hm, ” he said. He
pointed to the north-east of England, where the land was
almost invisible under smoky, whitish mist. “Here’s the rain
that’s presently being such a pest. As you see, it’s not moving
much. The King wants it cleared up and, if possible, a blaze
of sunlight when the Scottish King arrives. Now, look at
Scotland. There’s very little clear sky there. They’re having
sun and showers every ten minutes or so as those clouds
ripple. I can’t get any good weather from there, not to make
it last. Quite a problem.”

  He walked slowly in among the green landscapes and the
moving clouds, passing through the wires of the framework
underneath as if they were not there. That part always gave
me a shudder. How could a person walk through solid gold
wire?

  He stopped with his hand over dim, green Wales. “This is
the real problem. I’m going to have to fetch the weather from
Ireland without letting this lot drift in across us. That’s
really appalling weather there in Wales at the moment. I
shall have to try to get it to move away north and out to sea.
Let’s see how the bigger currents are going!”

  Up to his waist in moving, misty map, he gestured. The
whole picture humped up a little and moved away sideways,
first to show a curve of heaving grey ocean, ribbed like a
tabby cat with strips of whitish cloud, and then, giddily,
going the other way to show green-brown views of the Low
Countries and the French kingdoms and more stripes of
cloud there.

  “Hm,” my father said again. “Not as bad as I feared.
Everything is setting northwards, but only very slowly. I
shall have to speed things up.”

  He set to work, rather as a baker might roll dough along a
board, pushing and kneading at clumps of cloud, steering
ocean wisps with the flat of his hands, and shoving mightily
at the weathers over Ireland and Wales. The dimness over
Wales broke apart a little to show more green, but it didn’t
move away. My father surveyed it with one hand to his chin.

  “Sorry, everyone,” he said. “The only way with this is a
well placed wind.”

  We watched him moving around, sometimes up to his
shoulders in land and cloud, creating winds. Most of them
he made by blowing more or less softly, or even just opening
his mouth and breathing, and they were never quite where
you thought they ought to be. “It’s a little like sailing a
boat!” he explained, seeing Grundo frowning. “The wind has
to come sideways on to the canvas to make a boat move, and
it’s the same here, except that weather always comes in
swirls, so I have to be careful to set up a lighter breeze going
the opposite way. There!” He set everything moving with a
sharp breath that was almost a whistle and stood back out
of the table to time it.

  After a few minutes of looking from his big, complicated
watch to the movements on the table, he walked away and
picked up his robe. Weather-working is harder than it looks.
Dad’s face was streaming with sweat and he was panting
slightly as he fetched his portable far-speaker out of a pocket
in the robe. He thought a moment, to remember that day’s
codes, and punched in the one for the Waymaster Royal’s
office.

  “Daniel Hyde here,” he told the official who answered.
“The rain will stop at twelve-oh-two, but I can’t promise any
sunlight until one o’clock… Yes… Almost exactly, but it
couldn’t be done without a wind, I’m afraid. Warn His
Majesty that there may be half a gale blowing between
eleven-thirty and midday. It’ll drop to a light wind around
half past… Yes, we should have fine weather for some days
after this.”

  He put the speaker away and smiled at us while he put on
his robe. “Fancy a visit to the Petty Viands bus?” he asked. “I
could do with a cup of something hot and maybe a sticky
cake or two!”
                             2
                                                       «^»
  t was just as Dad predicted. We turned out for the Meeting
of Kings in wet, howling wind that flapped velvet skirts and
wrapped robes around legs. Those with headdresses held
them in their hands until the last possible moment and then
got very uncomfortable because, like the rest of us, they were
trying to eat prettybread or pasties in one hand as we all
went to our places. Sybil looked more dishevelled than
anyone. Her yellow hair was streaming from her head and
her hat was streaming green ribbons in her hand while she
rushed about wailing cantrips and shouting at bad-luck
carriers to get away behind the buses. She was barefoot,
being an earth wizard, and she had kilted her velvet skirts
up to her knees because of the wet in the grass. She had
extremely thick legs.

  “Looks just like a sack of sweetcorn balanced on two logs,”
Dad said unkindly as he passed me on the way to the King’s
tent. He disliked Sybil as much as I did. He used to say that
it didn’t surprise him that Sybil’s husband had run away.
And then he usually added, “They wanted the poor fellow to
be the next Merlin, too. If it had been me, I’d have run away
long before. Sybil and the worst job in the kingdom!
Imagine!”
  Unfortunately, Dad’s remark threw Mam into one of her
rare fits of laughter and she breathed in a crumb of pastry. I
was still thumping her back for her when word came round
that the Scots were on their way. I had to run to my place
beside Grundo. We were lined up with all the other children
who weren’t pages in a row in front of the Royal Guards.

  By this time, most of the tents were down except for the
Royal Pavilion, and all the buses, vans, lorries and
limousines were drawn up on three sides of an enormous
square with the north-facing side left empty. The air was
loud with the clapping of the household flags hoisted over
them. The Royal Guards were drawn up inside that – poor
fellows, they had been polishing kit and whitening belts
since dawn, but they looked magnificent, a living line of
scarlet and white. We of the Court were inside that again,
like a bed of flowers in our Court clothes, shivering in the
wind. Grundo said he envied the Household servants. They
were allowed to stay in the buses and keep warm, and they
had a much better view. They must have been able to see the
Scottish Court advancing long before we could.

  It was all timed perfectly. Hard-worked officials had been
talking to one another on far-speakers all morning to make
sure it was. The Scots appeared first. They seemed to come
over the horizon and get larger and brighter as they came.
They had pipers walking on both sides, solemnly stepping
and skirling. I love the sound of bagpipes. It is the most
exciting noise I know. I was quite sorry when our band
started up and trumpets drowned the pipes out.

  This was the signal for our King to come out of his tent
and walk towards the Scots. When we stop in towns long
enough for me to get talking to people, they always say
enviously, “I suppose you see the King every day!” No.
Actually, I don’t. He is nearly always away in the front of
the Progress and I often don’t set eyes on him for weeks.
When I do see him, it is usually like this, at a distance, as a
tall figure in dark clothes, and the main way I recognise
him is by his neat brown beard – and a sort of shiver of
majesty he brings with him.

  On this occasion he had Prince Edmund, the Prince Heir,
with him too, also in sober, dark clothes. The Prince is
eighteen now and he was travelling with his father that year
to learn his duties. With them came the Merlin on one side
and the Archbishop of York on the other, both old and
stately in stiffly flapping robes, and after that a mixture of
bishops and high officials and the wizards who are priests
and priestesses of older powers. I’m supposed to know the
order of them, but I keep forgetting. All I really know is that
Sybil walked behind the Archbishop – with her skirts let
down and her hat on by then – and my father was near the
back, not being a priest.

  I was looking at the Scots mostly anyway. Their King was
quite young and he wasn’t the one I’d seen before. They have
dozens of people who have claims to the throne of Scotland.
Every so often, the clans back a new claimant, or three, and
have a war and the King gets changed. This one, though he
was new, didn’t look as if he’d get changed easily. He had a
strong, eager look, and he walked as if he owned the earth,
not just Scotland. He was wearing plaids, which made him
stand out from the crowd of courtiers with him. They were
very dressy. I have never seen so many styles and colours
and French fashions. Their King looked like a hawk among
parrots.

  He left them behind and strode to embrace our King. For
a brief minute, it was the friendliest possible Meeting. Prince
Edmund was beckoned forward and introduced, and then a
young woman in glorious rose pink silk who may have been
the Scottish Queen – anyway the Scottish King grinned at
her as if he knew her very well – and then it was the turn of
the Archbishop and the Merlin to step forward and bless
everyone. This was when the awful thing happened.

  The Merlin spread his arms to call down benign magics.
Dad says you don’t really need to spread your arms or do
anything else physical to work magic. This is why he found
Sybil so irritating, because she always acted about so, doing
magic. But he says the Merlin had to show people what he
was doing. So the poor old man held his arms up wide. His
face, which was always rather pale, turned a strange colour.
Even from where I was, I could see that the Merlin’s lips
were sort of lilac-coloured where they showed through his
white beard. He took his arms in hurriedly and hugged at
himself. Then he slowly folded up and flopped down on the
wet grass.

  Everybody simply stared for an instant. And this was the
instant that Dad’s fine weather arrived at last. The sun
blazed out. It was suddenly damply, suffocatingly warm.

  Dad got to the Merlin first. Dad had been spread out to
the side when the two groups met and it only took him two
strides to get there and kneel down. He swore to me
afterwards that the Merlin was alive at that point, even
though he had clearly had a bad heart attack. But Dad had
to give way to Prince Edmund, who got there next. Prince
Edmund put his hand out towards the Merlin’s chest and
then snatched it back, looking aghast. He turned to the King
and started to say something. Then he stopped, because
Sybil swooped in almost at once and pulled the poor old
man over on to his back. By that time he was definitely
dead. I got a glimpse of his staring face among everybody’s
legs and, as Grundo said, you couldn’t mistake it.

  “Dead!” Sybil screamed. “My mentor and my master!” She
put her head back so that her hat fell off and screamed
again, towards the Scottish King. “Dead!”

  She didn’t say any more. She just stood up with wet black
patches on her velvet gown where she had knelt in the grass
and stared at the Scottish King with her hands clasped to
her chest.

  Our King said icily to the Scottish King, “I believe Your
Majesty was trained as a wizard?”
  The Scottish King looked at him. After a moment he said,
“I think this is the end of any friendship between us. I bid
you good afternoon.”

  He swung round in a swirl of tartan and walked away
with all his people. He didn’t have to walk far. Vehicles
came roaring over the brow of the hill almost at once, most
of them military transports, and the royal party was scooped
up into some of them, leaving the rest sitting in a
threatening row on the Scottish border.

  “We’ll move back a few miles,” our King said.

  The rest of that week was a hot, moist chaos. Grundo and
I, along with most of the children, were bundled here and
there and sent about with messages because the royal pages
were run off their feet, and it took us several days to find out
what was happening.

  It seemed that the media people had been filming the
whole Meeting from their bus and they broadcast it as they
filmed it. The Merlin’s death caused an outcry all over the
country. The King had to go to the bus and assure people in
another broadcast that it was an unfortunate accident, and
that no one was accusing the Scottish King of anything. It
didn’t help the situation that he said this in a grim way that
made everyone think the opposite. At the same time, the
whole Progress packed up double quick and moved south to
the borders of Northumberland. The media bus was actually
on the road while the King was grimly broadcasting. The
rest of the buses had to keep drawing up on to the verges to
make way for the army units rushing to take up defensive
positions along the Scottish border, so all we knew of things
were tilted views of hedges while green lorries thundered by
in the road.

  It turned out that the Scottish King broadcast too. He
talked about an insult to Scotland and he sent army units to
the border as well.

  “But he must know it was simply an accident,” my mam
said worriedly, when I did manage to see her and ask what
was going on.

  This was when we were finally camped around a village
where the King could stay in a manor house that was big
enough for the wizards to perform an autopsy on the Merlin.
There, Grundo and I were sent hurrying with messages to
other wizards, to the army HQ bus, the media tent, to the
Waymaster’s Office and the Chamberlain’s, and after a day
or so, to the village hall where the judicial enquiry was
being held. So much was going on. There was a nationwide
hunt for a new Merlin, with most of the wizards involved,
while the rest were busy with the enquiry. It seemed that the
post mortem had shown that there were traces of a spell
hanging round the Merlin, but no one could tell what kind.
It could even have been one of the Merlin’s own spells.

  Dad was called into the enquiry. For a whole day, it
looked as if he might be accused of murder. My heart seemed
to be filling my ears and drumming in my chest that entire
time. Mam went around white as a sheet whispering, “Oh,
they can’t blame him, they can’t!” The trouble was, as she
pointed out to me, everybody else who was close to the
Merlin when he died was either royal or very important, so
poor Dad got the full blast of the suspicion.

  I can’t tell you how frantic everything was that day.

  Then everything calmed down.

  As far as I could tell, it was Grandad’s doing. He turned
up that evening, shortly after Dad had come out of the
village hall looking as if he had spent several sleepless weeks
on a bare mountain. Grandad brought the new Merlin with
him and they went straight to the King together. We didn’t
see Grandad until quite late that night, when they all came
out on to the village green: Grandad, the King, the Merlin,
the judges, Prince Edmund, and a whole string of the
wizards who had been tearing about and fussing over
finding the new Merlin. The new Merlin was a skinny young
man with a little pointed chin and a big Adam’s apple, who
looked a bit stunned about his sudden jump to fame. Or
maybe he was in a trance. Prince Edmund kept looking at
him in an astonished, wondering way.

  Meanwhile, the Waymaster’s Office had acted with its
usual efficiency and cordoned off a big space on the green,
while the Royal Guard jumped to it and built a bonfire in
the centre of it. We were standing watching, waiting,
wondering what was going to happen, when Grandad came
up to us. Mam flung herself on him, more or less crying.

  “Oh, Maxwell! It’s been so awful! Can you help?”

  “Steady,” Grandad said. “All’s well. Dan’s in the clear
now. Had to tackle it from the top, you see, on account of the
family relationship. “ He slapped Dad on the shoulder and
gave me one of his quick, bony hugs. “Roddy. Hallo,
Grundo,” he said. “I think I’ve got the whole mess sorted.
Have to wait and see, of course, but I think they’ll end up
deciding it was nobody’s fault. Lord! Poor old Merlin
Landor must have been in his eighties at least! Bound to
drop dead at some point. Just chose a bad moment to do it.
No need for national hysteria about that!”

  You know that marvellous moment when your mind goes
quiet with relief. Everything was suddenly tranquil and
acute with me. I could smell the trampled grass and motor
fuel that I had not noticed before this, and the sweet, dusty
scent of hay from beyond the village. I could hear the crackle
of the bonfire as it caught and the twittering of birds in the
trees around the green. The small, yellow flames climbing
among the brushwood seemed unbelievably clear and
meaningful, all of a sudden, and my mind went so peaceful
and limpid that I found myself thinking that, yes, Grandad
could be right. But Sir James had known the old Merlin
was going to die. I looked round for Sir James, but he was
not there. When I thought, I realised I had not seen him for
some days, though Sybil was there, in among the other
wizards.

  As soon as the bonfire was blazing properly, the senior
wizard stepped forward and announced that we were here to
present the new Merlin to Court and country. Everyone
cheered and the young Merlin looked more dazed than ever.
Then one of the judges said that the question of the late
Merlin’s death was now to be settled. He bowed to the King
and stepped back.

  The King said to the Merlin, ‘Are you prepared to
prophesy for us?”

  “I – I think so,” the Merlin said. He had rather a weak,
high voice.

  “Then,” said the King, “tell us who, or what, caused the
death of the last Merlin.”

  The young man clasped his hands together with his arms
pointing straight down, rather as if he were pulling on a
rope, and he began to sway, round and round. The bonfire
seemed to imitate him. It broke into long pennants of orange
flame that roared and crackled and sent a great spiral of
smoke and burning blobs high into the evening sky. The
extra light caught and glistened on tears pouring down the
Merlin’s small, pointed face. He started to give out big
gulping sobs.

  “Oh, Lord! He’s a weeper!” Grandad said disgustedly. “I
wish I’d known. I’d have stayed away!”

  “A lot of the Merlins have cried when they prophesied,”
Dad pointed out.

  “I know. But I don’t have to like it, do I?” Grandad
retorted.

  The Merlin started to speak then, in high gasps, but what
with the roaring and snapping from the bonfire and the way
he was sobbing, it was hard to hear what he was saying. I
think it was, “Blame is – where blame lies – blame rests –
where dragon flies!”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” my grandfather
muttered irritably. “Is he accusing Wales now or what?”

  While Grandad was mumbling, the King said in a polite,
puzzled way, “And – er – then have you any words that
might guide us for the future?”

  This brought on a new bout of weeping from the Merlin.
He bent this way and that, choking and sobbing, still with
his hands clasped in that odd way. The bonfire gusted and
swirled and golden sparks rained upwards. Eventually, the
Merlin began gasping out words again and I found these
even harder to catch. They sounded like, “Power flows –
when Merlin goes – world sways – in dark ways – a lord is
bound – power found – land falls – when alien calls –
nothing right – till dragon’s flight.”

  “I suppose this means something to him,” Grandad
grumbled.

  Several of the wizards were writing the words down. I
believe they all wrote different versions. I can only put down
what I thought I heard – and the creepy thing is that the
prophecy was quite right, now that I understand what it was
about.

  After that, it seemed to be finished. The Merlin unclasped
his hands, fetched out a handkerchief and dried his eyes on
it in a most matter-of-fact way. The King said, “We thank
you, Merlin,” looking as mystified as the rest of us. The
bonfire fell back to burning in a more normal way

  The Household staff came round with glasses of warm
spiced wine. I do take my hat off to these people. They have
an awful job obeying all the instructions for camping that
come from the Waymaster and the Chamberlain, or setting
up house if the King decides to stay under a roof somewhere,
and then providing meals fit for a King at all times and in
all weathers, and they nearly always get it exactly right.
That wine was exactly what everyone there needed. The fine
weather that Dad had provided was still with us, but it
came with a chilly wind and heavy dews at night.

  We took our glasses and went to one of the benches at the
edge of the green. From there, I could see the Merlin pacing
awkwardly about near the bonfire while Prince Edmund
talked earnestly to him. The Prince seemed fascinated by the
Merlin. I suppose they were the same age, more or less, and
this Merlin was likely to be the one the Prince would have to
deal with all through his reign when he got to be King. I
also noticed Alicia hanging about near them, looking very
trim in her page’s uniform. She was making sure that the
Merlin got twice as much of the wine and the snacks that
were going round. Doing her duty. But, well, she was sixteen
and quite near the Merlin’s age too – not that he seemed to
notice her much. He was listening to the Prince mostly.

  My parents were asking Grandad how he had managed to
find the new Merlin when nobody else could, and he was
making modest noises and grunting, “Magid methods. Not
difficult. Had my eye on the chap for years.” I don’t quite
understand what it means that Grandad is a Magid, not
really. I think it means that he operates in other worlds
besides ours and it also seems to mean that he has the power
to settle things in a way that ordinary kings and wizards
can’t. He went on to say, “I had to have a serious talk with
the King – told him the same as I told the Scottish King. It’s
vitally important that the Islands of Blest stay peaceful.
Blest – and these islands in particular – keeps the balance of
the magics in half the multiverse, you see!”

  “How old is the Merlin?” I interrupted.

  “Twenty-five. Older than he looks!” Grandad told me. “A
powerful magic gift does that to some people. Roddy, do you
mind taking Grundo and going off somewhere? We’ve got
things to talk about here that aren’t for children.”

  Grandad is like that. He never likes to talk about the
interesting things in front of me. Grundo and I drifted off.

  “He’s too old for Alicia, the Merlin,” I said to Grundo.

  He was surprised. “Why should that stop her?” he asked.
                        2
                       Nick


                              1
                                                          «^»
  thought it was a dream at first. It was really peculiar. It
happened when my dad took me with him to a writers’
conference in London. Dad is Ted Mallory and he is a
writer. He does horror stories with demons in them, but this
conference was for people who write detective stories. This is
the strange thing about Dad. He reads detective stories all
the time when he isn’t writing himself and he really admires
the people who write them, far more than the people who
write his kind of thing. He was all excited because his
favourite author was going to be speaking at the conference.
I didn’t want to go.
  “Oh, yes you do,” Dad said. “I’m still shuddering at what
happened when I left you alone here last Easter.”

  “It was my friends who drank all your whisky,” I said.

  “With you as a helpless onlooker while they broke the
furniture and draped the kitchen in pasta, I know,” says
Dad. “So here’s what I’m going to do, Nick. I’m going to
book you in with me, and I’m going to go, and when I go,
I’m going to lock up this house with you outside it. If you
don’t choose to come with me, you can spend the weekend
sitting in the street. Or the garden shed. I’ll leave that
unlocked for you, if you like.”

  He really meant this. He can be a real swine when he puts
his mind to it. I thought about overpowering him and
locking him in the garden shed. I’m bigger than he is, even
though I won’t be fifteen until just before Christmas. But
then I thought how he isn’t really my dad and how we’d
both sort of adopted one another after Mum was killed
because – usually – we like one another, and where would
either of us be if that fell through?

  While I was thinking this, Dad said, “Come on. You may
even enjoy it. And you’ll be able to tell people later that you
were present at one of the very rare appearances of Maxwell
Hyde. This is only the third time he’s spoken in public – and
my sense is that he’s a very interesting speaker.”

  Maxwell Hyde is this favourite author of Dad’s. I could
see I would be spoiling his fun if I didn’t let him take me
along, so I gave in. He was ever so pleased and gave me one
of this Maxwell Hyde’s books to read.

  I don’t like detective stories. They’re dead boring. But
Maxwell Hyde was worse than boring because his books
were set in an alternate world. This is what Dad likes about
them. He goes on about the self-consistency and wealth of
otherworld detail in Maxwell Hyde’s Other-England – as far
as I could see, this meant lots of boring description of the
way things were different: how the King never stayed in one
place and the parliament sat in Winchester and never did
anything, and so forth – but what got to me was reading
about another world that I couldn’t get to. By the time I’d
read two pages, I was so longing to get to this other world
that it was like sheets of flame flaring through me.

  There are lots of worlds. I know, because I’ve been to some.

  My real parents come from one. But I can’t seem to get to
any of them on my own. I always seem to have to have
someone to take me. I’ve tried, and I keep trying, but it just
doesn’t seem to work for me, even though I want to do it so
much that I dream I’m doing it. There must be something
I’m doing wrong. And I’d decided that I’d spend the whole
first week of the summer holidays trying until I’d cracked it.
Now here was Dad hauling me away to this conference
instead. That was why I didn’t want to go. But I’d said I
would, so I went.

  It was even worse than I’d expected.
  It was in a big, gloomy hotel full of soberly-dressed people
who all thought they were important – apart from the one or
two who thought they were God or Shakespeare or
something, and went around with a crowd of power-dressed
hangers-on to keep them from being talked to by ordinary
people. There was a lecture every hour. Some of them were
by police chiefs and lawyers, and I sat there trying so hard
not to yawn that my eyes watered and my ears popped. But
there was going to be one on the Sunday by a private
detective. That was the only one I thought might be
interesting.

  None of the people had any time for a teenager like me.
They kept giving my jeans disapproving looks and then
glancing at my face as if they thought I must have got in
there by mistake. But the thing that really got to me was
how eager Dad was about it all. He had a big pile of various
books he was trying to get signed, just as if he was a humble
fan and not a world famous writer himself. It really hurt my
feelings when one of the God-or-Shakespeare ones flourished
a pen over the book Dad eagerly spread out for her and said,
“Who?”

  Dad said in a modest voice, “Ted Mallory. I write a bit
myself.”

  Mrs God-Shakespeare scrawled in the book, saying, “Do
you write under another name? What have you written?”

  “Horror stories mostly,” Dad admitted.
  And she said, “Oh,” and pushed the book back to him as if
it was contaminated.

  Dad didn’t seem to notice. He was enjoying himself.
Maxwell Hyde was giving the big talk on the Saturday
evening and Dad kept saying he couldn’t wait. Then he got
really excited because one of the nicer writers – who wore
jeans like me – said he knew Maxwell Hyde slightly and
he’d introduce Dad to him if we hung around with him.

  Dad was blissed out. By that time I was yawning every
time Dad’s back was turned and forcing my mouth shut
when he looked at me. We went hurrying up and down
corridors looking for Maxwell Hyde, pushing against crowds
of people pushing the other way, and I kept thinking, If only
I could just wheel round sideways and walk off into a
different world! I was in a hotel when I did that the first
time, which gave me the idea that hotels were probably a
good place to step off from.

  So I was daydreaming about that when we did at last
catch up with Maxwell Hyde. By then it was just before his
lecture, so he was in a hurry and people were streaming past
us to get into the big hall, but he stopped quite politely when
the nice writer said, “Oh, Maxwell, can you spare a moment
for someone who’s dying to meet you?”

  I didn’t really notice him much, except that he was one of
those upright, silvery gentlemen, quite old-fashioned, with
leather patches on his old tweed jacket. As he swung round
to Dad, I could smell whisky. I remember thinking, Hey! He
gets as nervous as Dad does before he has to give a talk! And
I could tell he had had a drink to give himself some courage.

  I was being bumped about by all the other people in the
corridor and I had to keep shifting while Dad and Mr Hyde
were shaking hands. I was right off at one side of them when
Mr Hyde said, “Ted Mallory? Demons, isn’t it?”

  Just then, one of the people bumping me – I didn’t see
who, except that it was a man – said quietly, “Off you go
then.” I stepped sideways again out of his way.

  This was when I thought it was a dream.

  I was outside, on an airfield of some kind. It must have
been early morning, because it was chilly and dark, but
getting lighter all the time, and there was pink mist across
the stretch of grass I could see. But I couldn’t see much,
because there were things I thought were helicopters blocking
my view one way – tall, dark brown things – and the other
way was a crowd of men who all seemed pretty impatient
about something. I was sort of squashed between the men
and the helicopters. The man nearest me, who was wearing a
dirty, pale suede jacket and trousers and smoking a cigarette
in long, impatient drags, turned round to throw his cigarette
down on the grass and saw me.

  “Oh, there you are!” he said. “Why didn’t you say you’d got
here?” He turned back to the rest of them and called out, “It’s
all right, messieurs! The novice finally got here. We can go.”
  They all sort of groaned with relief and one of them began
talking into a cellphone. “This is Perimeter Security,
monsieur,” I heard him say, “reporting that our numbers are
now complete. You can tell the Prince that it’s safe to embark
now.” And after the phone had done some angry quacking,
he said, “Very good, monsieur. I’ll pass that on to the
culprit,” and then he waved at the rest of us.

  Everyone began crowding up the ladder into the nearest
helicopter-thing. The man who had spoken to me pushed me
up ahead of him and swung on to the ladder after me. This
must have put his face up against my legs, because he said
angrily, “Didn’t the academy tell you to wear your leathers
for this?”

  I thought I knew then. I was sure this was one of my
dreams about getting into another world and that it had got
mixed up with the sort of dream where you’re on a bus with
no clothes on, or talking to a girl you fancy with the front of
your trousers missing. So I wasn’t particularly bothered. I
just said, “No, they didn’t tell me anything.”

  He made an irritated noise. “You’re supposed to be skyclad
for official workings. They should know that!” he said. “You
didn’t eat before you came, did you?” He sounded quite
scandalised about it.

  “No,” I said. Dad and I had been going to have supper
after we’d listened to Maxwell Hyde. I was quite hungry,
now I thought of it.
  “Well, that’s a relief!” he said, pushing me forward into the
inside of the flyer. “You have to be fasting for a major
working like this. Yours is the pull-down seat at the back
there.”

  It would be! I thought. There were nice padded seats all
round under the windows, but the one at the back was just a
kind of slab. Everyone else was settling into the good seats
and snapping seat belts around them, so I found the belts
that went with the slab and did them up. I’d just got the
buckles sussed when I looked up to find the man with the
cellphone leaning over me.

  “You,” he said, “were late. Top brass is not pleased. You
kept the Prince waiting for nearly twenty minutes and HRH
is not a patient man.”

  “Sorry,” I said. But he went on and on, leaning over me
and bawling me out. I didn’t need to listen to it much
because the engines started then, roaring and clattering, and
everything shook. Some of the noise was from the other
fliers. I could see them sideways beyond his angry face,
rising up into the air one after another, about six of them,
and I wondered what made them fly. They didn’t have
wings or rotors.

  Eventually, a warning ping sounded. The bawling man
gave me a menacing look and went to strap himself in beside
his mates. They were all wearing some kind of uniform, sort
of like soldiers, and the one who had bawled at me had
coloured stripes round his sleeves. I supposed he was the
officer. The men nearest me, four of them, were all dressed in
dirty pale suede. Skyclad, I thought. Whatever that meant.

  Then we were rising up into the air and roaring after the
other fliers. I leaned over to the window and looked down,
trying to see where this was. I saw the Thames winding
underneath among crowds of houses, so I knew we were over
London, but in a dreamlike way there was no London Eye,
though I spotted the Tower and Tower Bridge, and where I
thought St Paul’s ought to be there was a huge white church
with three square towers and a steeple. After that we went
tilting away southwards and I was looking down on misty
green fields. Not long after that we were over the sea.

  About then, the noise seemed to get less – or maybe I got
used to it – and I could hear what the men in suede were
saying. Mostly it was just grumbles about having to get up
so early and how they were hungry already, along with jokes
I didn’t understand, but I gathered that the one who had
talked to me was Dave and the big one with the foreign
accent was Arnold. The other two were Chick and Pierre.
None of them took any notice of me.

  Dave was still irritated. He said angrily, “I can
sympathise with his passion for cricket, but why does he
have to play it in Marseilles, for the powers’ sake?”

  Pierre said, slightly shocked, “That’s where England are
playing. HRH is a world-class batsman, you know.”
  “But,” Dave said, “until last night he wasn’t going to be in
the team.”

  “He changed his mind. Royal privilege,” said Arnold with
the foreign accent.

  “That’s our Geoff for you!” Chick said, laughing.

  “I know. That worries me,” Dave answered. “What’s he
going to be like when he’s King?”

  “Oh, give him the right advisors and he’ll be all right,”
Chick said soothingly. “His royal dad was just the same
when he was Crown Prince, they say.”

  This is a really mad dream, I thought. Cricket in France!

  We droned on for ages. The sun came up and glared in
through the left-hand windows. Pretty soon all the soldiers
down the other end had their jackets off and were playing
some sort of card game, in a slow, bored way. The men in
suede didn’t seem to be allowed to take their jackets off. They
sweated. It got quite niffy down my end. And I’d been
assuming that they weren’t allowed to smoke in the flier, but
that turned out to be wrong. The soldiers all lit up and so
did Dave. The air soon became thick with smoke on top of
the smell of sweat. It got worse when Arnold lit up a thin,
black thing that smelt like a wet bonfire.

  “Yik!” said Pierre. “Where did you get hold of that?”

  “Aztec Empire,” Arnold said, peacefully puffing out brown
clouds.
  I shall wake up from this dream with cancer! I thought.
The slab seat was hard. I shifted about and ached. Most of
the people fell asleep after an hour or so, but I couldn’t. I
supposed at the time that it was because I was asleep
already. I know that seems silly, but it was all so strange
and I’d been so used to dreaming, for months now, that I
had found my way into another world that I really and
truly believed that this was just another of those dreams. I
sat and sweated while we droned on, and even that didn’t
alert me to the fact that this might be real. Dreams usually
sort of fast-forward long journeys and things like that, but I
didn’t think of that. I just thought the journey was the
dream.

  At last, there was another of those warning pings. The
officer reached into his jacket for his phone and talked to it
for a short while. Then he put the jacket on and came
towards the men in suede, who were all stretching and
yawning and looking bleary.

  “Messieurs,” he said, “you’ll have twenty minutes. The
royal flit will circle during that time under the protection of
the Prince’s personal mages and then put down on the
pavilion roof. You’re expected to have the stadium secured by
then. All right?”

  “All right,” Arnold agreed. “Thanks, monsieur.” Then,
when the officer had gone back to the other soldiers, he said,
“Bloody powers!”
  “Going to have to hustle, aren’t we?” Chick said. He jerked
his head towards me. “What do we do about him? He’s not
skyclad.”

  Arnold was the one in charge. He blinked slowly at me as
if he’d noticed me for the first time. “Not really a problem,”
he said. “He’ll have to keep out of the circle, that’s all. We’ll
put him on boundary patrol.” Then he actually spoke to me.
“You, mon gar,” he said, “will do exactly as we say at all
times, and if you set so much as a toe over the wardings, I’ll
have your guts for garters. That clear?”

  I nodded. I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t the faintest
idea what we were supposed to be doing, but I didn’t quite
like to.

  Anyway the flier – flit or whatever – started making a
great deal more noise and going downwards in jerks,
hanging in the air and then jerking sickeningly down again.
I swallowed and sat back, thinking that it would probably
all be obvious what to do, the way it is in dreams, and took
a look out of the window. I had just time to see a big oval of
green stadium surrounded by banks of seats crowded with
people, and blue, blue sea somewhere beyond that, before we
came down with a grinding thump and everyone leapt up.

  The soldiers went racing and clattering off to take up
positions round the roof we’d landed on. They were carrying
rifles. It was serious security. We clattered off after them into
scalding sunlight and I found myself ducking as the flier
roared off into the air again just above my head, covering us
in an instant of deep blue shadow. As it did, the others bent
over some kind of compass that Dave had fetched out.

  “North’s up the narrow end opposite,” Dave said, “pretty
exactly.”

  “Right,” said Arnold. “Then we go the quickest way.” And
he led us rushing down some stairs at the corner of the roof.
We clattered along boards then, somewhere high up along
the front of the pavilion, and raced on down much steeper
stairs with crowds of well-dressed people on either side. They
all turned to stare at us. “Ceux sont les sorciers,” I heard
someone say, and again, when we got to the smart white gate
at the bottom of the stairs and a wrinkled old fellow in a
white coat opened it for us, he turned to someone and said
knowingly, “Ah. Les sorciers.” I reckon it meant, Those are
the mages, you know.

  We rushed out into the enormous stadium, hurrying
across acres of green, green grass with blurred banks of faces
all round and all staring at us. It really was exactly like my
worst dreams. I felt about an inch high as Arnold led us
trotting straight towards the opposite end of the oval. I could
see he was going to take us right across the square of even
greener grass where the wicket was laid out, flat and
brownish, right in front of us.

  Now, I’m not much for cricket myself, but I did know that
you were never, ever supposed to run on the sacred wicket. I
wondered whether to say something. I was quite relieved
when Pierre panted out, “Er – Arnold – not on the wicket –
really.”

  “What? Oh. Yes,” Arnold said, and he took a small curve,
so that we went trotting just beside the strip of bare rolled
turf.

  Pierre turned his eyes up and murmured to Chick, “He’s
from Schleswig-Holstein. What can you expect?”

  “Empire’s full of barbarians,” Chick panted back in a
whisper.

  We hastened on to the end of the stadium, where we had to
do another detour, around the sightscreen. There was a
grille behind it blocking an archway under the seating.
Soldiers let us through and we plunged into chilly, concrete
gloom beyond, where we really got busy. We were in the
space underneath the seats there, which ran right round the
stadium like a concrete underpass, including under the
pavilion. I know it did, because I was forced to rush all
round it three times.

  Arnold dumped down the bag he was carrying on the spot
Dave said was the exact North and snatched out of it five big
sugar-shakers full of water. “Ready blessed,” he said,
jamming one into my hand. Then they shoved me behind
them and stood in a row gabbling some kind of incantation.
After that, they were off shouting at me to come along and
stop dossing, pelting down the arched concrete space, madly
sprinkling water as they ran and shoving me repeatedly so
that I didn’t tread inside the wet line, until Dave said,
“East.” They stopped and gabbled another invocation, and
then they charged on, sprinkling again, until Dave said,
“South,” where they stopped and gabbled too. Then we pelted
off once more to gabble at West, then on round to North
again. The water just lasted.

  I hoped that was it then, but no. We dumped the empty
water-shakers and Arnold fetched out five things that looked
like lighted candles but were really electric torches. Neat
things. They must have had strange batteries, because they
flickered and flared just like real candles as we raced
around to East once more with our feet booming echoes out
of the concrete corridor. This time when Dave said “East”,
Chick slammed his candle-torch down on the floor and
stood gabbling. I nearly got left behind there because I was
staring at Chick drawing what looked like a belt-knife and
pulling it out as if it were toffee or something so that it was
like a sword, which he stood holding point upwards in front
of his face. I had to sprint to catch the others up, and I only
reached them as Dave was singing out, “South!” They shed
Pierre and his candle there and, as we pelted off Pierre was
pulling a knife out into a sword too.

  At West, it was Dave’s turn to stand pulling a knife into a
sword and gabbling. Arnold and I rushed on together to
North. Luckily, Arnold was so big he was not much of a
runner and I could keep up. I’d no breath left by then. When
we got round to Arnold’s bag again, he plonked down his
candle and remarked, “I hold North because I’m the
strongest. It’s the most dangerous ward of all.” Then, instead
of drawing his belt-knife, he took my candle-torch away and
passed me a gigantic salt-shaker.

  I stared at it.

  “All round again with this,” Arnold said. “Make sure it’s a
continuous line and that you keep outside the line.”

  It’s one of those dreams, I thought. I sighed. I grabbed the
salt and set off the other way to make a change.

  “No, no!” he howled. “Not widdershins, you fool! Deosil!
And run. You’ve got to get round before the Prince lands!”

  “Making my third four-minute mile,” I said.

  “Pretty well,” he agreed. “Go!”

  So off I went, pouring salt and stumbling over my own
feet as I tried to see where I was pouring it, past Chick
standing with his sword like a statue, past soldiers I was
almost too busy to notice, who were on guard about every
fifty feet, and on round to Pierre, also standing like a statue.
When I got to him, I could hear the nearby blatting of a flier
and cheering in the distance. Pierre shot me an angry,
urgent look. Obviously, this Prince had more or less landed
by then. I sped on, frantically sprinkling salt, getting better
at it now. Even so, it seemed an age before I got round to
Dave, and another age before I got back to Arnold again.
The cheering overhead was like thunder by then.
  “Just about made it,” Arnold said. He had a sword by
now and was standing like the others, looking sort of
remote, behind his candle-thing. “Make sure the line of salt
joins up behind me, then put the shaker back in the bag and
get on guard.”

  “Er… ” I said. “I’m not sure—”

  He more or less roared at me. “Didn’t they teach you
anything at the academy? I shall lodge a complaint.” Then
he seemed to pull himself together and sort of recited at me,
the way you might tell a total idiot how to dial 999 in an
emergency, “Choose your spot, go into a light trance, enter
the otherwhere, pick up your totem beast and go on patrol
with it. If you see anything out of the ordinary – anything at
all – come and tell me. Now go and get on with it!”

  “Right,” I said. “Thanks.” I threw the salt-shaker into the
bag and wandered away. Now what? I thought. It was fairly
clear to me that what we had been doing in such a hurry
was casting a circle of magic protection around this French
cricket stadium, but it struck me as pretty boring,
mass-produced sort of magic. I couldn’t see how it could
possibly work, but I supposed it kept them happy, them and
this Prince of theirs. The stupid thing was that I had been
dying to learn magic. Part of the way I kept trying to walk to
other worlds was to do with my wanting, above anything
else, to be a proper magician, to know magic and be able to
work it for myself Now here was this dream making it seem
just boring. And probably useless.
  That’s dreams for you, I thought, wandering on through
the tunnel under the seats. Since I had no idea how to do the
stuff Arnold had told me, the only thing I could do was to
keep out of his sight, and out of Chick’s sight too, on round
the curve in the East. I trudged past the first soldier on
guard and, as soon as the curve of the passage hid him from
sight, I simply sat down with my back to the outside wall.

  It was a pretty dismal place, full of gritty, gloomy echoes
and gritty, gloomy concrete smells. People had used it to pee
in too, which didn’t help. It felt damp. As I was soaked with
sweat from all that running, I began to feel clammy almost
at once. At least it wasn’t dark. There were orange striplights
in the concrete ceiling and holes in the concrete back wall.
The holes were high up and covered with grids, but they did
let in slants of bright sun that cut through the gritty air in
regular white slices.

  Not much to look at except a line of salt, I thought. At
least I was better off than Arnold and the rest. I didn’t have
to keep staring at a sword. And for the first time, I began to
wonder how long we’d all have to stay here. For the whole
time it took this Prince to play in a Test Match? Those could
go on for days. And the frustrating thing about this dream, I
thought, as I heard clapping far away over my head, was
the way I never set eyes on this Prince all the fuss was about.
                                2
                                                            «^»
  think I went to sleep. It made sense to think so. I was quite
jet-lagged by then, given I’d set off before supper, arrived at
dawn and then flown all the way to the south of France,
followed by running round the stadium three times. But it
didn’t quite feel like sleep. I felt as if I got up, leaving myself
sitting there, and walked off along an inviting, bluish,
shady path I’d suddenly noticed. This path led upwards and
sort of sideways from the concrete passage, out of the smells
and clamminess, into a cool, rustling wood. This was such a
relief that I didn’t feel tired any more. I stretched and
snuffed up the cool green smells – pine trees and a sharp,
gummy scent from head high ferns, and bark and leaves
and bushes that smelt almost like incense – and I kept on
walking, deeper into the wood and uphill. The incense
bushes in front of me started rustling. Then the ferns
swayed.

  I stopped. I kept very still. I could feel my heart banging.
Something was definitely coming. But I was still not
prepared for it when it did.

  The ferns parted and a smooth black head slid out and
stared me in the face with huge yellow eyes. For just one
instant I was nose to nose with an enormous black panther.
  Then I was up a tree, the tallest tree I could find.

  In between was a blur of absolute terror. If I think about
it, carefully, I think the panther sort of said Oh, hallo in
wordless panther talk, and I’m fairly sure I screamed. And I
do, slightly, remember staring around with tremendous
speed to choose the best tree, and then listening to my own
breath coming in sort of shrieks while I shot up this tree,
and I even remember yelling “Ouch!” when I peeled one of
my nails back on the way up.

  Then it all stops with me sitting shakily astride a branch
watching the panther coming up after me.

  “Bugger!” I said. “I forgot panthers could climb trees!”

  Naturally we can, it said. It settled on the branch opposite
mine with one great paw hanging and its tail swinging.
What are we doing up here? it asked. Hunting?

  There was no doubt it was talking to me. Well, I thought,
this was a dream. So I gave in to it and answered, “No. I’m
supposed to be keeping watch in case anything supernatural
attacks the Prince.”

  The panther yawned. It was as if its head split open into a
bright pink maw fringed with long, white fangs. Boring, it
said. I hoped you might want to go hunting.

  “Let’s do that in a bit,” I said. I was feeling weak with
terror still. “I agree,” I said, hoping to persuade it to go
away, “keeping watch is really boring. I may have to be here
for hours.”
  Oh, well, the panther said. It let down its three other huge
paws, put its black chin on the branch and went to sleep.

  After a while when I couldn’t look away from it in case it
went for my throat, and another while when I didn’t dare
move in case it woke up and went for my throat, I sort of got
used to the fact that I was sitting in a tree facing a big,
black, sleeping panther, and I began to look about.
Carefully and slowly. Arnold had said “pick up your totem
beast” and I supposed that this panther might be my totem
beast, but I didn’t believe this, not really. As far as I knew,
totem beasts were a part of a shamanistic magician’s mind,
which meant they were not really real, and I could see the
panther was as real as I was. Anyway, I wasn’t going to take
a chance on it. I sat and turned my head very slowly.

  I was looking out over the tops of trees, but that was only
the ordinary part of wherever I was. Tilted away sideways
from the wood was – well, it was a bit like a diagram in
lights. The nearest part of the diagram was a low-key misty
map of a town and, beyond that, was a sparkling, electric
hugeness that seemed to be sea. Nearer to me, at the edge of
the lines and blobs that made the town, I could see a
striking, turquoise oval. It was like a lighted jewel and it
had a blob of whiter light at each end of it and two more
blobs in the middle of each side.

  “Oh!” I said, out loud without thinking. “Their magic did
work! Those blobs must be them – Arnold and Dave and his
mates!”
  The panther twitched and made a noise in its throat. I
didn’t know if it was a growl, or a snore, or its way of
agreeing with me, but I shut up at once. I went on staring
without speaking. It was fascinating, that lighted diagram.
Little bright sparkles moved inside the turquoise oval of the
stadium, and one brighter one stood still quite near the
middle. I wondered if that was the Prince. But it could have
been one of the umpires. After a bit, I noticed moving
smudges of light out in the sea that were probably ships,
and one or two quicker ones moving in straight lines that I
thought were aircraft, because some of them made lines
across the town.

  They were all in the most beautiful colours. None of them
struck me as dangerous. But then I wouldn’t have known
what a threat to the Prince looked like if it came up and hit
me.

  Anyway, I was stuck in this tree until the panther decided
to leave. So I simply sat and stared, and listened to the
rustlings and birdcalls in the wood, and felt as peaceful as
anyone could be stuck up a tree a yard away from a lethal
black panther.

  The panther suddenly woke up.

  I flinched, but it wasn’t attending to me. Someone coming,
it remarked, head up and all four paws on the branch
again. Then, like a big slide of black oil, it went noiselessly
slithering away down the tree.
  My forehead got wet with relief.` I listened, but I couldn’t
hear a thing. So, rather cautiously, I let myself down from
branch to branch, until I could see the panther crouched
along one of the very lowest boughs below me. Below that, I
could see bare, pine-needled ground stretching away to
bushes. Another animal was walking across the pine
needles, another big cat, only this one was a spotted one,
with long legs and a small head. This cat was so full of
muscles that it seemed almost to walk on tiptoe. Its ugly,
spotted tail was lashing. So was the panther’s, only more
elegantly. The cat looked up, past the panther, and straight
at me. Its eyes were wide and green and most uncomfortably
knowing. When it got near the tree, it simply sat down and
went on staring, jeeringly.

  Then a man came out of the bushes after it.

  He’s a hunter, I thought. This was because of the way he
walked, sort of light and tense and leaning forward ready
for trouble, and because of the deep tan on his narrow face.
But I couldn’t help noticing that he was dressed in the same
kind of suede that Arnold and his pals were wearing, except
that his leathers were so old and greasy and baggy that you
could hardly see they were suede. Hunters can dress in
leather too, I thought. But I wondered.

  He came up beside the ugly spotted cat and put his hand
on its head, between its round, tufted ears. Then he looked
slowly up through the tree until he saw me. “Nick Mallory?”
he said quietly.
  I wanted to deny it. I wanted to say my name was really
Nichothodes Koryfoides, which is true. But Nick Mallory
was what I had chosen to be when Dad and I adopted one
another. “Yes,” I said. I meant it to sound cautious and
adult, but it came out weak and defiant and resentful.

  “Then come down here,” said the man.

  As soon as he said it, I was down, standing on the pine
needles under the tree, only a couple of feet away from him
and his cat. That close, I could tell he was some kind of
magic user, and one of the strongest I’d ever come across,
too. Magics fair sizzled off him, and he felt full of strange
skills and strong craft and deep, deep knowledge. He knew
how to bring me down from the tree with just a word. And
he’d brought the panther down with me, I realised. The poor
beast was busy abasing itself crawling on its belly among
the pine needles, and pressing itself against my leg as if I
could help it, absolutely terrified of that spotted cat. The cat
was studying it contemptuously.

  “I had quite a bit of trouble locating you,” the man said to
me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m supposed to watch the boundaries for anything that
threatens the Prince,” I said. My throat had gone choky with
fright. I had to cough before I could say, “You’re threatening
him, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged and looked around as if he was getting his
bearings. To my surprise, although there were trees all
round us, I could still see the lighted turquoise oval of the
stadium and the sea shimmering beyond it. It seemed like
something on a different wavelength from the wood. But the
chief thing I noticed was that the man’s profile was like a
zigzag of lightning. I’d never seen anything more dangerous
– unless it was that spotted cat. I kept as still as I could.

  “Oh, the Plantagenate Empire,” the man said. “I’ve no
need to threaten that Prince. He’s going to lose the French
part of his empire, and most of his German holdings too, as
soon as he comes to the throne, and he’ll be dead a couple of
years after that. No, it was you I wanted. I’ve been offered a
fee to eliminate you.”

  My knees went wobbly. I tried to say that I wasn’t a threat
to anyone. I’d said I didn’t want to be Emperor. My father
was Emperor of the Koryfonic Empire, you see, many worlds
away from here. But I just harmlessly wanted to be a Magid
and walk into other worlds. I opened my mouth to tell the
man this, but my tongue sort of dried to one side of my
mouth and only a surprised sort of grunt came out.

  “Yes,” the man said, staring at me with his dreadful, keen
eyes. They were the kind of brown that is almost yellow.
“Yes, it surprises me too, now I see you. Perhaps it’s because
of something you might do later. You strike me as
completely useless at the moment, but you must have some
fairly strong potential or that panther there wouldn’t have
befriended you.”
  Befriended! I thought. What befriending? I was so
indignant that my tongue came unstuck and I managed to
husk out, “I – he’s not real. He’s my totem animal.”

  The man looked surprised. “You think she’s what? What
gave you that idea?”

  “They told me to go into a light trance and look for my
totem in the otherwhere,” I said. “It’s the only explanation.”

  The man gave an impatient sigh. ‘What nonsense. These
Plantagenate mages do irritate me. All their magic is this
kind of rule-of-thumb half-truth! You shouldn’t believe a
word they say, unless you can get it confirmed by an
independent source. Magic is wide, various and big. If you
really think that animal is just a mind-product, touch her.
Put your hand on her head.”

  When that man told you to do something, you found
yourself doing it. Before I could even be nervous, I found
myself bending sideways and putting my hand on the
panther, on the broad part of her head between her flattened
ears. She didn’t like it. She flinched all over, but she let me
do it. She was warm and domed there and her black hair
wasn’t soft like a cat’s; it was harsh, with a prickly end to
each hair. She was as real as I was. I don’t think I’d ever felt
such a fool. The man was looking at me with real contempt
and on top of it all I hadn’t noticed that the panther was a
female.

  But perhaps, I thought as I straightened up, I’m not very
real here after all, because my body has to be in a trance
back at the stadium. Then I thought, I keep having to do
what this man tells me. In a minute, he’s going to say Go on,
die. And I shall do that wherever I am.

  I said, “So he – she’s not a totem.”

  “I didn’t say that,” the man said. “She wouldn’t have come
to you if she wasn’t. I simply meant that she’s as much flesh
and blood as Slatch is.” He reached out and rubbed the
head of the spotted cat. His hand was thin and all sinews,
the sort of strong, squarish hand I’d always wished I had,
full of power. The cat gazed at me from under it
sarcastically. See? it seemed to say.

  I knew it was only seconds before he was going to tell me
to die and I started to play for time like anything. “And this
wood,” I said. “Is this wood real then?”

  His thin black eyebrows went up, irritably. “All the paths
and places beyond the worlds have substance,” he said.

  “Even… ” I made a careful gesture towards the turquoise
oval, making it slow in order not to annoy that spotted cat.
“Even if you can see that from here? They can’t both be real.”

  “Why not?” he more or less snapped. “You have a very
limited notion of what’s real, don’t you? Will it make you
any happier to be somewhere you regard as real?”

  “I don’t kn—” I began to say. Then I choked it off because
we were suddenly back in the concrete passage under the
seats of the stadium and a little patter of applause was
coming from overhead. I was standing in front of this man
and his killer cat, exactly as I had been under the tree, but
the black panther wasn’t there. She must be relieved! I
thought, and I took a quick look round for my body, which I
was sure had to be sitting against the wall in a trance.

  It wasn’t there. I could see the place where it had been by
the scuff marks that my heels had made on the floor. But I
was the only one of me there. The time seemed to be much
later. The light coming in from the grids slanted the other
way and looked more golden. I could feel that the patter of
clapping was faint and tired overhead, at the end of a long
day.

  This is only a dream! I told myself in a panic. Someone
can’t have made off with my body! Can they?

  “You were in the wood in your body too,” the man told me,
as if I was almost too stupid for him to bother with. In here,
he seemed even more powerful. He wasn’t much taller than
me, and a lot skinnier, but he was like a nuclear bomb
standing in that passage, ready to go off and destroy
everything for miles. His cat was pure semtex. It stared up at
me and despised me, and its eyes were deep and glassy in
the orange light.

  “If you’re going to kill me,” I said, “you might as well tell
me who you are and who hired you. And why. You owe me
that.”

  “I owe you nothing,” he said. “I was interested to know
why someone thought you worth eliminating, that’s all. And
I don’t think you are. You’re too ignorant to be a danger to
anyone. I shall tell them that when I refuse the commission.
That should make them lose interest in you – but if they
send anyone else after you, you’d better come to me. I’ll teach
you enough to protect yourself. We can settle the fee when
you arrive.”

  He sort of settled his weight a different way. I could tell he
was ready to leave. I was all set to burst with relief – but the
spotted cat was not pleased at all. Its tail swished grittily
against the floor and I just hoped the man could control it.
It was a big creature. Its head came almost up to my chest
and its muscles were out in lumps on its neck. I knew it was
longing to tear my throat out.

  Then the man settled his weight towards me again. I was
so terrified I felt as if I was melting. His eyes were so yellow
and cutting. “One other thing,” he said. “What are you doing
here in a world that has nothing to do with you,
masquerading as a mage?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “This is a dream really.”

  One of his eyebrows went up. He had been pretty
contemptuous of me all along. Now he really despised me.
“It is?” he said and shrugged his leather-covered shoulders.
“People’s capacity to deceive themselves always amazes me.
If you want to live past the age of twenty, you’d be well
advised to learn to see the truth at all times. I’ll tell you that
for nothing,” he said. Then he did turn and go. He swung
round and he walked away as if he couldn’t bear the sight of
me any longer. The cat rose up on its musclebound tiptoes
and walked after him, swinging its tail rudely.

  “Wait a moment!” I called after him. ‘Who are you, for
heaven’s sake?”

  I’d expected him just to go on walking away, but he
stopped and looked over his shoulder, giving me the benefit
of his lightning-strike profile again. “Since you put it like
that,” he said, “I’m generally known as Romanov. Ask your
little mages about me if you like.”

  Then he turned his head away and went on walking, and
the cat after him, round the curve of the corridor and out of
sight. In spite of the way he’d made me feel, I nearly
laughed. He and that cat – they both walked the same way.

  I hoped they’d run into the soldier on guard round there,
but I knew they wouldn’t. The soldier would have come off
worst anyway.




                      3
                    Roddy
                               1
                                                          «^»
  randad must have done the trick. Though there was a
coldness between England and Scotland after this – and
there still is – both armies moved back from the border and
nobody talked about the Scottish King much or even
mentioned the poor old Merlin. Instead, the Court and the
media began worrying about the Meeting of Kings that was
due to happen on the Welsh border soon. Will Logres and the
Pendragon meet in peace? That sort of thing. In between,
they went back to being angry about Flemish trading
practices, just as usual.

  Nobody seemed to be suspecting Dad any more. Grandad
only stayed with the Court until the King had spared a
moment to have a friendly chat with Dad, and then he left,
saying he had a book to finish. The new Merlin left too. Part
of his duties at the start of his tenure was to visit every place
of power in the country, and a few in Wales too, and attune
himself to them. I think he was hoping that Grandad would
go with him and advise him. He looked wistful when
Grandad left. This Merlin was one of those who get what
they want by looking wistful, but that never works with
Grandad, so he was on his own. He climbed wistfully into
the little brown car Grandad had helped him buy and
chugged away

  We went back to normal. That is to say, we were rumbling
along in buses most of the time, with rumours flying about
where we were going next – although nobody ever knows
that until a few hours before we get to wherever-it-is. The
King likes to keep the Court and the country on its toes.

  The unusual thing was the exceptionally fine weather.
When I asked Dad about it, he said the King had asked him
to keep it that way until the Meeting of Kings at the edge of
Wales. So at least we were warm.

  We spent three unexpected days in Leeds. I think the King
wanted to inspect some factories there, but after the usual
flustered greeting by the City Council it was blissful. We
stayed in houses. Mam squeezed some money out of Sybil
and took me and Grundo shopping. We got new clothes.
There was time. We had civilised lessons in the mornings,
sitting at tables in a room, and we could explore the city in
the afternoons. I even enjoyed the riding lessons – which I
don’t much usually – out on the moorlands in the hot sun,
riding past the carefully repaired green places where there
had been mines and quarries.

  “I’m going to be Mayor of Leeds when I grow up,” Grundo
announced, as we rode against the sky one morning. “I shall
live in a house with a bathroom.” He meant this so much
that his voice went right down deep on the word bathroom.
We both hate the bath-tents, even though the arrangements
are quite efficient and there is usually hot water from the
boiler-lorry and towels from the laundry-bus. But you get
out of your canvas bath to stand shivering on wet grass, and
there is always wind getting into the tent from somewhere.

  We were sad when we had to leave. Off we went, the whole
procession of the Court. We spread for miles. The King is
often half a day ahead in his official car, with his security
and his wizards and advisors beside him. These are
followed by all sorts of Court cars, everything from the big
square limousine with tinted windows belonging to the Duke
of Devonshire to the flashy blue model driven by Sir James
– Sir James had turned up again when we were leaving
Leeds. The media bus hurries along after the cars, trying to
keep up with events, and a whole string of administrative
buses follows the media – with Mam in one of them, too
busy even to look out of a window – and then the various
lorries lumber after the buses. Some lorries are steaming
with food or hot water, in case these are needed when we
stop, and some are carrying tents and soldiers and things.
The buses for the unimportant people follow the lorries. We
are always last.
  It often takes a whole day to go twenty miles. Parliament
is always proposing that fine new roads get built so that the
King – and other people – could travel more easily, but the
King is not in favour of this so they don’t get done. There are
only two King’s Roads in the entire country, one between
London and York and the other between London and
Winchester. We spend most of our journeys groaning round
corners or grinding along between hedges that clatter on
both sides of our bus.

  It was like that for the two days after we left Leeds. The
roads seemed to get narrower and, on the second day the
countryside beyond the windows became greener and
greener, until we were grinding among hills that were an
almost incredible dense, emerald colour. By the evening, we
were rumbling through small lanes, pushing our way past
foamy banks of white cow-parsley. Our bus got stuck
crossing a place where a small river ran across the lane and
we arrived quite a while after the rest of the Court.

  There was a castle there, on a hill. It belonged to Sir
James and the King was staying in it. Although it looked
quite big, we were told that most of it was rooms of state and
there was no space in it for anyone except the King’s
immediate circle. Everyone else was in a camp in fields just
below the gardens. By the time we got there, it looked as if
the camp had been there for days. In the office-tents, Mam
and her colleagues were hard at work on their laptops,
making the most of the daylight, and Dad was in the
wizards’ tent being briefed about what magic would be
needed. And the teachers were looking for us to give that
day’s lessons.

  “We must get a look inside that castle,” Grundo said to me
as we were marched off to the teaching-bus.

  “Let’s try after lessons,” I said.

  But during lessons we discovered that the King had one of
his ritual duties that night. Everyone with any magical
abilities was required to attend. This meant Grundo and
me, as well as Alicia and the old Merlin’s grandchildren
and six of the other children.

  “Bother!” I said. I was really frustrated.

  Then at supper someone said that we were going to be here
at Castle Belmont for days. The King liked the place, and it
was near enough to the Welsh border that he could go to
meet the Welsh King in a week’s time without needing to
move on.

  I said that was good news. Grundo said morosely,
“Maybe. That’s the worst of arriving late. Nobody tells you
things‘.”

  Nobody had told us anything about the ritual duty, except
that it began at sunset somewhere called the Inner Garden.
After we’d changed into good clothes, we followed everyone
else as they went there and hoped someone would tell us
what to do when we got to the place. We straggled after the
line of robed wizards and people in Court dress, past beds of
flowers and a long yew hedge, and then on a path across a
lawn towards a tall, crumbly stone wall with frondy creepers
trailing along its top.

  “I know I’m going to hate this,” Grundo said. Rituals
don’t agree with him. I think this is because his magic is
back-to-front. Magical ceremonies often make him dizzy,
and once or twice he has disgracefully thrown up in holy
places of power.

  “Keep swallowing,” I warned him as we went in under the
old stone gateway.

  Inside, it was all new and fresh and different. There was a
garden inside the old walls – a garden inside a garden –
cupped inside its own small valley and as old and green as
the hills. There was ancient stonework everywhere, worn
flagstones overhung with flowering bushes or isolated arches
beside stately old trees. There were lawns that seemed even
greener than the lawns outside. Above all, it was alive with
water. Strange, fresh-smelling water that ran in conduits of
old stone and gushed from stone pipes into strange, lopsided
stone pools, or cascaded in hidden places behind old walls.

  “This is lovely!” I said.

  “I think I agree,” Grundo said. He sounded quite
surprised.

  “Fancy someone like Sir James owning a place like this!” I
said.

  It was hard to tell how big this Inner Garden was. You
hardly noticed all the finely dressed people crowding into it.
It seemed to absorb them, so that they vanished away
among the watery lawns and got shadowy under the trees.
You felt that twice as many people would hardly be noticed
in here.

  But that was before Sybil took charge and began passing
out candles to the pages. “Everyone take a candle – you too,
Your Majesty – and everyone who can must conjure flame to
them. Pages will light the others for those who can’t,” she
instructed, bustling about barefoot, with her green velvet
skirts hitched up. She bustled up to the King and personally
called fire to his candle. The Merlin lit Prince Edmund’s for
him. I was interested to see that the Merlin was back. He
looked much less stunned and wistful than he had before.
But, as light after light flared up, sending the surrounding
garden dark and blue, I found I was not liking this at all. It
seemed to me that this place was intended to be dusky and
secret, and only to be lit by the sunset light coming softly off
the waters. The candles made it all glittery.

  Grundo and I looked at one another. We didn’t either of us
say anything, but we both pretended we were finding it hard
to call light. Because we knew Sybil knew we never had any
problems with fire, we backed away into some bushes and
behind a broken wall and hoped she would forget we were
there.

  Luckily, she was busy after that, far too busy to notice us.
She was always very active doing any working, but I had
never known her as active as she was then. She spread her
arms wide, she raised her hands high and bent herself
backwards, she bent herself forwards and made great
beckonings, she made huge galloping leaps, and she raised
loud cries to the spirit of the garden to come and vitalise us
all. Then she twirled off, with her arms swooping this way
and that, to the place where the nearest water came gushing
out of a stone animal’s head, where she snatched up a silver
goblet and held it under the water until it overflowed in all
directions. She held it up to the sky; she held it to her lips.

  “Ah!” she cried out. “The virtue in this water! The power of
it!” With her hair swirling and wrapping itself across her
sweating face, she brought the goblet to the King. “Drink,
Sire!” she proclaimed. “Soak up the energy, immerse
yourself, revel in the bounty of these healing waters! And
everyone will do the same after you!”

  The King took the goblet and sipped politely. As soon as
he had, the Merlin filled another goblet and presented it to
Prince Edmund.

  “Drink, everyone!” Sybil carolled. “Take what is so freely
given!” She began filling goblets and passing them around
as if she was in a frenzy. Everyone caught the frenzy and
seized the goblets and downed them as if they were dying of
thirst.

  This is all wrong! I thought. Some magics do require a
frenzy, I know, but I was fairly sure this garden was not one
of them. It was a quiet place. You were supposed to –
supposed to – I remember searching in my head for what the
garden was really like, and having a hard job to think,
because Sybil’s workings had set up such a loud shout of
enchantment that it drowned out most other thoughts – you
were supposed to dwell with the garden, that was it. You
were supposed to let the garden come to you, not suck it up
in a greedy riot like this. It was a small island of otherwhere
and full of strength. But it was quiet strength, enclosed in a
great bend of the River Severn, which meant that it certainly
belonged to the Lady of Severn who also ruled the great
crescent of forest to the south. It seemed to me that this
garden might even be her most secret place. It ought to have
been hushed and holy. Sir James – I could see him in the
distance half-lit by candles, tipping up his goblet and
smacking his lips – Sir James must be supposed to guard
the secret place, not open it to frantic magic-making, not
even for the King.

  I don’t know how I knew all this, but I was sure of it. I
murmured to Grundo, “I’m not doing any of this drinking.”

  “She’s doctored the waters somehow,” he answered
unhappily.

  Grundo usually knew what his mother had been up to. I
believed him. “Why?” I whispered.

  “No idea,” he said, “but I’m going to have to drink some of
it. She’ll know if I don’t.”
  “Then let’s go and see if there’s a place higher up where she
hasn’t got at it,” I said.

  We moved off quietly sideways, in the direction the water
was coming from, clutching our unlit candles and trying to
keep out of sight. Nobody noticed us. They were all waving
candles and passing goblets about, laughing. People were
shouting out, “Oh! It’s so refreshing! I can feel it doing me
good!” almost as if they were all drunk. It was easy to keep
in the shadows and follow the waters. The waters flowed
down in several stone channels – I had a feeling that each
channel was supposed to give you some different goodness –
that spread from one of the lopsided pools near the top of the
slope.

  “How about this?” I asked Grundo beside this pool. It was
very calm there and twilit, with just a few birds twittering
and a tree nearby breathing out some strong, quiet scent. I
could see Grundo’s head as a lightness, gloomily shaking.

  “She’s been here too.”

  The pond was filling from another animal head in the
bank above and there were stone steps up the bank, leading
under black, black trees. It became very secret. This is where
it’s all coming from! I thought, and I led the way up the
steps into a little flagstoned space under the black trees. It
was so dark that we had to stand for a moment to let our
eyes adjust. Then we were able to see that there was a well
there, with a wooden cover over it, almost beside our feet.
The gentlest of trickling sounded from under the cover, and
there was a feeling of strength coming from it, such as I had
never met before.

  “Is this all right?” I whispered.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to take the cover off in order to
know,” Grundo replied.

  We knelt down and tried to pull the cover up, but it was so
dark we couldn’t see how. We stuffed our candles into our
pockets and tried again with both hands. As we did, we
heard a burst of chatter and laughter from below, which
faded quickly off into the distance as everyone left the
garden. That gave us the courage to heave much more
heartily. We discovered that the wooden lid had hinges at
one side, so we put our fingers under the opposite edge and
we heaved. The cover came up an inch or so and gave me a
gust of the strongest magic I’d ever known, cool and still,
and so deep that it seemed to come from the roots of the
world.

  There were voices, and footsteps, on the steps beyond the
trees.

  “Stop!” whispered Grundo.

  We dropped the lid back down as quietly as we could, then
sprang up and bundled one another on tiptoe in among the
trees beyond the well. The earth was cloggy there. There were
roots and we stumbled, but luckily the trees were bushy as
well as very black and we had managed to back ourselves
thoroughly inside them by the time Sybil came storming
merrily into the flagged space, waving her flaring candle.

  “No, no, it went very well!” she was calling out. “Now, as
long as we can keep the Scottish King at odds with England,
we’ll be fine!” There was a rustic wooden seat at the other
end of the space and she threw herself down on it with a
thump. “Ooh, I’m tired!”

  “I wish we could do the same with the Welsh King,” Sir
James said, ducking down to sit beside her, “but I can’t see
any way to contrive that. So you’ve got everyone drinking
out of your hand. Will it work?”

  “Oh, it has to,” Sybil said. “I ran myself into the ground to
make it work. What do you think?” she asked the Merlin,
who came very slowly in under the trees and held up his
candle to look around.

  “Very well, as far as it goes,” he said in his weak, high
voice. “You’ve got the King and his Court…”

  “And all the other wizards. Don’t forget them,” Sybil put
in pridefully.

  Sir James chuckled. “None of them suspecting a thing!” he
said. “They should be dancing to her tune now, shouldn’t
they?”

  “Yes. For a while,” the Merlin agreed, still looking around.
“Is this where you put the spell on?”

  “Well, no. It’s a bit strong here,” Sybil admitted. “I didn’t
have time for the working it would take to do it here. I
worked from the pool below the steps. That’s the first cistern
the well flows out to, you see, and it feeds all the other
channels from there.”

  The Merlin went, “Hm.” He squatted down like a
grasshopper beside the well and put his candle down by one
of his gawky, bent legs. “Hm,” he went again. “I see.” Then
he pulled open the lid over the well.

  Grundo and I felt the power from where we stood. We
found it hard not to sway. The Merlin got up and staggered
backwards. Behind him, Sir James said, “Ouch!” and
covered his face.

  “You see?” said Sybil.

  “I do,” said Sir James. “Put the lid back, man!”

  The Merlin dropped the lid back with a bang. “I hadn’t
realised,” he said. “That’s strong. If we’re going to use it,
we’ll have to conjure some other Power to help us. Are there
any available?”

  “Plenty!” said Sir James. “Over in Wales particularly.” He
turned to Sybil. The candlelight made his profile into a
fleshy beak with pouty lips. “How about it? Can you do a
working now? We ought to have this Power in and
consolidate our advantage now we’ve got it.”

  Sybil had pouty lips too. They put her chin in shadow as
she said, “James, I’m exhausted! I’ve worked myself to the
bone this evening and I can’t do any more! Even going
barefoot all the time, it’ll be three days before I’ve recouped
my powers.”

  “How long before you can do a strong working?” the
Merlin asked, picking his candle up. “My friend James is
right. We do need to keep up our momentum.”

  “If we both help you?” Sir James asked coaxingly.

  Sybil hung her head and her hair down and thought,
with her big arms planted along her large thighs. “I need
three days,” she said at last, rather sulkily. “Whoever helps
me, I’m not going to be able to tackle something as strong as
this well before that. It won’t take just a minor Power to
bespell the thing. We’ll have to summon something big.”

  “But will the effect of the drink last until we do?” Sir
James asked, rather tensely.

  Sybil looked up at the Merlin. He said, “It struck me as
firm enough for the moment. I don’t see it wearing off for at
least a week, and we’ll be able to reinforce it before that.”

  “Good enough!” Sir James sprang up, relieved and jolly.
“Let’s get this place locked up again then and go and have a
proper drink. Who fancies champagne?” He pulled keys out
of his pocket and strode away down the steps, jingling them
and lighting the trees to a glinting black with his candle.

  “Champagne. Lovely!” said Sybil. She heaved to her feet
and shoved the Merlin playfully down the steps in front of
her. “Off you go, stranger boy!”
  Grundo and I realised we were likely to get locked inside
the garden. We nearly panicked. The moment Sybil was out
of sight we surged out on to the flagstones and then realised
that the only way out was down those same stone steps to the
lopsided pool. That was almost the worst part of the whole
thing. We had to wait for Sir James, Sybil and then the
Merlin to get ahead, then follow them, and then try to get
ahead of them before they got to the gate in the wall.

  We were helped a lot by the queer way the space in the
garden seemed to spread, and by all the stone walls and
conduits and bushes. We could see Sir James and the other
two easily by the light of their flickering candles – and hear
them too, most of the time, talking and laughing. Sybil
obviously was tired. She went quite slowly and the others
waited for her. We were able to scud along behind lavender
and tall, toppling flowers, or crouch down and scurry past
pieces of old wall – though we couldn’t go really fast because
it was quite dark by then – and finally we got in front of
them and raced out through the gate just before they came
merrily along under a rose arch.

  I was a nervous wreck by then. It must have been even
worse for Grundo, knowing his mother was part of a
conspiracy. We went on running beside a dim path and
neither of us stopped until we were well out into the lawns in
the main garden and could see our camp in the distance,
twinkling beyond the fence.

  “What do we do now?” I panted at Grundo. “Tell my
Dad?”

  “Don’t be stupid!” he said. “He was there drinking with the
other wizards. He’s not going to listen to you for at least a
fortnight.”

  “The King then,” I suggested wildly.

  “He was the first one to drink,” Grundo said. “You’re not
tracking!” He was right. Everything was all about in my
head. I tried to pull myself together, not very successfully,
while Grundo stood with his head bent and thought. “Your
grandfather!” he said after a bit. “He’s the one to tell. Do you
have his speaker code?”

  “Oh. Right,” I said. “Mam will have his number. I can ask
Dad to lend me his speaker at least, can’t I?”

  Unfortunately, when we got to the camp we discovered
that both Mam and Dad were up at the castle attending on
the King. Though I could have asked all sorts of people to
lend me a speaker, it was no good unless I knew the code.
Grandad’s number is not in the directory lists.

  “We’ll just have to wait till tomorrow,” I said miserably.

  I spent a lot of that night tossing in my bunk in the girls’
bus, wondering how the new Merlin came to join with Sybil
and Sir James, and how to explain to Grandad that he had
chosen the wrong man for the post. It really worried me that
Grandad had chosen this Merlin. Grandad doesn’t usually
make mistakes. It worried me even more that I didn’t know
what this conspiracy was up to. It had to be high treason. As
far as I knew, bespelling the King was high treason anyway,
and it was obvious that they meant to go on and do
something worse.

  I tossed and turned and tossed and thought, until Alicia
suddenly sprang up and shouted, “Roddy, if you don’t stop
jigging about this moment, I’ll turn you into a statue, so
help me Powers Above!”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, and then, even lower, “Sneeze!” If
Alicia hadn’t been there, I might have tried telling the other
girls in the bus, but Alicia would go straight to Sybil. And
Alicia had drunk that enchanted water along with the other
pages. Heigh ho, I thought. Wait till tomorrow.

  So I waited helplessly until it was too late.




                              2
                                                        «^»
  overslept. I dragged myself up and over to the food-tent,
yawning. I had just got myself some juice and a cold,
waxy-looking fried egg, when Grundo appeared, looking
worried. “There you are!” he said. “There’s a message for you
from the Chamberlain.”

  The Chamberlain had never noticed my existence before.
Before I got over my surprise enough to ask Grundo what
the message was, Mam dashed up to me from the other side.
“Oh, there you are, Roddy! We’ve been hunting for you all
over! Your grandfather wants you. He’s sent a car for you.
It’s waiting for you now outside the castle.”

  My first thought was that this was an answer to my
prayers. Then I looked up at Mam’s face. She was so white
that her eyes looked like big black holes. The hand she put
on my shoulder was quivering. “Which grandfather?” I said.

  “My father, of course,” she said. “It’s just like him to send
a demand for you to the Chamberlain. I’m surprised he
didn’t send it straight to the King! Oh, Roddy, I’m sorry!
He’s insisting that you go and stay with him in that
dreadful manse of his and I daren’t refuse! He’s already
been dreadfully rude to the Chamberlain over the speaker.
He’ll do worse than that if I don’t let you go. He’ll probably
insult the King next. Forgive me.”

  Poor Mam. She looked absolutely desperate. My stomach
plunged about just at the sight of her. “Why does he want
me?”

  “Because he’s never met you, and you’re near enough to
Wales here for him to send and fetch you,” Mam answered
distractedly. “He’s told the entire Chamberlain’s Office that
I’ve no right to keep his only grandchild from him. You’ll
have to go, my love – the Chamberlain’s insisting – but be
polite to him. For my sake. It’ll only be for a few days, until
the Progress moves on after the Meeting of Kings. He says
the car will bring you back then.”
  “I see,” I said, the way you say things just to gain time. I
looked at my fried egg. It looked back like a big, dead,
yellow eye. Ugh. I thought of Grundo all on his own here,
and Sybil discovering that he hadn’t drunk her charmed
water. “I’ll go if I can take Grundo,” I said.

  “Oh, really, my love, I don’t think…” Mam began.

  “Listen, Mam,” I said. “Your problem was that he’s a
widower and you were all on your own with him…”

  “Well, that wasn’t quite…” she began again.

  “… so you ought to allow me to take some moral support
with me,” I said. As she wavered, I added, “Or I shall go to
the Chamberlain’s Office and use their speaker to tell him I
won’t go.”

  This so horrified Mam that she gave in. “All right. But I
don’t dare think what he’ll say – Grundo, do you mind
being dragged along to see a fearsome old man?”

  “Not really,” Grundo said. “I can always use the speaker
in his manse to ask for help, can’t I?”

  “Then go and pack,” Mam told him frantically. “Take old
clothes. He’ll make you go for walks, or even ride – Hurry
up, Roddy! He’s sent his same old driver who hates to be
kept waiting!”

  I didn’t see why Mam needed to be scared of her father’s
driver as well as her father, but I drained my juice, snatched
a piece of toast and rushed off eating it. Mam rushed with
me, distractedly reminding me to remember a sweater, a
toothbrush, walking shoes, a comb, my address book,
everything… It wasn’t exactly the right moment to start
telling her of plots and treason, but I did honestly try, after I
had rammed things into a bag and we were rushing up the
steep path to the castle, with stones spurting from under our
feet and clattering down on Grundo, who was bent over
under a huge bag behind us.

  “Are you listening to me?” I panted, when I’d told her
what we’d overheard.

  She was so upset and feeling so strongly for me getting
into the clutches of her terrible old father that I don’t think
she did listen, even though she nodded. I just had to hope
she would remember it later.

  The car was drawn up in front of the main door of the
castle, as if the driver, or Mam’s father, imagined that I was
staying in there with the King. It was black and
uncomfortably like a hearse. The “same old driver” who
looked as if he had been carved out of a block of something
white and heavy and then dressed in navy blue, got out
when he saw us coming and held out his big stony hand for
my bag.

  “Good morning,” I panted. “I’m sorry to have kept you
waiting.”

  He didn’t say a word, just took my bag and stowed it in
the boot. Then he took Grundo’s bag with the same carved
stone look. After that, he opened the rear door and stood
there holding it. I saw a little what Mam meant.

  “Nice morning,” I said defiantly. No answer. I turned to
Mam and hugged her. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m a very
strong character myself and so is Grundo. We’ll see you
soon.”

  We climbed into the back seat of the hearse and were
driven away, both of us feeling a little dizzy at the speed of
events.

  Then we drove and drove and drove, until we were dizzy
with that too. I still have not the least idea where we went.
Grundo says he lost his sense of direction completely. All we
knew were astonishingly green hills towering above grey,
winding roads, grey stone walls like cross-hatching on the
hillsides, grey slides of rock, and woods hanging over us
from time to time like dark, lacy tunnels. Dad’s good
weather was getting better and better, so there was blue, blue
sky with a brisk wind sliding white clouds across it, and
sliding their shadows over the green hills in strange, shaggy
shapes. Under the shadows, we saw heather darken and
turn purple again, gorse blaze and then look a mere modest
yellow, and sun and shade pass swiftly across small roaring
rivers half hidden in ravines.

  It was all very beautiful, but it went on so long, winding
us further and further into the heart of the green mountains
– until we finally began winding upwards among them.
Then it was all green and grey again, with cloud shadows,
and we had no sense of getting anywhere. We both jumped
with surprise when the car rolled to a stop on a flat green
stretch near the top of a mountain.

  The stone-faced driver got out and opened the door on my
side.

  This obviously meant Get out now, so we scrambled to the
stony green ground and stood staring about. Below us, a
cleft twisted among the emerald sides of mountains until it
was blue-green with distance, and beyond those green slopes
were blue and grey and black peaks, peak after peak. The air
was the chilliest and clearest I have ever breathed.
Everything was silent. It was so quiet, I could almost hear
the silence. And I realised that, up to then, I had lived my
entire life close to people and their noise. It was strange to
have it taken away.

  The only house in sight was the manse. It was built
backed against the nearest green peak, but below the top of
the mountain, for shelter, though its dark chimneys stood
almost as high as the green summit. It was dark and
upright and squeezed into itself, all high narrow arches. You
looked at it and wondered if it was a house built like a
chapel, or a chapel built like a house and then squeezed
narrower. There was no sign of any garden, just that house
backed into the hillside and a drystone wall sticking out
from one end of it.
  The stone driver was trudging across the grass with our
bags to the narrow, arched front door. We followed him,
through the door and into a tall, dark hallway. He had gone
somewhere else by the time we got indoors. But we had only
been standing a moment wondering what to do now, when a
door banged echoingly further down the hall and my
mother’s father came towards us.

  He was tall and stiff and cold as a monument on a tomb.
His black clothes – he was a priest of course – made his
white face look pale as death, but his hair was black,
without a trace of grey. I noticed his hair particularly
because he put a chilly hand on each of my shoulders and
turned me to the light from the narrow front door. His eyes
were deep and black, with dark skin round them, but I saw
he was a very handsome man.

  “So you are the young Arianrhod,” he said, deep and
solemn. “At last.” His voice made echoes in the hall and
brought me out in gooseflesh. I began to feel very sorry for
Mam. “You have quite a look of my Annie,” he said. “Did
she let you go willingly?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to let my teeth chatter. “I said I’d
come provided my friend Gr— er… Ambrose Temple could
come too. I hope you can find room for him.”

  He looked at Grundo then. Grundo gave him a serious
freckled stare and said “How do you do?” politely.

  “I see he would be lonely without you,” my grandfather
said.

  He was welcome to think that, I thought, if only he would
let Grundo stay. I was very relieved when he said, “Come
with me, both of you, and I will show you to your rooms.”

  We followed him up steep, dark stairs, where his gown
flowed over the wooden treads behind his straight back, and
then along dark, wooden corridors. I had a queer feeling
that we were walking right into the hill at the back of the
house, but the two rooms he showed us to had windows
looking out over the winding green hills and they were both
obviously prepared for visitors, the beds made-up and water
steaming in big bowls on the washstands. As if my
grandfather had known I would be bringing Grundo. My
bag was in one room and Grundo’s was in the other.

  “Lunch will be ready any moment,” my grandfather said,
“and you will wish to wash and tidy yourselves first. But if
you want a bath…” He opened the next door along and
showed us a huge bathroom, where a bath stood on clawed
animal feet in the middle of bare floorboards. “I hope you
will give warning when you do,” he said. “Olwen has to
bring up buckets from the copper.” Then he went away
downstairs again.

  “No taps,” said Grundo. “As bad as the bath-tent.”

  We washed and got ready quickly. When we met in the
corridor again, we discovered that we had both put on the
warmest clothes we had with us. We would have laughed
about it, but it was not the kind of house you liked to laugh
in. Instead, we went demurely downstairs, to where my
grandfather was waiting in a tall, chilly dining room,
standing at the head of a tall, black table.

  He looked at us, pointed to two chairs and said grace in
Welsh. It was all rolling, thundering language. I was
suddenly very ashamed not to understand a word of it.
Grundo looked on calmly, almost as if he did understand,
and sat quietly down when it was finished, still looking
intently at my grandfather.

  I was looking at the door, where a fat, stone faced woman
was coming in with a tureen. I was famished by then and it
smelled wonderful.

  It was a very good lunch, though almost silent at first.
There was the leek soup, enough for two helpings each,
followed by pancakes rolled round meat in sauce. After that,
there were heaps of little hot griddle cakes covered in sugar.
Grundo ate so many of those that the woman had to keep
making more. She seemed to like that. She almost had a
smile when she brought in the third lot.

  “Pancakes,” my grandfather said, deep and hollow, “are a
traditional part of our diet in this country.”

  I was thinking, Well, at least he didn’t starve my mother!
But why is he so stiff and stern? Why doesn’t he smile at all?
I’m sure my mother used to ask herself the same things
several times a day. I was sorrier for her than ever.
  “I know this is an awkward question,” I said, “but what
should we call you?”

  He looked at me in stern surprise. “My name is Gwyn,” he
said.

  “Should I call you Grandfather Gwyn then?” I asked.

  “If you wish,” he said, not seeming to care.

  “Might I call you that too, please?” Grundo asked.

  He looked at Grundo long and thoughtfully, almost as if
he was asking himself what Grundo’s heredity was. “I
suppose you have a right to,” he said at last. “Now tell me,
what do either of you know of Wales?”

  The truthful answer, as far as I was concerned, was Not a
lot. But I could hardly say that. Grundo came to my rescue –
I was extremely glad he was there. Because Grundo has such
trouble reading, he listens in lessons far more than I ever do.
So he knows things. “It’s divided into cantrevs,” he said,
“each with its lesser kings, and the Pendragon is High King
over them all. The Pendragon rules the Laws. I know you
have a different system of laws here, but I don’t know how
they work.”

  My grandfather looked almost approving. “And the
meaning of the High King’s title?” he asked.

  It felt just like having a test during lessons, but I thought
I knew the answer to that. “Son of the dragon,” I said.
“Because there is said to be a dragon roosting in the heart of
Wales.”

  This didn’t seem to be right. My grandfather said frigidly,
“After a fashion. Pendragon is a title given to him by the
English. By rights, it should be the title of the English King,
but the English have forgotten about their dragons.”

  “There aren’t any dragons in England!” I said.

  He turned a face full of stern disapproval on me. “That is
not true. Have you never heard of the red dragon and the
white? There were times in the past when there were great
battles between the two, in the days before the Islands of
Blest were at peace.”

  I couldn’t seem to stop saying the wrong thing, somehow. I
protested, “But that’s just a way of saying the Welsh and the
English fought one another!”

  His black eyebrows rose slightly in his marble face. I had
never known so much scorn expressed with so little effort. He
turned away from me and back to Grundo. “There are
several dragons in England,” he said to him. “The white is
only the greatest. There are said to be more in Scotland, both
in the waters and in the mountains, but I have no personal
knowledge of these.”

  Grundo looked utterly fascinated. “What about Ireland?”
he asked.

  “Ireland,” said my grandfather, “is in most places low and
green and unsuitable for dragons. If there were any, Saint
Patrick expelled them. But to go back to the Laws of Wales.
We do not have Judges, as you do. Courts are called when
necessary…”

  He went into a long explanation. Grundo was still
fascinated. I sat and watched their two profiles as they
talked, Grundo’s all pale, long nose and freckles, and my
grandfather’s like a statue from classical antiquity. My
grandfather had quite a long nose too, but his face was so
perfectly proportioned that you hardly noticed. They both
had great, deep voices, though where Grundo’s grated and
grunted, my grandfather’s voice rolled and boomed.

  Soulmates! I thought. I was glad I’d brought Grundo.

  At the same time, I began to see some more of my mother’s
problem. If my grandfather had been simply cold and strict
and distant, it would have been easy to hate him and stop
there. But the trouble was that he was also one of those
people you wanted to please. There was a sort of grandness
to him that made you ache to have him think well of you.
Before long, I was quite desperate for him to stop talking
just to Grundo and notice me – or at least not disapprove of
me so much. Mam must have felt exactly the same. But I
could see that, no matter how hard she tried, Mam was too
soft-hearted and emotional for her father, and so he treated
her with utter scorn. He scorned me for different reasons. I
sat at the tall table almost in pain, because I knew I was a
courtier born and bred, and that I was smart and
good-mannered and used to summing people up so that I
could take advantage of their faults, and I could see that my
grandfather had nothing but contempt for people like me. It
really hurt. Grundo may have been peculiar, but he was not
like that and my grandfather liked him.

  It was an enormous relief to me when we were allowed to
get up from the table and leave the tall cold room. My
grandfather took us outside, through the front door, into a
blast of sunlight and cold, clean air. While I stood blinking,
he said to us, “Now, where would you say the red dragon
lies?”

  Grundo and I looked at one another. Then we pointed,
hesitating a bit, to the most distant brown mountains, lying
against the horizon in a misty, jagged row.

  “Correct,” said my grandfather. “That is a part of his
back. He is asleep for now. He will only arouse in extreme
need, to those who know how to call him, and he does not
like to be roused. The consequences are usually grave. The
same is true of the white dragon of England. You call him
too at your peril.” The way he said this made us shiver.
Then he said, in a much more normal way, “You will want
to explore now. Go anywhere you like, but don’t try to ride
the mare and be back at six. We have tea then, not the
dinner you are used to. I’ll see you at tea. I have work to do
before then.”

  He went back into the house. He had a study at the back
of the hall, as we learnt later, though we never saw inside it.
It was a bit puzzling really. We never saw him do any
religious duties or see parishioners – there were no other
houses for miles anyway – but as Grundo said, dubiously,
we were not there on a Sunday or any other holy day, so
how could we know?

  We did find the chapel. It was downhill to the left of the
house, very tiny and grey, with a little arch of stone on its
roof with a bell hanging in it. It was surrounded in green,
and there was a hump of green turf beside it like a big
beehive, that had water trickling inside it. The whole place
gave us an awed, uncertain feeling, so we went uphill again
and round to the back of the house, where we came upon a
stone shed with the car inside it. Beyond that, things were
normal.

  We found a kitchen garden there, fringed with those
orange flowers that grow in sprays, and a yard behind the
house with a well in it. The water had to be pumped from
the well by a handle in the kitchen. Olwen, the fat
housekeeper, showed us how to do that. It was hard work.
Then we went out beyond the yard to a couple of hidden
meadows. One meadow had a pair of cows and a calf in it,
and the other had a placid, chunky grey horse.

  By this time, our feelings of strangeness had worn off. We
were used to being in new, unknown places and we began to
feel almost at home. We leant on the gate and looked at the
placid mare, who raised her chalky-white face to look back
at us and then went calmly on with grazing.
  I think her lack of interest irritated Grundo. He went into
one of his impish moods. “I’m going to try riding her,” he
said, grinning at me.

  “Your funeral,” I said. To confess the truth, I almost
looked forward to seeing Grundo in trouble with my
grandfather. I was feeling mean, and depressed about my
personality.

  Grundo looks soft, but he is surprisingly wiry and this
makes him a much better rider than I am. I have never got
much beyond the basics. In a soft-hearted way that is
annoyingly like Mam’s, I am sorry for the horse for having
me sit on its back making it do things. Grundo says this is
silly. It’s what horses are bred for. He can make most horses
do what he wants.

  He nipped over the gate and went calmly across to the
mare. She took a quick glance at him and lost interest
again. She took no notice at all when Grundo put his hands
on her. She was not very tall. Grundo had no difficulty
hoisting himself on to her back, where he sat and clicked his
tongue at her to make her go. She swung her head round
then and looked at him in astonishment. Then… I have no
idea what she did then, and Grundo says he doesn’t know
either. She sort of walked out from underneath him. I swear
that for one moment Grundo was sitting on her back, and
for another moment Grundo was sitting up in the air, on
nothing, looking absolutely stunned, and the next moment
the mare was ten feet away and going back to grazing.
Grundo came down on the grass on his back with a thump.

  He picked himself up and came hobbling over to the gate,
saying seriously, “I don’t think I’ll try again. You can see by
all the white on her that she’s very old.”

  That made me scream with laughter. Grundo was very
offended and explained that the mare was old enough to
have learnt lots of tricks, which only made me laugh more.
And after a bit, Grundo began to see the funny side of it too.
He said it felt very odd, being left sitting on nothing, and he
kept wondering how the mare did it. We went scrambling up
to the top of the hill behind the manse, laughing about it.

  There were mountains all round as far as we could see up
there. The peaks we had thought might be a dragon were lost
among all the others.

  “Do you think they really are part of a dragon?” I asked,
while we went sliding and crouching down the other side of
the summit.

  “It was rather mad, the way he said it.” The thought that
my grandfather might be mad really worried me. But it
would certainly explain why my mother was so terrified of
him.

  “He’s not mad,” Grundo said decidedly. “Everyone’s heard
of the Welsh dragon.”

  “Are you sure?” I said. “He doesn’t behave at all the way
people usually do.”
  “No, but he behaves like I would behave if I hadn’t been
brought up at Court,” Grundo said. “I sort of recognised
him. He’s like me underneath.”

  This made me feel much better. There was a huge,
heathery moor beyond the manse hill, and we rushed out
into it with the wind clapping our hair about and cloud
shadows racing across us. There was the soft smell of water
everywhere. And no roads, no buses, no people, and only the
occasional large, high bird. We found a place where water
bubbled out of the ground in a tiny fountain that spread
into a pool covered with lurid green weeds. Neither of us had
seen a natural spring before and we were delighted with it.
We tried blocking it with our hands, but it just spouted up
between our fingers, cold as ice.

  “I suppose,” Grundo said, “that the well in Sir James’s
Inner Garden must fill from a spring like this. Only I don’t
think this one’s magic.”

  “Oh, don’t!” I cried out. “I don’t want to remember all
that! It’s not as if we can do a thing about it, whatever
they’re plotting to do.” I spread my arms into the watery
smelling wind. “I feel free for the first time in a hundred
years!” I said. “Don’t spoil it.”

  Grundo stood with his feet sinking into squashy marsh
plants and considered me. “I wish you wouldn’t exaggerate,”
he said. “It annoys me. But you do look better. When we’re
with the Progress you always remind me of an ice-puddle
someone’s stamped in. All icy white edges. I’m afraid of
getting cut on you sometimes.”

  I was astonished. “What should I be like then?”

  Grundo shrugged. “I can’t explain. More like – like a good
sort of tree.”

  “A tree!” I exclaimed.

  “Something that grew naturally, I mean,” Grundo
grunted. “A warm thing.” He moved his feet with such
appalling sucking noises that I had to laugh.

  “You’re the one who’s rooted to the spot!” I said, and we
wandered on, making for a topple of rock in the distance.
When we got there, we sat on the side that was in the sun
and away from the wind. After a long time, I said, “I didn’t
mean that about not wanting to remember Sir James’s
garden – it’s just I feel so helpless!”

  Grundo said, “Me too. I keep wondering if the old Merlin
might have been killed so that the new one could take over
in time to go to the garden.”

  “That’s an awful thing to think!” I said. But now Grundo
had said it, I found I was thinking it too. “But the Merlin’s
supposed to be incorruptible,” I said. “Grandad found him.”

  “He could have been deceived,” Grundo said. “Your
Grandfather Hyde’s only human, even if he is a Magid. Why
don’t you try telling this grandfather?”

  “Grandfather Gwyn?” I said. “What could he do? Besides,
he’s Welsh.”

  “Well, he made a fair old fuss to the Chamberlain’s Office
just to get you here,” Grundo replied. “He knows how to raise
a stink. Think about it.”

  I did think about it as we wandered on, but not all that
much because, after what seemed a very short while, we saw
that the sun was going down and looked at our watches and
realised it was after five o’clock. We turned back and got lost.
The moor was surrounded by green knobs that were the tops
of mountains and they all looked the same. When we finally
found the right knob and slid down the side of it to the
manse, there was only just time to get cleaned up before tea
was ready.

  “I love this food!” Grundo grunted.

  The table was crowded with four different kinds of bread,
two cakes, six kinds of jam in matching dishes, cheese,
butter and cream. Olwen followed us into the dining room
with a vast teapot and, as soon as my grandfather had
thundered out his grace, she came back with plates of
sausage and fried potatoes. Grundo beamed and prepared to
be very greedy. I had to stop before the cakes, but Grundo
kept right on packing food in for nearly an hour and
drinking cup after cup of tea. While he ate, he talked
cheerfully, just as if my grandfather was a normal person.

  My grandfather watched Grundo eat with a slightly
astonished look, but he did not seem to mind being talked
to. He even answered Grundo with a few deep words every so
often. I was fairly sure Grundo was being this chatty so that
I could join in and tell Grandfather Gwyn what we had
overheard in Sir James’s Inner Garden. But I couldn’t. I
knew he would give me that look with his eyebrows up and
not believe a word. I seemed to curl up inside just thinking
of speaking.

  I was wondering how often my Mam had sat silent like
this at meals, when Grundo helped himself to a third slice of
cake, seriously measuring off the exact amount. “I have
room for twenty-five degrees more cake,” he explained, “and
then I shall go back to soda bread and jam. Does Olwen do
your cooking for you because you’re a widower?”

  At this, my grandfather turned to me. I could tell he was
not pleased. It breathed off him like cold from a frozen
pond. “Did Annie tell you I was a widower?” he asked me.

  “She said she had never known her mother,” I said.

  “I am glad to hear her so truthful,” my grandfather
replied. I thought that was all he was going to say, but he
seemed to think again and make an extra effort. “There has
been,” he said, and paused, and made another effort, “a
separation.”

  I could feel him hurting, making the effort to say this. I
was suddenly furious. “Oh!” I cried out. “I hate all this
divorcing and separating! My Grandfather Hyde is
separated from his wife and I’ve never even seen her org the
aunt who lives with her. And that aunt’s divorced, and so’s
the aunt who lives with Grandad, which is awfully hard on
my cousin Toby. Half the Court is divorced! The King is
separated from the Queen most of the time! Why do people
do it?”

  Grandfather Gwyn was giving me an attentive look. It was
the sort of look you can feel. I felt as if his deep, dark eyes
were opening me up, prising apart pieces of my brain. He
said thoughtfully, “Often the very nature of people, the
matter that brought them together, causes the separation
later.”

  “Oh, probably,” I said angrily. “But it doesn’t stop them
hurting. Ask Grundo. His parents are separated.”

  “Divorced,” Grundo growled. “My father left.”

  “Now that’s one person I don’t blame!” I said. “Leaving
Sybil was probably the most sensible thing he ever did. But
he ought to have taken you with him.”

  “Well now!” said Grandfather Gwyn. He sounded nearly
amused. “The ice of Arianrhod has melted at last, it seems.”

  I could feel my face bursting into a red flush, right to the
top of my hair and down my neck, because my grandfather
had so obviously seen me the same way as Grundo did. So I
was a puddle of ice, was I? I was so wrought up by then that
I snapped at him, just as if he had been Alicia. “You can
talk! If ever I saw a marble iceberg, it’s you!”

  Now he looked really amused. His face relaxed and he
very nearly smiled.

  “It’s not funny!” I snarled at him. “I can see you made my
mother terrified of you by behaving like this! Most of the
time you’d make her think she wasn’t worth noticing, and
then you’d make fun of her!”

  Then I gave a gasp and tried to hold my breath – but I
couldn’t because I was panting with rage – knowing that a
strict person like my grandfather was bound to jump to his
feet and order me thunderously out of the room.

  In fact, he just said musingly, “Something of that, but
Annie brought her own difficulties to the situation, you
know.” The mild way he said it surprised me. I was even
more surprised when he said, “Come now, Arianrhod. Tell
me what is really upsetting you so.”

  I almost burst into tears. But I didn’t, because I suspected
that Mam would have done and Grandfather Gwyn would
have hated it. “if you must know,” I blurted out, “there’s a
plot – in England – and most of the Court have been given
bespelled water, even the King. The Merlin’s in it!”

  “I know,” he said. “This is why I asked for you to come
here, before the balance of magic is disturbed even further.”

  For a second, I was thoroughly astonished. Then I
thought, Oh! He’s a wizard! And that made me feel much
better. I could tell by the way Grundo’s face snapped round
to look at Grandfather Gwyn, and then went much pinker,
that Grundo had had the same thought.
  “Tell me in detail,” my grandfather said to us, “every word
and sign and act that you remember.”

  So we told him. It took a while and Grundo
absent-mindedly ate two more pieces of cake while we talked.
He probably needed to. It couldn’t have been pleasant for
Grundo, having to describe what his mother did. Otherwise,
I’d have called him a pig. Grandfather Gwyn leant forward
with one forearm stiffly among the tea-things and seemed to
drink in everything we said.

  “Can you help at all?” Grundo said at last.

  To our dismay, my grandfather slowly shook his head.
“Unfortunately not,” he said. “I am about to become
vulnerable, in a way I very much resent, and will be able to
do nothing directly for a while. You have just shown me the
way of it. But there is something you can do, Arianrhod, if
you think you have the courage. You will have to work out
most of it for yourself, I am afraid. It is magic that is not
mine to deal in, and it is something your mother never could
have brought herself to do. But, if you think you are able, I
can put you in the way of it tomorrow.”

  I sat in silence in that tall, cold room, staring at his intent
white face across the plates and crumbs. Grundo looked to
be holding his breath. “I – I suppose I’d better,” I said, when
the chills had almost stopped scurrying up and down my
back. “Someone has to do something.”

  My Grandfather Gwyn could smile, after all. It was an
unexpectedly warm, kind smile. It helped. A little. Actually,
I was terrified.




                         4
                        Nick


                               1
                                                         «^»
  sat down again after Romanov had gone. For some
reason, I fitted myself carefully into the exact place I had
been in before, with my back against the wall and my heels
in the scuff marks. I suppose I wanted Arnold and Co to
think I’d been sitting there all the time. But I wasn’t really
attending. I was shaking all over and I pretty well wanted to
cry.

  I was full of hurt and paranoia and plain terror that
someone had wanted me killed. I kept thinking, But I told
them in the Empire I wasn’t going to be Emperor! They’d
taken me there into those worlds and I’d signed things – sort
of abdicated – so that my half-brother Rob could be
Emperor instead. It didn’t make sense.

  I was full of hurt and paranoia too at the way Romanov
had despised me. A lot of people had called me selfish. I’d
been working on it, I thought. I’d looked after Dad and been
really considerate, I thought. But I could tell Romanov saw
through all that, to the way I really felt. And of course I still
felt selfish, in spite of the way I behaved. All the same, I was
trying, and it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t fair either that
Romanov had despised me for being ignorant too! I’d been
working on that as well. I’d been reading everything I could
lay hands on about magic and trying to get to other worlds –
and trying every way I could to persuade the bunch of people
who govern the Magids – they call them the Upper Room for
some reason – to let me train as a Magid too. It wasn’t my
fault they wouldn’t.

  Then I thought about Romanov himself. I would never, if
I lived to be a thousand, meet anyone else as powerfully
magic as Romanov. It was shattering. I’d met quite a few
Magids, and they seemed quite humdrum now, compared
with the stuff I’d felt coming from Romanov. It was
awesome, it was just not fair, for someone to be as strong as
that. Razor-edge, lightning-strike strong. It shook me to my
bones.

  And those big cats shook me to my bones too. When I
found they were real…

  Hang on, I thought. This is a dream. You always put
yourself through seriously nasty experiences in bad dreams.
This is just a nightmare.

  Then I felt a whole heap better. I looked up and saw that
the overhead lights were getting stronger orange, while the
gridded holes in the walls were growing pink. It looked as if
the whole day had passed. Well, I thought, dreams do like to
fast-forward things. I wasn’t really surprised when, about
five minutes later, Arnold came pounding up to me carrying
his bag of tricks. His thick, fair face looked white and
exhausted.

  “Up you get. Time to go,” he said. “The Prince’s own mages
handle security overnight.”

  I got up, thinking in a dreamlike way that it was rather a
waste that we were all taking so much trouble to guard a
Prince who was going to lose his Empire and be dead before
long. How had Romanov known that anyway? But dreams
are like that.

  I was still thinking about this when we passed the first
soldier. He looked at us enviously. “Poor beggars stay here
all night in case anyone plants a bomb,” Arnold remarked.
Then we came up to Chick and Arnold said, “Time up. Hotel
first or eat and drink?”

  “Food!” Chick said, collapsing his sword to a knife and
then stretching his arms out. “I’m so hungry I could eat that
novice.”

  “I’d prefer a horse, personally,” Arnold said and we went
on round to underneath the pavilion. Dave and Pierre were
already there, waiting. Arnold asked them too, “Hotel first,
or food?”

  “Food!” they both said and Dave added, “And wine. Then
some hotspots. Anyone know this town – know where’s good
to go?”

  I watched them as they stood around discussing this. After
Romanov, they struck me as simply normal people, jumped
up a bit. I was a bit bored by them.

  None of them did know where to go in Marseilles, as it
turned out. Nor did I, when they asked me as a last resort.
So we all went out through the guarded doors underneath
the pavilion into the street and Arnold hailed a taxi.
“Condweerie noo a yune bong plass a monjay,” he told the
driver as we all piled in. I think he meant, Take us to a good
place to eat, but it sounded like Zulu with a German accent.

  The driver seemed to understand though. He drove off
downhill towards the sea with a tremendous rattle. Even
allowing for the way the streets were cobbled and how old
that taxi was, I think the way its engine worked was quite
different from the cars I was used to. It was ten times louder.

  But it got us there. Before long, it stopped with a wild
shriek and the driver said, “Voila, messieurs. A whole street
of eateries for your honours.” Clearly, he had us spotted as
English – or, considering Arnold and perhaps Chick too, not
French anyway. The place he’d brought us to was a row of
little cafés, and they all had big hand-done notices in their
windows. SCARMBLED EGG, one said, and SNALES was
another. LEG OF FROG WITH CHEEPS and STAKE OR
OLDAY BREKFA said others.

  We all cracked up. It had been a long day and it felt good
to be able to scream with laughter. “I am not,” howled Dave,
staggering about on the cobbles and wiping tears off his face,
“repeat not, going to eat cheeping frog legs!”

  “Let’s go for the scarmbled egg,” laughed Chick. “I want to
know what they do to it.”

  So, in spite of Arnold saying he rather fancied the stake,
we went into the SCARMBLED EGG one. We charged in,
still laughing, and snatched up menus. I think the
proprietors found us a bit alarming. They brought us a huge
carafe of wine straightaway, as if they were trying to placate
us, and then looked quite frightened when we all discovered
we needed to visit the gents and surged up to our feet again.

  There was only one of it, out in the back yard past the
telephone and the kitchen, where a large fat French lady
glowered suspiciously at us as we waited for our turns. I was
last, being only the novice, so I had to stand a lot of the
glare.

  But when we came back to our table, things were almost
perfect. We swigged the wine and ordered vast meals, some
of it weirdly spelt and the rest in French, so that we had no
idea what would be coming, and then we ate and ate, until
we got to the cheese and sticky pastry stage, where we all
slowed down cheerfully. Dave began saying that he wanted
to look at the nightlife very soon.

  “In a while,” Arnold said. “I suppose I’d better take your
reports first.” He lit one of his horrible Aztec smokes and
took out a notebook. “Chick? Any attempts to break through
the East? Any threats?”

  “Negative,” said Chick. “I’ve never known the otherwheres
calmer.”

  The others both said the same. Then Arnold looked at me.
“How about your patrol? What’s your name, by the way?”

  They’ve finally asked! I thought. “Nick.”

  Arnold frowned. “Funny. I thought it was something like
Maurice.”

  “That’s my surname,” I said, quick as a flash. “And I do
have something to report. A fellow called Romanov turned
up and he…”

  That caused a real sensation. “Romanov!” they all
shouted. They were awed and scared and thoroughly
surprised. Arnold added suspiciously, “Are you sure it was
Romanov?”

  “That’s who he said he was,” I said. “Who is he? I never
met anyone so powerful.”
  “Only the magical supremo,” Chick said. “Romanov can
do things most magic users in most worlds only dream of
doing.”

  “He can do some things most of us never even thought of,”
said Pierre. “They say he charges the earth for them too.”

  “If you can find him,” Arnold said wryly.

  “I’ve heard,” said Dave, “that he lives on an island made
from at least ten different universes in at least seven different
centuries. Went there to escape his missus.”

  “Sensible fellow,” murmured Arnold.

  “He escapes there to avoid being pestered to do magic,”
Pierre said. “I’d heard he was self-taught. Is that true?”

  “Yes – that’s the amazing thing about him,” Dave said.
“According to what I heard, he was born in a gutter on quite
a remote world – Thule, I think, or maybe Blest – and he
pulled himself out of poverty by teaching himself to do
magic. Very unorthodox. But he had a gift for it and
discovered things no one else knew how to do, so he charged
high and got rich quick. He could probably buy our entire
Empire now. And nobody’d dare say he couldn’t.”

  “Yes, but,” Arnold said doggedly, “was it really Romanov
that Nick Maurice met?” He turned and puffed his awful
smoke at me, staring through the brown clouds of it with
big, earnest blue eyes. “If you were doing as you were told,
you’d have been able to see his totem animal. What was it
like?”
   “I’d heard it was a sabre-tooth tiger,” Chick put in.

   “No, it was spotted,” I said. “Not a tiger. A big, mean,
hunting cat, sort of cream with dark grey blodges. It had
tufts on its ears and sarcastic green eyes and he said it was
female. It came up to my waist, easily. I was scared stiff of
it.”

   Arnold nodded. “Then it was Romanov.” I could see they
were, all four, really impressed. “Did he tell you why he was
there?” Arnold asked me. “Was he looking for the Prince?”

   “I asked him that,” I said. “And he seemed to think the
Prince would make his own trouble, without any magical
interference. When he was King, he said.”

   They exchanged worried glances at that. Dave muttered,
“Could be right. By what I’ve heard, some of Romanov’s
island is thirty years in the future.”

   “They say he never bothers to lie,” Chick agreed.

   I was relieved. I hoped I’d given them enough to think of
to stop them thinking any more about me. From the moment
Arnold said he thought my name was Maurice, it was like a
whole train of pennies dropping in my head. This was not a
dream. It was real. I’d no idea how it happened, but I knew
that somehow I’d done the thing I’d been longing to do and
crossed over into another universe. A real other world. And
when I did, I’d turned up beside those fliers while they had
all been waiting for the novice to arrive, and they had
thought I was him.
  This meant that, somewhere back in that other London,
there was the real Maurice.

  If this Maurice was my age, he wasn’t going to like having
gone without breakfast and then finding they’d all left
without him. He was going to go back to this academy he
came from, or phone there, and tell them. If I was really
lucky, them at the academy would just shrug and say serve
him right for being late.

  But I couldn’t count on it.

  What was much more likely, since this cricket match was
a Test and going to go on for several days, was that the
academy people were going to make arrangements for the
real Maurice to get to Marseilles later that same day. Then
they were going to phone someone in the Prince’s Security
team to say Maurice was on his way. In fact, it was just
amazing luck that they hadn’t phoned while I was sitting in
that concrete passage thinking it was all a dream. I would
have had a rude awakening. Perhaps it took them a long
time to arrange the journey. But they could well have
phoned by now. Or Maurice could even have got here.

  It was probably only the fact that the mages had been
starving hungry and gone off with me in that taxi without
saying where they were going that had stopped me getting
arrested a couple of hours ago.

  They would arrest me. They’d do that in my own world if
I accidentally got in among Security for the Queen. But this
world was so paranoid that it had to have a charmed circle
round a cricket field, and I’d got in on that too. These people
were going to accuse me of magical terrorism or something. I
knew they were. I had to get away.

  But at that moment they were still sort of attending to me,
even though they were now discussing totem beasts and the
way the animals reflected a mage’s personality. So I kept a
humble, eager, novice-like look on my face. When they asked
me if I thought Romanov’s totem beast reflected Romanov’s
personality, I said, “Yes. It walked exactly like him.”

  They laughed. Then Chick said, puzzled, “But didn’t he
say anything else to you?”

  I said, “He called me ignorant and went away in disgust.”
As I said it, I wondered if it was Maurice’s academy that
had sent Romanov to stop me before I did any acts of
terrorism. But I saw that couldn’t be right. Romanov had
known my name. I hadn’t told anyone here my name until
just now.

  “Just passing through, I suppose,” Arnold said dubiously.
“Odd though. I’d better report it as soon as we get to the
hotel. Nick, you must be ready to give a detailed account to
the Prince’s mages.”

  “Sure,” I said and thought that I’d better give them the
slip on the way there.

  Then Arnold said, “Call for the bill, Dave. Ladeeshun or
whatever they say. Everyone got enough cash for this
blowout?”

  The four of them began fetching out money. One glance
was enough to show me that it wasn’t anything like the
couple of ten pound notes in my back pocket. Their notes
were kind of white, with black writing on them, like legal
documents, and the coins were vast heavy things that rang
down on the table like church bells. I knew I had to get out
now.

  I stood up. I said, “I have to go to the gents again.”

  “Trying to get out of paying your share?” Pierre said,
laughing.

  The others laughed too and Chick said, “Hey, Nick, you
never told us what your totem beast is. Or is it a state
secret?”

  “No… It’s a black panther,” I said, edging off

  “Go on!” said Dave. “That would make you a high adept!”

  “That was a joke,” I said hurriedly. “Just a joke.” And I
marched off, followed by jolly shouts and more laughter. I
felt bad. They were quite nice fellows really.

  I didn’t dare run, but I walked quite fast, down the
passage past the huge Frenchwoman – she glowered at me
again – and opened the door into the yard. It was a narrow
door and I had to turn half round to get through it. That
was how I happened to see the officer from the flier just
coming in through the front door of the café. He was waving
his cellphone and looking pretty agitated. You could see he
had been hunting all over for us.

  I shut the door very gently behind me and raced through
the yard to the back entrance. There was an alley there full
of rubbish bins. But no soldiers. Yet. I think the officer
hadn’t been sure enough of finding us to have the place
surrounded. But I was sure he must have a squad outside
the front. I ran.

  I ran for my life, out of that alley and then through
several others, always turning uphill away from that street
when I could. That may have been a mistake. For one thing,
it got steeper, so that there were steps in some places. For
another thing, there were more and more people about,
lovers walking, or people just sitting in doorways, so that
when I began to hear shouts and police whistles and lots of
feet climbing up behind me, I didn’t dare run. The ones who
saw me running would point me out to the police.

  Then things got worse. Arnold’s voice suddenly spoke,
sounding like it was somewhere inside of me. Nick, Nicholas
Maurice. Come here. We want to ask you a few questions. I’d
forgotten they were mages. They were probably tracking me
by magic.

  Dave’s voice spoke too. Come on, Nick. Don’t be a fool.
Nicholas Maurice, there’s a full security alert and you can’t
get away.

  My name’s not Nicholas! I thought frantically. It’s really
Nichothodes Euthandor Timosus Benigedy Koryfoides. It
was the first time I’d ever been glad of having this string of
outlandish names. They seemed to cover up the voices. I
recited them over and over again and climbed the hill until
I’d no breath left and was hot as a furnace. I pounded up
another set of steps, saying a name for each step,
“Nichothodes – puff – Euthandor – puff – Timosus – gasp –
Benigedy – pant – Koryfoides!” And the voices faded away
as I burst out into bright lights, shops and crowds of people.

  Thank goodness! I thought. I can get lost in these crowds!

  It was proper city life there. Nobody spared me a glance as
I went past tables on a pavement packed with people eating
and drinking, and then crossed the road among a bunch of
happy folk having a night out. They were all much better
dressed than me, but nobody looked at me anyway. I got my
breath back wandering along that side of the street, looking
into expensive shop windows, and I was just beginning to
feel safer when both ends of the road filled with uniforms.
Police and soldiers were stopping everyone from leaving,
and squads were coming down towards me asking everyone
to show their ID.

  I bolted up the nearest alley. There was some kind of big
church up the other end and I stopped dead when I saw it.
There were a couple of soldiers with rifles standing outside
its door. Perhaps in this world you really could kneel
holding the altar and shouting “Sanctuary!” and be safe.
And they didn’t want me doing that. I leant against the alley
wall wondering what to do. I knew what I should do, and
that was simply walk on into another world, or back into
my own. But I couldn’t seem to do that, however hard I
pushed my shoulders at that wall, no more than I could do
it when I’d tried at home. I didn’t know what to do.

  Then, Hang on! I thought. I spent most of today up a tree
somewhere quite different. That should be safe enough, if I
can get there. I’ll try that.

  So I looked around. And I could hardly believe my eyes.
Paths to that wood, and to all sorts of other places, more or
less radiated out from where I was standing. They looked
dim and blue and at odd sort of angles to that alley, but
they looked as real as Romanov had said they were. I bolted
up the nearest path.

  It was night there too and fairly dark, but before I had
gone very far I could see the oval of turquoise light that was
the cricket stadium. I took my bearings from that and
trotted round and along into the wood. It was pitchy dark
there, full of uncanny rustlings and birds hooting, but I
refused to let that bother me and kept on trotting. I’ll find
that panther, I thought, then climb a tree and let her protect
me. That should do it.

  While I was shoving through the next clump of bushes, I
smelt a butcherish sort of smell and heard the most
tremendous grating and cracking, like teeth on bone, and I
realised I had found the panther. It was the extra blackness
under the next bush. But before I could say anything, she
gave a hideous, fruity growl.

  Go away. Busy. Eating. MINE.

  I got out of those bushes fast. I could tell she would add a
piece of me to her meal if I didn’t leave her alone. There was
no way that panther was a tame totem-thing. It shook me up
and made me feel horribly lonely to realise that. I’d been
relying on beastly protection. But as that wasn’t on, I
thought I’d climb a tree anyway and blundered on until I
came to one that seemed easy to climb. I had my arms round
its trunk and one foot up on the lowest branch, when I heard
voices again.

  Nicholas Maurice, we know you re here. Come on out.

  I froze. I looked where the voices were coming from, and
there were two things like shining yellowish ghosts drifting
along among the trees about a foot in the air. They were over
in the direction of the turquoise oval, but much nearer,
following a path there. Inside the ghost-shapes I could just
recognise Chick and Pierre. This was another thing I’d
forgotten they could do.

  I took a look down at myself I seemed to be quite dark
and solid. The only parts of me I could really see were my
pale hands, clutching the tree. But for all I knew, Chick and
Pierre looked dark and solid to themselves and I was the one
who shone like a ghost to them. I didn’t know enough, that
was the problem. All I knew was that they hadn’t seen me
yet.

  Nicholas Maurice! they fluted beguilingly.

  Nichothodes! I said to myself and began backing gently
away, reciting my names again. I backed, and crept, and
bumped into several trees and a spiky bush, and watched
the ghosts drifting along, more and more distant, until I
backed right round behind the spiky bush and couldn’t see
them any more. Then I looked around and saw another path
winding its dim, blue way up to my right, and I fair pelted
up it.

  This path was rocky and wet, with wet cliffs bulging up on
both sides, and it was horribly uneven. I kept stumbling as I
ran, but I didn’t stop until the light from the turquoise
stadium faded away entirely and I couldn’t see it at all. I
was looking over my shoulder, checking on it, when I
whanged into a piece of cliff and fell down.




                               2
                                                           «^»
  stayed down for quite a while. Here I was, I thought, once
again sitting in a state of terror and paranoia, only this time
was worse. Add to that the way my knee hurt from ramming
the cliff and the fact that my rear felt as if I was sitting in a
puddle and you have the recipe for true misery. And it was
dark.

  There wasn’t any way that I could see of getting home to
Dad. I seemed to have a choice of going back to the wood
and giving myself up to the ghostly shapes of Chick and
Pierre, or going on along this path, or choosing another.
There didn’t seem to be any future in any of those choices.

  I felt vile. And guilty. Let’s face it, I had deceived a whole
security team. I hadn’t exactly meant to, but I had been so
set on the idea that this was all a dream that I was having
that I hadn’t even tried to say, “Excuse me. I’m not your
novice.” Maybe this was because, underneath, I might have
had a small sense of self-preservation which told me that, if
I did, I was likely to be arrested and interrogated anyway.
But I knew why I hadn’t said anything really. It was
because I had actually – really and truly – got to another
world on my own, just as I’d been longing to do. And it was
too good to spoil.

  Now I was in a real mess. And so were the mages I’d
deceived. It was no wonder that Arnold and Dave had been
tracking me hard in Marseilles and that Chick and Pierre
were in a trance searching the wood. They were in bad
trouble. If they didn’t find me, they’d almost certainly be
arrested themselves.

  I was not surprised someone had hired Romanov to
terminate me. I was getting to be a real menace. It was for
something I was going to do later, he said. Romanov must
have known I was going to go from bad to worse – and all
only because I’d set my heart on being a Magid. Magids
were strong magicians. They guided the flow of magic from
world to world. They were trouble-shooters too. Most of them
were dealing with problems – really exciting problems – in
several worlds at once, using all sorts of different magical
skills to do it. I wanted to do that. I wanted it more than I’d
ever wanted anything. But the people who ran the Magids –
the Upper Room – wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me
have any training. So it was no wonder I was blundering
ignorantly around, getting into this sort of mess. Romanov
had been right to despise me.

  This set me thinking of Romanov again. I still had the
idea he was more powerful than any Magid. Romanov, I
thought. That’s the name of the old Czars of Russia. And he
probably was a Czar, a magics supremo, the magics Czar,
the way we have drugs Czars in England. I wished I could
talk to him about the mess I was in. I knew he could tell me
how to get back to my own world.

  This was where the odd thing happened.

  It’s hard to describe. It wasn’t smelling, or feeling, but it
was like both things. It was also like there was a tiny breeze
blowing from the path ahead, as if thinking of Romanov set
it off. But there was no breeze. The air was perfectly still and
wet. All the same I could suddenly smell-feel that Romanov
had gone along this very path on his way back to wherever
his home was.
  “He said come to him if anyone else came after me,” I said
out loud. “OK. I will.”

  I got up and began feeling my way along the path.

  For I don’t know how long, it was quite awful. It was so
dark. I could see sky up above, between the rock walls, but it
was almost as dark as the path. There were no stars in it –
nothing – and it didn’t help me to see at all. I could just pick
out my hands, the right one trailing along the wet, lumpy
rocks, and the left one stretched out in front in a shaky sort
of way, in case I hit a spur or a corner of cliff. I didn’t want
to think what else I might hit. There were noises, squelshy
sounds that made me sure my fingers were going to plunge
into something big and slimy any second, and creaking
noises, and dry flappings that were worst of all. Every time
the flapping happened, the hairs on my neck came up and
dragged on my collar as if it were velcro.

  The ground was uneven too. My feet kicked stones I
couldn’t see, or staggered and slipped on slopes of rock.
Several times I stubbed my toe really hard, but I never knew
what I’d hit. I sloshed into puddles and crunched through
muddy pebbles until my feet were soaked and sore and
frozen, and I never knew what was coming next.

  Then it began to rain. “That’s all I need!” I moaned. It
was cold, drenching rain that had me wet through in
seconds, with water chasing down my face and bringing my
hair down in sharp points into my eyes. My teeth started
chattering, it was so cold. But, believe it or not, that rain
was actually an improvement. The noises stopped, as if the
creatures making them didn’t like the rain any more than I
did, and before long all I could hear was the rain drilling
down, splashing in puddles and trickling off the rocks. And
the fact that the rocks were so wet meant that they sort of
picked up a glisten from the sky and the puddles glinted a
bit, so I could see a bit of what was coming next. I pushed
my hair out of my eyes and got on faster.

  The rain slacked off to a drizzle at last and I began to
think there was a bit more light. I could actually see the way
winding ahead like a sort of cleft in the rocks, with all the
edges just faintly traced in silvery blue. Then I began to hear
noises ahead. Not the noises I’d heard before. This was a
sort of booming and yelling.

  I began going very slowly and cautiously, sliding my feet
one behind the other and keeping one shoulder against the
right-hand wall so that I could look round each bend as I
came to it. There was something big and alive along there,
yelling its head off.

  After about three bends, I could hear words in the yelling.
“We plough the fields and scatter the dynamite on the land!”
I heard. And then, after another bend, “Good King Wencis
last looked out – when did he first look out then? – on the
feast of Stephen!”

  I almost laughed, but I still went very cautiously, and the
light kept getting stronger and the yelling went on. You
couldn’t call it singing. It was too out of tune. And finally I
edged round another bend and saw the person making the
din.

  He was a skinny, white-haired old drunk and he was
leaning against a bulge of rock singing his head off. When I
peeped round the bend at him, he was yelling about “Rock of
Ages, cleft for meeee!” and holding up a little blue flame in
both shaky old hands. The flame lit his clothes shiny and
blazed off the wet rocks and his wrinkled, yelling face. He
held the flame higher up as I peeped at him and shouted,
“Come on, come on, both of you! Or am I just seeing double?
Come out where I can see all the pair of you! Don’t lurk!”

  I came round in front of him. There didn’t seem any harm
in him. I’d never seen anyone so drunk, not even my friends
after they’d drunk all Dad’s whisky. He couldn’t have hurt
anyone in that state. He had trouble just seeing me. He
wavered about, holding the little flame out towards me, and
blinked and peered. I’d been thinking this flame was some
kind of outdoor candle, or a torch like Arnold and Co had
used, but it wasn’t. It was a little curl of blue light standing
on his hands, blazing away out of nothing.

  “I’m drunk,” he said to me. “Night as a tute. Can’t ever
come this way unless I get drunk first. Too scared. Tell me,
are you scared?”

  “Yes,” I said. I couldn’t take my eyes off that little flame. It
was one of the most extraordinary things I’d ever seen.
“Doesn’t that burn you?”

  “Not at all, notatall, notatall,” he shouted. He was too
drunk to talk quietly. “Being of one substance with my flesh,
you know, it can’t hurt. Litchwight, I mean witchlight, they
call it. Not even hot, dear lad. Not even warm. So, well then,
out with it, out with it!”

  “Out with what?” I said.

  “Whatever you need or want, of course. You have to meet
three folk in need in this place and give them what help you
can, before you can get where you’re going. You’re my third!”
he shouted, waving his little flame backwards and forwards
more or less under my nose, “so I’m naturally anxious to get
you done and dealt with and get on. So out with it. What do
you want?”

  I should have asked him how to find Romanov. I see that
now. A lot of things would have been different if I had. But I
was so amazed by that little blue flame that I leant
backwards to get its light out of my eyes and pointed to it.
“Can I do that? Can you show me how to do it?”

  He wavered forward from his rock, peering at me, and
nearly fell down. “Amazing,” he said, hastily getting his
back to the rock again. “Amazing. You’re here, but you can’t
do a simple thing like raising light, or do I mean lazing
right? Whichever. You can’t. Why not?”

  “No one ever showed me how,” I said.
  He swayed about, looking solemn. “I quote,” he said. “I’m
very well read in the literature of several worlds, you know,
and I quote. What do they teach them in these schools?
Know where that comes from?”

  “One of the Narnia books,” I said. “The one where Narnia
begins. Can you show me how to make a light like that?”

  “Tell you,” he corrected me, looking even more solemn. “I
can’t show you because it comes from inside yourself see.
What you do is find your centre – can you do that?”

  “My navel, you mean?” I said.

  “No, no!” he howled. “You’re not a woman! Or are you?
Confess I can’t see you too well, but your voice sounds like
teenage male to me. Is that what you are?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And a plumb ignorant one too,” he grumbled. “Fancy not
knowing – Well, your centre is here!”

  He plunged towards me and took me completely by
surprise by jabbing me hard just under my breastbone.
What with that, and the blast of alcohol that came with the
jab, I went staggering backwards into the rocks on the other
side of the path. He overbalanced. He snatched at my knees
as he went down, missed, and ended in a heap by my feet.
The blue light seemed to splash all over the ground. Then it
climbed one of his arms and settled on his shiny wet
shoulder.
  “Polar sexus,” he said sadly. “That’s where it is, polar
sexus.”

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  He raised his soaking grey head. “There is,” he said, “a
special angel appointed to watch over those under the
inkerfluence of eight over the one. That, young man, is why I
had to imbibe before coming here. It all hangs together. Now
do you understand how to summon light?”

  “No,” I said frankly.

  “Don’t you even know where your solar plexus is?” he
demanded.

  “I thought you said polar sexus,” I said.

  He went up on to his hands and knees and shook his head
sadly. Water flew off as if he was a wet dog. “Now you’re
making fun of me. But I shall be forbearing,” he said,
“though mostly for the reason that I shan’t get out of this
place if I’m not. And I may add, young man, that your
attitude towards the elderly is less than respectful. Polar
sexus indeed!” He started fumbling around on the ground in
front of my feet. “Where is it? Where did I put my damn
light?”

  “It’s on your shoulder,” I said.

  He turned his face and saw it. He more or less put his nose
in it. “Now you’re having a joke on me,” he said. “I shall be
freezingly polite and ignore it, or we’ll be here all night. Pick
me up.”

  He smelt so disgustingly of booze that I really didn’t want
to touch him, but I did want to know how you made light,
so I bent down and grabbed him by his sopping jacket. He
didn’t like that. He said, “Unhand me at once!” and crawled
away backwards.

  “You asked me to,” I said. I was getting fed up.

  “No, I didn’t,” he retorted. “I was merely seeking a way out
of our dilemma by asking you to pick up my witchlight. If
you can keep it alight when you have it, you will in fact be
making it for yourself. Come on. Take it. It won’t hurt you
and I can easily make more.”

  Well, I wondered if he did mean this, but I went gently up
to him and tried cupping the little flame in my hands. It
didn’t feel of anything very much. A bit warm perhaps, but
that was all. I stood up holding it, really delighted. Then it
began to sink and fizzle.

  “No, no! Ignore it,” he cried out. “Think of something else
quickly!” He scrambled himself up the rockface and
somehow managed to stand up. Then he snapped his fingers
and held out another blue flame, balanced on the palm of
his withered old hand. “See? Now change the subject.”

  “Er,” I said, trying not to look at the blue spark I was
holding, “you said we had to meet three folks in need. Are
you my first?”

  “Of course not!” he said. “I don’t need anything. I just
want out of here, and you’re my third, so I can go now.”

  “Who else did you meet,” I asked, “before me?”

  “A goat,” he said. “I kid you not! Joke, joke, ha-ha! Lost
its way, you know, and then there was an obnoxious child
who said she was hiding from her sin twister – twin sister –
and she only wanted me to promise not to give her away.”

  “What did you do about the goat?” I asked.

  “What can one do for a goat? Turned it round and gave it
a push on the rump, I think,” he said. “That’s a bit hazy, to
tell the truth, but I know neither of them was half the
trouble you’ve been. Do you think you’ve got it now?”

  I dared to look down at my hands. There was a cautious
little flicker there, about the size of a match flame. I tried
willing it larger, but nothing happened. “Sort of,” I said.

  He pushed off from the rocks and came staggering across
to see. I swear the drink on his breath made the flame twice
the size for an instant. “Yes, yes, you’ve got it now all right,”
he said. “No need for me to linger. Farewell, for I must leave
thee, don’t hang yourself on a weeping willow tree!” By then
he was singing again, bawling out a tuneless tune and
swaying himself round as he bawled. I thought he was going
to walk straight into the rockface opposite us, but there
turned out to be an opening there that I hadn’t seen before.
He plunged into it, turning it all blue-silver with the flame
in his hand, singing his head off. “In his master’s steps he
trod,” I heard, booming out of the rocky cleft. “Heat was in
that very naughty word which the saint had printed! Print
and be damned, I say…”

  I gigged a bit and took another look at my flame. It
seemed to have settled down quite snugly by this time,
enough that it didn’t seem to mind being moved across to
my left hand so that I had my right hand free. I waited a bit
to make absolutely sure it was going to go on burning, then I
set off down the path again.

  That part wasn’t nearly so bad. It was such a help to be
able to see. I got on quite fast. And when the drizzle stopped
and the noises started again, I held the flame up towards
where I’d heard them from and its blue light showed me that
there was nothing there. It was all done to frighten people.
So I began to stride on and even whistle a bit – and I was a
bit more in tune than the old drunk, too – and my flame
seemed to like the whistling. It grew bigger. After that I got a
lot less nervous of it and began to play about with it, sliding
it up my arm and then up past my ear to the top of my head.
It burned a lot brighter on my head. I had an idea that I
could probably slide it off into the air and have it floating in
front of me, but I didn’t quite dare do that in case I lost it. I
kept it on my head and had both hands free. I even put my
hands in my pockets to try to warm them and really strode
out, whistling.

  I strode round a corner and met my first person.

  She was standing facing me in the path, but she wasn’t
really in the path at all. She was in a pale patch of light
with scenery in it. The patch was just sort of there. It didn’t
light up any of the rocks around or the ground in front of it.
She was my age, or perhaps a bit younger, and… well, you
know how you have an idea of your ideal girl in your mind.
She was mine. She had dark, curly hair that was blowing
about in a wind I couldn’t feel and really big, blue-grey eyes
with nice eyelashes round them. Her face was thin and so
was the rest of her. I remember noticing she was wearing an
old-looking grey knitted sweater and leggings that went tight
below her knees, but mostly I noticed she was much
better-looking than I’d expected my ideal girl to be. But the
chief thing about her was that she was one of those girls who
look as if they’ve just grown, as naturally as… as a tree or…
a hollyhock or something… as if she’d just happened
somehow. I always fancy girls like that, even if they’re older
than me. It’s my type.

  I slowed right down and came up to her step by step.
When I was near enough, I saw she was holding a scruffy
bunch of flowers in one hand. They were not flowers picked
for their looks. I don’t know what most of them were, but I
did see that one was a tall thing with blobby yellow flowers
in steps down its stalk, and furry leaves. I noticed because a
caterpillar dropped off it as I walked up.

  By then, I was near enough to see that inside the patch of
light she was standing somewhere quite high on a hillside.
There was low blue distance behind her. And nearer than
that, but still behind her, just on the edge of the slope, I
could see a much younger kid – a boy – sitting sort of
hunched over so that all I could see was his back. He didn’t
move, or speak, or even seem to know that I was there.

  She knew I was there, though. She watched me walking
up to her. Her eyes went to the flame sitting on my head.

  “Oh, good,” she said. “You’re a wizard. I asked for a
wizard particularly.”

  “I’m not really,” I said. It was all so strange that I didn’t
feel shy or awkward, the way I would if I’d met her
anywhere else. “I’m only just beginning to learn.”

  “Well, that may be all right,” she said. “I asked for
someone who could help in this situation, so you must be
able to do what’s needed. What’s your name?”

  “Nichothodes,” I said. It seemed important to tell her my
real name. “Nick, usually.”

  “I’m Arianrhod,” she said. “A mouthful, just like your
name. But I prefer people to call me Roddy.”

  I wanted to say that Arianrhod sounded much nicer than
Roddy, but that seemed – I don’t know – likely to annoy her,
or – now I think back on it – more as if the conversation had
to go another way. I went with the way it had to go and
said, “What kind of help do you want?”

  Her eyebrows came together anxiously. When I think back,
I can see she was massively anxious the whole time. “That’s
the problem,” she said. “I don’t know how you can help. It
almost seems hopeless. Our whole country is probably in
horrible danger and nobody seems to know except me.
And… ” Her hand went back to point at the younger kid.
“Grundoon of course. Sir James seems to have the Merlin
completely under his thumb somehow. Or else the Merlin’s
turned bad. Sybil’s in it too. I mean, I know the Merlin’s
quite new, and young, and a bit weak…”

  “Hang on,” I said. “Merlin is from King Arthur’s time. An
old man with a long white beard. He got locked away by a
girl called Nem – Nemesis or something…”

  “I dare say one was,” she interrupted me. “A lot of the
Merlins have had long, white beards. But this one’s young.
He’s only just been appointed.”

  “No, Nemuë,” I said. “That was her name. You mean to
tell me there’s more than the one Merlin?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s an official post,” she said impatiently.
“The Merlin rules magics the way the King rules the country,
except that it looks as if the Merlin’s trying to rule the
country too now. Or Sir James is and he’s got hold of the
Merlin somehow. Sir James is a really vile man, but the
King never seems to notice, and he’s got the King and the
Prince doing what he says now.”

  “OK,” I said. I couldn’t really follow all that. “You want
me to come and help sort your country out for you.” I heard
myself say this, sounding quite cool and efficient, and I
thought, Who are you kidding, Nick? You are going to end
up with this Merlin and this Sir Someone jumping up and
down on your face! But what I thought didn’t make any
difference. The old drunk had told me the rules. I had to
help Roddy in order to get out of this place. So I put out my
hand and sort of pushed at the patch of light around the
girl. And somehow it didn’t surprise me that I seemed to hit
solid rock just about the place where her odd bunch of
flowers was. I was quite relieved actually. “No luck,” I said.

  Roddy sighed. “I was afraid of that,” she said. “When will
you get here?”

  “Um,” I said. “Where are you?”

  She looked surprised that I didn’t know. “I’m in the
Islands of Blest, of course. How long do you think you’ll be,
getting here? It’s urgent.”

  “I have to help two more people first,” I said. “Then I’ll ask
Romanov what to do and be right along. That’s all I can
promise.”

  She wasn’t very pleased, but there didn’t seem to be much
either of us could do about that. “I’ll see you soon, then,” she
said.

  “See you soon,” I agreed.

  I turned sideways and squeezed past her patch of light. It
was odd. The thing was like a flat disc with her inside it.
When I was level with her, side on, all I could see was a
curved line of daylight. When I was past that line, it was all
gone. I looked back and there was nothing. I even went back
to where I had been standing, but there was nothing there
now, just black rocks.

  “Oh, well,” I said. I still don’t know whether I was more
disappointed or more relieved. It would have been wonderful
to meet Roddy properly, in the flesh. But if I did, it would
seem to mean having to deal with magic and politics in a
place I knew nothing about, and I didn’t feel up to doing
that. So I went on, not knowing if I should chalk up one
failure and try to help three more people, or if I really had
agreed to help Roddy. And if so, did that count towards
getting out of here? Perhaps, I thought hopefully, it was the
thing I was going to do in the future that Romanov had
been sent to stop me doing. Perhaps I could wait until I was
grown up and then go to these Islands of Blest and sort them
out then. Roddy would be grown up too then, and that
struck me as a very good thing. I sort of smiled to myself
and decided that I probably had promised to help her and it
probably did count towards getting out of here, and I only
had to put it off a few years and everything would be fine.

  I think this made me careless. I was thinking so hard
about it all that I almost walked straight past the place
where the path forked.

  Two steps further on, I replayed what I’d just seen: the
light on my head glistening off a high promontory of rock
with a dark path winding away on either side of it. I
stopped. I backed up the two steps, and there, sure enough,
was the promontory and the two paths. I’d simply gone off
down the left hand fork without thinking about it. It had
seemed to me that Romanov had gone that way. But when I
stood in front of the promontory, I sort of knew he’d gone
down both paths, both quite recently.

  Since I didn’t think even Romanov could be in two places
at once, I reckoned he must have been along one of the paths
first, then the other, and it was the one he’d used last that I
needed. But I couldn’t really tell which it was. I stood and
dithered. And in the end I decided that I must have gone
into the left hand path because I’d known unconsciously
which was the right one. So I went that way.

  This turned out to be a truly colossal mistake.




                      5
                    Roddy
                               1
                                                         «^»
  he following morning, after Grundo had pigged out on
bacon and eggs – well, I did too: the bacon was marvellous –
Olwen brought us two heavy little knapsacks loaded with
sandwiches. If I’d been on my own, I’d have asked to leave
some of them behind. There were so many. As it was, I
peered in at the several loaf-sized packages, thought of
Grundo and wondered if there was enough.

  Then my grandfather came in with a map and showed us
how to go. “The place you are making for,” he said, “is a
ruined village where people lived before History began. You
may recognise it by the small wood below it where a river
runs. It is there they went to wash. The place itself is on the
bare shelf just below the top of the hill. You will see the
remains of the houses quite clearly. Be sure to visit each
one!”

  He gave Grundo the map and went away to his study, to
his mysterious work.

  We set off, as he had told us, straight ahead from the front
door. This took us round the top of the hanging scoop where
the valley that led to the manse ended. We looked down as
we walked on the grey road zigzagging up the green
mountainside towards us. Beyond that, the valley coiled into
blue-green distance without a house in sight.

  “I wonder where his congregation comes from,” Grundo
said.

  “Springs out of the earth, obviously,” I said.

  For some reason, this made us both shiver and we went a
long way after that without speaking. It was a hot, blue day
with only the faintest wind even up on the mountains where
the map took us, the kind of day where there is a haze at the
bottom of the sky hiding the distance. It was quite hard to
see the green and dun peaks as they wheeled slowly about
us. The blue-black distance was only a suggestion. And it
grew hotter and hotter.

  “Dad must have forgotten to put the clouds back,” I said. I
was a little puzzled, because Dad is usually very particular
to restore the weather systems to where they were before he
moved them. I knew the King had wanted continuing fine
weather, but there should have been signs by now – small
clouds, gusts of wind – that Dad was beginning to bring the
old weather back.

  “The King probably ordered a heatwave until he’s met the
Pendragon,” Grundo said. His mind was chiefly on the map.
It was not like maps usually are. It was more like a little
drawing of hills and mountains. Woods were put in as small
trees and marshes were drawn as pools grown with rushes. I
found it easier to follow than a real map, but Grundo kept
grumbling about it. “How am I expected to follow an
artwork?” he kept saying.

      It took us the whole morning to get to the place – or maybe
longer than that, I suspect. We trudged slantwise across
hillsides where dark gorse stood above us blazing with
yellow flowers smelling of vanilla, and beside crags, and up
long slopes among pine trees, where the smell was sad and
spicy. The only real incident was in a marsh strewn with
black pools, where midges came out like smoke from a
bonfire every time we trod on a tussock. Grundo got sick of
the midges and went through an acre of fine emerald grass
instead. The grass was growing on sucking mud. Grundo
lost both shoes. We had to crawl for them and got very silly
and laughed a lot and ended up covered with black, coaly
slime. The slime flaked off in the sun as we walked on. By
the time we reached the place, we had almost flaked back to
normal again.

      “It’s unmistakable really,” Grundo said, staring uphill at
it.

      It was like an accidental garden strewn with heaps of
regularly piled stones. Small rowans and hawthorns had
grown up among the stones, along with heather and gorse,
big bushes of broom and small shrubs of bilberry. In
between, there was every kind of wild flower, from foxgloves
and poppies and yarrow, through buttercups, down to
speedwell and tiny heartsease. I was particularly enchanted
with some flowers like dark blue trumpets nestling in sunny
spaces and by the drifts of frail, wiry harebells. Blue is
always my favourite colour. Grundo discovered ripe
bilberries and was squatting eating them almost at once,
while butterflies flitted across him in all directions but
straight. Bees murmured everywhere and grasshoppers
grated away all around.

  “Let’s have lunch before we explore,” I said.

  “Yes!” said Grundo, with his mouth all purple.

  We sat down on the nearest sunny tumble of wall, just
beside what looked like the ruins of a front door with very
civilised steps up to it, where we ate an improbable quantity
of sandwiches in peace and contentment filled with
insect-sounds. I said the people who once lived here must
have been very well organised.

  “But what a long way they had to go for water,” Grundo
said, pointing to the little rustling wood down the hill,
where you could just hear the distant trickling of the river.

  “It didn’t matter if they were used to it,” I said. I had a
sudden strongly imagined vision of that wood full of small
pathways, some of them where children ran and laughed,
others where sweaty men strode down to bathe, and others
where women walked with baskets of washing, chatting and
arguing. The part where the privet and blackthorn grew
thickest and darkest, up near the waterfall, would have been
– well – secret, somehow. I didn’t know if this idea was
correct or not, so I didn’t mention it to Grundo. I said, “If
you’ve quite finished pigging, we have work to do!”
  Grundo got up, groaning a little, and we went in among
the houses. They were all just heaps of stone in rings or
ovals, but you could see they had been houses because some
of them were divided into rooms, and there were big slabs of
stone in some that might have been tables. Or stairs. As we
went from house to house in the hot, dreamy sunlight, with
the butterflies darting and flitting about us, I kept seeing
them all as well-built cottages, with stone walls downstairs
and the upper walls neatly plastered. Each one would have
had sliding shutters for windows, and a round, thatched
roof like a hat on top. Most of them had small walled
gardens at one side. But again, I was afraid I was being
over-imaginative and I didn’t tell Grundo this either.

  He was poking around, grunting, wondering if people
could stand up inside the buildings, and muttering that all
the rooms were so tiny. “What does your grandfather expect
us to find here?” he demanded. “Buried treasure?”

  By this time, we were coming to the last and smallest
house in the place. It was a ring of stones only a couple of
feet high, off at the bottom end of the village, slightly aside
from the other ruins. The grass inside the ring of stone was
green even for this country and there were more flowers
growing there than in any other spot. But I was thinking
there were no dividing walls – this must have been a very
humble cottage – when we were suddenly inside a perfect
cloud of butterflies. They swept around us, all kinds, white,
blue, small and brown, large yellow, big tortoiseshell,
orange tipped, some almost red, and whirled on into the
small ruin, where they sank in a quivering crowd towards
the bank of yellow flowers to one side.

  “Go with them,” Grundo said with utter certainty. “They
mean something.”

  We stepped inside on to the green, moist grass. And there
the thing happened that my grandfather must have sent me
for. It seemed to last for a second and to go on for a century
– Grundo says a minute, I stood there like a statue for a
minute, he says – and it is horribly hard to describe. So
many things seemed to happen at once.

  The first thing was that, as if someone had dealt me a
thumping blow, I felt a terrible pain in my right hip. It hurt
so that I could hardly stand up. And then, though I knew I
was all the time standing in the sun in a ruin, I was in the
house as it once had been. It was fairly dark, but extremely
civilised and orderly, if you allowed for most things being
on the floor, like knives and pots and cups and knitting, all
laid neatly on the carpet. The reason it was arranged like
that was because the woman lying on the low bed where the
butterflies were had difficulty standing up. It hurt her to
stand or walk. She had been ritually injured when she was
fifteen because she was a powerful witch. A very powerful
witch. She greeted me with dreadful, bitter joy. The village
chief had smashed her right hip so that he could control her.
She had never forgiven him. She had vowed never to pass on
the knowledge her gifts had given her to anyone from the
village. But the law is that you have to pass your knowledge
on to someone. So, instead, she had searched the centuries
and the millennia for the right person to pass her magic to.
And she had found me.

  She gave me her knowledge.

  It was devastating. I had the knowledge all at once in a
bundle – all she knew, all she could do, and her entire life
with it. I felt like Mam’s little laptop into which someone
had suddenly downloaded fifty years’ dealings in the
world’s Stock Exchanges. I staggered and limped and
hobbled away from the small ruin, hardly able to see. All I
remember is that the butterflies flew away as suddenly as
they had come, spreading out as they went into a hundred
different flightpaths. The only other thing I knew was that
my hip hurt dreadfully.

  I think Grundo was very frightened. He says my face was
grey and my eyes like bright holes. He said, “Are you all
right?” in the calm, quivery voice people use instead of
screaming. When I didn’t answer, and I couldn’t – all I
could make was a queer, buzzing moan – he took a violent
hold on my wrist and dragged me out of the long-ago
village. He had to drag very slowly because I almost couldn’t
walk. My right thigh felt broken.

  Down the flowery field we crept to the wood with the river
in it. Grundo had to carry both our bags. He was probably
wondering how we were going to get back to the manse. His
first idea was to sit me down in the wood to recover, but that
didn’t work because my leg hurt too much to bend. So he cut
through the dark corner past the waterfall and dragged me
across the stepping stones and out on to the hillside beyond.

  There it was as if we had passed an invisible boundary.
The hurt in my hip stopped. It was just not there any more.
“Oh, thank goodness!” I said. “Fancy being in that kind of
agony all the time, Grundo!”

  “Are you all right now?” he asked rather desperately.

  “No,” I said. My head seemed to be bursting, as if it had
two brains in it. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shall have to lie down
and go to sleep for a bit.” And I flopped down on the grass
and heather and more or less passed out.

  Grundo says I slept for at least two hours. He sat
anxiously beside me the entire time, not knowing what had
happened to me and wondering what he would do if I never
woke up again. He says I hardly seemed to be breathing
most of the time. He told me very calmly, but I think he had
been pretty brave.

  I woke up suddenly – pop, like that – and sat up with all
sorts of strange new knowledge still sorting itself out madly
in my mind, to find the sun quite low and both of us under
a cloud of midges.

  “Are you better now?” Grundo asked with great calmness.
He was trying to scratch both legs, one arm and his hair at
once, and he looked unusually pink and sweaty.
  “Yes,” I said. “Starving. Is there any food left?”

  Grundo scrambled to tip sandwiches, cake and apples out
of our bags. “Tell me what happened,” he implored me.

  I tried to tell him, while eating passionately. The odd
thing was that I couldn’t tell him what it was really like. I
could only tell him what I’d learnt. “The woman who used
to live in that house,” I explained, “was a wizard and a
priestess and a healer, a very strong one, very clever. She
understood more about magic than anyone I’ve ever met.
And…”

  “But you didn’t meet her,” Grundo objected. “There was no
one but us in that ruin.”

  “Yes, I did,” I said. “She was lying in the place where the
butterflies were.” I saw her in my mind’s eye as I said this,
even though I knew Grundo was right and she had not been
there. She was quite small and thin, very brown and rather
wrinkled, and I could tell she thought of herself as old – but
she wasn’t, not even as old as Mam, and Mam is thirty-two,
which is not old for people these days. She had hair like
mine, black and curly, but hers was long and wild and a
little greasy. And she stared up at me in bitter gladness,
from the biggest, darkest, most vivid eyes I have ever seen.
Her dry, brown mouth smiled, in spite of her pain. I felt as
if I had known her for years and talked to her for months.
She was that strong.

  “She had bad teeth,” I added. “The point is that her
village tried to own her. The headman broke her hip to keep
her and her magic with them, when she was fifteen and
wanted to marry a man from over the hill. So she never
married. She could hardly walk. And she hated them for it.
And, although she did her duty strictly, and cured their
diseases and warded them with magic and made their crops
flourish and dealt with their enemies, she made a vow to
herself that she would learn more magic than anyone else in
the world and not tell anyone else in the village one syllable
of what she learnt. Her assistants were all stupid anyway.
They couldn’t understand any magic deeper than
wart-charming if they tried. But the trouble was, the rule is
that you have to hand on your magical knowledge to
someone or it stays around and destroys things. So she
learnt and kept everything in her head, and when she knew
enough, she searched all through the future to find someone
to give the knowledge to. That’s what Grandfather Gwyn
sent me here for. So that she could find me.”

  “And do you know everything she knew?” Grundo asked.
He sounded so disbelieving that I knew he was deeply
impressed.

  “Not yet,” I said. It was unfolding in my head as I talked.
I had a notion that I would be unfolding more of it for the
rest of my life. “She gave it to me in a lump, you see, along
with her bad hip for a while. It’s all in lists, like files in a
computer. Each file goes under a different flower. I think I’m
supposed to learn which flower means which sort of magic
and then access them when I need them. Lots of them are
going to just sit there folded into a lump until I call them
up. But I know some. Purple vetch is the first file, and that
has all the time-magic in it, the stuff she needed to be able to
search the future. And some really strange things!” I stared
at these things, while Grundo stared at me staring into
distant universes and huge, peculiar ideas I’d never thought
of before. It was like looking down a whirlpool.

  “Why did she choose you?” he growled. It was almost a
complaint. Grundo felt left out.

  “I think my brain matches hers,” I said. “That’s what she
looked for, a brain, not a person. But she was glad I was
well-intentioned too. She was going to die soon. Her hip had
gone bad inside. And she really didn’t tell anyone in the
village her magic, I know. I’m pretty sure the place didn’t
last very long after she died. But I remembered to thank her.
I told her that her knowledge was going to save more than
just a village in this time!”

  “And will it?” Grundo asked eagerly. “Can you out-magic
the Merlin now?”

  I wondered. There was certainly stuff in my head that
would do that, but you had to learn what it was and how to
work it first. “If I think very hard…” I said. “Let’s walk back
to the manse now. I still have to sort out just what I do
know.”

  All the way back, in the mild evening sun, I was thinking,
thinking. I kept discovering new flower-files I hadn’t noticed
before, each with more knowledge stacked inside them than I
had ever dreamt existed. Once or twice, I annoyed Grundo
by bursting out laughing. The first time was when I realised
that all the magic we had learnt at Court was small and
one-sided and incomplete. The reality was huge – and all the
things our teachers said were complicated were really quite
simple. And the other way round.

  “Oh, good!” Grundo grunted when I told him. “I’ve always
thought that.”

  Another time I laughed, I had to explain to him, “It was
the kind of woman she is! Almost all the flower-headings are
dry, twisty kind of plants, like thistles or brambles or
teazles. Or gorse. That’s a big file. There’s not a juicy
dandelion or a lily or a forget-me-not anywhere! She was so
dry and bitter!”

  “It’s not evil magic, is it?” Grundo said anxiously.

  “No,” I said. “That’s the odd thing! You’d think the way
she hurt and hated, she might use bad magic, but she didn’t.
There are several evil files – privet, yew, ivy – but they’re
made like read-only. For reference, so you know what to do
when someone uses black magic against you, and they all
have the counter-spells with them, which are the only active
ones. All the rest is just – well – clean knowledge. I don’t
know how she did it, considering the life she had!”

  I kept having memories of that pain she’d lived with, like
long blunt teeth clamped on the top of her leg, and she still
did her duty and kept her magic white. It was enough to
make me swear to be worthy of her gift, to use it properly or
not at all.

  My grandfather was outside the manse when we came
round the last bend in the way, like a stick of charcoal on
the grass in front of the house, watching for us. He did not
move as we came across the top of the valley, except to take
down the hand that was shading his eyes. When we came up
to him, he said, “There is no need to tell me. I see you found
what you went for. Tea is ready.”

  As we followed his upright black back into the manse, it
came to me that Mam must often have been hurt or offended
when he behaved like this. I wondered if I was. And I found
I wasn’t. It was his way. He had shown he was anxious by
waiting outside for us. When he saw we had succeeded and
that we were all right, he felt words were unnecessary
because we all knew anyway. I wondered if I would ever be
able to explain this to Mam. Or if she would believe me if I
did.

  Tea was magnificent again. I let Grundo enjoy himself
and chat to Grandfather Gwyn and did not speak much
myself. My head was still heavy and fuzzy with all that had
been packed into it. Afterwards, I left Grundo looking at
books in the tall, damp-smelling parlour and toiled away to
bed. I suppose I undressed. I was in nightwear next
morning. But all I remember is plunging into sleep.
                                2
                                                               «^»
  slept very heavily. It was the kind of sleep people describe
as “dreamless” except that it wasn’t. All through it I felt that
knowledge was unfolding in my brain. Then, around
midnight, I seemed to have a dream. I thought I lifted my
head from my pillow because the bell in the little chapel was
ringing. “I must go and see,” I said to myself, “but I’m not
used to this and I hope I get it right.” So, while the small
bell kept tolling out its silvery ting, ting, ting, I sorted
sleepily through my new knowledge and used it to float out
of bed, and through the window, where I sort of hovered
round to the front of the manse. Everything was dark and
gusty out there, but there was somehow enough grey light to
see by. I could see that the arched door at the front of the
chapel was open. People in dark clothes were coming out of
the darkness inside it, riding horses, or riding other things
much stranger, and coming slowly uphill in threes and
pairs towards the manse.

  There must have been a good fifty of them on their way by
the time the chapel bell gave a final tong-ting and stopped.
Their pale faces lifted expectantly then. My grandfather
came out from behind the manse, riding the grey mare. He
was not in his cassock, but all in black, tight-fitting clothes,
except for his silky cloak, which had a white lining that
billowed around the dark shape of him.

  He spoke to the advancing people in the thunderous voice
he used when he said grace. “I am summoned,” he said, “but
for no good purpose. Come.”

  He rode the grey mare straight forward, straight off the
edge of the grass and into the air above the winding valley,
and the other people followed him in a dark procession.

  I had a moment when I knew this had to be a dream, and
then another moment when it was fairly clear to me that my
grandfather was not just a mere wizard. Then I was
speeding after them through the air.

  It was certainly like a dream for a short while. Blue-dark
landscapes rushed underneath us, mountains heaved up,
pale roads and glinting rivers coiled, black woodland swept
up and swept behind, and every so often the clear yellow
lights in houses flitted by far below. Those lights were like
heaps and strings of jewels, and I got the feeling they were
equally precious. But we did not stop for them, nor for
anything else, even for the small flier that blundered across
our way, chugging and roaring and no doubt full of people
hoping they were imagining the sight of us, until we came to
the dim shape of a castle on a knoll beneath. Then we swept
down and around it in a grand curve, and my grandfather
rode down the air to land on the turf inside the castle
gardens.
  I recognised the place as we came down, mostly because of
the huge orderly cluster of tents, lorries and buses just
outside the gardens to the right. This was Castle Belmont
where the King’s Progress was camped.

  But we were not going to the camp. My grandfather led his
riders silently on through the parkland until they came to
the dark walls of the Inner Garden. There, at its gate, he
turned and led them, much more swiftly, around outside its
walls. I knew, for some reason, that this part was not my
concern. I sat hovering in the dark air and watched while
they circled the garden three times clockwise, faster and
faster. My grandfather was always easy to see, on the white
mare with the white lining of his cloak flapping and
gleaming, so that on the second circuit it was easy to see that
he was now carrying some kind of pale banner or standard.
On the third circuit, most of the riders following him were
carrying pale lights that bobbed and glimmered as they
swept up to the gates, swept around in a great curve, and
went noiselessly galloping and glinting round the walls in
the opposite direction.

  My innards gave a lurch at this, because this was
widdershins. All that I had been taught by the teachers at
Court said that this was the direction of bad magic. But the
knowledge that was now in my head from the woman with
the hurt hip reassured me about this. My grandfather was
one of the few who were outside these rules, and the gates of
the garden would not open to him until he had circled three
times counter-clockwise as well.

  Sure enough, on the third reappearance of the speeding
procession, the gates sprang apart and the riders trotted
sedately inside. They were not completely silent now. As I
swooped down to follow them, I could hear thudding, and
faint creaks and jingles from their harness, and the horses
snorting as they recovered from the gallop.

  I overshot them a little. I was not used to floating about
bodiless. There was a tiny flickering among the bushes up
beyond the first lopsided pool, and I assumed that was
where the riders would be. But what I found there was a
double ring of lighted candles. Sybil, Sir James and the
Merlin were standing in strange attitudes inside it. The
Merlin had his arms raised and bent as if he were pushing
against a low ceiling.

  “It’s coming – coming at last!” he panted.

  Sybil, who seemed to be heaving at an invisible rope,
gasped, “I hope it’s quick then. It’s all I can do to hold it!”

  Sir James didn’t speak. His was the weakest magic and it
was clearly all he could do to keep up his part of the
working. The candles glistened on his sweaty face and
clutching hands.

  The grey mare climbed the bank beside me and stopped.
My grandfather sat on her back staring at the three magic
workers with his face blank as marble and utterly scornful.
“I am here,” he said.
  The three inside the ring of candles relaxed and puffed out
great thankful breaths. “It’s here,” said the Merlin.

  “Thank goodness!” said Sybil. “It took its time!”

  Sir James, bent over, with his hands on his knees, gasped
out, “They do, the big ones. Owe it to their pride, you know”

  None of them looked towards my grandfather. I realised
that they were unable to see him.

  “You have summoned me,” said my grandfather, “and
had the temerity to bind me to your will. I hereby warn you
that you are permitted to summon me three times only. You
can bind me no further than that.”

  “It may be speaking,” the Merlin said, with a strained,
listening look. “Wasn’t that some kind of a protest?”

  “Oh, they always grumble, these strong Powers,” Sir
James cut in irritably. “Not used to bending their heads. Get
on and instruct it, Sybil. I’m whacked.”

  I suppose I should have stayed to hear what Sybil was
going to say. I wish I had now. But a great disgust took me.
I felt quite sick that these three unpleasant people should
summon my grandfather and call him “it” and give him
orders, when they couldn’t even see him, and barely hear
him either. Besides, there was quite a bit of noise coming
from the greensward near the gate where the other riders
were, and I was curious to know what they were doing. I
swooped back there.
  They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Some of them were
standing with their horses’ reins hitched on one arm,
chatting cheerfully while they prepared some kind of torches
and lit them from their little glimmering lanterns. The rest
of them were quite deliberately making footprints in the
grass. One man in a tight dark hood was stamping hard,
over and over. Another was tramping round and round in a
clockwise ring, chuckling as the marks in the grass showed
deeper and darker. Most of the others were encouraging their
mounts to stamp or rear in order to leave hoofprints, and
one man was leading two of the strange beasts back and
forth in the moist ground near the pool, coaxing and
whistling as grooms do to horses. The creatures hissed and
rattled their wings and a peculiar smell came off them, but
they obediently placed their two splayed feet over and over in
the same places.

  “Those are wyverns,” my grandfather said, coming down
beside me on foot, leading the grey mare. He did not seem in
the least surprised or annoyed to see me there.

  “And what are the rest of them doing?” I asked.

  He actually chuckled. “Leaving prints. We are not allowed
to lie, but we can mislead. Wait here.” He unhitched the
white standard from the mare’s saddle and strode up the
rise beyond the trickling pool – surprisingly nimble for the
father of my mother – where he rammed the thing upright in
the soft turf. It went in a good foot and stood there,
fluttering. As far as I could see in the gloom, it was a long
skull-shape on a stake, round which strips of leathery stuff
were flapping. “I shouldn’t look too closely if I were you,” my
grandfather said, as he came back and gathered up the
mare’s reins. “It is there as a mark and a warning.” And he
mounted the mare as nimbly as he had climbed the rise.

  I did look. I stared at the thing, even though it was queer
and horrible. It seemed a desecration to plant it in this
garden of gentle magics. But then, Sybil had already spoilt
the magic by bespelling its waters, and I supposed Sir
James deserved it.

  While I was staring, all my grandfather’s people gave a
great shout and rode at the mound where the warning was
planted, whirling the flaring torches they had been
preparing. It was as if each torch set fire to the very air
around it. The whole mound was a great roaring bonfire in
instants, with the standard in its blazing heart. It only
lasted for seconds. I had a second’s clear sight of what the
standard really was. It was a stake that had been pushed
through the rotting skull of a horse, and then through the
skull of a human above that, and the flapping pieces were
skin, raw and bloody, flayed from horse and human. I had
to turn away.

  More of the knowledge from the woman with the smashed
hip came to me and helped me while I was gagging. My
grandfather was not a wizard. He was a great Power, and
great ones are governed by strange rules. Power and pain go
together, as the woman had learnt herself. And every fine,
kindly thing is incomplete without a side that is less than
pleasant.

  “Fine, kindly thing!” I said aloud. “Grandfather Gwyn is
fine all right, but kindly!” At that moment, I thought I never
wanted to speak to my grandfather again.

  Then I came to myself to see that the garden was filling
with the white mist of dawn. Sir James was coming striding
down the side of the mound, holding a bottle and a
wineglass. The other two followed him, sipping out of
glasses as they came. None of them seemed to see the hideous
standard rearing up by their shoulders, but they saw the
lawn by the gate well enough. The dew of the grass there was
smudged green and trampled brown with footprints,
hoofmarks and the shapes of huge three-clawed paws.

  They rushed there and stared. After a moment, they
actually danced with delight. “We’ve real power to draw on
now!” I heard Sybil say.

  The Merlin positively giggled. “Yes, and we can use it to
lay in even more!” he said.

  I was disgusted again and I left…




                              3
                                                        «^»
  woke up in bed. It was bright morning and I was really
worried. If Sybil and her friends could enslave Grandfather
Gwyn, there seemed no reason why they should ever stop. No
one and nothing was safe. I tried to convince myself I had
merely had a peculiar dream, but I couldn’t. I was sure it
had all really happened.

  To prove me right, there were only Grundo and me at
breakfast and only two places set. “Isn’t my grandfather
here?” I asked Olwen when she came in with boiled eggs.
“He’s away on business,” she said, “riding the mare.”

  “So much for your idea of asking Grandfather Gwyn for
help,” I said glumly to Grundo when Olwen had gone.

  “Well, he said he wouldn’t be able to,” Grundo answered,
placidly tapping the tops of three eggs. “What’s the matter?
Why are you looking so desperate?”

  I told him about what I thought had happened in the
night. It can’t have been pleasant for Grundo, hearing such
things about his mother. He looked depressed. But he is used
to Sybil. He ate his third egg in a resigned way and said,
“There must be someone else you can ask for help. That’s
why he sent you to get all that knowledge. Think about it.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I will.” I sat watching him eat toast
while I tried to open file after file in my head. Teazle,
Thistle, Ivy, Gorse, Bramble, Dog rose, Goosegrass, I went
through, and several other prickly or dour-looking plants
that I didn’t know the names of and only had pictures of in
my head. It was odd. I knew each flower-file was crammed
full of magical facts. I even knew roughly what was in each
one, but it all stayed misty to me. Even the one I had used
last night without realising what I was using – red artemis:
out-of-body-experiences – had gone misty to me now.

  In the end, I just ran through the scores of file-headings
one by one, until one appeared that didn’t stay misty.
Harebells: dealings with magical folk who are visible. And a
whole list of these magical folk: dragons, Great Powers,
gods., Little People, kelpies, boggarts, haunts, elves,
piskies… on and on. I hadn’t realised there were so many.
And there was, I realised, another whole file – Mullein –
about dealing with magical folk who were not visible, which
put itself alongside Harebells in case I needed that too. But
the picture of a harebell was the one that was clearest in my
mind’s eye. For a moment, I distrusted it. It didn’t seem as
dry and thorny as the rest of the hurt woman’s herbs. But
though the pale blue bells of the flowers seemed almost juicy,
I saw they grew on dry, wiry stems – as dry as anything in
the other files. It seemed to be right. What we needed was one
of the magical folks who could give us advice – someone
wise.

  I ran through the list of folk again. I expected the file to
come up with dragon or god, but it didn’t – and when I
thought about it, I realised that someone big like that would
make an enormous magical disturbance coming to talk to
us. If Sybil didn’t notice, the Merlin would. Realising that
made me feel almost hopeful, in a way. None of the three
conspirators had the least idea that Grundo and I knew they
were up to something, and we needed to keep them from
knowing until we knew enough to stop them. The list ran
through my head and stopped. Little People. It was obvious,
really.

  Grundo put the last piece of toast regretfully back in the
toastrack. “Got it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Where do harebells grow?”

  “There were lots in that ruined village,” Grundo said, “but
that’s miles away. Wasn’t there a sort of bank of them on
that slope across the valley? I thought I saw some just before
we saw your grandfather waiting for us.”

  “Let’s go and see!” I said, leaping up. I was so pleased that
I rushed out to the kitchen with the teapot and a pile of
plates. Olwen looked very surprised. “We’ll be back for
lunch.” I told her and went racing off after Grundo, who
was already trotting out along the way we had taken
yesterday.

  But things are never that easy. There were only a few
harebells growing by the head of the valley and I knew I
needed thick drifts of them. It took us half the morning to
find the right kind of sloping, sheltered hilltop where
harebells grew in quantities. By that time, we were well into
the hills on the chapel side of the manse. But at last we
found the place, a small, warm dip full of a great bank of
fluttering, pale blue bells. We sat down on the sunny edge of
them, and I carefully picked five of the harebells and wound
their wiry stems among the fingers of my left hand in the
correct pattern. Then I called out the correct words from the
file, three times.

  And waited.

  Our shadows had moved on the hillside over the dry grass
quite noticeably before anything happened. Grundo had
stretched out on the turf and then gone to sleep by that time.
This was hard on him, because when a section of the
harebell-covered hillside shifted gently to one side, he woke
up with a jump and then didn’t dare move. I could see him
staring sideways across the freckles on his nose all through
the rest of what happened.

  As I said, a piece of the hillside shifted. It was as if there
had been an invisible fold in it up to then, which now
straightened out to let a small person slip around the edge of
it. The person had one hand up, pushing at the fold, and he
was dreadfully out of breath.

  “Your pardon, wise lady,” he panted. His voice was husky
and high. “You patient. Wait long.”

  I looked from him to the hillside. Space is as a folding
screen to the little people, said the knowledge in my head,
and it seemed to be right. There was obviously twice as
much of the hill, folded to keep the place where the person
lived out of sight. I tried not to stare at the fold, or at the
person, too hard. If I had been standing up, he would have
come about to my knees. Up to then, I had always thought
that, apart from their size, the Little People would be like
small humans. This was not so. He was covered with soft,
sandy hair, which grew thicker on his head and around his
pointy ears. Being so hairy probably accounted for the fact
that he was wearing almost no clothes, just crossed belts on
his long top half and cheerful red drawers on his lower part.
I found it really hard not to stare at his legs. They bent the
other way from human legs. But his hands and arms were
very like mine, though hairy, and he had an anxious little
face rather like a cat’s, except that his eyes were brown. He
wore a gold earring in one ear and kept flicking at it
nervously. I expect I seemed horribly huge to him.

  I didn’t want him to think I had come just to stare. I
greeted him politely in what the file said were the right
words.

  “You know old talk,” he said respectfully. “Not necessary.
Old talk hard for us these days. You wait, for they fetch me.
I only one know speak your talk.”

  I looked at the harebells drooping from my fingers. “These
are supposed to make me able to understand your
language,” I told him. “Why don’t you just speak the way
you usually do?”

  He was very put out. “But I need learn! Practice,” he
protested. “I hear, I know more than I know to say. Please
use own talk.”

  “All right,” I said. It seemed unkind to say anything else.
“I’ve come to you for advice really. Do you mind me asking
you for help? Will you need anything in return?”

  “No, no. No return. Just need to hear big person talk,” he
said, and hopped forward to sort of squat-sit in front of me
on his wrong-way-bending legs. This put him so nearly out
of Grundo’s line of sight that Grundo had to roll both his
eyes into the corners in order to see him. “Now you tell,” the
small person said, and clasped his nearly human-shaped
hands over his wrong-shaped knees. His smell drifted over
me, like the smell of a very clean cat. “Make long story.
Speak slow. I hear and learn.” He looked up at me,
expectant and eager.

  There is nothing that puts you off more, I find, than
someone saying that. I explained very badly at first, and
kept thinking that I’d better put it more simply, and then
thinking, No, he wants to learn more words. I said most
things twice in the end. And he kept nodding and staring at
me brightly, and I thought despondently, I bet he hasn’t
understood a word!

  But he had. When I finally faltered to a finish, he flicked
his earring and looked sober. “Is bad thing,” he said gravely,
“they trap one so great as Gwyn. Strangeness is, they do
without know who they got. Is using his another name
maybe. The Strong all have names a lot. Stupids. Learn
name from book and not know who meaning. And is most
greatly bad that such stupids work great plot. A pause. I
think.”

  With his furry elbows on his peculiar knees, he rested his
chinless face in both hands and considered. I waited
anxiously. Grundo seized the chance to roll his eyes back
straight.

  After a while, the Little Person remarked out of his
musings, “Wise ones of my folk been say magics acting up.
This why.”

  “And do they know…?” I began.

  He held up his hand to stop me, sandy-pink palm
forwards. “Still pause. I still think.”

  We waited. At length, he seemed to finish thinking. He
took his face out of his hands and looked up at me, bright
and whiskery. “I think two things you do. One not may
work. Other fiercely danger.”

  “Please tell me anyway.” I said.

  He nodded. “Am do. But all mix together difficult. Like
magics mix here in Blest. Blest magics all laid together close,
over and under, like weaving. These stupids pull out
threads. Come could unravel and that bad. If you do thing
also in Blest, that might worse be nearly. You do first either
thing, you do outside, that right. That secret. Or either
yourself do thing so big it chance unravel, fierce also danger.
You see? I know you understand.”
  I didn’t. I had to think hard to get even some of this.
“You’re saying that magic is so interlaced here in Blest –
right?” I asked. “That if I want to do it safely and secretly, I
have to do something right outside this world? Or if I don’t
mind them knowing, I can do something so booming big
here that it could untwist all the magics anyway?”

  He seemed very pleased. “Booming big,” he said, several
times. “Word I like.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But what things?”

  He was surprised. “Why head of yours full of old
knowings! Why need ask? I humble new person. But I tell.
Outside thing, you call on person walk dark paths. Paths
outside all worlds. No one here know you do. But not may
work. Blest thing, booming big thing, you raise the land.
Violent dangerous. Maybe blow apart – blow in small mess
bits – blow – what call?” He made rocking movements with
one hand. “What call?” he repeated appealingly.

  I had no idea what he meant this time. “Sway? Wave?
Rock?” I suggested.

  “Balance!” Grundo said deeply, unable to bear any more.
“He means the balance of magic, you fool!”

  The small person leapt wildly to one side, just like a
grasshopper, he was so startled. “Man not dead!” he said
feelingly. “He safe? Not. I think I go now.”

  “No, no, it’s only Grundo. Please stay!” I said.
  “Talk he growl like deep earth,” said the small one.
“Booming strong magic. I go.”

  And, to my great disappointment, he went. He flipped
aside a fold in the harebell patch, slipped around it and
vanished. “What did you have to interrupt for?” I said to
Grundo.

  He sat up and rolled his eyes to get the kinks out of them.
“Because you were being stupid,” he said. “He was trying to
tell you that raising the land – whatever that is – is going to
destroy the whole balance of magic here, and probably in
most other worlds as well. That’s why he was so anxious to
make you understand. I think he meant only do that if the
outside-path magic doesn’t work. Whatever that is.”

  “Then we’ll do the other thing— Oh, I wish you hadn’t
frightened him off!” I wailed.

  “He’d told you what he thought anyway,” Grundo said.

  “Yes, but he wanted to practise his human language,” I
said. “You must admit he needed to. He’d have stayed for
hours if only you’d kept quiet.”

  “Then we’d have missed lunch,” said Grundo. “Come on.
Let’s go.” Always thinking about food! I thought. “Don’t you
even feel how marvellous it is to have talked to one of the
Little People?” I said.

  “No, not as the main thing,” Grundo grunted. “If you
think like that, then you’re treating him like something in a
museum, not as a person. And I’m going back for lunch.
Now.”

  Do you know, Grundo is right! I was thinking of the small
person that way. Even though he gave us some excellent, if
terrifying, advice, I still had to try hard as I followed
Grundo across the hillsides not to think of the Little Person
as something very rare and strange that I had been to stare
and marvel at. I think it would have been easier to see him
as a real person if he’d agreed to speak his own language.




                              4
                                                            «^»
  e tried to call help from the dark paths that afternoon. We
sat in the grass above the manse while I called up the
flower-files and thought through them to find the knowledge
I needed. I knew it was there somewhere, but I was quite
surprised to find it under Mullein as a branch of speaking
with the dead. I suppose that put me in a bad mood. I
hoped, very strongly, that the person I found to help would
not be dead. That would be no help at all.

  Then I was put out again, when I looked in the right
branch of the file, to discover that the file names were not
simply names of flowers, but quite often the plant you
needed for most of the workings in the file. This ought to
have been obvious from harebells this morning, but I didn’t
see it until that afternoon. It took practice to get used to the
hurt lady’s knowledge.

  A torch of mullein held in the hand is necessary for all the
dark paths, this branch said. And could we find mullein?
We could not. I got more and more impatient, and
underneath I was just so anxious, because while we searched
about on the hillside and round the manse, Sybil and her
friends were getting merrily on with their plans. We could be
too late. I had only the haziest idea what mullein looked like
anyway. Grundo knew. He had looked at the pictures in
nature-study lessons because of not being able to read as
well as me. He said he thought it looked a bit like evening
primrose. But when he added that any old plant would
probably do just as well, we very nearly quarrelled.

  “Or try waving a turnip!” Grundo called over his
shoulder. He went stumping off in disgust down to the
chapel.

  I ignored him and found rosemary and privet and ragged
robin. Privet and ragged robin were two of those plants that
my files had tagged as Use only with great care, along with
briony, campion, hellebore and lily-of-the-valley. I was
looking at them nervously, wondering what made them so
dangerous, when Grundo came stumping back.

  “There’s a fuzzy plant covered with caterpillars against the
back wall of the chapel,” he said. “Come and look. I think it
may be mullein.”
  It was, too. I knew as soon as I looked at it. It had pale,
furry leaves and pale yellow flowers in clusters all down its
stem and, as well as being covered in caterpillars, it was tall
as a hollyhock. Grundo knocked the caterpillars off and
handed me the flower with a Court bow. “There. Have you
got them all?”

  “I need dock,” I said.

  “By the chapel gate,” he said. “A big bundle of it. And
then?”

  “Well, asphodel and periwinkle would help too, but I’ve
got all the main ones,” I said. “Let’s go to the top of the hill. I
need to face clear sky.”

  All the way up the hill, I could tell Grundo was brooding.
When we got to the top, he said, “If doing this magic makes
you like Alicia all the time, I’m not going to help you any
more.” He sat himself down facing towards the manse and
humped his shoulders at me.

  In the normal way, I’d have been furious with him for
even thinking I was like Alicia, but my head was so full of
what I had to do that all I said was “Be like that then!” and
left him sitting there.

  Oddly, as soon as I started the working, it was almost as
if Grundo was not with me. There came a tremendous burst
of energy from the bundle of plants in my fist, and from that
moment on, I seemed to be alone on the top of the mountain,
walled off from the world. This made me less embarrassed
than I would have been if Grundo had been standing beside
me. The spell was a rhyming one. The files told me what to
say in the hurt woman’s language, and then they told me
what the words meant. I had to put the words into thoughts,
and then into more words that rhymed. I felt really silly
waving a withering bundle of plants about and calling out,
“Feet on the stony way eyes that can’t see, wizard man
outside the worlds, come and help me!” Over and over. It felt
pathetic. And futile.

  I was quite sure it wasn’t working, until I saw a dark
space open in front of me. It felt like a window into
emptiness at first. “Help me” I finished feebly. I nearly
staggered away backwards when the darkness flickered blue,
showing rocks and wetness, and someone came stumbling
from around a corner towards me.

  The first and most important thing I noticed about this
person was that he had a little blue flame sitting on his
forehead, the way our wizards do on important occasions.
“Oh, good!” I said. “You’re a wizard.” But I was very
nervous, because he was real and because he was somewhere
else entirely.

  I knew he could see me and hear me. But he didn’t seem
any too certain that he was a wizard. He mumbled
something about being a beginner or just learning. My heart
sank rather. He was more or less the same age as me. I could
tell he was, although the blue flame distorted his face
terribly. He looked demonic, with pits for eyes. But, I
thought dubiously, perhaps this is how people from another
world do look. In Blest, I would have said he was from
India. I think. Anyway he was dark and a lot taller than
me.

  Then I told myself that he had to be right. He was the one
the mullein-spell had summoned, so he had to be. The
flower-file was most insistent that the next thing you did
was to get the person to say his or her true name. So I asked
him his name, and he said it was Nichothodes. It sounded
very foreign to me. And he was sort of frowning at me, as if
he thought – rather like Grundo – that I was being very
bossy and busy with my own troubles – which I was, but I
couldn’t help it. So I told him my name and tried to make a
joke that we both had mouthfuls for names.

  He still seemed dubious, but he said in a very businesslike
way, “What way do you want me to help you?”

  I explained or tried to. None of it seemed to mean very
much to him, and we hit a snag almost at once, because he
thought that the Merlin was a man with a long white beard
from the days of some mythical king. I’d never heard of this
King Arthur of his, but I said, “Well, a lot of the Merlins do
have long white beards. The one who just died did.” I tried
to go on to explain how the Merlins kept the magical powers
and worked with the Kings, who kept the political powers.

  He didn’t seem to understand at all. I got a feeling he
didn’t want to. I went on explaining, quite desperately, that
the whole country was being threatened, along with the rest
of the world, and probably other worlds with it. I see now
that this was a foretaste of what happened every other time I
tried to get help from someone, but at the time it seemed that
it was because we were totally separate, me on a hill in
Wales and he goodness knows where in the dark. I felt
helpless and hopeless.

  And he couldn’t walk through from his dark place to me.
He tried. He put out his hand and it was as if he had
planted it against a glass wall. I could see his palm all
flattened and white, with red lines in it.

  “OK,” he said. He seemed a great deal more cheerful about
it than I was. He said he’d go and ask someone what to do.
“Then I’ll come back and try to help you and Grundoon sort
it out,” he said.

  “Grundo,” I said.

  “Him too,” he said cheerfully. “Where are you anyway?”

  That made me feel as if the spell had let me down, because
surely it ought to have let him know basic things like that.
“I’m in Blest of course,” I said.

  “Then I’ll see you soon,” he said and went walking away
past me, looming up blue and dark and then vanishing out
of sight just beside me. The darkness stayed there for a
moment, going denser and denser, and then faded back into
the sky.

  “That was a fat lot of good!” I said angrily to Grundo.
  Grundo jumped a little and said, “Have you finished
already?”

  “Yes!” I said. I hurled my mashed bunch of herbs to the
ground. “Powers preserve me from thick-headed, self-centred,
cocky teenage wizards!”

  “Wasn’t it any good?” Grundo asked.

  “Not a lot,” I said. “Now what shall we do?”

  Grundo gave a surprised look at the low sun and then at
his watch. “We go in for tea, I think. That’s the trouble with
having tea instead of supper. The afternoon’s so short.
Anyway, your grandfather’s back. I can see the grey mare in
the field from here.”

  As we went sliding and crawling down the hill, Grundo
seemed quite cheerful. I couldn’t understand it. I was in a
great state of gloom. All that hunting for flowers had been a
total waste of time. The wizard boy was not capable of
helping anyone. He was stupid. I wanted to blame the Little
Person for suggesting the idea – but it was not his fault. He
had no way of knowing I was going to get an ignorant idiot
when I called. But that seemed to show there was no way to
get help from outside. The only thing I could do now was to
rejoin the King’s Progress and find out as soon as possible
what it meant to raise the land and how to do it. It was not
something that was in my flower-files – I was sure of that.
In the hurt woman’s day it was not a thing anyone needed to
do. They had little kings and small countries. Probably the
magic of Blest had not even begun to be important for other
places then.

  In the manse, Grandfather Gwyn was waiting by the tea
table to say grace. At first glance he seemed as sombre and
expressionless as ever, and maybe a little tired. One black
eyebrow twitched impatiently as Grundo uttered cries of joy
at the plate heaped with griddle cakes. But, after he had
thundered forth a longer grace than usual, my grandfather
looked at me briefly. There was just a flick of a smile for me,
private between the two of us. Now, the smile seemed to say,
you know some of my secret.

  Yes, I thought, and some of that secret is that Sybil owns
you for the moment. I can’t tell you anything now. But I
couldn’t resist smiling back.

  “That’s better,” my grandfather said as we sat down.
“Arianrhod, you are too solemn. You should learn not to
take things so hard. Your cause will be much better served if
people perceive you as less tense and emotional.”

  Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! I thought.
“Grandfather Gwyn,” I said, “I have reason to be like this. I
think Grundo and I should get back to the Progress as soon
as possible.”

  “I agree,” he said. “I have ordered the car for you. Be ready
to start first thing tomorrow.”

  Grundo looked truly miserable. He had been enjoying
himself thoroughly almost for the first time in his life. “In
that case,” he said, “could we have another plate of griddle
cakes? I need to stock up.”

  My grandfather did his almost-smile again. “Certainly.
And a packet to take with you when you go.”

  He was as good as his word. I think he always is. When
Grundo and I stumbled downstairs with our bags in the
very early morning, my grandfather was waiting in the hall
like a tall, black pillar, with a slightly greasy bag in his
long, white hands. The hall was unusually sunny. The front
door was open into the low sunlight and a melting green
and gold distance beyond. The hearse-like car cut some of
the light off as it came slowly crunching to a stop on the
grass outside.

  My grandfather passed Grundo the bag. “Olwen has put a
packed breakfast for you in the car. Go in peace with my
blessing.”

  He saw us to the car, but he didn’t, to my secret relief,
insist on a kiss or even try to shake hands. He just lifted one
hand as the car started. The last we saw of him, he was
turning, black and upright, to go back into the manse. The
road tipped us down and round a corner almost at once,
and all we saw was the green shoulders of mountains. I
found I was sighing with regret as strong as Grundo’s.

  Olwen had provided the usual huge packets of sandwiches
and cakes. We were eating for a good part of the long drive
back and didn’t pay much attention to the scenery – though
I got the feeling we went a different way that was rather
shorter. I certainly didn’t recall the wide, sunny gorge we
went through, or the full, grey river hurrying in the midst of
it. But then, as Grundo said, until we spent these few strange
days at the manse, neither of us had made a habit of
watching the country as we travelled.

  “You get trained out of it,” Grundo said. “Scenery just goes
past and that’s it.”

  We were both in a muddling mixture of regret at leaving
and nervousness about what would happen when we were
back with the Progress.

  “I wonder what my mother will say,” Grundo remarked. “I
forgot to tell her I was going with you.”

  “My mam will have told her,” I said. “And Sybil may
have been too busy to be angry. You have to admit she’s been
hard at other things lately.”

  Our mix of feelings grew much fiercer as we saw the shape
of Belmont Castle on its mound against the hot, blue sky. It
had turned into a truly scorching day by then. I supposed
that Dad was letting the weather stay fine still for the
Meeting of Kings, but, as the car swept in through the
massive castle gates and went winding up the gravel path
past parched-looking trees, I began to think Dad might be
overdoing things. He was on the way to causing a drought.
It crossed my mind that this wasn’t like Dad, but mostly I
was realising that the driver was going to dump us at the
castle door just where he had picked us up and wishing he
wouldn’t. Grundo looked at me. But we both knew now that
it was no good trying to talk to this driver, so we said
nothing while he drove in a smart circle on the gravel at the
top and drew up with a crunch in front of the big double
door of the castle. We said nothing but “Thank you” after
that, when he opened the rear doors for us and plumped our
bags down on the gravel. We stood clutching our packets of
spare sandwiches and griddle cakes and watched the car
drive away down the path, glimmering with the heat.

  “He doesn’t understand about the camp at all,” Grundo
said.

  I agreed. In some way, that driver seemed to think that
my grandfather’s family was equal to the King’s. We picked
up our bags and humped them over to the steep way down
into the camp.

  And stood staring.

  The field where the camp had been was empty. We could
see old wheel-tracks and brown trodden paths and pale
patches where tents had been, but not a sign of the Progress,
not even the buses that usually went off last with us in them.
Not a scrap of litter. Nothing. The field looked as if it had
been empty for days.

  “They’ve gone!” I said stupidly.

  “They can’t have gone long,” Grundo said. “We’ve only
been away three days and the King had to meet the Welsh
King before they went. We’d better ask at the castle.”

  We left our bags and packets in a huddle overlooking the
empty field and crunched over to the enormous front door,
where we rang the polished brass bell-pull. We had to ring
three times before there was any answer. By that time we
were thinking that the castle was empty too.

  Almost as we were ready to turn away, one of the halves of
the double door was noisily unbarred and opened a little by
a man in shirtsleeves. He may have been Sir James’s butler.
He stood half inside the opening looking annoyed at being
disturbed. When he saw we were only children his face
developed new sour creases. “Yes?” he said.

  We both became very urgent in our best Court manners.
“We’re sorry to bother you,” I said. “I’m Arianrhod Hyde and
this is Ambrose Temple – Court wizards’ children…”

  “We were supposed to rejoin the Progress this morning,”
Grundo explained. “Can you possibly tell us…?”

  “No use trying to join anything here,” the man said, as if
he didn’t believe us. “Who are you trying to fool? The King
left nearly a week ago now, right after he met with the Welsh
King.”

  Nearly a week! I thought. This is mad! But I kept my
Court manners and said politely, “Then perhaps you’ll have
a message for us from my parents. In the name of Hyde or
Temple?”

  “No. Sorry,” said the man. He was obviously not sorry at
all. “No one left any messages. Court just packed up and
went.”

  I really could not believe this. My mother would always
have left a note telling me the latest far-speaker codes at
least. When I went to see Grandad Hyde in London, she
usually hired a car for me as well, with instructions to
follow the Progress even if it went somewhere unexpected.

  While I was trying to think of a way to say this without
accusing the man of lying, Grundo said, with great urgency,
“Did they, by any chance, have another ceremony in the
Inner Garden before they left?”

  “They did,” the man admitted. “Big do, for everyone to
drink the waters. Went to it myself. What of it?”

  “Just thank you,” Grundo said politely.

  I knew what had happened then. Mam had drunk the
charmed water too and was now doing whatever Sybil
wanted. And Sybil had always been only too ready to forget
about me and Grundo. “Then have you,” I asked the man,
“any idea where the Progress is now? Please.”

  “No idea,” the man said definitely and started to slide
back inside the half-open door.

  “Or where they were going?” Grundo put in quickly.

  The man paused. I could see he was going to enjoy telling
us. “Only know it was one of the big ports,” he said. “King
went to settle a dispute, where was it? Southampton?
Liverpool? Somewhere like that. May have been Newcastle.
Can’t help you any more. Sorry.” He slid inside and shut the
door with a clash.

  “You haven’t helped us at all!” I more or less shouted at
the closed door. “Grundo, he was lying, wasn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure. I think we need to know today’s date,”
Grundo said.

  “You mean,” I said, “like the stories? More time’s passed
than we thought?”

  Grundo nodded glumly.

  We went over and picked up our belongings. There seemed
no point staying here. We began trudging away down the hot
gravel drive. About halfway to the gate, Grundo said, “I
don’t think they mean to do this thing with time, these
people like your grandfather. Time’s different for them. They
probably just can’t help it.”

  “That’s all very well,” I said, “but what shall we do?”




                         6
                        Nick
                                  1
                                                         «^»
  bout five steps later, round the first bend in fact, was the
weirdest city I’d ever been in.

  I was in a crowded shopping arcade, surrounded by
bustling, busy people. That was all I noticed at first, because
everyone turned to stare at me. For a moment, I couldn’t
think what they were staring at, until I happened to see my
reflection in the window of one of the big fancy shops inside
the pillars of the arcade. I saw a sopping wet youth with a
blue light standing up off the soaking hair on his forehead.
Anyone would stare at that – particularly under the roof of a
dry arcade.

  I said “Damn!” and somehow managed to suck the
witchlight into myself. I was not sure I was going to be able
to get it back again, but I couldn’t help that. The stares were
really hostile. And it didn’t help that everyone around me
was really elaborately dressed. The women wore tight tops
with loose sleeves and swirling skirts in bright colours,
absolutely stiff with embroidery. The men had hip-hugging
blouses and baggy trousers covered with embroidery too. I’d
never seen so much embroidery in one place. The shop I
could see myself in was selling rolls and rolls of differently
embroidered cloth. I looked really out of place.

  Get back and take the other path! I told myself. Quick!

  But by that time I’d been swept along in the crowds quite
some way, and jostled out towards the chest-high parapet
lined with enormous pillars that seemed to separate the
arcade from the street. I couldn’t tell where the path was
now. I’d just turned back to look for it, when everything
went suddenly quiet and sedate, with almost no sound
except hundreds of walking feet and music playing in the
shops. It reminded me of the way everything goes
law-abiding on a motorway when a police car drives past.

  That was more or less what it was. The crowds drifted
away sideways to make a clear space for two men in bright
yellow who came slowly pacing through. They had
embroidery too, in official-looking shield shapes, and more
official embroidery on the fronts of their tall caps. The most
noticeable thing about them, though, was the curly yellow
sheepskin boots they wore from the knees down. It made
their feet look vast. I remembered Dad once saying that you
can always tell policemen by their boots. I’d never seen
policemen who looked like this, but I knew at once what they
were.

  I also knew that I’d better keep out of sight. The best way
seemed to be to cross the road, so I went on drifting towards
the parapet with the rest of the crowd. I had a real shock
when I got to the wall. It wasn’t a road beyond it. It was a
huge ravine.

  It plunged down and down, hundreds of feet. And I could
see it going up, quite as far, on the other side. What I had
taken for the row of shops on the other side of the street was
just one arcade in a whole stack of them, built one on top of
another against the face of a cliff, rows of shops, rows of
houses above and below, and rows of blank-looking factories
lower down. Every so often, there were fancy iron bridges
where people could get from one side of the city to the other.

  Keeping half an eye on those slowly pacing policemen, I
craned over sideways to see further. The place was all
different canyons winding away in different directions, with
more houses and shops stacked up the sides of them and
more bridges between – as if the land here had cracked into
a set of branching ravines and people had decided to live up
the sides of them. It looked spectacular. There were huge
cargo hoists, or perhaps lifts, in the spaces made by the
massive pillars that held each layer of buildings up. Really
complicated machinery, those were, painted in bright
colours.

  As the policemen paced slowly out of sight, I heard a sort
of grinding and rushing coming from the depths below.
There has to be a river down there, I thought, and I hitched
myself on my stomach so that I could look down.
  It wasn’t a river, it was a train – two trains actually, like
long silver bullets, coming smoothly into a stopping place
far, far below. I watched tiny specks of people come milling
out of the trains in the milky electric lighting down there.

  By this time, I was really interested. Nobody seemed to be
staring at me any more, so I decided to stay for a while. Two
of the hoists across the way were working now, bringing the
people up from the trains, and I told myself I’d look for the
path when they’d stopped. I also told myself- knowing it was
just an excuse – that the drunk had said I was supposed to
help two more people on my way, and there were surely two I
could help here. So I stayed hanging over the parapet.

  Even if I hadn’t been watching, I could have told when the
hoists stopped at the level where I was. The crowd in the
arcade suddenly doubled. I swung round to watch as it went
in seconds from just busy to packed and hectic. People
pushed past me both ways, treading on my feet and banging
me with shopping bags. There was a roar of voices that
made my head go round.

  And I saw Romanov go past, only a foot away.

  I leapt after him at once. I elbowed and pushed and
barged and shouted, “Hey!” and “Excuse me!” and “Could
you wait a moment, please?” whenever I thought he might
hear me. He was quite easy to keep in sight because his
jacket was white, with red and blue floral embroidery. Very
few other people wore white. I kept him in sight for about a
hundred yards, but I didn’t catch up until we were level with
one of the bridges. He had to slow down to turn out across it
because he had two kids with him for some reason, and he
wanted to make sure they kept with him. While he was
stretching out to catch hold of the younger boy, I got near
enough to tap him on the back of his embroidery. “Excuse
me!” I panted.

  He turned round and he wasn’t Romanov. He wasn’t even
very like Romanov. His hair wasn’t particularly dark and
he wore glasses. Behind the glasses, his eyes were washy
blue, and around the glasses his face was pale and haughty
and thin without being jagged. He didn’t even stand like
Romanov. Romanov had had a sort of eager curve to him.
This man was stiff and upright. And he was staring at me
in utter outrage. I could feel my face flooding red as I stared
back and wondered how on earth I’d managed to make such
a mistake.

  Then it got worse than embarrassing. The two kids
grabbed my arms and they both began yelling. The big one
had a voice that squawked and the small one went off like a
train whistle. This made all the other people around start
yelling too. That smaller kid was an utter brat. He kept
pinching me, and twisting the pinches, until I’d had enough
and I kicked him. At that, he screamed harder than ever
and half the people near promptly grabbed me as well. In no
time, I was sort of bent over under a heap of people and
jerking about desperately to try to throw them off me.
  Like that, I looked across and saw two pairs of yellow
curly yeti-boots. I felt sick and dizzy, and I knew I was in
real trouble then. “Look, it was a mistake!” I said.

  Nobody listened to me. They all shouted at the policemen.
Most of them seemed to be accusing me of picking the false
Romanov’s pocket, but there were other things they shouted
that I didn’t understand then. The brat kid went on
screaming. The older kid squawked that I’d assaulted his
brother. The false Romanov just stood there, looking
outraged, as if simply touching him had been a crime. And
there was an elderly blonde woman wearing pink and lilac
embroidery which clashed horribly with the police uniforms,
who grabbed a policeman by the arm and kept stabbing her
finger at me, accusing me of nameless crimes.

  Two more policemen arrived. They each took one of my
arms and marched off with me, whatever I said. It wasn’t
far, just round the bend of the arcade, opposite the next
hoist. They kicked open a door there and hauled me
through. It was a police station. I could smell it was. There
was a fellow with a moustache sitting behind a desk,
looking very senior and important in lots more official
yellow embroidery. He gave me a sarcastic glance and
pointed with his thumb. The two policemen nodded and
hustled me off into the depths of the place, where it was all
carved out of the rock of the cliff They kicked open another
door there and threw me inside. While I was stumbling
forward into the cell beyond, I saw the outside door burst
open and all the rest of them come pouring through – false
Romanov, both kids, pink lady and crowds more – all
shouting accusations still.

  Then the cell door shut with a bang and I couldn’t hear
them any more. There was a bunk-thing and I sat on it.
There was a hole bored into the rock in the corner for a loo.
Otherwise, there was nothing but walls that had been
hacked out of rock and then whitewashed rather a long time
ago. The only light came from a grille in the door and it was
beastly cold.

  I sat there trying to be angry for a while. But what I
mostly felt was tired. I’d been having peculiar adventures
now for more than a day and a night, and I suddenly found
I’d had enough. I knew I was in bad trouble, but that didn’t
matter as much as the fact that I was exhausted. I lay down
and went to sleep.

  I must have slept for several hours. It seemed to be early
evening when they came and woke me up. I suppose they’d
meant to leave me there for long enough for me to get
thoroughly intimidated, but if that was their idea, it
misfired. You see, I am a total zombie just after I wake up.
It takes me half an hour even to get my eyes open. Ask
anyone who knows me. I can’t see, I can’t talk properly, I
can’t do anything without help. The only thing I can do
properly is think. And I know how to exploit my condition.
I’ve had years of practice.
  Anyway, the policeman fetching me shook me and shouted
at me. If he did anything else, I didn’t see because I couldn’t
get my eyes open. Eventually, he hauled on my arm and
then poked my back. I stood up and walked into a wall. He
pulled me straight and shoved me onwards. I wish I could
have seen my progress to the front of the police station after
that. I must have gone in zigzags. I kept hitting things and
being pulled straight and then hitting something else. Two
people kept shouting at me.

  At length, they stood me still and I felt and smelt someone
breathing into my face. “No, he’s not blind. He’s got his
damned eyes shut,” this man said. And he roared, “Open
your eyes, Alph take you!”

  I tried to explain. I meant to say, “I’m afraid I can’t yet,”
but it came out as “Frayed auntie.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” the policeman howled. “Is it
some drug?”

  “No, it’s sleeping on an empty stomach,” I said – except
that it came out as “Nah, nah, empsa.”

  “He must be foreign,” decided the second policeman.

  “Yeh, yeh, yeh,” I said, because that was true. “I’ve been a
foreigner three times since yesterday,” I added – or rather,
“I’m before threems stay.”

  The second policeman, who was clearly the important one
– he smelt importantly of some vile aftershave, like peaches
boiled in burnt plastic – said fretfully, “I’ve never heard of
this place Threems. Have you?”

  “No,” said the other one. “Do I write it down?”

  “Name first,” said Important. And he shouted at me,
“Name!”

  For some reason, I can always say my name. I said, “Nick
Mallory,” and it only came out a little slurred.

  “Enter that and then search him,” said Important. “Enter
any ID or stolen property.” I heard heavy footsteps and a
creaking as Important paced away and sat down somewhere
in front of me, and a pen scratching as the other policeman
wrote. Then I felt him dig in my pockets. There were
chinkings and exasperated noises. As far as I could tell,
they’d found fifty-six p, my two tenners and my door key. I
hoped they’d give the key back because Dad is always losing
his.

  “Foreign money,” said the ordinary policeman, “and this
flat metal thing. Could be a key.”

  “Keep it for analysis,” said Important. “It might be a
talisman.”

  “Wommy key,” I said.

  “But he can’t have stolen this money here,” Important went
on, ignoring me, “because the revered Prayermaster was only
carrying normal Loggia City currency.”

  “These notes are written in Loggian though,” the other
policeman said, puzzled.
  “He probably stole them in some other world. Not a
problem,” Important said. “We’ll deal with the serious
charge here now. You!” he bawled at me. “Open your eyes!”

  “Car do tha yeh,” I explained.

  “Write down obstructing the law,” Important said. “And
you, listen carefully.” Because he thought I was foreign, he
spoke very loudly to me and got louder and louder as he
went on. “You have been accused of raising witchlight in a
public place…”

  So that’s what the angry pink lady was on about! I
thought.

  “… and this is a very serious crime,” Important boomed.
“If proven, it means prison for life without option. The
prison here is down under the railway lines. You won’t enjoy
it. So think very carefully before you answer my questions
and tell me the exact truth. Are you a witch?”

  “No,” I said.

  “But you know how to raise witchlight, don’t you?” he
yelled cunningly. “And that…”

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  “… automatically makes you a witch. What did you say?”
he howled.

  “Don’t. Can’t. Never knew how,” I said. By this time I was
trying with all my might to speak properly. “Silly wom’n.
Eyes bad. No glasses.”
  There was a bit of a silence at that. The ordinary
policeman said, “This is the fourth charge of witchcraft Mizz
Jocelyn has laid this year. None of the others…”

  “I know, I know,” Important said irritably, “but the
Prayermasters are after us to make our quota. What am I
supposed to do?”

  “Arress Mizz Jocelyn,” I suggested.

  “Shut up!” they both howled at me.

  There was another silence. I could hear the pen scratching
again and Important tapping away irritably on something.
I supposed he was drumming his fingers while he thought
how to prove I was a witch. By this time, my eyes were
beginning to unstick. A very strong sense of self-preservation
caused me to force my eyelids apart just a crack. I could see
Important as a blur of yellow, lit sideways by distant
sunlight. “Bellving field normal,” he was murmuring.
“Telepathic field up a bit – not much on its own. Power
almost zero…”

  My eyes shot halfway open without my having to try. The
sun glinted off a set of brass and glass instruments, all little
cogs and swivelling shiny rods, arranged in front of
Important and all pointed at me. He was not drumming his
fingers. He was tapping away at brass knobs and reading
things off dials.

  I knew I should be really alarmed, but I was still too
sleepy. I simply sank back into my zombie state and
concentrated on being only half awake. If his instruments
were registering the way I am when I’ve just woken up, I
wasn’t going to interfere. Important’s irritable face was
coming clearer to me now. He was the one with the
moustache. It was a huge, bushy one.

  “Recent ritual barely shows,” Important said. “This is
completely inconclusive, damn it!”

  “So we go with the vagrancy charge for now?” the other
policeman asked.

  “Seems like it,” said Important. He started booming at me
again. “You! Stand straight while I talk to you!” I did my
best. I sort of re-slouched. “Better,” he said, “but not much.
Public Works will soon teach you proper behaviour. You’ve
been lucky, very lucky. The honoured Prayermaster you
attacked said he wouldn’t prefer charges and your
witch-readings are only high enough to be suspicious. One
notch more and you’d be above the legal limit. You’d be on
your way to jail by now. As it is, I’m only detaining you on
a charge of vagrancy. This is what happens to anyone we
pick up who’s not carrying a Loggia entry-permit or Loggia
currency. You’re under curfew from this moment –
understand? Are you listening?”

  I nodded.

  “Curfew,” he said. “That means you must report to the
Clerk of Public Works on Level Fourteen before sunset. Their
office will assign you work in the cloth factories and give
you somewhere to sleep. If you’re found wandering any time
after that, you get an automatic prison sentence.
Understand?”

  I nodded again.

  “Right,” he said. “I’m legally obliged to hand you this
token. Here it is. Come on. Take it.”

  I put out my hand and he passed me a big round disc of
some kind. I didn’t look at it. I was staring at him and
wondering if he ever breathed that moustache of his in. It
was so big and fluffy, he could suffocate in his sleep. I
wondered if I hoped he did. He was only doing his job, I
supposed.

  “This token entitles you to one free meal and one free
night’s sleep,” he said. “After that, you’ll have to work for a
living like the rest of us do. Take him to the steps, Wright,
and send him on his way.”

  “Don’t I get my money and my key back?” I said.

  “No,” he said. “All vagrant property is forfeit to the city.
Get going. You’ve only got an hour before sunset.”

  And I love you too! I thought, as the other policeman
grabbed my arm and pulled me away to the outer door.

  Outside, under the arches, the low sun glared in my eyes
quite painfully from just above the opposite cliff. There
seemed to be far fewer people around. Those who were
around all looked fastidiously away as the policeman
hauled me the few yards to the corner, where the massive
tower was with the stairs and the lifts in it. The light was
dim enough under it for me to be able to focus on the big
fancy notices on its walls. LEVEL ELEVEN, one said.
HAVE PASSES READY AT ALL TIMES said the next.
And the rest had arrows pointing to LIFTS, STAIRS,
MAIN SHOPPING ARCADE, CLOTH FAIR.

  “Can I use the lift?” I asked the policeman.

  “Lifts cost money,” he said and pushed me towards
STAIRS. “Get climbing. All the eateries on Fourteen will
take your token, but you’ll only have time to eat if you
hurry. When the sun sets, you’ll hear a hooter. If you haven’t
got to the PW Office by then you’ll be liable to arrest.”

  A train came in down in the depths while he was talking,
with a rush and a rumble and a wave of warm, smelly air. I
thought how it must feel to be in a prison cell under those
trains. I started climbing.

  They were wide, elegant, cleanly cut stone steps, lit by
fancy lamps overhead. I went up and up until I was sure
that my feet would be out of sight of the policeman – if he
bothered to wait and watch, that was – and then I stopped
under a light and looked at the token. It was a big, white,
enamel circle with blue enamel lettering on it. On one side it
said Loggia City Public Works and when I turned it over it
said 1 standard meal, sleep 1.

  This is all it takes to make you an official vagrant, I
thought. I put the disc in my pocket and went on climbing to
the next level. Fairly naturally, I expected it to be Level
Twelve.

  Not a bit of it. The next notice I came to said ? LEVEL
ELEVEN A ? Residences 69-10042, pointing to even
grander stairs on the right, and the one further up after that
pointed off to the left, saying ? LEVEL ELEVEN B ?
House of Prayer for Holy Jazepta, College of High
Prayermaster. The steps to this bit were brightly
whitewashed, while the ordinary steps climbed on, straight
ahead. It looked as if the levels were staggered up the cliff,
not in straight rows as I’d thought. Level Twelve was quite a
long climb further up and nothing like so exclusive. The
stairs had hollows from people climbing them and the notice
there just said ? SHOPS ? .

  My legs ached by then – you know how they do when
you’re short on sleep – so I wandered out on Twelve to take a
rest. It was all small shops as far as I could see, spilled out
like stalls into the arcade, very well-lit and cheerful and
busy. I could see jewellery and veg, books and clothes, toys
and bread. After that, the pillars got in the way. It was so
cheerful there that I stood staring until I began to shiver. My
clothes were still quite damp and I noticed the chill when I
wasn’t moving. I thought of dungeons under the railway
and went back to the stairs.

  I think Twelve A and Twelve B just said HOUSES and
numbers, and Thirteen the same, though I was in a blur of
climbing by then and didn’t pay much attention, except to
notice that the steps were much more worn and dirty by then
and the lights on the ceiling weaker. But I snapped to
attention at Thirteen B. The notices there said ? SEX and
DRUGS ? .

  “That’s frank, at least!” I panted. I wanted to stop and
take a look, both ways, but I seemed to have been climbing
for ages by then and I was starving hungry. With the luck
I’d been having in this place, I knew someone was just going
to have served me up my One Standard Meal when the
sunset hooter would go and I wouldn’t have time to eat it. So
I put on speed, up really grotty steps that were cracked and
crooked and filthy, with rubbish piled in the corners, and
got up to Level Fourteen at last.

  The first thing I saw there was a red and white enamel
notice over the stairs to the next level. CAUTION it said,
HIGH LEVELS OF RADIATION BEYOND THIS
POINT.

  “Oh, fun!” I said and I was glad I didn’t have to go up
there. The notices pointing each way along Level Fourteen
said a whole list of factories, and the one pointing to the
right added at the bottom, PUBLIC WORKS OFFICE,
Open Sunrise – Sunset. “Right,” I said and went that way. I
could smell food along there too.

  The arcade there was much lower and narrower, and it
was held up by big square pillars that I could see were just
meant to support radioactive Level Fifteen and the rest, and
nothing to do with being pretty. The floor was black and sort
of tarry. But the first thing I came to was a whole row of
little caffs, crammed in together under the pillars, and those
were all I could attend to by then. It was hours since those
scrambled eggs. I went along the row, looking.

  That policeman had lied to me. Some of the caffs had
menus in the windows saying “Fresh Scoppins, 3 tokes” or “5
bindals, 4 tokes” and several had stacks of coloured stickers
showing you which factory they took tokens from, but only
one had a notice saying “PW tokes taken here”. So I had to
go into that one.

  It was a really depressing Greasy Spoon, one of those
places where the windows are running with sweat from the
cooking and lighted with raw, greenish strips that don’t give
any light. People were queueing for food at a glassed-in
counter at the far end, where a dreary, fat woman in an
apron was slapping food on plates and calling out things
like, “You need another toke for bindals,” and “Peslow’s run
out now.” When they’d got their plates, the people sat wearily
down at worn plastic tables to eat it. The only thing that
seemed to be free was the drink people kept fetching from a
spigot in the wall. It looked yellowish and a little fizzy.

  I stood for a moment to get the hang of things. Everyone
wore embroidery here too, only it was all shabby, with
threads hanging out or pieces from other patterns darned in.
Even the fat woman’s apron was old embroidery.
  She glared at me and jerked her chin. I held out my token.
“This gets you nipling and colly or klaptico. That’s all,” she
said, tapping the food-troughs with her big wooden spatula.
“Which is it? Hurry up.”

  Klaptico looked swimmy and greasy and grey. Nipling
was white and had a sort of look of mashed potatoes. It
looked filling, so I chose that. She poured orange colly over
it and then snatched my token away and stamped it with a
huge black stamp.

  “So don’t think you can use it twice,” she snapped, sticking
the token into the nipling like an ice-cream wafer. She
handed me the plate, token and all. “Spear and spoon on the
tray at the end.”

  The eating implements were a sort of spike and a
mini-shovel. I picked up one of each and took my plate to a
free table. All the other people sort of bent away from me as I
went. Then they bent away again when I went to get myself a
drink. Yes, I thought, working the spigot, I’m a vagrant. You
don’t know where I’ve been!

  I was really puzzled by the drink. It tasted rusty and
sweetish. “What is this stuff?” I asked the woman at the
nearest table, as politely as I could.

  She looked at me as if I was mad. “Water,” she said.

  “Oh,” I said.

  I turned back to my plate and took a look to see how other
people were using their spike and shovel. They were spiking
and shovelling, so I did that too. And after one shovelful I
was wishing I’d had klaptico instead. Nipling was hot, like
horse radish, and colly was another kind of hot, like salty
chile. I had to keep going for more of the weird water,
wondering each time if it was poisoning me, but I was so
hungry that I ate every scrap. I swear I could taste nipling
for the next twenty-four hours.

  I put my plate and my glass in the bins near the counter
and left, thankfully. Then feeling a good deal better but a bit
fiery around the middle, I went along the black, blocky
arcade until I came to a long brown building with hardly
any windows and a large door covered with blue and white
enamel notices. PUBLIC WORKS OFFICE. OPENING
HOURS 08.00 – 16.00. DO NOT DISTURB NIGHTSHIFT UNLESS AN
EMERGENCY. NO LOITERING. NO MONEY EXCHANGED FOR TOKENS,
and scads of others. I stared at them all for a while until I
saw one notice all by itself in the door jamb. INSERT PW
TOKEN TO OPEN DOOR, it said and underneath it was
a slit like a letterbox.

  I thought, I don’t want to do this. But I thought that
Important was bound to have phoned up to this place and
told them I was on my way. I thought of the prison under
the trains. And I got out my nipling-coated token and posted
it into the slit.

  It went down with an almighty clanging crash. It made
me jump.
  It made me jump so hard that I realised that I’d been half
asleep until then. I’d been doing what I was told like a
zombie. Now I was wide awake all of a sudden, and
quivering. And angry. Why should I be sent to work in a
cloth factory like a slave, when all I’d done was mistake
someone for Romanov? And I still hadn’t found Romanov. I
was supposed to help two more people before I could find
him, and after that I’d promised to help that girl. Roddy. It
dawned on me that I’d have to mean to help her or she
wouldn’t count as one of the people I’d helped. Instead, I was
letting myself be stuck in this awful place. And that was
stupid. Pathetic, really.

  I turned away from the notice-studded door and ran back
along the arcade, past the caffs, until I came to the stairs. I
knew they’d look for me going down them. So I dived up the
next flight, under the notice that warned about
RADIATION.




                              2
                                                         «^»
  y plan was quite simple. I was going to sit on those stairs,
just high enough to be out of sight, until I heard the police
come up. Then when they went back down looking for me, I
was going to follow them and be behind them when they
thought I was in front.

  It didn’t work out that way. That set of steps turned out to
be quite short. There were no lights in the roof and the stairs
were made of cracked and slippery white tiles. Unlike all the
other flights, they curved, and as soon as I had climbed
round the curve, and was feeling pleased that I was out of
sight already, I saw sunset light up ahead. I realised I must
have come to the very top of the cliff

  After that, I was too interested to stop. I wanted to see
what was causing the dangerous radiation. I went on up.

  The first thing I saw, before I was really at the top, was a
tall, wire fence quite a long way overhead and another of
those enamel notices fixed to it, beautifully lit by the flaring
sun. AIRFIELD KEEP OUT. As I climbed slowly and
cautiously up the last steps, I could see that the fence was
actually on top of rows of small houses that backed on to the
last piece of the cliff. The houses were all different and all
sort of cottage-sized. After the buildings on the lower levels,
they struck me as more like dollshouses or dog kennels, and
the paint on them was blistered and peeling.

  This must be where the poor people live, I thought. I went
up the last few steps and saw the poor people.

  There were crowds of them, all sitting out on the flat rock
in front of the little houses. Every one of the grown-ups was
working away at embroidery, so that the place sort of heaved
and flashed as far as I could see both ways, with arms
moving and needles catching the light. Kids were darting
about, bringing things. Every so often, someone would say,
“We need more number nine red,” or “Bring me the
one-two-five flower pattern,” and a child would dart off to
get it. There wasn’t room to walk among the busy people and
the spread-out cloths they were sewing at, so the kids mostly
had to run along the very edge of the cliff There were no
pillars here and no wall. It looked terrifying.

  I stood where I was or I would have trodden on someone,
or put my big, dirty shoe in the middle of a bright flower
pattern on one side, or a wreathing green-gold embroidery
on the other. And I had hardly stood for a second when a
plane of some kind took off from the airfield with a huge
tinny whirring. I could tell it flew by quite different methods
from the ones I knew. It zoomed right over our heads and I
nearly fell back down the steps trying to duck. A boy
standing with his toes curled round the edge of the cliff
never even swayed. He gave me a jeering look.

  I pretended not to see him and watched the plane go
whirring away across the flat and sandy tops of all the cliffs.
It looked almost like unbroken desert from up here, with just
a few dark, wriggly cracks to show where the city canyons
were. In the distance, where it seemed to turn into solid
desert, I could see something shining orange in the sunlight.
The plane seemed to be making for this shining thing.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I said to the man
beside my right leg. He was old, and I didn’t really like to
look at him, because he had a growth of some kind down
one side of his face. It blocked one of his eyes and went on
down to mix with his straggly beard.

  He seemed quite friendly. He went on sewing away and
said, “Ask away, lad,” in what sounded like a strong country
accent.

  “Then, is the radiation from the planes in the airfield?” I
said.

  “No, no, that’s from the sun,” he said, and bit off his
blue-green yarn and threaded his needle with more, all in
one movement like a conjuring trick.

  He bent to the embroidery again and a woman just
beyond, sewing at the same cloth – only she was using
golden green – said, “You shouldn’t really be up here before
sunset, my dear.” She had a growth too, an oozy one, on her
sewing arm.

  “Yes, but they arrested me for a vagrant,” I said.

  “Ah, they do that,” someone else said, from the flower
embroidery on my other side. “They’re always needing
workers to make cloth for us.”

  By this time everybody seemed friendly. A lot of children
who weren’t fetching things at that moment came
scampering along the edge of the cliff and balanced by the
top of the stairs to stare at me. “Where are you from?” a girl
asked me.
  “Earth,” I said.

  They all laughed. “Silly!” said the girl. “This is Earth and
you’re not from here!”

  “Yes, but,” I said, “there are a lot of Earths. I think I’ve
been on at least three lately.”

  “Ooh!” said a little one right behind me. “You mean, like
Romanov?”

  That made me jump. I came out in gooseflesh with
excitement. “Romanov?” I said. “Has Romanov been here?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said the old man beside my leg. “He was
here earlier today. He comes through quite often, you know –
to gain altitude, he says. In the other worlds he goes to, the
ground is higher than Level Eleven, so he comes in at Eleven
and leaves from here.”

  “Romanov’s been very good to us,” said the woman with
the growth on her arm.

  “Surely has,” the old man agreed. “He brings a new
sunshield spell for us every time he comes by. My
grandchildren can grow up without getting something like
this.” He left off sewing for an instant and tapped at the
growth on his face. It sounded like someone patting a crusty
loaf “A good man, Romanov. Do you know him well?”

  “I only met him this morning,” I said. “At least – I think it
was this morning, but it may have been yesterday. I’m
trying to find him again. Do you know where he went?”
  The old man shrugged as he sewed. “Back home by now,
I’d think. You want to go back down to Eleven and go from
there.”

  “You should go back down anyway, dear,” the woman
with the bad arm said. “The sun’s doing you no good, even
low as it is.”

  “You can do ten minutes!” the girl balancing beside me
asserted. “Romanov told me.”

  Ten minutes, I thought. I want to find out everything I
can in those ten minutes. I pointed up at the wire fence.
“How do they manage up in the airfield, if the radiation’s
that bad?”

  A chuckle ran round everyone near. “They come up
through trapdoors in fat white suits!” someone called out,
three embroideries over.

  “They do most of the flying by night,” someone else said.
“Loggia people do a lot by night. It’s safest.”

  I looked over at the bright speck of the plane in the
distance. It was coming down to land near the shiny things.
“Brave pilot,” I said.

  “Oh, no. The planes are all protected,” the old man said.
“Prayermasters put spells on them.”

  “Oh,” I said. “And what’s that shiny place over there where
the plane went?”

  “Those are called xanadus,” a kid behind me said.
  “Though don’t ask us why,” the old man added. “They’re
the domes where they grow all the vegetables and suchlike.”

  “Nipling?” I asked.

  Everyone laughed and groaned. “That stuff!”

  While we were laughing, the sun went down. Just like
that, it was blue dark. Lights came on the next second, fixed
to the houses. To my surprise, everyone bent over the
embroidery and went on sewing as if nothing had happened,
including the old man, who was laughing so hard that the
growth on his face jiggled. It looked like a rat clinging to
him.

  A second or so later, hooters sounded from below, all over
the city, lots of loud, howling noises like a herd of unhappy
cows. That’s it! I thought. I’m illegal now.

  “That nipling!” the old man said, speaking through the
howling. I could tell he was so used to the hooters that he
hardly noticed them. “I tell you, they have a hard job
stopping nipling growing! Comes up all over in their
flowerpots, whatever they do. They keep trying to give it
away. But we won’t have it, workers won’t touch it. I heard
they feed it to the prisoners these days.”

  I shuddered. I could still taste the stuff. I thought of jail
under the railways and a diet of nipling, and I suddenly felt
very anxious indeed. “What do you think I should do?” I
said. “You said I’d need to go down to Level Eleven, but I’ll
be arrested now the hooters have gone.”
  “They give you half an hour’s grace,” the woman with the
bad arm said.

  The old man chuckled again. “Didn’t tell you that, did
they? They like to keep you frightened in Public Works. But
you’d be surprised how many curfew people seem to get held
up on the stairs, getting back to their workhouses. I’ve
known some who get delayed for whole nights.” He raised
his head for a moment. I think he was winking, but he did it
with the eye that was mixed up with the growth and I wasn’t
sure.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “But before you go, do you
mind if we ask you a question – me and my sons and
daughters?” His hand went out, with the needle in it, and he
wasn’t sewing, for a wonder; he was pointing to the six other
people round the green embroidery, including the woman
with the bad arm.

  “Fine,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  I supposed he was going to ask me what I was doing here.
I told you, I’m very self-centred. But he said, “This big
square we’re doing, it’s a new idea of mine. It’s not finished
yet, but take a look at it. Think of yourself as a very rich
man and tell me if you’d want to spend good money on it,
and why.”

  Actually, I am pretty rich. Very rich really. But I was
ashamed to tell him and I didn’t think he’d have believed
me anyway. I looked down at the square. I’d been admiring
it out of the corner of my eye even before the sun set. Now the
lights were on it, it was like something alive and growing,
all greens and golds and coils that seemed almost to move.
There were still white patches all over it where they hadn’t
embroidered yet, but I could see the main design and it was
fabulous.

  “It’s fabulous!” I told them. “I’d pay a lot. It’s one of the
most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” It came into my mind
that Dad would love it. He’d been talking about wanting
something to hang on the wall of his study. He said he was
sick of staring at a blank wall. If I could have thought of a
way to pay for it and get it home, I’d have put in an order
for it then and there.

  The old man said, “Now, here’s our question. If you were
this rich man, what would you do with our square when
you’d bought it?”

  “Hang it on the wall,” I said. “Just have it there and stare
at it. It would be different every time I looked at it, I know it
would.”

  The old man banged his knee delightedly. “There, you
see!” he said. It was clear they’d had a few family arguments
about his new idea. Everyone else sewing on it glanced up at
me and beamed, looking relieved.

  “Well, it’s good to know we’re not working for nothing,” the
woman with the bad arm said. “I’d hate to think of it cut up
for clothing.” Then she called out to the smallest kid
balancing beside me. “Sibbie, go down and tell him when
there’s no one about on Fourteen. But go careful. I don’t
want you ending up in a factory.”

  This made everything much simpler. I waved goodbye and
followed Sibbie down the slippery tiled stairs to the bend.
When she beckoned from the bottom to show it was all clear,
I scudded down and across the tarry floor of Fourteen and
went galloping away between the drifts of rubbish on the
next lot of stairs.

  There were a lot of people on the stairs below those, and
more the further down I got. Voices and footsteps and loud
music sounded from nearly every level I came to. What
they’d told me was true: people did a lot at night here. I
suppose it was safer not to come out in the sunlight, even on
the lower levels.

  When I met the first crowds, around the SEX, DRUGS
level, I was quite scared. But I noticed that there was not a
single policeman about on the stairs. If I were them, I’d have
patrolled the stairs all the time, but that must have seemed
like too much hard work to them in those curly yellow boots.
So I kept a look on my face that said, “I’m not important
and I know just what I’m doing,” and went on pushing and
galloping my way down. Nobody even looked at me.

  I went a bit more cautiously when I got to the House of
Prayer notice. There was loud, droning chanting coming
from there, which gave me a sort of fizzing feeling. Magic
being done, I thought. Must be official magic. Go carefully.
Anyway, my knees were aching by then. I went down the last
flights very sedately and slowed right down when I got near
Level Eleven. Easy to do. That last stretch was pretty
crowded. I slid slowly down with my back against the wall
and looked over people’s heads at the Level Eleven archway
below.

  Before long, I saw a couple of policemen parade past down
there, parting the crowd like butter. Good. I knew they
wouldn’t parade back for at least five minutes. I put on
speed and hurried out under the massive arch, along the
way that I’d been coming from when I’d thought I’d seen
Romanov. I still couldn’t see how I made that stupid
mistake.

  It was really lively along that arcade. People were
laughing, talking, strolling along, listening to a group of
musicians, applauding and rushing in and out of the
brightly lit shops. Some of those were still selling
embroidered cloth. I saw the identical patterns I’d seen being
sewn up on Level Fifteen. But some shops seemed to have
turned into dance halls or places to drink, and I had real
trouble recognising the one opposite where I’d first come out.
I worked out that it had been a bit along from one of the
hoists, and in the end I was sure it must be the one where
people were sitting out at tables, pouring drinks from big,
fancy teapots and eating sticky cakes.
  I looked for the path, sort of sideways-on from everything.
And there it was, dark and steep and rocky, and glistening
faintly with rain. It was just the shop that had changed. I
shot into that path like a rat up a drainpipe.

  I was in pitch dark the next second and stumbling about
on that rocky surface, where I found myself sort of replaying
in my mind those last instants before I shot into the
darkness. It seemed to me that I had seen some familiar
faces staring at me as I went. One was definitely Mizz
Jocelyn, only she had changed for the evening from pink
and mauve into beige and violent green. Another was a man
in a suit embroidered like a flowerbed. He had this big,
fluffy moustache, and it seemed to me that he could have
been Important having an evening out in ordinary clothes –
if you could call a bed of dahlias ordinary. There was
another one too, a sharp-faced boy about my own age. I
thought he might just have been that Prayermaster’s elder
son…

  But they were there in that mad city and I was here, now,
in the path. I felt my way over to the left-hand wall and kept
my hand trailing along the gritty, wet rockface until I felt
the promontory that had divided the two branching paths. I
swung round into the right hand fork there in triumph.

  Or modified triumph anyway.

  It was wet and pitch dark, and I couldn’t seem to make
another of those blue flames whatever I did. The drunk had
only given it to me. He hadn’t told me how to do it myself. I
fumbled my way on, feeling less and less triumphant. I still
had two people to help before I could get anywhere and, as
soon as I remembered that, I began feeling really tired. I
almost lay down on the wet rock and went to sleep. The only
thing that stopped me was a strong notion that if I did, I
wouldn’t get up again. The slitherings and flappings were
back again. They sounded hungry to me.

  I tried singing, like the drunk. But that came out
wavering and scared. So I tried to think about something
else. I thought about Loggia City. What a crazy system it
was, putting the people who did the embroidery right at the
top where the sun would kill them. If they all died, the shops
would have nothing to sell! I was really glad that Romanov
was giving them sunshield spells. It proved that Romanov
was a good thing and I was not making a mistake trying to
find him.

  I tried not to think of the way Romanov had despised me.

  I thought about the girl, Roddy, instead. If she hadn’t
wanted me to deal with her politics, I’d have made a real
effort to get through to her. She was quite something. I kept
getting a sort of jolt every time I remembered the way she
had stood balanced on that hillside. But she had looked at
me as if I was a sort of tool and I didn’t go for that. And I
just couldn’t see myself, not ever, doing anything about
Kings and Merlins and suchlike. I’d gone out of my way,
after all, not to have anything to do with ruling or rulers.
No, that would have to wait for a few years.

  On I went. I was trying to imagine what Roddy would be
like in a few years’ time, and getting a bit eager about it,
when I noticed that the path had widened out a lot.
Everything was just a little lighter and my feet echoed in a
different way.

  Damn! How am I going to know if a path I need goes off
to the right? I thought. I got myself to the middle and sort of
groped along there with one hand out in front.

  And something groped back at me.

  It sort of dabbed at me, whatever it was, wet and cold and
desperate. It groped at my hand and then at my face. I went
backwards with a shriek and sat down in a puddle. It had
felt like a snake. But the thing shrieked and went backwards
too. The ground shook under my behind. I sat staring,
shaking all over. There was just enough grey light for me to
pick out what seemed to be a couple of small trees, with the
snake coiling this way and that down from them. I thought
I must have walked into a forest.

  “Oh, please!” said the forest – unless it was the snake.
“Help me! I’m lost! I’m stuck!”

  “What kind of a snake are you?” I said.

  “I’m not a snake! I’m an elephant!” it said despairingly.

  Elephants that talked now! I thought. But I’d already met
a panther that I could understand, so why not? It was all
one long, mad dream.

  “It’s more like a nightmare, I think,” the elephant objected.
“And I’m not exactly talking. You must be good at picking
up four-legged thoughts. Please help me!”

  I could hear its huge feet shuffling and grinding about
just in front of me. It was in a bad state and it probably
couldn’t see me any more than I could see it. I was likely to
be trodden on any second. I got up quickly. “OK, OK,” I said
out loud. “I’m supposed to help you anyway. Where do you
want to go?”

  “Not this way!” it said. “It’s all so dark and I can’t turn
round!”

  It began trumpeting then, ear-splitting squeals, and
trampling in panic. I was terrified too. I thought it was
going mad.

  “Stop it!” I bellowed. “Shut up this moment or I won’t help
you!”

  It shut up almost at once. I got the feeling it was used to
humans yelling at it. “Sorry,” it said meekly.

  “That’s better,” I said. “Getting in a panic in this place just
makes it worse. Where are you from? How did you get here?”

  “I was in the circus, outside the big top,” it said, “waiting
for my turn to go on, when all of a sudden there was this
great whirling wind. All the tents came down or blew away,
and people were screaming. I’m afraid I screamed too and
ran away. I found a path that looked safe and I ran and
ran, until it all got too narrow and…” It was starting to
trample and puff

  “Steady, steady!” I said. “What did they call you in your
circus?”

  The trampling stopped. “Mini,” the elephant admitted,
sounding ashamed.

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Short for Pudmini,” the elephant said haughtily. “I’m a
lady elephant.”

  “And I’m a gentleman human,” I said, “and how I got
here’s a long story. My name’s Nick – short for Nichothodes,
if you want to know – and I’m on my way to see someone
called Romanov. He’ll be able to help both of us. So, if you
just let me help you turn round…”

  “I can’t turn round!” Mini protested. “It’s not wide
enough!”

  “Yes, it is,” I said before she got too hysterical again. “Or I
can guide you backwards…”

  “I’m not good at going backwards!” she said frantically.

  “Then we’ll go forwards,” I said, “very steadily and
carefully.” I managed to reach up, find her waving trunk
and grab it. “Come along,” I said. I made myself sound
really firm, to disguise from both of us that I’d never
handled an elephant before and hadn’t a clue how you did
it. “Forward carefully,” I said, just as if I knew.

  Have you ever tried to turn a panic-stricken elephant
round in the dark, in a space that is probably too small,
which you never saw before anyway? Don’t try it. It’s awful.
I’d never have tried it if I’d seen anything else to do. You end
up weak at the knees and ready to give up. I kept making
soothing noises. Mini shook like an earthquake and
squealed that she couldn’t and I was hurting her trunk. I
fumbled about and found one of her great thick tusks, but
she didn’t like that either.

  “I’ve still got my harness on. Why don’t you take hold of
that?” she said.

  I felt about again and found jingly leather somewhere on
her huge face. It was all thick and wet and slimy in the rain,
but I took hold of it and pulled her confidently sideways.
This caused her to stick slantwise across the path. She
nearly did go mad then. The noise was horrible. I was
going, “Stop it, stop it, stop it! Or I’ll go away and leave you
here! Calm down!” and she was going, “Oh, I can’t, I can’t!”

  “Stand still!” I screamed at her. “Where’s the back of you?”

  “Jammed right up against the cliff. I want to kick!”

  “Well, don’t,” I said. “It won’t help. What you need to do
now is walk your front feet up the cliff this side until you’re
reared up, and then walk your back feet forward away from
the cliff behind you. After that, you walk your front feet
round to the left, so you come down facing the other way.
Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know!” she said.

  “You can,” I said.

  I’d never have got her to do it if she hadn’t been brought
up to trust humans. She’d been trained to stand on her hind
legs and that helped too. But she kept losing her sense of
direction halfway. I got her reared up twice with no end of
rasping and elephant grunting, and twice she came down
facing the wrong way. I only just dodged in time. In the end,
I had to go right up to her and lean hard against her, and
then keep her going the right way by walking my feet up and
round on the cliff beside hers.

  She went round sideways like a house tearing open. There
was such a scraping and rending that I was sure she’d
broken a tusk at least. Then there was a horrible moment
when I was being ground against the cliff by her big, warm
side. I was curled into a crouch with my face on my thighs
and my knees crunching against rock. I felt her going the
wrong way again and tried to uncurl to push her. And then
uncurled again as if my life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
And she went round at last. She came down quite lightly.
Elephants can be pretty nimble when they want. And Mini
did want. She was so glad to be loose that she went away
down the path at a thundering gallop, while I slid down the
cliff and sat in another puddle, quite sure that I’d lost both
kneecaps and at least one big toe.
                              3
                                                           «^»
  ini stopped and waited for me about fifty yards on. I
could see her enormous ears spreading anxiously against the
dim sky as I limped after her. “Are you all right? I haven’t
hurt you, have I?” She was a thoroughly considerate
elephant. When I reached her, she said, “I’d prefer it if you’d
take hold of my harness again. I feel safer that way.”

  I think that was considerate too. I grabbed hold gratefully
and practically leant on her as we walked the last part. It
turned out not to be far, just time for my knees to stop
throbbing and my toe to start behaving normally. By that
time, we could almost see the crags at each side of the path.
Then a moment or so after that, we sort of came down
sideways on to the rest of the world and out on to a wet,
green slope, where Mini’s feet went suck, suck, suck in the
grass. And we were in wonderful, bright, pinkish light.

  Mini went, “Oh! I’ve gone blind in one eye!” and started to
panic again.

  Her harness turned out to have been pink and scarlet,
with silver decorations. Part of it was that kind of flat hat
that goes on top of an elephant’s head, and she had scraped
it sideways on the cliff, so that it draped across her eye and
one tusk. Her tusks, I was glad to see, had been banded with
metal and neither of them had been broken.

  “No, you haven’t gone blind!” I told her. “Put your head
down so that I can reach it.”

  She nodded her head down at once. She was really well
trained. I hauled the whole wet, heavy lot of harness down
across her face and her trunk so that it fell chinking down
her legs and she could step out of it.

  “That’s a relief!” she said and blinked around with her big
grey eyes. Elephants have ridiculously long, shaggy
eyelashes. “It’s sunset!” she said.

  “Making my third in two days,” I said, turning to look.

  The sun was behind me, flaring pink and gold paths over
sheets of water as far as I could see. The sound of water
rippled and husked and whispered everywhere. Everything
smelled of water, softly and strongly.

  “Where are we?” Mini said.

  “Romanov’s place,” I said. As soon as I was facing the
water, I had no doubt of it. The water was all joined up to
look like one sea or a huge lake, but the part on my left was
clear blue like sea around a coral coast, with little waves
frilling on white sand, and the part in front of me was
muddy and rippling against rushes. Round to the right, the
rushes were taller, but the grey water there was coming in
fairly big waves and the rushes were blowing in a wind we
couldn’t feel. You could see the lines dividing the different
kinds of water if you half closed your eyes.

  They rayed outwards towards the horizon like huge slices
of pizza. Even the sun, setting in the midst of red and purple
clouds, was divided into an orange part and a smaller slice
that was much redder. It looked really odd. I remembered
Dave saying that Romanov lived on an island that was
made from parts of several worlds, and I knew where we
were.

  I also knew that if Romanov was here, then we were going
to meet his big spotted cat any moment. I was suddenly not
quite as glad to have got here as I had been.

  “Oh, dear,” Mini said. She was shuffling her front feet,
and one of her back legs was rubbing up and down the
other. She looked like an enormous, embarrassed schoolgirl.
“Do you think there’s anything to eat in this peculiar place?
I’m so hungry.”

  I remembered reading somewhere that an elephant can be
a match for a tiger. I swallowed a bit and said, “We’ll go
and ask. But if we happen to meet a whitish creature about
so big…” I showed her with my hand halfway up my chest
“…er, do you think you can, well, you know, sort of kick it?
Or trample it, perhaps?”

  “I suppose I could,” she said doubtfully. “Is it fierce?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But it’s all right if Romanov’s with it. It
does what he says.”

  “Oh, good,” she said.
  We turned away from the patchwork water and climbed
the grassy rise to the high part of the island. My eyes were
going this way and that, dreading the sight of that big cat.
Mini’s trunk flapped wistfully towards a big clump of trees
in the distance, that were three kinds of green from the
patchwork effect.

  “I could eat those,” she said.

  “Romanov won’t like it,” I said. “Come on.” We crossed a
dividing line into yellower grass and pushed warily through
some bushes – or I did; Mini trampled them, and if the cat
had been in there we’d have known, and it wasn’t – and
came across the shoulder of the hill beside a high brick wall.
I wasn’t tall enough to see over it, but Mini was. Her trunk
kept stretching out across the wall and then guiltily curling
back. “Is the animal behind that?” I asked her.

  “Only vegetables,” she said. “They smell delicious.”

  Round the corner of the wall, I peered cautiously down at
another piece of water. Deep blue water, this time. There was
a long, low house by the shore there, sheltered by some pine
trees. It looked really elegant, a bit like
millionaire-dwellings you see on telly. I could see a diving
board off one end, big picture windows and lots of clean new
woodwork. And no big cat, to my relief “Nearly there,” I said
and down we went.

  As soon as we were on the flatter ground near the house, a
crowd of hens rushed at us and nearly gave me a heart
attack, running and cackling. They got in among Mini’s feet
and she was forced to stand still for fear of treading on
them. “I think they’re hungry too,” she said.

  Then a white goat came bounding up and nearly gave me
another heart attack for a second, until I realised it was a
goat. It was almost exactly the size the scornful cat had been.

  “You want me to tread on this goat?” Mini asked
dubiously.

  I don’t go for goats. I hate their smell and their mad eyes.
And they have horns. “No, no, no!” I said, backing away.
“It’s only a goat.” At that, Mini’s trunk flipped out towards
it, in an interested sort of way. The goat stared in what
seemed to be horror and then galloped away yelling. “What
did that?” I said.

  “She’s never seen an elephant before,” Mini said. “Do find
us something to eat!”

  “All right,” I said. Since it did seem urgent, I went over to
the nice wooden door in the long side of the house.

  I had meant to knock, but the door opened inwards under
my fist. “Hallo?” I called out. No one answered, so I went
cautiously into the dusky corridor inside. It smelt
wonderfully of new wood and it was very warm and quiet.
There was a door to my right. “Hallo?” I said, and I opened
it and looked in.

  There was an empty, ultra-modern kitchen in there. This
smelt of new bread and coffee, which, since I could still taste
nipling inside myself, made me feel slightly ill. I shut that
door and went on to the next one, straight ahead.

  I opened that door on a blaze of sunset from big windows
looking over the waters, and on a splendid smell of leather,
wood and clean carpet. This room was a long, low, elegant
living room – really beautiful, just the kind of room I’d like
for myself – full of interesting comfortable sofas, low tables
that caught the light, a long shelf of books, nice cushions,
and almost no ornaments. Lovely. But there was no one in
there either.

  The corridor turned a corner then and ran through the
middle of the house, with light coming in through
slit-shaped windows in the roof. My feet went splonch,
splonch, splonch on polished wooden floor as I walked down
to the next door – broom cupboard – and the next – a very
nice bathroom that was so up-to-date I didn’t understand
most of the fitments. The next door was on the other side. I
opened it and it was pitch black inside. And I don’t think I
could have gone inside it even with the scornful cat after me.
KEEP OUT! it said, like a smell boiling out of the darkness.
Somehow, I knew it was Romanov’s workroom. I knew I
had no business going in there. I backed off quickly and
shut the door on the darkness.

  That left just the one door, facing me at the end of the
corridor. By this time, I was fairly sure Romanov was out,
away in some other world, but I opened the door just to
check.
  There was a big, graceful bedroom beyond, where
everything was square and white. Thin, white curtains blew
inwards from the window just beyond the square, white bed.
Clothes had been dropped on the white carpet, a leather
jacket nearest to the door, a shirt beyond that, a pair of soft
boots almost on the shirt, and socks after those. Then came
underclothes, a towel and a wallet, and these led to suede
trousers not quite draped over the white chair beside the bed.
By the time my eyes had been led to the bed, I realised that
Romanov was in it, asleep. I could just see a piece of his
dark hair on the pillows.

  I was horribly embarrassed and nearly backed straight
out. You could see that Romanov had come home tired out
and just thrown off his clothes and fallen into bed. I
couldn’t go and shake him awake and say, “I’m sorry, I’ve
got a starving elephant outside.” Could I? But that made me
think of poor Mini standing outside in a crowd of hungry
hens. I did know elephants needed a lot of food. I didn’t
know when she’d last had any.

  All right, I thought. And if he turns me into a frog, I
suppose she’ll have to eat the trees. I swallowed, all the
same, as I stepped over the suede jacket and on past the line
of clothes. I leant over the bed. I put out a finger, but I didn’t
quite dare touch the hump that was probably Romanov’s
shoulder. Turn me into anything you like, but please don’t
kill me! I thought.

  “Er – excuse me,” I said.
  Romanov rolled over. I jerked back. We stared at one
another. He looked a bit more than just tired to me. He
looked ill. An unhealthy sort of smell came off him. “Oh, not
you again!” he said, thick and groaning.

  “Are you all right?” I said.

  “A touch of flu, I think,” he said. “What are you doing
here?”

  “I came here with a starving elephant,” I said. “Is it all
right if I let her eat the trees?”

  “No!” he groaned. He pushed his hand across his zigzag of
a face, obviously trying to pull himself together. “An
elephant? Seriously?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I met her stuck in those dark paths. Her
name’s Mini. I think her circus got hit by a tornado or
something.”

  “Oh, God!” He held both hands to his face. “Just assure
me you’re not another of these bad dreams, will you?”

  “I’m real,” I said. “Honestly. So’s the elephant.”

  “You keep turning up in my dreams with a parcel of
children,” he said.

  When Dad had flu last Christmas, he kept calling people
in to tell them about the latest weird dream he’d had. I
understood that. “That was flu,” I said. “This is me for real.
Have you got anything I can give Mini to eat?”

  “I’ve no idea what elephants eat,” he said and then pulled
himself together again. “All right. Third shed along at this
end of the house. Ask for elephant food while you’re opening
the door.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And your hens?”

  “Bin of corn in the same shed,” he said. “One bucketful
poured on the ground.”

  “What about the goat?” I asked. “She need milking?”

  I was not happy about that idea and I was very relieved
when he said, “Helga? No, she’s dry at the moment. Just
find her some sweetcorn.”

  “And, er,” I said, coming to the dreaded part, “what about
your big cat?”

  “In the forest over on the mainland,” he said. “Takes care
of herself.”

  I felt such a gush of relief at this that I went all
considerate and helpful. I get like this with Dad, too, when
he says I can have a day off school. “How about you? Can I
get you anything? I know how to cook pasta.”

  Romanov shuddered. “No. I’ll be fine. All I need is some
sleep,” he said, and he rolled over and pulled the covers
across his face.

  I tiptoed away out of the airy white bedroom and along to
the front door. Mini loomed in front of me there, jigging
anxiously inside the crowd of cackling hens. I’d forgotten
how huge she was.
  “Did you find any food?”

  “Yes. It’s under control,” I said. “Follow me, troops, here
comes the cavalry.” I went marching away along the side of
the house and the hens, like I’d hoped, rushed after me in a
fussy gaggle – stupid things! – and left Mini free to follow
me too.

  The sheds were all new and clean and kind of stacked
against one another and against the end of the house. When
I got to the third, it was just a big garden shed really, and I
had a moment when I thought that Romanov had said the
first thing that came into his head in order to get rid of me.
But I pushed the door open and said, “Elephant food?” and
almost got trampled in the rush. The hens stormed inside
yelling. Mini went, “Oh, thank goodness!” and nearly trod
on me hauling out an immense bundle of leafy stuff with her
trunk and then some sort of hay bale, while I was edging
among hens to get to the wooden bin wedged in there among
the stack of fodder. While I was unhooking the bucket from
the wall and scooping up grain and Mini was going, “Sugar
cane! My favourite!”, the goat came dancing up too and
helped itself to sugar cane more or less out of Mini’s trunk.

  I took the bucket and spilled it a fair distance off, away
from Mini’s feet, and looked up to see that goat chomping
cane and staring at me like one of Dad’s demons, while it
made for the corn too. I had to bribe it with its own pile of
grain. By that time, Mini’s trunk was going out, curling
round a bundle of fodder, pushing it into her funny
triangular mouth and then going out for more, like
clockwork. She really had been starving. Maybe the hens
were too. They were all beak down, tail up and busy.

  “Enjoy your feeding frenzy,” I said and went along to
snoop in the other sheds. There was a powerful-looking
motor boat in one, that smelt piercingly of something that
wasn’t petrol. Garden stuff in the other. Then I noticed a
door in the brick wall up the hill, so I went to take a look
inside it.

  Mini had said there were vegetables, but that hadn’t given
me the least idea of the garden that was behind that wall. It
was vast. It was laid out in oblongs, with gravel paths
between them, and there must have been every kind of fruit
and veg there was, growing there, from every world there
ever was. Just standing at the gate, I could see strawberries
and apples and oranges, leeks, marrows, melons and
lettuces, green droopy stuff I didn’t know, and okra, and
yellow things that weren’t tomatoes. There were even flowers,
away in the distance.

  That was all I saw before the goat came romping up and
tried to barge in past me. One thing I knew about goats: they
eat anything they can get near, and I didn’t think Romanov
would be happy to find I’d let her into his garden. So I tried
to shut the door on her. She pushed back. It must have
seemed like Christmas to her, that garden. And she was
strong. We had a mighty pushing match, me heaving from
inside with my back to the door, the goat shoving madly
from outside. It took me five minutes to get that door shut on
her, and once I had, I was exhausted.

  I did wander down a gravel path, but not far. I ached all
over from the various things that had happened to me. My
clothes were still damp and beginning to smell of mildew
and, now the sun was almost down, I felt clammy. I felt as if
I’d been without sleep for a week. So when I came to a tall
stand of sweetcorn, I broke off a few heads for the goat, and
I ate a few of the strawberries, because they were there, but
they tasted of nipling to me, and then I gave up.

  The goat was waiting outside. I had to slam the door and
throw the corn at her in self defence. She snatched up a cob
and stood doing her chomp-with-demon-stare act at me.

  “I love you too,” I told her.

  Down by the sheds, Mini loomed with her trunk curled
round leafy stuff and her eyes shut blissfully. The hens had
guzzled and gone.

  “I think I’ve done my bit,” I said and I went into the house
to find somewhere to sleep. There was one particular sofa I
had my eye on. I felt about it the way that goat felt about the
garden.

  A telephone started to ring somewhere down the corridor.

  I raced off to stop it ringing. I know the things Dad had
said about what telephones did to his head when he’d had
flu – and Romanov could probably do all those things that
Dad had only threatened.
  It was pretty dark in the corridor by then. It took me a
minute to find the phone on a table down by the wall. I
almost panicked before I found it. I kept imagining
Romanov storming out of his bedroom casting spells to left
and right and blaming me for not answering the thing.

  I found it at last – it was an old-fashioned dial phone –
and I fumbled up the receiver.

  “And about time too!” said a woman’s voice before I could
say a word. “I don’t know where you’ve been, Romanov, and
I don’t care, but I want you to listen to me for once!”

  It was not a nice voice. To tell the truth, it reminded me of
my mother’s. Like Mum’s, it had sweetness on top and
beastly, grinding undertones beneath that made you squirm
and want to get away. I could tell that this woman was in a
really bitchy mood. And, as I always did with Mum, I tried
to shut her up. “I’m sorry, madam,” I said. “Mr Romanov is
not available at this moment.”

  “But I’m his wife!” she said, cooing and grinding. “Fetch
him at once.”

  “I am afraid I cannot do that, madam,” I said. “Mr
Romanov will not be available at all tonight.”

  “What do you mean, not available?” she demanded. And
while I was wondering what I should say to that, because I
could tell she was the kind of person who wouldn’t let a little
thing like someone having flu stand in her way, she luckily
went on, “Who are you anyway?”
  Then I was home and dry. “I’m just the caretaker,
madam,” I said. “Mr Romanov called me in to look after the
elephant.”

  “Look after the elephant!” she exclaimed. “Is he starting a
circus?”

  “There do seem to be a number of animals here,” I said,
“but Mr Romanov’s plans for them are a sealed book to me,
madam. Perhaps you would like to call back when Mr
Romanov can answer your query in person.”

  “I certainly will,” she said. “Just tell me when that’s going
to be.”

  I said, “That’s a little difficult to do, madam, but as he
has only hired me for a week…”

  “A week!” she said and then, “Doh!” just the way my
mother used to when I’d got her really mad. I heard her end
of the line go clash, click, whirr…

  I couldn’t help grinning as I laid the receiver quietly down
beside the phone, so that she couldn’t bother me or Romanov
again, and crept off to the strange, futuristic bathroom. After
that, I remember taking my clothes off and hanging them
over warm pipes to dry, but not much else beyond the fact
that the sofa I’d been eyeing up was even better than I’d
hoped.
                     7
                   Nick
                 continued


                               1
                                                           «^»
  seemed to be dreaming about Roddy all that night. It
must have been something to do with that house. Romanov
said he’d dreamt about me in a crowd of kids, and in my
dreams, Roddy was always with a whole bunch of children
too. “I have to talk to you alone!” I kept saying to her, and
she would give me a worried look and say, “Don’t you
understand? There’s nobody else to look after them.” Then I
told her, “If we don’t talk, the whole thing is going to
overbalance.” And she said, “It’s the salamanders doing it.”
Over and over, in front of all kinds of scenery. It was crazy.

  The phone ringing woke me up next morning. It rang and
rang.

  I woke up enough to give a deep, wild growl and shamble
up the corridor draped in the towels I’d been using for
blankets. I’ve told you what I’m like when I first wake up. I
crashed into the table and knocked the phone off it. I left it
on the floor and groped for the receiver until I found it, then
I shook it a bit to shut it up. When that didn’t stop the noise,
I put it to my ear and gave another wild growl.

  “Is that you this time, Romanov?” said the horrible
woman’s voice.

  “Graah!” I said.

  “No – listen to me,” she said. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried to be
forgiving, and God knows I’ve tried to live on the pittance
you give me…”

  I groaned. Probably that was exactly what Romanov
would have done, because she thought I was him. She went
on and on. It was all about how difficult it was to keep up
appearances without more money, and how people stared at
her because she had to wear the same dress twice – all that
stuff. It got up my nose completely. “Why don’t you earn
some money of your own then?” I said, except that it came
out as, “Wumunumumen?”

  “What?” she said. “Romanov, are you drunk?”
  “No, I just haven’t had any coffee yet,” I said, or rather,
“Jussuffcuffya.”

  “You are!” she said, almost triumphantly. “Romanov, I’m
seriously worried about you. You could have had a
scintillating career here. The world was at your feet when
you deserted me and took yourself off to that island. I didn’t
understand you then, I don’t understand you now. I hear
you’re planning to open a circus. Frankly, it doesn’t surprise
me that you’ve started drinking too. You must come back at
once and take your place among decent people with the right
outlook on life before you fall apart completely. You know I
can look after you. I can help you, Romanov. I think you’re
in with a bad crowd – I didn’t like the sound of that
caretaker you’re employing at all and I’m sure that elephant
is just a cry for help…”

  It was around then that I tried to stop her by putting the
receiver back on the telephone, but it did no good. Her voice
just went on trumpeting out into the corridor, on and on, all
about what a weak character Romanov was and how he
needed a good woman to help him. I sat on the floor and
listened for five minutes or so, thinking it was really no
wonder Romanov had left her and wondering how to shut
her up. I was too sleepy to think properly, but I could tell
that her voice was coming streaming in by magic from
somewhere across my right shoulder. Everything was done
by magic here. That gave me a sort of idea, and I sighed and
picked the receiver up again.
  She was angry by this time. She was going, “Romanov,
will you answer me! If you don’t, you can be sure I shall do
exactly what I said. I can manipulate magic too, you know.
If you stay this obstinate, I shall lay my hands on all the
power I can get and I shall make you sorry. It may take me
years, but I shall do it and then you’d better look out! I am
sick to death of your attitude…”

  Squawk, squawk, squawk, I thought, while I carefully
traced the line her voice was coming in on, and when I had
it, I sort of turned the line on round, like you turn the hands
of a clock to point to a different hour. Her voice went fuzzy,
and then faint, and then turned into a whisper with gaps in
it, and finally it stopped altogether. I could tell she was still
talking, but now she was doing it in quite the wrong
direction, yelling away into the sea somewhere, and the
corridor was peaceful again.

  Beautiful! I thought and slouched off in my towels to look
for my clothes.

  They were dry, but stiff as cardboard. While I was
unbending them from round the pipes, I got the feeling that
the plumbing had gone more normal than I remembered,
but I still couldn’t see properly, so I wasn’t sure. And when I
shuffled my way into the kitchen, that seemed different too –
smaller, probably. But I need four cups of coffee before I
turn into a real human being and I gave the coffee priority. I
hunted by smell. I’m good at that. I found a tin of coffee and
a jug and a strainer, and while I was hunting down the
kettle I could hear singing on the range – this range was a
shiny black sort of stove with a fire in its middle, which I
certainly didn’t remember from last night – I discovered a
newly baked loaf in one of its ovens.

  Doing well, I thought and sniffed around for the butter.

  That hunt took me to the window above the sink, where
the butter dish had been put into a bowl of water to keep
cool. While I was feeling about for it, the window flew open
and something sticky and pliable came through it and tried
to take hold of my face. I jumped backwards. I nearly
screamed. It was such a shock that my eyes actually came
right open. My heart banged and I came up to normal
human standard in a flash. This was just as well, as it
turned out, but at the time I was really annoyed. Being
sleepy is my luxury, and the sticky thing was only Mini’s
trunk, anxiously probing in case I’d died in the night or
something. I swore at her.

  “You went deathly quiet inside the house and I didn’t
know where you were!” she said.

  “I was asleep, you fool!” I snarled.

  “Oh!” she said. Then she went into her nervous schoolgirl
act. I could hear one of her back legs rubbing shyly against
the other. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m…”

  “Hungry,” I growled. “God! You ate a whole shedful last
night!”

  “The goat ate quite a lot too,” she said apologetically.
  “All right, all right, all right!” I said and I stamped out
through the door – the door now opened straight out of the
kitchen, confusingly – and along the house to the shed,
which was about as empty as a shed could be. There was one
wisp of something left. The goat was in there polishing that
off as I came. “Out!” I said to her.

  She turned round, chewing, ready to give me a cheeky
look. Then she saw the mood I was in. I swear I saw that
goat change her mind. She went trotting meekly outside and
left the place to Mini and the hens.

  I slammed the shed door shut. “Elephant food,” I said.
“Hen food. Food for goats while you’re at it too.” When I
opened the door again, the place was stacked to the ceiling,
so full of hay and branches and big cattlecake things that I
had a hard job getting to the corn bin. “Right,” I said as I
scooped corn up with the bucket, “keep this shed full like this
in future or I’ll want to know the reason why. That clear? It
makes no sense to have to keep opening and shutting doors.
Let the elephant help herself.”

  Then I fed the hens and, still angry and yearning for
coffee, stamped back to the kitchen. On the way, I spotted an
egg laid in the flowerbed by the house wall and I scooped
that up. Odd, I thought. I clearly remembered that last night
this wall was neat stone and nice pale wood. Now it seemed
to be white-painted plaster. But I was wanting my coffee too
much to bother about it.
  I went in and put the egg in the butter bowl – Romanov
might fancy it, I thought – and got my coffee at last. I didn’t
take nearly as long having breakfast as I’d meant to.
Somehow being properly awake so soon had thrown me off
line. I felt urgent and still angry. I cut myself a doorstep of
bread with masses of butter and went along to see Romanov
while I was eating it. I thought I’d better tell him how I’d
turned his wife off.

  His square white bedroom didn’t seem nearly so airy this
morning. The window looked smaller. And I could have
sworn that the spaces between his thrown-down clothes had
almost halved since I was last in there. Romanov looked
worse by light of morning. His hair was sticky with sweat
and his face looked dreadful because the brown tan of it had
gone yellow on top of greyness. He didn’t move or open his
eyes as I leant over him.

  Well, I thought, not too happily, flu usually gets worse
before it gets better. “Want any breakfast?” I said. “Or can I
find you an aspirin?”

  He just turned over fretfully and didn’t answer. There was
no way I could think of to get a doctor to him, so I just went
quietly out again and shut the door.

  My foot kicked the telephone on my way down the
passage. I picked it up, jingling, in a buttery hand. It was a
toy telephone, red and blue plastic, and there wasn’t even a
flex in the wall or anything joining it to the yellow plastic
receiver lying on the table. I stared at it a moment. “Cordless
phone?” I said. “Heavily disguised mobile?” But I knew it
wasn’t either of those. It was a toy. “That’s magic for you,” I
said when I was in the kitchen hunting for a basket. “It’s all
magic in this place. You just have to take a firm line with it,
I suppose.”

  I went out with the basket to see if the hens had laid any
more eggs. They had. Eggs were hidden in all sorts of
cunning clumps and crannies. I kept finding them.

  “Oh, good!” Mini said, looming over me with her ears
lifting anxiously. “I’d been so afraid of treading on one of
those. What are they for?”

  I looked up at her, meaning to explain about eggs, but I
happened to see the garden wall beyond her. It was
definitely lower now, and its bricks were old and crumbling
away in places. It was also much nearer the house than I
expected. “Mini,” I said, “has it struck you that this place is
getting smaller?”

  “Oh, it is,” she said. “It’s only a hundred steps over to the
trees this morning. I’d been meaning to ask you why.”

  “I think it may be because Romanov’s ill,” I said.

  Mini wasn’t attending. Her ears and her trunk were both
lifted towards the sky, somewhere behind the house. I craned
round that way. The house was in my way, but I could hear
something, a sort of whirring.

  “What is it?” I said.
  Mini’s eyes, wonderful grey, clever, innocent eyes, turned
to meet mine. “Some kind of a flying machine,” she said.
Her thick, grey eyelashes fluttered nervously. “It – it doesn’t
feel good.”

  “Is it coming here?” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

  “In that case,” I said, “come and put yourself in front of
the door to the house. I don’t think we want whoever it is
going inside. Not with Romanov ill.”




                                 2
                                                         «^»
  fter a bit, from where we stood, with Mini across the house
door and me with my head just about touching the lowest
bit of her grey, wrinkled stomach, I could see the flier too,
across her huge rump and the corner of the roof. It was just
passing from a whitish slice of sky to a blue one. It crossed
the line that divided the two sorts of sky with a kind of a
blip, which seemed to slow it down. At any rate, it took
longer than I expected to cross the blue slice, and when it
came to the next line, there was another blip as it crossed
into a slice that was all bulgy grey and silver clouds and
went doggedly whirring across those. It took so long that I
kept hoping it wasn’t coming here after all. But that was too
much to hope, of course.

  Five minutes later, it circled deafeningly in over the house
and came down at the top of the hill, beside the garden wall.
It was like a helicopter without the big rotors, white and
quite small. Mini curled her trunk up in disgust at the smell
that came off it. The hens ran for their lives. I clutched my
basket of eggs and stared at big numbers and letters on its
pointed tail, and the goat came wandering up, chewing, and
stared too.

  “I bet it’s Mrs Romanov,” I said as the whirring stopped.
“I made her really annoyed this morning.”

  A door popped open and two boys in embroidered jackets
jumped down on to the grass. A man followed them out in a
more stately way and stood staring around for a moment,
tugging his embroidered coat down and putting his
gold-rimmed glasses straight, before he snapped a curt word
to the boys and they all three began walking down the
grassy slope towards the house.

  My stomach sort of jumped. This was that Prayermaster
I’d mistaken for Romanov in Loggia City, with his two kids.
They must be here to have the law on me. I wondered if I
could get Mini to kick their flier to bits so that they couldn’t
drag me off back there.

  “No, I will not!” Mini said. “What do you take me for?”

  Then I’ll just have to throw eggs at them, I thought,
watching them as they came. They were just like I
remembered them. The Prayermaster had that stiff,
self-righteous look, the look you learn to know and dread in
teachers at school, and the boys were just as bad. The older
one was dark and smug and saintly. The younger one was
the ratty little sneak with fair hair and a pointed face who
had pinched me and twisted the pinches.

  They all three looked up at Mini and down at the goat,
and then shrugged and looked across at me. The
Prayermaster unclosed his disapproving mouth to say, “Nick
Mallory.” I nodded. I suppose he had got my name from the
Loggia City police. “The unclean one,” he said, “known as
Romanov – I take it he is inside this house.”

  Unclean yourself! I thought. “What do you want to know
that for?”

  “Naturally, because we are here to eliminate him,” the
Prayermaster explained, as if he was saying something very
obvious to someone very stupid. “Kindly stand aside from
the door and remove your animals as you go.”

  I stared into his cool, straight face and his stern, grey eyes
inside their gold-rimmed lenses and I wondered all over
again how on earth I’d managed to mistake him for
Romanov. And the way he put his explanation made me
very suspicious. “Just a moment,” I said. “Did you by any
chance offer Romanov money to eliminate me?”

  They were so surprised that I knew I’d guessed wrong
about that. Ratty’s little mauve face gaped, but he changed it
almost at once to a jeer. The older boy blinked and stared.
The Prayermaster looked stunned, and then appalled and
pitying. “That you should think such a thing of me,” he said,
“that you should imagine that I would have money dealings
with an unclean one, shows that you stand in serious need
of guidance and correction, my boy. I shall take you to
Loggia City and show you your errors shortly. Meanwhile,
stand aside from that door.”

  “But you did put some kind of spell on me, back in
Loggia, didn’t you?” I said. “You must have done. It’s the
only explanation.”

  The Prayermaster’s face went stony. “Moderate your
language before me,” he said. “Cleanse your mouth. I did no
such filth. That which I did was wholly lawful and this I
freely admit to. It is my custom, as it has been for years, to
raise up correct prayers daily for one to come to me who
could lead me to the place where Romanov hides. Yesterday,
my prayers were answered, when you came. And having
found you, I then set Joel here…” he laid a fatherly hand on
the elder boy’s head “…to watch for your escape and lay
bonds upon you to lead us to this place. But this was all
done in purity and in the proper form.” He closed his mouth
into a straight line and gave me a hard stare.

  “In other words,” I said, “you did do something, but spell
is a dirty word.”

  He glared at me. The two boys flickered glances at one
another. They were loving this.

  Mini blew a sigh through her trunk. “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind,” I thought at her. “They’re nutters.” I was
interested that none of those three seemed to know Mini had
said anything. It seemed as if she was on some wavelength
that they weren’t picking up. “Then I’m sorry to sound
offensive,” I said, “but I think it was a dirty trick whatever
you call it. You got me arrested for no reason at all. And
what’s Romanov done to harm you?”

  Both boys spoke up at this. Little Ratty said, “He’s vile,
strong vile, and he hides away here where we can’t get at
him.”

  Joel said, “Shut up, Japheth! Romanov doesn’t pray
properly, and he’s got at the workers with his anti-prayers so
that they keep asking for more money. Isn’t that right?” he
asked, turning his face up sweetly to Daddy Prayermaster.

  The Prayermaster nodded and patted Joel’s head again.
Ratty Japheth muttered, “Know-it-all. Pet-boy!” but the
Prayermaster pretended not to hear.

  “Well, so they should ask for more money!” I said. “They’re
the ones who have to sit out in the radiation sewing these
pretty flowers you lot wear all over your clothes.”

  The Prayermaster did me his look of sorrow and pity.
“You have no true understanding,” he said sadly. “When we
have done with Romanov, it will be my pleasure to have you
in our Prayer House for proper instruction.”
  The boys flickered another glance at each other at this, full
of glee. I could tell it would be their pleasure too. With steel
toecaps probably.

  “Just try it!” I said. “I’m bigger than either of you. You’ll
be lucky to come away with the right number of fingers.”

  Joel sniggered. Ratty Japheth said, “Ah, but you’ll be
under the prayer. We won’t.”

  The Prayermaster just stood there as if it were no concern
of his. I said to him, “Little sweethearts, your sons, aren’t
they? And I don’t think much of you as a father either!”

  He ignored this. “Move your animals,” he said, “and stand
aside from that door.”

  I said, “Well, I suppose I could, only I don’t see what good
it would do you. Romanov’s not here. Didn’t I say? I came
all the way here for nothing, just like you lot did.”

  The Prayermaster took no notice of that either. He put his
hands up by his shoulders, palms out towards me, and said,
“Let the prayer be answered that opens all portals!”

  There was a fairly strong feeling of pushing. The goat
swayed with it. I found it quite hard not to take a step
backwards into Mini. Mini swayed too, but this turned out
to be because she had spotted another egg in the flowerbed.
Her trunk shot out straight, fixed on the egg and curled up
holding it. Very politely and gently, she put it in my basket
with the other eggs. “One you missed!” she told me proudly.
  To say the Prayermaster was put out would be putting it
mildly. He took his hands down and goggled. The boys
gawped. I don’t think they have elephants much in Loggia
City. But I think that what really got to the Prayermaster
was the way Mini seemed immune to his kind of magic. He
could see he was up against a mountain of passive resistance
here. He went thoughtful.

  But he was not the kind to give in. He stepped back,
humming and intoning things under his breath that I
couldn’t quite hear, and his hands came out and made a
careful shape in the air. I tried not to think about that
shape, but I was fairly sure that it was the outline of me,
basket and all. He gave me a stern but kindly look as he
finished. “You do not seem to understand,” he said, “that the
longer you deny me entrance here, the worse it will be for
you. You are now under the prayer, Nick Mallory. Remorse
and despair grip you – and will grip you harder the longer
you abide. I propose to take a turn round this abomination
of an island. When I come back, I believe you will have
thought better of your intransigence. Come, boys.”

  He cupped one of his large, well-kept hands round each
boy’s head and pushed them in front of him towards the
other end of the house. But he let go after a few steps and
strode on in front, up the slope in the direction of the trees.
He was one of those who always has to stride in front. The
boys turned back towards me.

  “He’s not our father!” Joel said. “Thank all the powers!
We’re just his two best prayerboys. So!”

  “And we don’t like you,” Japheth added. I could tell I had
really annoyed them by thinking they were the
Prayermaster’s sons.

  I was going to say something about the way they all
deserved one another, related or not. I had my mouth open
ready to say it, when Japheth trod on another egg that I’d
missed. His embroidered legs shot out from under him. He
landed on his behind with an eggy smish.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was wonderful. Poetic.

  Japheth’s reaction was anything but poetic. His mauvish
little face went a sort of grey-purple and he stared, glared –
worse than glared – at me as he got up. It was nearly a mad
look, the sort of look you’d imagine a murderer giving his
victim just before he brought the axe down. It almost
frightened me for a moment.

  “Now I really hate you,” he told me, in a soft little voice
that sent quite a shiver down my spine. “You just wait.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said. I was nearly twice his size after all.
“You’ll still look an idiot.”

  He didn’t answer. He just turned round, with his backside
all yellow, and stalked away after the other two.

  I sprang into action the moment they were out of sight. I
don’t know about remorse and despair, but I was ready to
bet that the Prayermaster was simply using that guff to
cover up his next move. I knew he was going to walk round
the house and look for another way to get in. And the
window was open beside Romanov’s bed.

  “Quick,” I said to Mini. “Guard the door while I’m inside.”

  “All right,” she said. “Are they really wanting to kill the
person in the house?”

  “Sure of it,” I said. “Don’t let them in whatever they do.”

  I whipped underneath Mini and through the door,
dumped the eggs on the kitchen table and whirled round to
shoot the bolt on the inside. Rattle, clap. That felt better. I
didn’t bother shutting the kitchen window then, because
Mini was faithfully in front of it, making the room quite
dark. All the same, the place seemed smaller again than it
had been. I simply pelted out and along the corridor to
Romanov’s bedroom. That seemed smaller too, and it smelt
a bit dank, but the main thing was that there was nobody
else in there yet except Romanov himself. I’d got there in
time. I slammed both halves of the window shut and banged
the latch until it was down so tight that I couldn’t get it up
again.

  Romanov groaned and rolled over at the noise, but that
was all right.

  I raced out and into the bathroom. That was suddenly
quite tiny, and the little window high in the wall didn’t seem
made to be opened anyway. I charged across the corridor to
the room that was probably Romanov’s workroom. I opened
the door to it, but I couldn’t go in there, any more than I
had been able to before. It was dark in there anyway. I
hoped that this meant it didn’t have a window, but to be on
the safe side, I slammed the door shut and dragged the
telephone table over in front of it. Then, hoping that
whatever kept me out would at least hold the Prayermaster
up a bit, I rushed back towards the living room. As I
remembered, the walls there were mostly windows, great
wide ones, and he’d only have to smash one to get in.

  Before I got there, an evil white face with horns and a
beard came round the corner at me. I nearly screamed. I
jumped several feet backwards. Then I swore. It was that
goat. It must have whizzed indoors after me.

  “Keep away from me,” I said to it, “or I won’t be
responsible for what I’ll do!”

  Then I went into the living room. I had to stop for a
second and stare. The shelf of books was the same, but all
the sofas were gone, including the one I’d slept on. In their
place there was a set of moth-eaten old armchairs standing
about on a floor of old bare wood with dingy rugs on it.
There were still a lot of windows, but they weren’t the nice,
pale-wooden modern ones I remembered. They were a sort of
job lot. There was one rickety long one with lots of small
panes, one big tall one that was just a sheet of glass
surrounded by new white wood, and about six small
crooked ones that would have looked better in one of the
sheds. And they all had different fastenings, none of which
worked very well. I rushed round them hammering them
shut and wedging the worst catches with books. The one that
was a big sheet of glass really worried me though. It was so
easy to break. But when I pushed my head against the glass
and squinted downwards, I saw there was a sheer drop from
it to a piece of water that looked like real deep ocean. Big
white surf was breaking against the walls of the house down
there. So perhaps it was all right. Unless Prayermasters
could fly, of course.

  I turned round to discover that the goat had followed me.
It looked at me. I looked at it. And I realised I’d gone and
shut myself into the house with it. I knew goats smell strong,
but I hadn’t known before that when they’re indoors they
reek. Or it was more of a stench, really.

  “All right,” I said. “But if you eat any of these books,
Romanov will probably kill you.” I knew he would. They all
had leather covers and titles like A True and Faithfulle
Historie of the Travels of Jehan Amberglaffe. My Dad is
always paying fortunes for books like those. He doesn’t let
me touch them.

  The goat looked slyly aside from me and started eyeing up
an armchair.

  “Yes, have that instead if you have to,” I said.

  Then I remembered the kitchen window and raced off to
shut that. The goat had been in the kitchen first. The stone
floor was all covered with crumbs from the loaf it had
snitched off the table. But Mini, bless her heart, was still
standing outside. I took a look out under her grey wrinkled
belly as I made that window fast. The hens were pecking
about in the grass again and the flier was still there above
them on the slope, but there was no sign of the Prayermaster
or his boys.

  Perhaps, I thought, while I hastily crawled around the
flagstones scooping up handfuls of loaf crumbs, they’re all
in one of the sheds doing dangerous incantations. So the
next thing to do is go and stand in Romanov’s bedroom and
incantate back at them. I threw the breadcrumbs into the
range-fire and set off that way again.

  Before I’d even reached the door, I heard the hens
shrieking and flapping outside. Then I heard the last sound
I would have expected – the violent, tinny whirring of the
flier. They were leaving. Or pretending to go. It had to be a
trap.

  To tell the truth, I felt a bit of a fool. I leant over the sink
and peered under Mini’s wrinkly, grey tum – which moved
out of the way as I got there, as if Mini was as surprised as I
was – and the rotor-thingy on the flier’s pointed end was
definitely spinning, and its front end was cocked upwards
ready for take-off. Its door was still open, though, and
Japheth’s skinny shape, all covered in bright red
embroidery, was tearing along the hillside beside the garden
wall, arms waving, obviously terrified he’d be left behind.
  That was astonishing enough. Even more astonishing,
there was a new person there. He was an elderly man in
tweeds, and he was just stopping on his way down to the
house to look over his shoulder at the flier. He had a sort of
ex-army look, this new man. I wondered if he’d somehow
frightened the other three off. Anyway, he watched, and I
watched, while Japheth went rushing up to the open door of
the flier and scrambled up through it, and then got it
jammed in his hurry to close it and had to open it again, so
that it was still partly open when the flier took off in a
tremendous, whirring swoop and then went fairly belting,
and wagging about as it belted, away across the waters on
the other side of the garden.

  The ex-army man shrugged and came on towards the
house again, sort of staggering as if he was exhausted.

  I suddenly recognised him by the way he walked. It was
the drunk who had given me the blue flame. I said, “Oh,
no!” and wondered whether to keep the door bolted and lie
low.

  He was outside the door the next second. I heard him say,
“Come on, elephant! Out of it now! Move over!” and I heard
Mini politely getting out of his way. She really was much too
polite and humble for an elephant. After that, he was
banging on the door and shouting, “Hallo, the house!
Anyone home? Open up, dammit!”

  And I behaved just like Mini. I suppose it was those
military orders. I unbolted the door and stood aside while
he came stumbling in.

  “Somebody here,” he said. “Good. For Pete’s sake have you
got any coffee? I’m out on my feet and dying of a hangover.”
And he pulled a chair out from the table and crumpled into
it, with his elbows on the table and his face in his skinny old
hands. “Coffee!” he croaked imploringly. “Black coffee!”

  I know how it feels to need coffee. I’m like that every
morning. I shoved the kettle on to the hot part of the range
and began looking for the other things. “Coming up,” I said.

  “Thanks,” he sighed. His tweed suit was sopping. He was
steaming as he sat there. His face was sort of bluish-white
and he was so exhausted that he never looked at me, or even
at Mini, who was peering in through the door at him. But he
seemed to feel he had to explain himself. All the time I was
making the coffee, he was bringing out little sentences, in
jolts, by way of explaining. “Not usually like this,” he said.
“Fact is… I have to get drunk before I can walk the dark
paths… can’t see them sober… never could… Shaman stuff
not my strong suit… Worn off now… head like a treadmill…
Took so long… Hadn’t bargained for Romanov’s island
being in the past… Cunning stuff… Ten years or more
behind the times, this place is… though I believe parts of the
island may be in the future too… Must be why Romanov
knows what’s going to happen… Have to ask him how it’s
done… Pay him too… Please remind me to ask him what
his fee is this time… Thanks, lad. Thanks. You’re a hero.”
  I pushed the biggest mug I could find, full of strong coffee,
into his hands and he drank it scalding hot without
stopping to breathe. Then he held it out for more. He drank
the second lot slowly, in sips, without speaking, and
steamed, and turned a slightly better colour. When I’d given
him the third mugful, he sat up a bit straighter and asked,
almost alertly, “What was that flier doing outside that went
off in such a hurry?”

  “I don’t know why they went off like that,” I said, “unless
they were afraid of you.”

  “Could have been,” he said. “Depends who they were.”

  “It was a Prayermaster from Loggia City and his two
boys,” I said. “They wanted to kill Romanov and they used
me…”

  “Then that explains it,” he interrupted. “We Magids have
been trying to keep the Prayermasters in line for centuries
now.”

  “You’re a Magid?” I asked. I was delighted. I’d met three
Magids in my life and now here was another one.

  “For my sins,” he said, dismissing the whole thing. He
rubbed at his little moustache and frowned at his coffee in a
tired way. “What’s Romanov been doing to stir them up? I
wish he wouldn’t do this – keep stirring people up. Not that I
can stop him, of course. Far more powerful magic than any
of mine. All I’ve got is moral pull. Better use that, I suppose.
Lad, you wouldn’t have anything to eat, would you? My
stomach’s just reported in starving.”

  I looked at the basket on the table. “Eggs?”

  He shuddered violently. “Not eggs, not after two hundred
quidsworth of booze! I couldn’t! Anything else?”

  “Well,” I said, “the goat’s just eaten the bread, but…” On
the off chance, I reached back and opened the oven where I’d
found the loaf. And there was another one in there, to my
great relief. Magic at its best. “Here’s another loaf,” I said.

  I found him a big hunk of cheese in a cupboard and
brought the butter out of its bowl and put them in front of
him. He eyed it all a moment, speculatively, rather like the
goat had wondered about the armchair, and then he
suddenly snatched the loaf and a knife and ate. And ate.
And finished the loaf. Neither of us talked until he’d done.

  By this time he looked a lot better. I found him staring at
me rather piercingly. He had eyes that looked at you so
firmly that you couldn’t remember what colour they were,
just how they looked at you. All I knew was that his were
red-rimmed.

  “Now,” he said. “You, lad. Has Romanov taken on an
apprentice at long last?”

  “No,” I said. “Or… well, I was hoping he’d take me on,
but… I didn’t know how to get home, you see, but when I got
here, Romanov was ill, so I couldn’t ask him anything.”

  “Ah!” he said. He raised a finger at me triumphantly. “Got
it! Placed you. You’re the lad I gave the magelight to. Did it
help at all?”

  “It was great,” I said, “but I couldn’t get it back again after
I sent it away.”

  I got the piercing look again. “You from Earth, by any
chance?”

  I nodded.

  “Thought so,” he said. “Earth people always have trouble
raising magelight. Something in the climate, I suppose.
Mind telling me your name?”

  “Nick Mallory,” I said. “But I’m not really from Earth…”

  “Yes, but according to your Dad, you were born there,” he
said. “Your mother was pregnant with you when he married
her, he tells me.” And while I stared at him, he added, “He
told me all about you while I was getting drunk enough to
go after you. Cost him two hundred pounds, I’m afraid. But
he didn’t mention you were so large and striking-looking.
Accounts for me not recognising you before. Expecting
someone smaller. Well, at least this means I don’t have to
pay Romanov to find you.” He stood up and held out his
hand in an old-fashioned, courteous way. “Pleased to meet
you, Nick. My name’s Hyde, Maxwell Hyde.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Er. How do you do.” I was gobsmacked.
                              3
                                                         «^»
  hen I got my senses back, I wanted to ask Maxwell Hyde a
hundred things. But he was so tired he was swaying about.
“Later,” he said. “I have to sleep, lad. Just a couple of hours
and I shall be right as rain. I don’t need much. Just a
couple of hours.” So I took him along to the living room. I’d
forgotten the goat. It had eaten half an armchair and it
looked up at us cheekily with a strip of carpet dangling out
of its mouth. “Damn,” I said.

  Maxwell Hyde said, “I’m not having that in here!” and he
took hold of the goat by one of its horns and its backside
and ran it into the kitchen. There was a good deal of
clattering and bleating in there, but he got the front door
open somehow and kicked it outside. I was impressed.

  Meanwhile, I was dragging together the two armchairs
and a stool to make him a bed. I draped a carpet over it all
to hide the part the goat had eaten, and it made quite a
respectable place to sleep.

  “Thanks, lad,” Maxwell Hyde said, coming back, wiping
goat hairs off himself “I’ll be with you again for lunch. Tell
Romanov I’ll talk to him then, if you would.” He climbed
into my contraption and, as far as I could see, went to sleep
on the spot. He was snoring when I shut the door.
  I went along to Romanov then, but I couldn’t tell him
anything. He seemed to be unconscious. His face was
ash-coloured and covered with little clusters of sweat. The
illness-smell in the room was stronger than ever. I tried to
open the window for him, but I’d shut it too firmly and I
couldn’t budge it. So I went away. I didn’t know what else to
do.

  Lunch, I thought, and went to the kitchen. There were
eggs, of course, but Maxwell Hyde hadn’t seemed to fancy
those and he’d eaten all the cheese. I hunted around and I
couldn’t find any pasta, which is the other thing I know how
to cook, and I got rather anxious. I wanted to do things
right for Maxwell Hyde. Dad thought so much of him. I
thought a lot of him too, because he was a Magid and
helped secretly run the universe, and I could tell he was the
sort of person who expected proper meals to turn up
regularly whatever else was going on.

  And I was even more anxious about Romanov, in a
horrible, nagging way. I was sure he ought to be in hospital.
But there was no way to get him to one. And then I was
almost equally anxious about that Prayermaster. I kept
expecting him to turn up again. I was sure he had flown
away just to tempt me outside so that he could knock me out
with a well-aimed prayer and then go after Romanov.

  I made more coffee and sat at the kitchen table drinking it
and staring at the chinking, glowing fire in the range. It was
odd. The fire never seemed to need fuel and it never occurred
to me to look for any. It glowed comfortingly orange and
black and red between the bars, and it helped me think
somehow.

  Strange that Maxwell Hyde had turned out to be a Magid
and come looking for me. I supposed he meant to take me
back to Dad. In a way, I was relieved, because that definitely
meant I’d have to wait before I did anything to help that
girl, Roddy. But after that dream I’d had, I wasn’t sure that
I was allowed to wait – and that made me nervous and
excited in about equal shares – and it also made it awkward
if Maxwell Hyde was determined to run me back home the
way he had dealt with the goat. It was funny the way I
always had to call him by both his names – Maxwell and
Hyde – in my mind. If I thought of him as Mr Hyde, I
found I was calling him Dr Jekyll. If I tried thinking
Maxwell, it made me think of silver hammers…

  It was here I realised that my thoughts had gone all small
and silly. It is maddening the way your mind sheers off into
silly ideas when you try to think seriously – or I know my
mind does. I got up in exasperation and went outside. I was
too annoyed with myself not to.

  The island was definitely smaller. There was only a short
bank between the house door and the garden wall, and the
trees had moved closer. There was an odd, ragged look to
everything, so that I could actually see the lines between the
different slices of grass, raying inwards towards the garden.
The garden wall was mostly made of stone now, with low,
tumbled-down places in it. Mini looked huge beside it. She
snatched her trunk back guiltily as I came outside and stood
swinging it, rubbing one back leg up the other, looking
really embarrassed.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  The goat distracted me then by bouncing up to me as if it
thought I wanted it there. Besides, I realised that there was a
mass of food in that garden. Maxwell Hyde could have
strawberries for lunch. I went to the rickety gate in the
collapsing wall and forced it open. And stood staring
dismally. It was like a small, tangled allotment in there,
with bushy apple trees round the walls and weeds
everywhere. While I stared at it, the goat bundled in past me
and began eating barren-looking Brussels sprouts just as if
it wasn’t full of loaf and armchair. Mini’s trunk snaked
slyly over my shoulder and fastened on a green apple in the
nearest tree.

  “I love these things,” she said, “even though they give me a
funny tummy.”

  I suddenly remembered – from telly, I think – that
elephants have quite delicate digestions. And I was furious.
It was everything, really, from the phone call first thing in
the morning onwards. But I took it out on Mini.

  “Leave it!” I shouted at her. “You stupid elephant! You’ll
ruin your stomach! And I’ll have you ill as well as
everything else! Anyway, it’s stealing!”

  She was really hurt. Her trunk whipped back and she
gave me a shocked look. I shall never forget the way those
wonderful grey eyes looked at me. “I thought you were kind,”
she said. Then she turned round with that sudden
nimbleness that elephants can produce and went away.

  I felt beastly. All I could think of to do was to wade in
among the weeds and search moodily for anything I knew
how to cook. There wasn’t much. I found brown-edged
lettuce, little greenish tomatoes on a starved vine and a
handful of rubbery plums. I was just coming out with this
sorry lot bundled up in my sweatshirt, when Mini came
galloping back again.

  “Oh, do come! I’ve found something horrible! Please
come!”

  Her ears were folding and unfolding, her trunk was
tossing and she was trampling from foot to foot. Her eyes
were beginning to roll. I could see she was in a right state.
“OK,” I said. “With you in a second.”

  I charged into the house, dumped the veg and even
remembered to shut the door against the goat. Then I
followed Mini at a run to the other end of the island. It was
only about a hundred yards by then, across line after line of
different kinds of grass.

  Mini stopped beyond the clump of trees, shaking all over.
“Down there,” she said. Her trunk gave a short jab in the
right direction. “I can’t go down there again! I can’t!”

  The island was quite high above the waters on that side. I
had to go over a steep, grassy lip and down two sloping
shelves of crunchy, white pebbles to get near the sea. Mini
had left deep sliding footprints in them, going down, and
even deeper ones going up. It was easy to see why she had
gone here. The slice of water facing the pebbles was a lovely
tropical green-blue, rocked by calm ripples. Warm air blew
off it. Just the place an elephant would choose to swim.
Except…

  I stopped dead.

  Someone else was in the water, rolling gently in the
shallow ripples. He was brown and red and shiny. At first I
thought he was alive and trying to roll out of the water. He
worked about so. Then the ripples turned him so that an eye
stared at me out of a cracked, gold-rimmed lens. Above and
below the eye was a horrible red and white mess. Then I
hoped he was dead. No one should be alive with his head
smashed like that. The clear water was red-brown around
him in clouds. Lots of little flies were sort of sizzling this
way and that on him as he rolled. And he rolled the other
way, letting me see the embroidery on his back all chopped
open and red, and a white glimpse of shoulder blade as the
flies went down on him again.

  I made myself creep a step nearer. My foot knocked wood,
and I looked away from the Prayermaster for a moment to
see the spade and the axe that had done this to him lying on
the pebbles. The metal parts were red and gummy, with
hairs sticking to them. I thought of Japheth running to the
flier covered in what I’d taken for red embroidery. I gagged.
I couldn’t help it. I’m ashamed, but I’m no good at this kind
of thing at all. I made one frantic scramble into the water to
touch the Prayermaster’s staring, tepid face and knew for
sure that he was dead. Then I went crashing and crunching
up the pebbles until he was out of sight, and threw up. By
the time I crawled up over the grass lip with the taste of
sicky coffee in my nose, I was shaking worse than Mini.

  “Is someone dead there?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Dreadfully. Let’s go somewhere else. There’s
nothing we can do until Maxwell Hyde wakes up.”

  We went back to the sunny place by the garden wall and I
sat there like a sack. Mini kept curling her trunk half round
me, then taking it away. I think she was making sure I was
still alive.

  After a long time, I said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was
in a bad mood.”

  “I know,” she said. “You keep having to feed people. I – er
– I’d eaten a lot of apples anyway before you came out.”

  “That could be a mistake,” I said. I watched the hens
pecking about for a while and then I said, “There’s a triangle
of sea near where we came in that had a tropical look. You
could have your swim there.”
  “I’ve lost the urge,” she said sadly.

  We were still there when the house door opened and
Maxwell Hyde came out looking very much awake. He was
all trim and neat and shaved, though his clothes still
seemed damp. “Can’t you pull yourself together?” he said to
me. “You’re filling the air with doom and gloom. You and
the elephant. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’ll show you,” I said. I got up and reached up to give
Mini a pat. “You needn’t come,” I said to her, “unless you
want to.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I think I’ll go and have that swim
instead.”

  “You do that. But,” I said, “don’t drown or anything. I
can’t stand any more.”

  She curled up her trunk and opened her mouth in
amusement. “Elephants float beautifully,” she said and went
lumbering off

  I took Maxwell Hyde in the opposite direction, not very
willingly. I could feel my feet dragging. He gave me one of
his keen looks and said, “Can you understand what the
elephant’s saying then?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Can’t you?”

  He shook his sprucely combed grey head. “No, I can’t. It’s
not precisely a universal gift, lad. Has she told you what
Romanov wants with an elephant, then?”
  “He doesn’t,” I said. “I mean, she isn’t his. I met her stuck
in the dark paths. She belonged to a circus, but it got struck
by a storm – it sounded like a tornado from what she said –
and she ran away in a panic. She was my third person
needing help, like you said.” I’d been trying to think who the
second person was that I had helped after Roddy. I knew it
had to be someone in Loggia City but I couldn’t see who.

  “I see,” he said. “That’s a weight off my mind. I’d been
puzzled to death why Romanov could possibly need an
elephant. So you can understand animal speech?”

  “Not the goat,” I said. The goat was coming down from
among the trees as I said this. It had a spray of leaves
sticking out of its mouth and curiosity all over its face.

  “Goats,” said Maxwell Hyde, “are a special case. Mad as
hatters, all of them. Now where is this thing we’ve come to
see?”

  “Down here,” I said and led him off down the pebbles, and
pointed with my head turned away. “Down in the water.”

  “My God!” he said. Then, after some crunching about,
“This is horrible! Hacked to death with a spade!” There were
watery, shingly sounds. I guessed he was dragging the
Prayermaster out of the sea, but I still couldn’t look.
“Nothing much to be done except hope he died quickly,” he
said, coming back up beside me and swallowing a little.
“Who was he?”

  “The Prayermaster from Loggia City who wanted to kill
Romanov,” I said. By this time, I was swallowing too.

  “I thought I recognised the embroidery,” Maxwell Hyde
said. “Biter bit, eh? All right, there’s no need to stay here if it
makes you throw up. Come back to the house. There’s
something I want to ask you about there.”

  I set off thankfully and came face to face with the goat at
the top of the shingle. “Oh, lord! It won’t – won’t try to eat
him, will it?”

  “I don’t think they’re carnivores, but we’ll make sure
anyway,” he said and he did the horn-and-rump hold on the
goat again and ran it back to the sheds before it could so
much as bleat. “Go and find some rope,” he said to me.
“Bound to be some in these sheds.”

  I looked into the shed nearest the house, expecting the
smart motor boat. It was just a pathetic old punt now, but
there was a coil of rope hanging on the wall beside it, along
with garden tools, a saw and two empty hooks. “I think the
spade and the axe came from there,” I said, handing
Maxwell Hyde the rope.

  He was looking a bit irritable because the goat was
jumping up and down under his hands, but he said quite
coolly, “Bound to have come from somewhere near. Wrap
one end of that round the creature’s neck – quickly.”

  I managed to put a loop of the rope more or less in the
right place and then watched, fascinated, while the loose end
wrapped itself round the rest of the rope and tied itself into a
firm knot.

  “Thanks. Phew!” said Maxwell Hyde, standing up rather
breathlessly. “Active, smelly beasts, goats are.” He walked off
towards the house. I looked back uncertainly, but the other
end of the rope was tied somehow to the shed door and the
goat had already run out almost to the whole length of it.
Impressive. “I must say,” he said, “that I did wonder a bit at
that child running to the flier all covered in blood like that,
but I was a bit tired just then.”

  Of course it had been blood. I felt a fool, thinking it had
been embroidery.

  “Who was flying the machine?” Maxwell Hyde asked me.

  “It must have been the other prayerboy. Joel,” I said.
“Unless they had a pilot with them.”

  “Could have been a boy,” he commented. “Went up in a
surge like an amateur, full throttle, wagging about and so
on. And where was Romanov in all this?”

  “He was in bed. He’s awfully ill,” I said protectively. “I
know he was because I was running around inside shutting
windows in case the Prayermaster tried to get in.” I heard
myself saying this and, for the first time, I wondered about
myself. I had been looking after Romanov and protecting
him ever since I got here, and yet Romanov had seemed
ready enough to bump me off for money if he’d decided I
deserved it. I wondered if it was magic, a protective spell
perhaps, but I didn’t really think it was. I think I just
admired him. I said, again protectively, “They really were
wanting to kill him. They called him unclean. But all he’d
done was give the embroidery workers stuff to block the
radiation.”

  “So that’s what annoyed them,” Maxwell Hyde said
thoughtfully. “Right. I have my own witness that you were
locked inside with an elephant in front of the door, and I
didn’t spot any blood on you, so you’re clear, I think.” He
opened the door and I followed him into the kitchen as he
said, “But I only have your word for Romanov.”

  “I can tell you write detective stories,” I said.

  He turned round at me in a way that made me almost
back out again. “I am also a Magid,” he said, “and it is my
job to look into this.” He was full of authority. I felt as if I’d
made a loud joke at a funeral. Then he relaxed a bit and
said, “But I want your opinion about this first.” He led me to
the living room, where he opened the door and said, “Well?
What’s going on here?”

  I gawped a bit. It was like another shed in there now. The
walls were warped, grey boards with green mossy stuff at the
bottom, and there were holes in the splintered old wood of
the floor. I could see water glinting and lapping through the
holes. All the windows were crooked and draped with
cobwebs, and as for the two chairs I had given him to sleep
on… Well, it was lucky I’d draped a rug on them. They were
two rotten old deckchairs, and the canvas in one was quite
perilously split.

  “I think it must be because Romanov’s so ill,” I said.

  He frowned at me.

  “The island and everything else have been getting smaller
and messier ever since I came here and found him,” I
explained. “He must be too ill to sustain the magic or
something.”

  “That’s most unlikely,” Maxwell Hyde told me sternly.
“The island and its contents have to be self-sustaining or
he’d never be able to go away. My guess is that it all ought to
draw energy from each of the worlds it’s part of Not much
from each, to keep the balance. Cunning stuff. Romanov is
good at it, lad. Where is he? We’d better look into this.”

  “Along here,” I said and took him to the bedroom.

  It was awful in there. It had become a tiny, poky room
with thick walls, dribbling wetness and covered with black
flecks of mildew. It was a fug of sickness. Romanov looked
like a corpse laid out on the narrow bed, almost as bad as
the Prayermaster. His cheeks had sunk in and his hair had
got pasted to his head with sweat, so that his face was a
sharp, grey, zigzag skull. I was relieved when I saw he was
still breathing.

  “Faugh!” said Maxwell Hyde.

  I made for the window to get it open – or try to – but he
barked at me, “Stop! Stand just where you are and don’t
move!”

  I stood still, more or less treading on Romanov’s suede
jacket. “What has he got?” I asked.

  “Let’s find out,” Maxwell Hyde said. He leant over and,
very delicately, touched Romanov’s sweaty forehead. He
grunted, but Romanov never moved. Then, to my surprise,
Maxwell Hyde took his fingers away, rather as if he were
running them along an invisible line of string, and felt
across through the air until he was all but touching my
forehead. “Thought so,” he muttered and felt away again,
back to Romanov.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Look,” he said. “Or can’t you see it?”

  I could see it as soon as he told me to look. There was a
blurred line of filthy-looking greyish-yellow light stretching
between Romanov’s head and mine. It was really nasty. It
made me almost want to throw up again. “Yes, I can see it,”
I said.

  “How often did you touch him?” Maxwell Hyde asked
sharply.

  I thought. As far as I could tell, I hadn’t. “I don’t think I
did,” I said. “I didn’t quite like to. I mean…”

  “Well, that’s something to be thankful for at least,”
Maxwell Hyde said. “He could well be dead now, if you
had.” He stood up straight and stared me in the eye. “I’m
going to want a detailed report from you, of everything
you’ve done since you vanished from London, my lad. But,
before you do anything else, you’re going to oblige me by
going and joining the elephant in the sea. Take all your
clothes off, leave them on the beach for me to delouse, and go
right under. There’s nothing like salt water for cleaning
black magic off. If you find the elephant’s in fresh water,
don’t go in there. Find a piece that’s genuine sea. Go on. I’m
going to be busy working on this end while you bathe.”

  I crawled away, feeling as if I’d been convicted of leprosy.
I wondered if I’d ever like myself again. Even the sight of
Mini on her side in crystal blue water, spraying her own
back through her trunk, failed to cheer me up.

  “Is that water salt?” I asked her.

  “Very,” she said merrily. “It makes me sneeze.”

  I tasted it untrustingly, and it was. Very. It practically
skinned my tongue. In fact, it was so salty and so easy to
swim in that I wondered whether Romanov had included a
piece of the Dead Sea at this point. Mini was so delighted to
have me in the water too that I began to feel quite a bit better
quite soon. We churned about and threw swathes of water at
one another. She rolled and I splashed.

  Eventually, I looked up to see Maxwell Hyde on the grass,
going carefully over my clothes. He was blowing into my
shoes as I got out and went up to him.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Clothing’s clear. Let’s look at you.
Turn round. Raise your arms. Bend down so that I can see
the top of your head. Right. Fine. You’re clear too now,” he
said, handing me a ragged old towel. “Get dry and get
dressed.”

  He walked away. “Is Romanov OK?” I called after him.

  “He will be,” he called back. “Don’t be long. Lunch.”

  When I got to the kitchen, he was standing over the range
stirring a vast pan of eggs. My miserable lettuce and manky
tomatoes had been turned into a halfway decent salad, and
there was another new loaf to go with it.

  “I thought you didn’t want eggs,” I said, scratching at my
salt-sticky hair.

  “That was this morning,” he said. “Dig me out a tray and
some cutlery. I’m hoping Romanov will be up to eating some
of this.”

  When everything was ready, I offered to take the tray in to
Romanov, but he wouldn’t let me. “I’m not letting you near
him,” he said. “Don’t you understand? Someone laid a pretty
vicious working on you, designed to destroy Romanov and
get you blamed for it. I think I’ve scotched it, but I’m not
taking any chances.” He carried the tray off to Romanov
himself, along with a vast pot of tea and an enormous mug,
and came back looking pleased with himself “That seems all
right,” he said. “Got his appetite back. Get eating, lad. While
you’re getting yourself round this lot, I want a detailed
account of exactly what you’ve been up to since you were
standing by my elbow in London.”

  So I told him. Maxwell Hyde interrupted me several
times, and insisted on going back over what I’d just said
and making me tell it again. The first time was over the
magic I’d done with Arnold, Chick, Dave and Pierre, to
make the cricket stadium safe.

  “Oh, I get you!” he said, when I’d explained again. “That
world. English Empire over most of Europe and paranoid
over the Russian-Turkish bloc. Well, one thing’s certain and
that’s that this anti-Romanov stuff wasn’t put on you there.
Half their paranoia is because their mages aren’t any good,
if you ask me. Typical slipshod working, the one you had
your hand in, lad. Why are you looking so doleful?”

  I was feeling bad about those four mages again. “I got
them into bad trouble,” I said. “Arnold and them.
Pretending to be a novice that way. I could tell they were in
trouble by the frantic way they were hunting for me.”

  Maxwell Hyde gave a sigh. “Probably. I’ll check up – have
to anyway – but, frankly, I don’t see what else you could
have done without being shot as a spy. You played it right
by instinct, as far as I can see. Go on.”

  I did and he interrupted me again to ask about the black
panther in the wood, and again to ask me about when the
mages were looking for me there. “Misty, were they? Now,
think carefully. Would you say they were only partly there,
while you were really there?”
  “That’s what it seemed like,” I said. “I didn’t know if they
could see me or not. That’s why I went up the dark path, to
get away from them. But I sat down then and decided in the
end that I’d better go and find Romanov.”

  “Now, hang on,” Maxwell Hyde said. “You told me
Romanov seemed to despise you and you were obviously
pretty scared of him. Exactly why did you think Romanov
was the man to consult? Did it feel like a compulsion at all?”

  “It could have been,” I admitted. “I know it seems odd,
when I knew he’d been offered money to get rid of me, but I
think I went because he was excellent really. He was a
hundred times better than Arnold and his lot. And I could
pay him too. Besides, wasn’t that spell already on me, from
when Romanov came to find me? He was ill before I got
here.”

  “We’ll consider that in the right place,” Maxwell Hyde
said. “Could have been overkill, you see. Carry on.”

  I went on, until I came to where I met Maxwell Hyde
himself. He made faces there. I think he was ashamed of
being so drunk. Then we both heard a sudden humming at
the back of the kitchen and whirled round. There was a
large fridge standing there, working away.

  Maxwell Hyde bounced up. “Ah,” he said. “Romanov’s
feeling better.” He looked inside the fridge with appreciative
noises, and fetched out a big piece of cheese and a cluster of
strawberry puddings. They had strange writing on the
cartons, but they tasted like strawberry mousse to me. We
both had one and he took one through to Romanov.

  I was glad of the interruption. I was still having such a
mixture of feelings about meeting that girl Roddy – or I was
embarrassed, or something – that I wanted to leave her out
of it altogether. Now I had time to work out how not to
mention her, so I sat and stared at the range and thought. It
wasn’t a range any more, really. It was a white thing with
doors and no sign of a fire. Nothing like so comforting.

  Then Maxwell Hyde came back and went on listening to
me, with his leather-patched elbow on the table and his
sharp, soldierly chin in his hand. I went on seamlessly to
my time in Loggia City, then to meeting Mini, and then to
the end, and didn’t mention Roddy at all. Maxwell Hyde
nodded and grunted a bit, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “Right,” he said, when I was up to the place where the flier
took off. “Plenty of food for thought there. Some of it I’ll
need to think about a bit. But there are two things that
spring to mind straightaway. First, about just when this
anti-Romanov working was put on you. I wondered about
the Prayermaster doing it for a while. It’s their kind of
thing. They do a lot of dirty work under the name of prayer.
But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that it
was done in London, by this person who sent you off. Under
my nose too.” He sniffed in an irritable way. “Says volumes
for how nervous I was,” he said. “I should have spotted it.
Anyway, does that make sense to you?”
  I nodded. It did seem likely.

  “Then you’ve got an enemy,” Maxwell Hyde said.
“Someone who dislikes you as much as he dislikes
Romanov. Any ideas?”

  All I could think of was that this enemy was something to
do with my real father’s Koryfonic Empire. We discussed
that for a bit, but in the end Maxwell Hyde shook his head
sharply.

  “No,” he said. “Won’t wash. Person has to have it in for
Romanov even more than for you. I’ll check with Romanov,
of course, but I’d take a strong guess that he’s never gone
near that Empire. Got more sense. Anyway, to get on to the
second thing. I’d be interested to know at what point you
moved back ten years. It took me all night to suss out how to
do that, even after I’d discovered I’d have to. When did you
realise?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “I just went here. But…” I thought about
it. “It could have been when the path forked,” I said
doubtfully. “Something was a bit wrong then – but I don’t
know.”

  “Any idea how you did it?” Maxwell Hyde asked. I shook
my head and he sighed. “No, it was all blind instinct, I
suppose,” he said. “Ah, well. The nasty part seems clear
enough though. The Prayermaster gets you to lead him to
Romanov and arrives here with these two boys. Whereupon
they do him in. Any idea why?”
  I thought of the implacable, schoolmaster face with its
gold-rimmed glasses and found the corners of my mouth
pinching in. “If you’d met him, you’d know. They must have
hated him, really hated him.” Maxwell Hyde shot me one of
his looks. “They were horrible kids,” I said. “I’ve no
sympathy for them either. But think of the worst
schoolmaster you ever had.”

  Maxwell Hyde winced a bit. “Right,” he said. “Right.
Prayers and beatings, you think? So we have two vicious
young killers loose with a flier, who know how to find
Romanov.” He sprang up again. “I’ll just go and warn him,
I think.”

  While he was gone, I ate two banana puddings and a
chocolate one and felt better. It looked as if Maxwell Hyde
hadn’t noticed that I’d left out meeting Roddy, and he was
definitely not suspecting me of murder any more, though I
think he’d wondered. This was a relief

  “I’ve let Romanov know,” Maxwell Hyde announced,
coming back, “and he says he’ll alter this island as soon as
he can, so they can’t find him again. But the mystery
thickens about this enemy you both have. He’s never touched
your Empire, so it can’t be that. And he had no connection
with you whatsoever before yesterday. So we’re stuck there
too. But I said we’d get rid of the Prayermaster for him.
Come along.”

  He went to the outside door and beckoned with the folded
sheet he was carrying. I swallowed and went with him,
wishing I hadn’t eaten those extra puddings.

  That side of the island was already further away. We’d
walked nearly three hundred yards before we met Mini,
hanging around beside the goat. Both of them looked
miserable.

  “My tummy’s funny,” Mini explained sadly.

  “How many apples did you eat?” I said.

  “Two whole treefuls,” she admitted.

  “Then you know who’s to blame,” I said. “Try filling up
with hay. What’s wrong with the goat?”

  “She doesn’t like being tied up,” Mini said.

  “Tell her my heart bleeds,” I said.

  I hated the next bit. I had to go crunching down those
pebbles and help wrap the sheet round the Prayermaster. It
was horrible, even though I tried not to look. Banana was
sort of coming back up my nose before long and I had to go
and sit on the grass.

  Maxwell Hyde came up to join me. “My idea,” he said,
“was to sling this fellow – and the murder weapons – further
along this coast, so they’ll end up in the world the beach
really belongs to. A nasty puzzle for the people there, I’m
afraid, but it won’t be nearly as much bad luck for them as
it will be for Romanov, if we leave everything here. A
murdered corpse always brings vile bad luck on the spot
where it happened. Trouble is, Romanov can’t remember
where he got this section from. I’ll have to think a bit.”

  I nodded and swallowed, and after a bit I began to feel
better. I looked round at Maxwell Hyde, sitting upright,
with his thin, businesslike hands clasped round his damp,
tweed knee, intending to ask how his thinking was getting
on. He looked round at me at the same moment.

  “No,” he said. “Doesn’t add up. I told you to help three
people on the way. Your story only has two, even if you
count the elephant as a person and the second one as the old
chap with the tapestry. Or do you count the Prayermaster
too?”

  I could feel my face slowly going as fiery as the middle of
the vanished kitchen range. I said, “Well, it may have been
him.”

  His look got twice as keen. I could feel it on the side of my
face. “Come clean,” he said. “What was the third?”

  “Er,” I said. “There was this girl – but maybe it isn’t,
because I haven’t helped her yet. Arianrhod, but she said to
call her Roddy. She was in some place called Blest, you see,
and I said I’d go there after I’d seen Romanov.”

  There was silence. All I could hear were several different
kinds of sea breeze hitting the trees. I thought it was
ominous.

  “Well!” said Maxwell Hyde. “Well, I’m blessed! No pun
intended. Fair, was she, or dark?”
  “Dark,” I said. “About my age.”

  “Well,” he said again. “I was about to point out to you, my
lad, that you seem to have unfinished business, but this
clinches it, I think. What did my granddaughter ask you to
do?”

  “Your granddaughter!” I yelped.

  He nodded. “Has to be. Unusual name, magical heritage,
prefers to be called Roddy, lives in Blest. My eldest
granddaughter. QED.”

  “You mean,” I gulped, “that you’re from this place too?”

  “That’s right.” He chuckled, quite suddenly.

  “But how come…” I began.

  “How come I publish mystery stories on Earth?” he said. “I
publish on Thule, Tellans, lots of places too. Everyone in
those places is apt to go on about how convincing my
alternate-world setting is, but of course it’s only Blest. Quite
ordinary to me – and to Blest people, worse luck. I hardly
sell at all in Blest. Sales so bad, in fact, that I thought I’d
make use of my Magid skills to turn a penny or so in other
worlds. What did she want – Roddy?”

  He had this way of spearing you with the last little thing
he said. I wriggled a bit and said, “There’s this plot. The
Merlin seems to be in it and she wanted outside help.”

  Maxwell Hyde narrowed his eyes. It was as if he were
looking at this Merlin fellow from a long way off. He shook
his head. “She’s wrong, of course. She has this little way of
getting wrought up, our Roddy. The Merlin’s young yet, but
he’s a deep one. They all are. Maybe up to something Roddy
got the wrong end of the stick about. Bound to be. She’s only
a child. Right. I’ll speak to your father,” he said, getting up.
“Let’s get this Prayermaster seen to then.”

  “What do you mean,” I said, getting up slowly, “speak to
Dad?”

  He turned round on his way down the slope. “Well, he’s
obviously got to see that you’re in one piece before I carry
you off to Blest, hasn’t he?”

  I stared at him. He looked up at me seriously.

  “Look,” he said, “you’ve not only got unfinished business,
lad. You’ve also managed to do something I can only do
with difficulty, when drunk. Plus you’ve had conversations
with animals and held off a Prayermaster when he tried to
put you under the prayer. Not things most people can do. I
consider it my duty, before you try something that kills you
or harms your world, to take you home to Blest with me and
give you a little basic training. Right?”

  “Does the Upper Room want you to?” I asked eagerly.

  “Huh!” He went crunching off down the pebbles, talking
over his shoulder. “Magids have a free hand mostly in what
they do. We do what needs doing. Come along now.”
                      8
                    Roddy


                              1
                                                        «^»
  t was very hot. Grundo and I sat in the shade of the castle
gate, drearily discussing what to do. Even if we could get to
Liverpool or Southampton or Newcastle, we didn’t know
which and we had almost no money. “We have to get to
somewhere where people know where the King is for certain,”
Grundo said.

  “That’s not so easy,” I said. “He changes his mind all the
time. And they change the far-speaker codes every day. The
only ones we’ve got are long out of date. We can’t even call
them up and ask.”

  “Your other grandfather found the Progress easily
enough.”
  Grundo said.

  “That’s because he’s a Magid,” I said. “I wish we could go
to Grandad in London, but that’s almost as far away as the
port cities. We could call my grandmother up, though. Let’s
go back to the castle and ask to use their far-speaker.”

  We trudged all the way back up the winding drive, where
we rang at the shiny brass bell-pull again. We rang several
times. After that, Grundo heaved up the huge iron knocker
and knocked. No one came. It was obvious no one was going
to come.

  “It stands to reason,” Grundo said miserably, as we
trudged down to the gate again. “A nasty man like Sir
James is bound to have nasty servants. They don’t want to
know, do they?”

  It was a horrible feeling. We sat limply in the shade of the
gate once more, completely at a loss.

  Eventually, Grundo said wistfully, “I wish I had relations
we could go to. Have you got any who might be nearer than
London?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I mean I do have the Dimbers, but
I’ve never met them. They’re Dad’s family, you see, and
Grandad is divorced from my grandmother. They may not
want us.”

  “How near do they live?” Grundo asked.

  “How far is Gloucestershire from here?” I said.
  Grundo was galvanised. “You’re hopeless!” he said. He
dived for his bag and brought out a map book.
“Gloucestershire’s practically next door. We may even be in it
here!” He leafed furiously through the book. “Whereabouts in
Gloucestershire?”

  It was my turn to dive for my bag. I fetched out my
address book and found Hyde. That was wrong, because my
grandmother had refused to change her name from Dimber.
I turned to the Ds and discovered that I really knew the
address quite well. Mum made me send them a letter every
New Year and cards on their birthdays. “Dimber House,
Sutton Dimber,” I read. There was even a far-speaker code,
for what good that did us.

  Grundo searched the pages of his map book with a slow,
studious finger. The maps didn’t bother him, but the writing
on them did. “Got it!” he said at last. “And this castle’s on
the same page. Roddy, it’s only about forty miles away! We
could walk there, if we had to”

  “It would take days!” I said. “Walking’s slow.”

  “Then let’s go out on the road and find a car to give us a
lift,” said Grundo.

  We repacked our bags and set off. I was still dubious. “I
warn you,” I told Grundo, as we came out into the blazing
road, “they may be very peculiar, if my Aunt Dora is
anything to go by.”

  “Your father’s not peculiar,” he said.
  “That’s because Grandad brought him up,” I explained.
“They wouldn’t let anyone male stay with them beyond seven
years. That’s why Dad and Grandad had to leave. But
Grandad once said that he’d had as much as he could take
by then. The Dimbers are hereditary witches, you see. And
that’s all I really know.”

  Grundo sighed enviously. “When I grow up,” he
pronounced, “I shall take care to have three really peculiar
families at least. I want crowds of mad relatives.”

  We toiled on between hot hedges, arguing how Grundo
could possibly achieve this. As we came to the junction with
the main road, I remember I was saying, “Three peculiar
wives mean three bigamies or three divorces. Can you stand
that?” Then I said, “Hang on.”

  On the shady corner where the roads met, my eye was
caught by a blue drift of speedwell flowers. Instantly, my
mind was full of a wood in winter and of a hanging swathe
of creeper crowded with grey puffs of seed. Old man’s beard,
I found myself thinking, or Traveller’s joy, and I could feel
another of the hurt woman’s flower-files opening. Journeys
and expeditions, this one said, cross-refer to spirit travelling
and shape-shifting. I didn’t think we needed that reference,
but speedwell flowers were in there, under ordinary
journeys, and I realised they were not called speedwell
without a reason. It was a simple spell for a safe and lucky
journey, and I knew we needed that. Best performed where
three ways meet, it said, and we had that, because the main
road went off hot and shimmering in two directions and the
castle road met it to make the third way.

  Grundo put his bag down and waited expressionlessly
while I picked seven of the juicy little flowers. If I hadn’t
been concentrating so hard on the flower-file in my head, I
might have noticed a few danger signals from Grundo then.
Grundo was trying to be civilised, but he was deeply jealous
by now. From his point of view, I had had all the luck – all
the magics, all the interesting relatives – and he had had
nothing but being allowed to tag along. It wouldn’t take
much more to make Grundo dangerously annoyed. And
when Grundo was annoyed, he was liable to do strange
things with his back to front magic.

  But I was far too hot, blinking sweat out of my eyes while
I concentrated on translating the rhyme into modern
language, and I didn’t think of Grundo. I carefully threw
one small flower in each of the three roads. Then I threw
three more while I said, “Journey flower, speedwell fair, keep
us safe and speed us there.” Finally, I threw the seventh
flower down the road we had to take.

  Then I did look at Grundo, but all I saw was that he was
white in the heat. His face was freckled on top of his freckles
with transparent beads of sweat. “Do we have to walk?” he
said.

  “I think so,” I said.

  Grundo grunted and we started walking.
  The spell took a while to work. Our feet got hot and sore.
Heat came blasting up off the road. Everything shimmered:
green shimmers from the humpy green hills on one side and
grey quiverings above the long stretches of green-gold wheat
on the other. The near-black trees beyond the fields were
hazed and motionless in the heat, and unreal puddles
glimmered in the distance up the road.

  Grundo gave up at the next crossroads. He said he was
probably going to die before my spell worked and sat down
in the whippy dry grass by the signpost. I got out the last of
the griddle cakes and waved them at him enticingly, but he
said he wasn’t hungry. I was just putting the packet away
again when the first cars we had seen came howling and
clicking between the dusty hedges, three of them, one after
another. We jumped up and waved.

  Everyone in those cars waved cheerfully back and they
drove past without stopping.

  “Now I shall die,” Grundo said.

  We really knew so very little about hitching lifts – and you
should have heard what Grandad said to me later about
how dangerous it was! – but we went on waving and cars
went on passing, until at length one did stop. It had a notice
in the front that said DOCTOR. The man driving it leaned
out of his window and asked, “Is this a medical emergency
or just a friendly wave?”

  We rushed up to the car and explained. He looked serious.
“Sutton Dimber’s well outside my practice,” he said, “but I’ll
do what I can for you. Climb in and I’ll see if we can catch
our area nurse.”

  He drove us to a village clinic. All I remember about that
drive is that we tried opening the windows and the wind
that blew in was hot. But I remember his car screaming into
the clinic forecourt just in time to catch the nurse climbing
into her little green car. The doctor passed us on to her and
went screaming off again.

  The nurse was rather a strict lady, as you might expect,
and she thoroughly disapproved of the way we were
wandering about the country on our own. She said we were
on no account ever to do it again. Sutton Dimber was out of
her way too, she said, but she drove us into the nearest town,
sweating our way between shimmering hedges, while she
talked about all the wells and reservoirs that were drying up
and shook her head about the drought. She was probably a
bit of a snob. When we told her how we had been left behind
by the Royal Progress, she turned a great deal more friendly
and stopped talking about the drought.

  “Then it’s no wonder you’re both so ignorant,” she said.
“Haven’t had a chance to learn, have you? Look, I can’t do
much for you – I’ve got an old man with a bad leg to see to –
but I’ll show you the place in the Square where you can
catch the Dimber bus. Have you got the money for the fare?”

  We counted the money we had and it turned out to be just
enough.

  “Then ask the bus to drop you outside Dimber House,” she
said. “You’ll get to it before you get to the village and you’d
only have to walk the mile back.” And as she drove into the
Square, she said, “There’s the stop. Wait right outside the
Chequers Inn or they won’t know you’re waiting. There’s one
due at two thirty, any minute now.” She stopped and we
opened the doors to get out. “They are expecting you? The
Dimbers?” she said.

  “Well, no,” I said and started to explain.

  She clicked her tongue. “Oh, dear! Then I’d better call
them up and warn them when I get to my old man,” she
said. “You really can’t just land on people like that, you
know. You’re not the King.”

  “We know,” Grundo growled, but she didn’t hear and
drove away.

  But she did warn the Dimbers. When we finally got out of
the hot, rumbling bus – which was worse than a bus in the
Progress because I swear it visited every tiny spot in
Gloucestershire and sat and rumbled by village greens in
sweltering heat, waiting to connect with other buses – I saw
my Aunt Judith anxiously waiting for us outside Dimber
House. I knew it must be my aunt because she was about the
same age as my Aunt Dora. I could see her even before we
got off the bus, because the house stood above the road, all
by itself against the sky, and Judith was at the top of the six
foot drop down into the road, standing in the bare garden
above the wall.

  Dimber House was unexpected. From the name, I’d
expected it to be big, but it was quite modest. It was tall and
narrow, with lots of dark windows, and it looked as if it had
escaped from being one of a row of houses in a town. It was
not exactly forbidding, but it was strange, standing all by
itself in the middle of the country. It was built of row upon
row of different dark bricks, ending at the bottom with small
deep red ones like tiles, that Aunt Judith said were Roman
bricks. She said this showed that Dimber House had been
there continuously, just like the Dimbers, for nearly two
thousand years. “And we go back much further than that,”
she added.

  But that was after we’d got off the bus. When she saw us
getting off, Judith came striding along the wall calling out,
“There you are! Come this way, my dears!” and pointing to
the nearly hidden steps that went sideways up into the
garden. It was a great relief to know she knew we were
coming. She watched us anxiously as we climbed the steps,
clutching a mauve, handwoven shawl around her in spite of
the heat. I could see she was an anxious person. She was tall
and thin and long-faced, with long, dark hair that had a lot
of grey in it, and she was serious and kind and still rather
good-looking, in an arty way. She welcomed us at the top of
the steps with a thin, cold hand and a very nice smile.

  “I hear the King went off and left you. What an awful
thing to happen! You’re entirely welcome to stay with us, my
dears, until we’ve got in touch with your parents. I’m sure
that won’t take long because they must be madly worried
about you. The trouble is, nobody seems to know where the
Progress is just at the moment. But it’s only a slight snag.
You’ll see.”

  She led us up the brick path to the house, talking away. I
looked around as we went. Apart from a bush of lavender
and a box tree cut into a round ball, there was nothing in
this garden. It was all tufty grass. How odd, I thought. I’d
always thought that witches cultivated herbs and were
generally bowered in fertility. And I tried not to exchange
looks with Grundo. I knew that a certain similarity to
Grandfather Gwyn’s manse could not have escaped him. It
was a relief to find a searingly bright, cherry-pink rose
climbing over the front porch.

  There were squeals and barking coming from behind the
house. Grundo says he thought the Dimbers kept pigs. But
the sounds cut off when we went into the front part of the
house. It was all quiet and stone-flagged and dark in there,
and it went up in shallow steps.

  “Oh, mind the steps!” Judith cried out, too late. “These are
mine,” she added apologetically as we both banged into
upright wooden looms. The whole dim hall was lined with
weaving machinery and smelt like new carpets. There was a
spinning wheel ready to be fallen over at the far end.
Grundo only just saved himself from it. “This is my trade,”
Judith explained as she opened the door beyond the
spinning wheel. “I sell quite well actually. It always
surprises me. Put your bags down on the stairs there and
come on in. Here they are, Mother.”

  “Come in! Come in! Let me set eyes on Arianrhod at last!”
my grandmother shrieked from the kitchen. “Where is she?
Oh, there you are! Aren’t you tall! Come in, come in, let me
look at you, and the boy too.”

  My grandmother’s name is Hepzibah Dimber – but she
shrieked at me almost at once that I was to call her Heppy –
and she couldn’t have been more different from her daughter
Judith. She was quite small, a head shorter than me, and
she would have been plump if she hadn’t worn very obvious
corsets which made her look like a tight little bolster. On the
top half of the bolster she wore a shiny orange blouse with a
flouncy bow, and on the bottom half a short, tight, black
skirt. Where Judith had bare feet shoved into wide, arty
sandals, Heppy wore stockings with shiny black hearts on
them and shiny brown shoes with three inch heels. She
trotted towards us, beaming, waving plump hands with
several rings on each finger. Her hair was dyed a sort of
apricot and her mouth was painted a shiny red.

  The minute I saw her, I knew I was a snob – worse than
the district nurse. I was ashamed of myself, but it was true.
It came of being brought up at Court – and at Court most
people consider Sybil pretty vulgar. I now saw that Sybil
was refined compared with Heppy. Heppy was the most
vulgar woman I’d ever seen. I was amazed that my soldierly,
well-bred Grandad Hyde had ever married Heppy. That was
the marvel, not the divorce. And it was only my Court
training in manners that made me able to smile back at her
and kiss her scented, powdered cheek as if I liked doing it. It
was awful. I felt like a cold little bitch. But it was the truth.

  Grundo got off more lightly. He only had to shake hands.
But his eyes widened as his nose approached the flouncy
bow and his fingers felt the twenty rings.

  My grandmother took us both by one arm and pulled us
over into the best light. “Let me look at you,” she kept saying.
I thought her eyes must be very bad, because the kitchen was
one of the brightest rooms in that house. Sunlight streamed
in through several windows, and it was all most cheerfully
decorated with bright handwoven rugs and knitted
cushions, and a big table with a most impressive red and
white tablecloth all woven with little figures and flowers.
Judith blushed when I looked at it admiringly, and
admitted that she had made it. “Then it’s no wonder you sell
a lot of weaving!” I said.

  Meanwhile, Heppy was peering up into our faces and
saying, “Well, well, well! She favours you a bit, doesn’t she,
Judith? Same anxious look about the eyes. And what strong
witchcraft! If it wasn’t for all this strange stuff she’s got in
her head, I’d take her by right to be our third witch here.
That’d solve a few problems, eh?”
  This took my attention back from the tablecloth with a
jolt. I realised that Heppy’s eyes were not bad at all. She had
just brought us into the sunlight in order to exercise her
divining powers. She was a very strong witch indeed.

  She gave a huge cackle of laughter when she saw I
understood this. Then she looked regretful. She twisted her
mouth until there were lines all round her lipstick. “Pity,”
she said. “That stuff in your head’s set you on quite another
path, Arianrhod. Shame I didn’t get to you first, my girl.
Now what about you, little man?” She peered intently at
Grundo. “Called Ambrose, are you?”

  “I’m usually called Grundo,” he said.

  Heppy gave another cackle of laughter. “Very fitting, with
a growl for a voice like that! But what’s wrong with you?
You’re all back to front!”

  “Dyslexia,” Grundo said bitterly.

  “Don’t believe in it,” she told him. “It’s just a fancy modern
word for mixed up. You turn yourself rightabouts and you’ll
be fine. What’s your mother doing to let you get so scrambled
in the first place? Who is she? Oh, I see. It’s that Sybil
Temple. Always was a greedy, selfish wifty-wafty, that girl.
Trust her to mix a child up! You ought to be living with
your father, my boy.”

  I wanted to shake Heppy. Grundo was shamed and
embarrassed and shifting from foot to foot. “Nobody knows
where my father is,” he muttered.
  “Ran away from her, ran away from Court,” Heppy said.
“I know. You should go and find him. It doesn’t do a child
any good, being dragged round the country after the King
all the time, if you ask me. That goes for you too,
Arianrhod.”

  “Er – Heppy, could you call me Roddy?” I said. “I do
prefer it.”

  “Whatever for? That’s a boy’s name!” she squawked. “You
ought to be taking up your true heritage, my girl, not trying
to be someone else.”

  I felt my face flooding hot with annoyance. I knew it
would take very little for me to have a real row with my
grandmother. I didn’t like her. And I had a feeling she
didn’t like me either.




                              2
                                                         «^»
  uckily, before things got any worse for me or for Grundo, a
kettle whistled over on the stove and Heppy went trotting
and clacking over there to make tea. She shortly came
trotting and clacking back carrying a vast teapot in a
knitted cosy. Grundo and I watched her tottery high heels
both ways in nervous fascination. We expected her to tangle
with a rug and trip at any moment, but she never did. It
was like a miracle.

  Judith, meanwhile, was setting the table and laying out
covered plates of small sandwiches. “These are only
cucumber,” she apologised. “We’ll do better for supper.”

  “Tea!” Heppy shrieked. “Tea’s up!” The nearest I can get to
describing my grandmother’s voice when she screamed is a
parrot imitating a steam-whistle. We heard a lot of her
screaming later, but I never found a better description.

  Her voice must have carried out into the back garden with
no trouble at all. They could probably hear it a mile away in
the village. The back door burst open almost instantly and,
almost before it had hit the wall with a crash, two small
girls bounded in, followed by a large, curly, yellow dog. A
black cat, which had been snoozing on a cushion up to then,
woke up and bolted. Grundo said later that the cat’s
behaviour was highly significant. “And sensible,” he added.

  One of the small girls was wearing baggy trousers and a
white vest. The other was in a trailing, shiny, pink tea-gown
which almost certainly belonged to Heppy. Otherwise, you
would never have told them apart. They both had the same
light brown hair falling in twists to their shoulders, and the
same pale, pert little face with huge blue eyes.

  There was a brisk minute of pandemonium. The dog
barked. Heppy screamed, “Shut the door, Ilsabil! Isadora,
you’ve been at my clothes again!”

  At the same time, Judith was saying, “These are my twins.
This is Isadora and this is Ilsabil. Girls, come and meet
your cousin Arianrhod and her friend Ambrose.”

  Also at the same time, the twin in trousers screamed, “Oh
my God!” and backed dramatically against the wall. “It’s a
boy in here! Don’t let it near me!” She made fending motions
at Grundo. But the twin in the silk dress put on a sickly,
gushing smile and glided up to Grundo with both arms out.
“A boy!” she cried, in a deep, actressy voice. “Let me at him!”

  Then, just as I was thinking, in a slightly stunned way,
that this behaviour was the way you told these twins apart,
the one in the dress recoiled from Grundo with a scream.
“Mother!” she howled. “How can you let a great rough boy in
here?” Instantly, the other twin put on the sickly, gushing
smile and undulated up to Grundo, stretching her arms out
and yelling, “A kiss, my lover, a kiss!”

  Grundo’s face was a study and I didn’t blame him.

  “Shake hands with your cousin!” Heppy screamed.

  They didn’t, of course. Shaking hands would have been
too normal for these twins. Ilsabil sank to her
baggy-trousered knees. “Oh, my!” she yelled, “have you really
spared time from Court to come to our humble house?” while
Isadora swished her pink dress and said, “Of course, when I
come to Court I shall outshine everyone there.”

  “That could be true,” I said. “And you might not like it.”

  Neither twin listened to me. They hurled themselves into
chairs round the table shouting, “What’s for tea?” and
dragged the covers off the plates. “Oh!” screamed one of
them, “I hate cucumber! I’m allergic to it!” while the other
one yelled, “Cucumber! I love it!” Again, just as I was
thinking this was another way to tell them apart, they
swapped roles, and the one who hated cucumber shouted,
“Snatch! Seize! I’m going to eat all these delicious
sandwiches myself!” Meanwhile, the other one whined,
“Moth-ther! I can’t eat this! I’m electric to cucumber!”

  “Allergic, dear,” Judith said anxiously. “And I don’t think
you are.”

  “Yes, I am,” whined the twin.

  “Yes, she is,” whined the other one. “She fizzes all over.”

  It was like this the whole time. At first, I tried telling
myself that all the children at Court had to be so well
behaved that I’d forgotten what normal little girls were like.
That may have been true, but I very soon decided that
Ilsabil and Isadora had never been normal in their lives.
Neither of them was the same person for more than two
minutes. Neither of them seemed to care what she did or
said, as long as it fixed everyone’s attention on her.

  Judith watched them all the time with an anxious,
pleading smile.

  Heppy gazed at them proudly. “Aren’t they a caution?” she
said several times. Then she asked Grundo, “Can you tell
them apart?”

  “No, and I’ve given up trying,” he said. “I’m calling them
both Izzy.”

  “Pathetic!” squealed both twins. “Per-thetic! Izzy, izzy, is
he stupid!” This was followed by, “Mother! I’m very hurt
and insulted!” from one twin, and “Oh, gorgeous boy! He’s
calling me Izzy!” from the other. And then the same thing
the other way round.

  I had hoped to talk to Judith about Sybil and the Merlin.
Judith seemed to be the calm, sensible one in this family,
and I was sure she could give me proper advice. But it was
hopeless even to try during tea. The Izzies kept everyone’s
thoughts and ears on them the whole time.

  “They’re very excited at seeing you, you see,” Judith
explained, in her anxious, apologising way. “They’ve heard
so much about you and their Uncle Daniel and the
Progress.”

  The moment everyone had finished tea, the Izzies jumped
down and rushed shrieking to the back door. They were
stopped there by an even louder shriek from Heppy. “Wait!
Take Ambrose and the dog with you and play in the garden.
We have to show Arianrhod the Regalia.”

  “Oh, why? I want to see it too,” shouted Ilsabil.

  “Stupid stuff!” Isadora proclaimed, with a toss of hair
and chin. “I wouldn’t go and look at it if you paid me.”

  Then of course they did it the other way around, except
that Ilsabil added, “Regalia – such boredom!” with a deep,
world-weary sigh.
  As for Grundo, he positively scowled at being told to play
with the Izzies. I think the only thing that reconciled him to
it was the dog. Grundo has always wanted a dog, even more
than I have, but the Waymaster’s Office forbids pets on the
Progress. He went out into the garden with one hand on the
dog’s curly back, while Heppy and Judith took me past the
looms and into their front room.

  Good! I thought. Maybe we can talk now.

  It was one of those hushed rooms with a lot of upright
antique furniture and books in glass cases. It looked as if it
were very rarely used, but now I come to think of it, they
must have used it every day. Somehow, they must have
managed to make the Izzies take care in there.

  “Phew!” Heppy said, as the quiet of it closed in around us.
“I can hear myself think again! Roll on the day when we
have to turn one of those girls out!”

  Judith looked anguished. “There always have to be three
Dimbers,” she explained to me, “one from each generation
and no more. In seven years’ time, there is going to be the
most agonising choice. We’ve no idea whether we’ll keep
Isadora or Ilsabil on as our third. How do you choose
between identical twins?”

  “Time enough to choose,” Heppy said. “Don’t buy trouble,
Jude. And as I always tell her, Arianrhod, it was just as
agonising in my day, when we had to choose between Judith
and Dora!” She chuckled. “And I’d complicated things by
going and having your father before either of the girls.
That’s just as unheard-of as twins in our family, I can tell
you.”

  “What would have happened to my father,” I asked, “if
Grandad hadn’t taken him to London?”

  “Oh, he’d have been packed off over the hill where we
usually send the boys,” Heppy said. “There’s a family of
male witches with a farm there. It’s where the husbands
come from usually. I was unusual, falling for Maxwell.
And, while we’re on this, I’ll tell you straight, Arianrhod,
this is quite a problem, you bringing the boy with you. You
yourself are welcome for as long as you care to stay but seven
days is all I can house a male stranger. What would you like
us to do for you?”

  “Well,” I said, “you’ve been awfully kind and I don’t want
to cause a problem. If you know how to find where the King
is, Grundo and I will rejoin the Progress as soon as we can.”

  Heppy looked up at her tall daughter and Judith, as
usual, looked anxious. “Huh!” Heppy said. “You can’t find
them either, can you? Thought so. Those wizards are keeping
the King secret again, aren’t they?”

  “I was told one of the ports,” I said.

  Heppy swept that aside. “They could be anywhere. No,
your best bet is to go to your grandfather in London.
Maxwell can do the finding for you. He’s good at it. Judith,
when you’ve a moment, will you get Maxwell on the
far-speaker? If I speak to him, we’ll only end up shouting at
one another.” Judith smiled at me. “Of course. But first…”

  “Yes, yes, she has to be shown the Dimber Regalia. It’s her
right as a female of the family.” Heppy, upright and
barrel-shaped, bustled across the room. One wall was dark
oak panelling. I watched as she laid one chubby much
beringed hand on a particular place in the wooden squares.
“Now you’ll see,” she said over her shoulder. Then she
worked magic. It was nothing like any of the magic I had in
my head. It was reverent magic, very old and very practised,
and it sent a shiver up my spine. I felt another shiver as two
doors, that had not been there in the wall before, came
creaking open like a cupboard. Inside, something blazed.
There was a sweet smell, of old wood and new flowers.

  Judith put an arm round my shoulders and pushed me
gently towards the open space. “Our vessels of virtue,” she
said softly. “Full of beauty and power.”

  I found myself gasping. Inside the wooden space, laid out
on red velvet, were cups, bowls, plates and jugs of gold and
silver. All were most exquisitely made and wonderfully
elegantly shaped. Some had patterns raised in the metal –
patterns that I knew meant something, except that the
meanings were just out of reach somehow – and some had
small clusters of sapphires and pearls set into them. One of
the most beautiful was a great cut-glass goblet with a base of
gold filigree that grew around the glass like part of a flower.
The centrepiece was a majestic, flat chalice with golden
handles, that had tiny running patterns on every part of it.
Around it were old, old cups, worn lopsided with use. I
could see everything was immensely old and full of power.
And it all felt alive. The life in the things seemed to pour out
of the cupboard and scintillate on all the elegant, shiny
surfaces. While I was trying to decide which vessel was the
most splendid – the crystal goblet, the chalice, or maybe the
small, strange one like a vase, irregularly dotted with
bulging pearls and sapphires – their sheer aliveness seemed
to cause two little gleams of light to go dancing over them.
They looked almost like eyes.

  “Aren’t they something?” Heppy said warmly.

  At her parrot-voice, the eyes vanished, but the sense of
warmth and strength stayed. The things felt so safe and so
strong that I had no doubt that they would help me when I
tried to explain about Sybil and the Merlin.

  “They’re the repositories of our strength,” Judith said
raptly, clasping her hands gawkily to her chest. The shine
from the vessels was gold and silver on her face. It made her
look quite beautiful for a moment.

  “And,” Heppy said, “believe it or not, we use them every
day.”

  “Yes, every day, for whatever needs working on in our
jurisdiction,” Judith said. “We’re working at slaking this
drought just now. And there seems to be a little imbalance in
the magics here at the moment that we’re trying to put right.”
  “And you use everything in here?” I asked.

  “Not all at once, of course,” Heppy said. “But according to
which day it is and where the moon is. We give them all a
drop of blood every time we use them. This is why we can’t
have men around. Can’t you feel how secret and how female
they are?”

  To tell the truth, I couldn’t. The strength that came out of
the space lined with red velvet did not feel to me particularly
much to do with women, or men either. But I did my best
not to say this. “They are – quite wonderful,” I said. “Quite
the most strong and beautiful…“ Then my worries got the
better of me and I burst out with “Oh, Heppy, Judith, how
do I go about raising the land?”

  “Good Lords!” Heppy banged the two halves of the
cupboard shut and the cracks in panels where they had been
vanished at once. “Heavens, child, don’t say such things! In
front of the Regalia too! Don’t even think them! Whatever
put that notion into your head?”

  “You really shouldn’t know about that,” Judith said
reproachfully. “Come and sit down, my dear, and tell us
what made you say that. I can see you’re dreadfully anxious
about something, but I feel sure you have to be
over-reacting.”

  I could see they were both going to treat me as an
over-fanciful child. I sighed. But I sat down all the same in
the upright chair Judith guided me to and tried to explain. I
was so worried by then that tears were trying to push
themselves out of my eyes, and I could hear my voice
shaking as I talked.

  And it was no good. Heppy simply laughed comfortably.
“No, dear. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick somewhere.
The Merlins are always for good and Court wizards are
chosen for their loyalty. What you’re talking about just can’t
happen in Blest. We’re the most stable of all the worlds. You
misunderstood something grown-up, dear. That’s all.”

  “It’s so easy,” Judith explained soothingly, “to hear three
adults talking in the dark and to imagine all sorts of queer
things. No wonder you went on and had bad dreams about
it. If you’d overheard them in daylight, you’d have felt quite
different.”

  “But you said yourselves that the magics were
unbalanced,” I said desperately. “And Grandfather Gwyn
told me…”

  “Hush!” Heppy said sternly. “We don’t mention That One
here. And he’s someone you can’t be expected to understand,
not for years yet. You go and play in the garden, Arianrhod
my dear, and don’t trouble your head any more, Judith will
get on the farspeaker to Maxwell for us and we’ll have you
all sorted out before bedtime. You’ll see.”

  I left Judith dragging a far-speaker out from among the
looms and went dejectedly out into the back garden. It was
almost as empty as the front, just grass – where Grundo was
sitting with his arms round the dog and wearing his most
faraway look – and some wire netting around it.

  The Izzies were cavorting around the grass. “Pathetic!”
said one.

  “This boy is per-thetic!” said the other. “Fancy not
understanding us Dimbers!”

  When they saw me, they left off trying to provoke Grundo
and began doing handstands up against the wire netting.
“You understand us, don’t you?” Isadora said. She was
rather muffled because her dress had turned upside down
with her. I pretended not to hear and looked anxiously at
Grundo instead. He just looked vague. He had had tons of
practice in ignoring Alicia after all.

  “Our family never stays married,” Ilsabil proclaimed,
clattering the netting with her feet. “It’s against our rules.
Anyway, I’m thinking of joining a circus.”

  “We invented single parent families,” Isadora said, from
inside her dress. She came down, tangled in pink silk. “Our
customs go back thousands of years,” she added
breathlessly, “but I shall never marry. Boys are too pathetic.
So are circuses. I shall be a great actress.”

  “I believe you,” I said, as Ilsabil came down in her turn.

  Ilsabil went upside down again with a twang almost
immediately. “I shall marry a rich wizard,” she declared,
“and wear lots of jewels and lipstick. Then I shall kick him
out and keep his money after seven years. Because I’m going
to be chosen for Dimber third, not Isadora— Ouch!”

  She ended in a scream and a collapse when Isadora
rushed at her shrieking, “No you won’t!” and shoved her
hard in the stomach.

  “Filthy little witch!” Ilsabil yelled. They fell on one
another and fought energetically. The pink dress tore with a
noise like a gunshot.

  Grundo, I could tell, neither heard nor saw any of this. I
thought at the time that he had simply tuned the Izzies out,
the way he does with Alicia or Sybil. It never occurred to me
he might be up to something.




                              3
                                                            «^»
  found out what Grundo had been up to in the middle of
that night. But before that, Judith had rung London at least
twenty times. She came away from the far-speaker looking
more anxious each time. “I can’t understand it,” she said.
“I’m getting the engaged signal every time!”

  “Don’t worry so,‘’ Heppy said. “Dora’s probably calling
that vile man of hers. That Jerome. Or Maxwell has some
crisis on. Try again early tomorrow. And I’ll try telepathy
after that. I’d try it now, only it always annoys Maxwell so
when I do it. I always seem to catch him at an awkward
moment.” And she cackled with laughter.

  Of course, Judith did worry. She was that sort. She set
about cooking supper with her long, kind face all tense and
wrinkled. I offered to help her, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
Children didn’t help in that house. So I went away and
defended Grundo from the Izzies instead.

  They had discovered how to victimise him by then. One
would twirl in and poke him, chanting, “Long nose, long
nose, oh, pathetic long nose!” and the other would come
sweetly undulating up on the other side and ask in a
babyish little voice, “Forgive me asking, but where did you
get all those pretty freckles from?” Then, of course, they
would swap roles.

  Grundo couldn’t handle this at all. He was looking
desperate when I came up. I took hold of an Izzy in each
hand and shook them, quite roughly. “If you little freaks do
or say one more thing to Grundo,” I said, “I shall turn you
both into fleas. Don’t think I can’t. So leave him alone.
Now.”

  They twisted round and stared up at me innocently. “But
men are fair game,” Isadora said.

  “Heppy says so,” added Ilsabil.

  “And I say not,” I said. “And I say that you are ignorant,
badly brought up little witches, and I’ve got hold of you, so
you are going to do what I say, not what Heppy tells you.
Understand?”
  Their little pink mouths opened charmingly. “Oh, but…”

  “But nothing,” I said. “Don’t try and charm me. I don’t
think you’re sweet. I think you both need spanking.” I
banged their heads together, not quite as hard as I wanted
to, and stalked away.

  I could feel them staring after me with hatred. I spent the
rest of that evening expecting them to take some horrible
revenge on me. But, to my surprise, they treated me almost
with respect. I don’t think anyone had ever told them off
before. They didn’t like it, but it seemed to have made them
think.

  All the same, I think they put something slimy in
Grundo’s bed that night. Poor Grundo. He was given a little
room in the attic next door to the Izzies. I was given a grand
guest bedroom halfway down the house. It had a wonderful
high brass bedstead with knobs on its brass rails and a
whole bank of pillows, and it was covered with an enormous
patchwork quilt.

  “Be gentle with the quilt,” Judith said. “My
great-grandmother made it – your great-great-grandmother,
that is. It’s quite fragile these days.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, because it was. I looked at the big
windows. They had brass curtain rails threaded with big
brass rings. The curtains hanging from the rings were as
beautiful as the quilt, but newer. “Did you weave the
curtains?” I asked. “They’re lovely.”
  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact I did,” Judith said. She went
away with an anxious, apologetic smile, as near to being
pleased as I had seen her.

  I settled down under the ancestral patchwork and fell
straight into sleep. I was tired out. And it seemed to me that
I had another dream after a while, of the same kind that I
had dreamed at Grandfather Gwyn’s. I thought I floated out
from under the quilt and through the window and sped off
across the countryside. Dim, blue fields and dark copses
unfurled beneath me for miles, until I arrived at Belmont
Castle and whirled through the grounds to the Inner
Garden. This time, I didn’t go into it. I sort of roosted on the
wall, looking down into the garden’s moist, quiet spaces.
Grandfather Gwyn’s horrible horse-standard was still there.
I could see it as a white streak at the corner of my eye while I
examined the garden.

  It was spoilt. The lawns were drying out, making trees
droop and bushes wither, and the waters did not seem to be
running freely anywhere in the conduits and cisterns. Where
the waterfalls poured into the pools, they made a strange,
harsh tinkling, quite unlike the earlier deep, singing gurgle.
Some animal-heads had stopped running entirely. But this
was only the outer sign of what Sybil had done. When I
looked more closely – in a way it was feeling as much as
seeing – I found a yellow-white ghostly layer of rottenness
over everything. It covered the lawns and the flowers, and
was particularly disgusting where it draped and glopped
over the trees or oozed down the waterfalls.

  I wasn’t wrong about this! I thought in my dream. After
what Heppy and Judith had said, I had been almost
distrusting my own memories, thinking perhaps that I had
made a mistake, or imagined Sybil talking to Sir James
and the Merlin, and possibly that I had only dreamed that
they had summoned Grandfather Gwyn here. Now – at least
in my dream – I knew it had been true.

  Then I turned my head and saw someone else standing
sadly on the wall beside me. She towered above me, tall and
slender in a dress that blew about without any wind to blow
it, and her long hair blew across, almost like tendrils, to
touch me. It was the touch of her hair that had made me
notice her. Even so, I was not sure at first that she was really
there. I could see right through her, to trees and stars in the
sky. She was just a sort of whiteness faintly across these
things, like a cloud. Then she looked at me with huge eyes
and I saw that she was real. She seemed to be about my age,
but I was fairly sure that she was older than the garden and
more real than I was.

  “This used to be one of the strong shrines,” she murmured.
“It anchored the land.” She sighed. She beckoned me to
watch and reached down underneath Sybil’s layer of
rottenness, where she took hold of the good part of the
garden that still lay down there and pulled gently. She drew
it out, all the power and virtue and goodness that was left,
as if it was a huge, mossy cloth covered with faint, running
glimmers, and draped it dripping around her shoulders. It
smelt wonderful, of rain and woodland and deep, clear
waters. “I have to take it back for a while,” she mused as she
pulled it round her. She seemed to be thinking aloud, but
she was speaking to me too. “It will cause a strong
imbalance.”

  While I was waiting for her to say more, somebody called
my name from inside the guest bedroom and I had to leave
in a hurry. This is the way when somebody calls you by
name. I went with such helter-skelter speed that the dark
country teemed and whirled underneath me and I landed in
the brass bedstead with a thump. I was quite giddy when I
sat up. But, this time, I knew I was awake. I could feel the
frail squares of the quilt under my fingers and hear the
brass rails rattle, both on the bed and above the curtains.

  “Who’s there and what do you want?” I asked slurrily.

  Someone said, “Ah, she did hear!” in a satisfied way, and
several other someones said, “We are. We need to speak to
you.”

  There was light coming from low down at the side of the
room, gleaming and yellowish. I never found out where the
light came from. I looked in the morning and there was
nothing. I blinked in the low, golden glow and stared. There
was a most peculiar creature perched on the brass rail at the
end of the bed, looking at me with glistening, pinkish eyes.
He was big, at least as big as the curly dog asleep
downstairs, and he had a protruding front and long, fluted,
trailing parts, like wings. Hand-like parts gripped the brass
rail and a face-like, bird-like part stared at me. What struck
me as most peculiar, though, was that he was wholly
transparent. I mean, I could see through him, just as I could
see through the lady I had just met, but where she had been
like vapour or a cloud, he was like a balloon full of nothing,
and faintly pinkish all through. Without that low-down
light, I would not have been able to see him at all. The same
light, I saw suddenly, glistened on a whole row more of the
creatures clustered along the curtain rails above. These ones
seemed to be smaller and they were all sorts of different
shapes.

  “Who are you all?” I said.

  “I am the person who inhabits the Dimber chalice,” the big
one said gravely. “The people on the curtain rails inhabit the
other vessels of the Regalia. We have inhabited these vessels
and worked magics at the bidding of the Dimbers since we
were first summoned, hundreds of years ago. We want to
know if this is wrong.”

  “Yes, is this slavery or not?” chirped one of the ones on the
curtain rail.

  “The boy told us it was,” sang another.

  “We used to be free folks,” another chimed in, “until we
were summoned and bound by magic.”

  “So is this wrong?” the big one enquired. “The boy says
that it is. He told us that in this day and age there are laws
that forbid one person to imprison another, or to force people
to work unless they have agreed to do so. He says the
Dimbers are acting unlawfully in this. Would you agree?”

  Oh, dear! I thought. Now I knew why the Regalia had felt
so much alive. I also knew why I had seen those two little
spots of light, so much like eyes. They were eyes, Grundo’s,
looking in. He had been spoiling for trouble anyway, and it
must have been the last straw when he was sent away to
play with the Izzies while I was shown the treasure.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said slowly. It was difficult to
think. Half my mind felt as if it was still with the Inner
Garden. “Grundo told you that you’ve been enslaved by the
Dimbers, is that right? So now you have to live in the chalice
and the other things and do magic when they tell you to.
How did they get you to live in the things?”

  “By spell and ritual,” said the big creature. “One day I was
free and floating in my hedgerow, and the next, I was haled
into the chalice and my power was at the command of Eliza
Dimber. It was the same for the others, with different
Dimbers.”

  “We had no choice,” twittered the ones on the railings.
“The spell laid on us was strong.”

  “But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” I said. “The
laws might have been different then. And I’m not sure it was
slavery. They do reward you, don’t they?”
  The creatures on the railings burst out twittering again,
like a row of birds. “They give us blood,” one sang, and
another sang, “But blood is not our proper food!” Another
piped, “What is a reward? We never asked to work.” A small
one answered, “Reward is living in a vessel of glory!” and
others twittered him down with, “Freedom is better!” A
medium-sized one chanted, “But we would be dead by now,
but for the spells and the blood.”

  “This is all true,” the big one said, staring at me solemnly,
“but the boy said it was slavery because no one asked us
first.”

  “I suppose that is right, in a way,” I felt forced to agree.
“But why did you come to me?”

  “The boy has unbreakable protections round his room,”
the medium-sized one chanted from the curtain rail. “We
can’t get in.”

  This did not surprise me. If I were next door to the Izzies
all night, I would make sure no one could get into my room
too. It surprised me slightly that Grundo could do this, but
then Grundo never seems to know what he can do until he
does it. All the same… “I don’t understand,” I said, “if
Grundo has already told you all this – did you come to me
for a second opinion or what?”

  “He advised us to speak to Hepzibah or Judith Dimber,”
the big creature told me, “but they have never known that we
exist. They were asleep and we couldn’t get them to hear us.
And we need to know whether we should proceed now with
the rest of the boy’s advice.”

  “Oh-oh!” I said. “What else has Grundo told you?”

  “To leave the treasure and stop doing the Dimbers’
bidding,” chirped a small one from the curtains.

  The rest burst out twittering at that. “Good advice!” or
“Bad advice!” or “No one has ever advised us before!” and
“No one has ever noticed us before!” came from a dozen
transparent, pulsing throats. It was like a tree full of
sparrows until the big one took charge again.

  He frilled and fluttered his trailing bits, in a way that
reminded me exactly of Judith clutching and resettling her
mauve shawl. The rest all stopped twittering when he did
this. “Looking to the future,” he said, “viewing what is to
come, we think we should take the boy’s advice.”

  The smaller ones all went crowding this way and that
along the curtain rails, looking very anxious indeed. I saw
their point. I saw where all this had been leading now. If I
was booked to be enslaved to one of the Izzies, I would be
terrified. “I see,” I said. “It might not be so bad. They seem
quite kind to their dog.”

  The big creature just looked at me out of sad shining pink
eyes.

  “Yes,” I said, “but – if Heppy and Judith don’t know you
exist, they won’t understand it if you leave. It seems a bit
hard on them. What is it that you actually do for them?”
  “Secret ceremonies with me,” the big one said, “and
appropriate rituals with all of us, for the health of the land
and its magics, in this part of the country. Our belief is that
both Dimber ladies have power enough of their own to do
this without us.”

  But they love that treasure, I thought. They revere it. If
these people leave, the Regalia’s going to be like the Inner
Garden after the lady on the wall took the goodness away.

  “Look,” I said. “Your problem is really Ilsabil, isn’t it? Or
Isadora?”

  None of the creatures spoke, but there was a terrible tense
stillness about the way they perched that showed me I was
right. They were dreadfully loyal, though. None of them
would say a word against any Dimber. How can I handle
this, I wondered. Oh, blast Grundo! What a perfect revenge
he’s taken!

  “I think what you need,” I said, “is some way of making
them realise that you’re people and just as alive as their
dog.”

  This caused a perfect storm of cheeping and chanting. It
was like having the dawn chorus in my bedroom.

  “If only they knew!”

  “We’ve served so long, but they all think of us as things!”

  “Just to be thanked for once!”

  “And so we are people, just as you are!”
  “They can’t see us, they can’t see us or hear us!”

  “We want them to know!”

  They made me lose my thread. “What were you before you
were made to inhabit the Regalia?” I asked them.

  “Merely some of the folk who live in the land,” the big one
told me. “You people never seem to see us, but there are
crowds of us everywhere. In summer we sway and sing, and
climb ladders of hot air…”

  I missed the next bit because a flower-file suddenly opened
in my head. You took your time! I thought crossly, but it
was all there, under Mullein again. Invisible beings of the
day: very potent transparent folk, existing in crowds all over
the land, idle and joyful, can be commanded but should be
entreated with politeness as, when annoyed, they can cause
storms, floods and droughts. Cross-refer to Bad Magics:
enslavement. She had known them well, the hurt lady.

  “It was high summer,” the big creature was saying, when I
started listening again, “and it was a great shock to me
when the spells were cast and I was hurled from my bed in
the warm air into the cold, gold chalice. I admit that my
existence has been useful since…”

  Should be entreated with politeness, I thought. And
they’re very loyal really. “Look, wouldn’t you rather help the
Dimbers of your own free will?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” said the big creature, frilling his trailing
parts. “It is not the work we object to. We would like to be
asked to do what we do.”

  “Politely,” muttered someone on the curtains.

  “Of course,” I said. “So this is what you should do. You
mustn’t really leave, you must just leave the Regalia for a
day or so, until the Dimbers realise that you exist. I’ll help.
I’ll tell them that you’re really people that they didn’t know
they’d enslaved. Then when they start talking to you, tell the
Dimbers that you’re quite willing to go on working for them,
so long as they ask you politely first. Tell them that slavery
is wrong. Do you think that will do it?”

  This was exactly what they had hoped I would say. They
told me so in chorus, singing and twittering and chanting,
and thanking me over and over again. I settled back to
sleep, smiling a little smugly, because it seemed to me that
I’d done everyone a favour. I’d scotched Grundo, helped
these strange invisible folks, showed Heppy and Judith that
there had been a dreadful mistake all these years, and
possibly even forced the Izzies to be polite to something for
once.

  It didn’t work out like that at all.




                              4
                                                         «^»
  here must have been an early morning ritual. I was woken
by Heppy screaming. She screamed like a parrot, on and on
and on. I sprang up in my nightclothes and rushed
downstairs to the stiff living room. Grundo came tumbling
and yawning down after me, wearing nothing but his
trousers.

  The cupboard in the panelling was open. I saw at a glance
that the Regalia inside was lifeless. It was still beautiful, but
it was lacklustre, simply cups and plates and vases, with
nothing special about them, except fine workmanship. It
could have been merely the Crown Jewels.

  Heppy was in front of the cupboard, dressed up to the
nines in a blue satin two-piece, jumping up and down in her
high heels and screaming. Judith was wringing her hands
under a lovely lace shawl, and the Izzies were there too,
sitting in two corners looking scared and almost subdued.
They were wearing frilly yellow dresses with yellow bows in
their hair, and I had no idea which was which, even less
than yesterday.

  Mainly I thought, Oh, dear! I think this was an important
ceremony!

  “Look!” Heppy shrieked, pointing a dramatic arm at the
cupboard. “The virtue’s gone! Somebody’s stolen all our
power!”

  “No, no, they haven’t, Heppy, honestly,” I said. I took a
quick look around. The big creature was sitting on one of the
open cupboard doors, looking sorrowful and anxious. His
frilly parts were almost trailing in Heppy’s face, but I hadn’t
seen him straightaway because these strange beings were
truly extremely hard to see by daylight. The rest were
perched around the room, roosting beside vases on the
mantelpiece, on the long-case clock and on top of the
glass-fronted bookcases. “They’re all here,” I said. Heppy just
went on screaming, so I shouted, loudly and slowly, “Heppy!
THEY’RE ALL HERE! All the folks that inhabit the Regalia
are SITTING HERE IN THIS ROOM!”

  “What do you mean?” Heppy bawled at me.

  “The power in the Regalia!” I said. “It’s because long-ago
Dimbers put spells on these invisible people and forced them
to live in the treasure and – and empower it for you. They
don’t look like us, but they’re alive. They’re people too, just
like we are. Honestly, Heppy. Judith, can’t you see them?
They’re perched all over the room. They’ve been enslaved to
the Regalia for centuries…”

  Heppy was looking so thunderous by then that I began to
falter a bit, but I tried to keep going.

  “They came to see me in the night,” I said, “because they’d
realised that they’d never been asked to do what they do. But
they’re ever so loyal and they didn’t want to leave. They were
just upset that you treated them like things instead of people.
So I suggested…”

  Heppy screamed. Her screaming up to then had been
nothing to the way she screamed now. She screamed. And
she screamed. Then she cursed. Then she yelled, “Are you
telling me, little madam from Court, how to deal with my
own Regalia? The – the cheek of it!”

  “All they want is for you to ask them nicely,” I said
desperately, but I don’t think she listened.

  “The cool, barefaced cheek of it!” Heppy screamed. And she
went on screaming, “The cheek of it!” with occasional shrieks
of, “Judith, have you ever heard the like! In all my days, I’ve
never seen such ingratitude! My own flesh and blood too!”

  She was an almost continuous background to Judith, who
was anxiously trying to ask me to explain a bit more. I did
my best, but it was not easy, because I wanted to keep
Grundo out of it and I very much didn’t want to tell the
Izzies’ mother that it was the Izzies the Regalia folks were
afraid of. Judith just could not seem to understand. And
Heppy was not giving herself a chance to understand
anyway

  “But why did you tell the treasure it was enslaved, dear?”
Judith asked me patiently. She just couldn’t seem to think of
it as people living in the Regalia, whatever I said. “What
made you suddenly do this?”

  Grundo suddenly spoke up, in his calmest, deepest voice.
“She didn’t. It was me. I talked to the Regalia first. I told
them they were enslaved. And they are.”

  That set Heppy off again, worse than ever. She was so
angry that she practically danced. “Get out of my sight!” she
screamed at Grundo. “Go and get dressed. Pack your
things.” She glared at Grundo, pop-eyed with rage, until
Grundo turned white and fled. “I’m not having that boy in
my house one moment longer!” she screamed. “He’s going!
Going this very morning! And you!” she shrieked, turning
on me. “You sneaky little traitress! You’re going too!”

  “I am not a traitress or a sneak,” I said. I was almost as
angry as she was. “I was simply trying to deal in an
honourable way with people who came to me for advice.
You’re just not listening to me!”

  “You chilly little sneak!” she screamed. “I take you in and
you go behind my back!”

  “I had to!” I shouted. “You can’t see them and I can!”

  “And you’re a liar!” she shouted back. “Judith, put them
both in the car and drive them to Mrs Candace. She can sort
them out. I’ve had enough of them.”

  And this was more or less what happened, except that
Judith anxiously insisted we were to have breakfast first,
because it was a long drive. She insisted on the Izzies
coming too. “You’re too upset, Mother,” she said. “They’ll
only bother you.”

  While Heppy was arguing that her own dear twins never
bothered her in the slightest, it was only some people! –
glaring at me – I tried to apologise to all the transparent
creatures sitting sadly about in the room. “I’m so sorry,” I
said. “I don’t seem to have done any…”
  That was all I managed to say before Heppy rushed at me
and shoved me out into the hallway. “I’ll talk to them! It’s
my right!” she yelled.

  At least she was beginning to admit that the creatures
existed, I thought while I was chewing toast I didn’t want.
The Izzies were grinning secretly at one another and only
pretending to be scared by then. I hoped very much that they
might begin to believe in the creatures too, but I simply
couldn’t tell. They seemed to take Heppy’s word for most
things, so if Heppy believed… No, all I could hope was that
they would not be too rowdy in the car, and that was
probably too much to hope for anyway.

  The car lived in a niche carved in the wall below the front
garden, and it was quite new and modern. That surprised
me. I had expected any car that Judith drove to be sort of
handwoven, if you see what I mean. We all got in. Judith
made me sit beside her in the front, which meant that
Grundo had to sit in the back between the Izzies. I’m not
sure, but I think this may have been Judith’s quiet way of
punishing Grundo for abusing their hospitality. He looked
very white and sulky between the two frilly yellow dresses.

  I probably looked much the same. As we rushed between
hedges along the hot, white road, I felt thoroughly in
disgrace. I thought I had abused the Dimbers’ hospitality
really. It came to me that the honourable, sensible thing to
have done last night was for me to have gone and woken
Judith or Heppy up and tried to show them the folks
perching on the rails, or at least explained about them. But,
I had to admit, this would simply have meant we had the
row in the night instead of this morning. Heppy would have
screamed just as loudly then. Because – and this was the
thing niggling and pinching at me – Heppy did not like me
any more than I liked her. It was a horrid fact. You are
supposed to get on with your own grandmother, and I
didn’t. The reason I had not tried to wake even Judith up
last night was that, as soon as I saw the strange being
perched on my bed-rail, I knew I was about to go one up on
Heppy. It had given me a feeling of triumph, almost like
gloating. And that was horrible.

  I felt so bad about it all that I just had to talk. “Who is
Mrs Candace?” I asked.

  “Pathetic!” said one of the Izzies. “Not heard of Mrs
Candace!”

  “My dear!” said the other Izzy, in a fine, affected voice.
“Mrs Candace’s Mrs Superwitch and she can skin you with
her eyes, my dear!”

  “Be quiet, dears,” Judith said in her mild way. “She’s the
Lady of Governance, Arianrhod, if you know what that
means.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m afraid I don’t,”

  “She doesn’t know everything then, Miss Courtly
Knowitall,” jeered an Izzy.

  “Actually, my dear, she’s just plumb ignorant,” the other
joined in. “Be kind to her. It’s just her upbringing.”

   It seemed to be me they had their knife into today. Not
surprising. I turned round and said, in a low, menacing
voice, “I said something about fleas last night. And I meant
it.”

   They gave me mean looks and shut up.

   “The Lady of Governance,” Judith said, just as if there
had been no interruption. “Yes, I suppose you might not
know. The Court and the Progress concentrate almost
entirely on the male side of magic, don’t they? The Lady of
Governance is the female counterpart of the Merlin. She’s as
powerful as he is, but she doesn’t usually concern herself
with State magics. She controls the more domestic things.
This one, Mrs Candace, makes a point of monitoring us
hereditary witches – in the nicest possible way, because after
all we’re all busy with the health of the land – and I suppose
that’s why Mother thought of her.”

   This was complete news to me. Up till then, I had
supposed the Merlin was on his own. Maybe, I thought,
Sybil doesn’t know about Mrs Candace either! Then this
could be a good thing, instead of a total disgrace. I was
grateful to Judith for giving me something else to think of
beside my failings as a granddaughter.

   I sat and thought about a counterweight to the Merlin as I
stared out of the window and Judith drove. After a while, I
realised I could see the wild relatives of the creatures from
the Regalia. They were almost completely transparent and
had no colour at all. They were all over the place and they
looked completely, utterly happy. They purred in the heat
with peacefulness. They sat and swung in hedges, or lazed in
hovering crowds over the ripening wheat, or blurred into
dancing distance against hills and woodland. Yesterday, I
would have taken them for heat haze, but today I saw they
were of all shapes and sizes, although none was as large as
the creature from the chalice.

  I watched them tumble and fly among the grass by the
hedges in the wind from our wheels and wondered why I
could suddenly see them now. Perhaps all the information
from the hurt lady had expanded that part of my brain –
but it felt more as if I had simply only needed to know they
existed in order to see them. But how did Grundo know
about them? How did he spot them in the Regalia.”

  I asked Grundo during the sweltering break when Judith
bought more motor fuel, while the Izzies danced around us
both calling names.

  He looked surprised. “I’ve always been able to see them,”
he said.

  We got back in the car. Grundo seemed to be holding his
own in the back against the Izzies, but there were moments
when the struggle tipped the Izzies’ way and their voices rose
in a waspish whine. “Per-thetic boy! He’s all in a shell. He’s
an oyster!”
  “Not an oyster, my dear. A snail. All oooozy!”

  If it got any worse than this, I said, “Fleas!” over my
shoulder. Judith simply pretended not to hear.

  It was a long, long drive. At lunchtime, we stopped on a
baking village green for prettybread from the local baker. It
wasn’t very nice, stale and tough. The Izzies took one bite of
theirs and then announced they were slimming, so Grundo
ate it all, while the Izzies turned cartwheels all over the
village green. A row of fascinated children turned up and
stared at the Izzies’ frilly yellow knickers, until a big woman
came out of the Post Office and sent them all indoors.

  Judith didn’t seem to notice any of this. Nor did she pay
attention when we all got back into the searingly hot car
seats and the Izzies discovered there was no prettybread left.
She just said, “Well, it wasn’t very nice, dears,” and drove
on.

  The rest of the drive was full of complaints from the Izzies.
They were too hot, they were starving and it wasn’t fair. On
and on, while the country turned to smooth green hills with
lines of trees at their tops, and very straight white roads.
Then there was blue distance and a narrow spire against the
horizon.

  “There’s Salisbury,” Judith said. “Nearly there.” Then,
much to my surprise, she spoke quite sternly to the Izzies.
“Mrs Candace is a very old lady, dears, and she can do
Heppy and me a lot of harm if we annoy her. So I must ask
you to behave really beautifully while we’re there. Can you
do that?”

  “But, my dear, I am beautiful,” replied one Izzy.

  The other whined, “Old ladies are so boring. Can’t we stay
in the car?”

  “No,” said Judith. “She’ll be very disappointed not to see
you.”

  It must have been misguided mother-love that made
Judith say that. We finally stopped at a house on the
outskirts of Salisbury, that was almost hidden by high
evergreen hedges, and walked stiffly up the path behind the
hedges, where Judith pushed open a green front door into a
cool, elegant house and stepped inside, calling, “Mrs
Candace! It’s Judith Dimber. You were expecting us, weren’t
you?”

  “Yes, my dear. I’m in here,” an elderly voice called back.

  We trooped into the room, where Mrs Candace was sitting
elegantly on a low chair beside a table full of tea-things. She
turned. She had the most beautiful small head loaded with
thick white hair, and amazingly shapely legs in silken
stockings. The dismay on her face when she saw the Izzies
nearly made me laugh. “I didn’t know you were bringing the
twins, dear,” she said. I realised that the affected voice the
Izzies kept using was an imitation of Mrs Candace. She was
so old fashioned and well bred and well spoken that she did
sound almost affected.
  “We knew you would just love to see us!” one Izzy said. It
was almost an exact imitation. Mrs Candace winced.

  The other Izzy said rudely, “And who’s he? We don’t allow
boots in the house.”

  She pointed at the man standing by the table holding a
teacup. He was a pleasant-looking elderly man in a shabby
linen jacket. He was wearing green rubber boots. He looked
down at his boots and then at the Izzy and seemed rather
startled, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs Candace said. “May I introduce Salisbury?
We were just consulting about your problem, as it happens.”

  “Salisbury?” said Judith.

  “That’s right,” Mrs Candace said. “Salisbury the city.”

  “Oh!” Judith wrapped her shawl around her in a flustered
way and introduced Grundo and me. Obviously, the idea of
speaking to a city in green rubber boots was too much for
her.

  The Izzies had no such problems. One of them said,
“That’s stupid!” and the other agreed, “No one can talk to a
town.” And they stared rudely at Salisbury.

  Judith, as usual, pretended not to notice. She said, “I
can’t stay very long, I’m afraid. It’s such a long drive.”

  “You’ll stay for a cup of tea,” Mrs Candace stated. “Then I
shall make sure you get home much faster than you came.
More tea and perhaps some cake,” she said to the air.
  We all sat down politely on little padded chairs, except for
the Izzies, who wandered about, pulling and prodding at
everything in the elegant room. A fat grey cat that had been
peacefully asleep on a stool only just escaped on to a high
cabinet in time, where it stood with its fur bushed, staring
down at the Izzies in horror. Mrs Candace looked up at it
anxiously. But Judith simply pulled her shawl closer round
her shoulders and went on explaining how Grundo and I
had been left behind by the Progress.

  A teapot and a big cake cut into large, squashy slices came
floating through the room. The Izzies left off trying to reach
the cat and stared. Grundo’s eyes followed the path of the
cake with interest. I screwed my eyelids up against the
daylight and found I could just see the shapes of four
transparent, birdlike creatures guiding the teapot and the
cake down on to the small table beside Mrs Candace.

  “Don’t even think of it!” I whispered fiercely at Grundo.

  He shot me a guilty look and grinned. Then he worked
some magic. It is often hard to tell when Grundo is working
magic. He doesn’t move and his face hardly changes. But
this time, I had no doubt. It jolted me. I jumped as if I’d
had a bad fright and so did Mrs Candace. I rounded on
Grundo to tell him to behave.

  But, just then, one of the Izzies succeeded in grabbing the
cat’s dangling grey tail. The cat squawked. The cabinet
rocked and all the delicate china inside it rattled. And, to
my surprise, Judith sprang up and more or less shouted at
the Izzies. “Isadora, stop that at once! Come here, both of
you!”

  The twins, looking as surprised as I felt, wandered sulkily
towards her. “It’s booooring here!” Isadora moaned and
Ilsabil said sweetly, “But we’re being ever so good, Mother.
We promised!” Then, as usual, they did it the other way
round.

  “You are not being good at all!” Judith snapped. Her face
was most uncharacteristically red and angry. “Say sorry to
Mrs Candace and then we’ll go home. I do apologise,” she
said to the rest of us. “We really must leave now. It’s such a
long way.”

  She began pushing the Izzies out of the room. Both of
them leaned backwards. “But I want some cake!” Ilsabil
protested.

  “You’re not getting any. You don’t deserve it,” Judith said.
“We’re going straight home and you’re going to have another
long talk with your grandmother.”

  Both Izzies burst into loud tears. We could hear them
wailing and yelling even after the front door had slammed
behind them. We could hear them through the opening and
shutting of car doors and the sound of the engine starting.
We went on hearing them until the noise of the engine had
died away into the distance.

  “Well!” said Mrs Candace in the final silence. “What was
that about?”

  “Grundo?” I said.

  Grundo went pink. “They had a spell on Judith,” he
growled, “so that they could do whatever they liked and she
would never notice.”

  “And you took it off?” Mrs Candace demanded.

  “Not quite. They had it on Hepzibah too.” Grundo
explained. “I had to put a spell on them, to make what they
were doing obvious to Judith – and Hepzibah too, I hope,
once they get home. It was difficult. It took me the whole
drive to work it out.”

  “Well!” Mrs Candace said again. “In the normal way,
young man, I would give you a good talking-to. It is not
allowed to tamper with people’s personalities. That’s black
magic. But in this case, I concede that it was richly deserved.
Still, it seems hard on poor Judith to have to take to the
road again without even a cup of tea. I’d better do what I
promised her. Help yourselves to cake. I won’t be long.”

  She stood up – with an effort. She was old and creaking.
Salisbury passed us cake, gravely and silently, and the cat
came down from on high and sat across Grundo’s legs,
purring. The cat knew who to be grateful to all right. I bit
into squashy cake while I watched Mrs Candace bring
several pieces of empty air together and then sort of pleat it
in her twisty old fingers.

  “Find them a way through a suitable otherwhere,” she
murmured, “and then bring their road to it and fold it like a
fan, so that they only touch the road at the tops of the
folds…”

  I found I knew this spell, or one so like it that it made no
difference. It was under Travellers’ joy: mundane journeys.
It was one of six ways to shorten a road. I wondered, as I
watched, if Mrs Candace knew the other five too. And, before
I had quite finished my cake, I realised that Judith was
nearly home already with her carload of yelling Izzies. Mrs
Candace was good at what she did. She was even doing
something the flower-file in my head had not mentioned:
unpleating the road behind the car as it travelled, so that no
other cars would get caught in the spell. That impressed me.

  “There!” Mrs Candace sank down as if it had tired her to
take so much off the journey. Salisbury sat down too at last,
cautiously, and the low chair groaned underneath him. He
passed her a cup of tea. She smiled at him and turned to me,
still smiling. I saw that she had once been ravingly
beautiful. “That seemed the least I could do for her,” she
said. “Now, what have you two been up to that Hepzibah
Dimber couldn’t handle?”

  I didn’t want to talk about it, so I said, “Grundo?”

  Grundo explained about the invisible beings in the
Regalia.

  “Hm,” said Mrs Candace. “Oh, dear.” A plate of cake came
up beside her and jiggled invitingly. “Thank you,” she said
carefully as she took a slice. “I do make a point of thanking
them,” she said to Grundo, “though it’s not always easy to
know how to reward them. There are, however, quite a
number of minor magicians who treat their captive folk very
badly. And I assure you, I had no idea that the Dimbers
didn’t know they were using them. I see I must start looking
into all that. But there is more,” she added, looking at me.

  I nodded and, once again, tried to explain what Sybil, Sir
James and the Merlin had done.

  Mrs Candace listened attentively, with her head gracefully
bent, and I had real hopes that she believed me until she
said, “Ah, no. You can’t have it right, my dear. This Merlin
is very new and young, so new that I haven’t met him yet,
but he’d be simply incapable of the kind of treason you
describe, if he was capable of it, he wouldn’t be the Merlin,
do you see? I think you must have misunderstood some new
idea of his.”

  “The Little Person believed I was right,” I said
despairingly. I knew I had to make Mrs Candace
understand. She was the one who counterbalanced the
Merlin. “He took it very seriously and he advised me to raise
the land.”

  “On no account!” Mrs Candace said sharply. “What a
thing to suggest! I’m surprised he even mentioned it. The
Little People are usually so wise – though they can be
mischievous. Perhaps this one was or perhaps he didn’t
realise you were only a child. You see, my dear,” she went
on, leaning forward and staring earnestly at me with her
enormous, almond-shaped, pale green eyes, “the magic of
Blest is most intricately interlaced with itself – the hugely
old, the old, and the newer and the most recent – so that
each part supports all the others. What you’re suggesting is
pulling up the very foundations. This would make it all
come loose or perhaps even blow it apart. And we can’t have
that, because Blest magic keeps the magics of several
hundred surrounding worlds in their right places. Do you
see?”

  “But if Blest magic went all rotten…” I began.

  “Oh, I grant you,” she said, “if that happened. But it
hasn’t. Unless somebody was superhumanly clever at
keeping it from me, I’d know. I can feel there’s nothing
wrong.”

  The far-speaker on the table beside her chair began
warbling for attention. Salisbury nodded at it and spoke for
the first time, in a gently rumbling voice, like bricks grating.
“I got through to London at last.”

  Mrs Candace smiled sweetly at him and picked up the
speaker. “Hallo, is that Maxwell Hyde?… Oh, it’s Dora, is it?
Is Mr Hyde there?… Well, tell him as soon as he comes in
that I’ve got his granddaughter here with me and I’m
proposing to send her… Yes, Arianrhod, and she has a
friend with her, Ambrose Temple… No, no, just tell him
they’ll be with you this evening. Salisbury’s going to see to it
now. Nothing to worry about.”

  She put the speaker down and smiled. “There, that’s all
sorted out.”

  It wasn’t, but she was not to know that.




                         9
                        Nick


                               1
                                                         «^»
  couldn’t get over the way my father let me go to Blest with
Maxwell Hyde. Dad was still in the London hotel when we
got back – me pulling Maxwell Hyde and Maxwell Hyde
keeping up a long, grumbling moan about how much he
hated the dark paths. The people from the conference had
left days ago, but Dad said he’d had to stay because he’d lost
his front door key again. He took it quite philosophically
when I explained that my key was still in the Police Station
in Loggia City, and just said that he’d phone a locksmith
from the hotel.

  See what I mean? In the normal way, Dad falls over his
own brain not to admit that anything supernatural can
happen. It must be his defence against all those demons he
writes about. But now he not only admitted the existence of
other worlds and a Magid who lived in one of them, but he
let me go there with him.

  “That man Hyde cost me over two hundred quid, getting
him drunk enough to go and find you,” he said to me. “Let
him teach you a few tricks. I want some return for my
money.”

  I knew this was Dad’s way of telling me he’d been worried
sick when I suddenly disappeared from beside him in the
hotel corridor. I was quite touched. I was still in a state of
shock about it after he’d bought me some extra clothes and
Maxwell Hyde gripped me by one arm and walked downhill
into Blest with me.

  Going between worlds the way Magids do it means
walking down a hill that is mostly grass, with patches of
tarmac and misty bits every so often. Each misty bit seems to
be between other worlds. I looked sideways along the grassy
stretches and saw that the dark paths led away there in all
sorts of directions. I was very interested, but Maxwell Hyde
didn’t seem to know the paths were there.

  Then we stepped on to tarmac again in front of Maxwell
Hyde’s London house, and I was very excited and nervous
for a moment. Now we’re going to meet Roddy! I thought,
and the prospect of all those foreign politics made me feel a
bit sick. But Roddy wasn’t there. We were in a street of tall,
Londonish houses that were all much smarter and better
painted than any London houses I knew.

  “That’s because no one knows when the King is going to
turn up and see them,” Maxwell Hyde explained as he
unlocked his own glistening green front door. “The Council
sends you an order to redecorate if they think you’re getting
dingy.”

  That struck me as fascist. “Do they tell you what colours to
paint it too?” I asked. It helped to cover up my nervousness.

  “No, no,” he said. “They leave that to the owner – though I
daresay they’d object if I decided on murals of naked women
or some such.”

  The London buses in Blest are bright blue. One roared
past behind us as we went into the house. They use some
kind of fuel that smells quite different from diesel but just as
bad.

  “Hallo! I’m back! Brought a visitor!” Maxwell Hyde
shouted, stamping his feet on the doormat.

  It smelt quite different from an Earth house indoors. Sort
of spicy. Maxwell Hyde’s daughter and her boy Toby hurried
down the hall to meet us. The daughter is called Dora. She
keeps house for him and she is quite potty. She dyes her hair
bright red and wears layers of coloured clothes like a native
of Peru, all different patterns and hung all over with dangly
beads and stuff. Most of them were charms. Toby was
younger than me and seemed quite normal, except that he
behaved as if he was frightened. He had this way of hanging
about as near as he could get to anyone bigger than him, as
if it was safer like that. He was very pale, with almost-red
hair.

  “Oh, you’ve brought an Asian friend!” Dora exclaimed.

  A lot of people on Earth think I’m Indian too, or Greek. It
annoys me, but I’m used to it. Maxwell Hyde told Dora
firmly that I was from another world, but she didn’t listen.
She kept asking me about the exotic magic of the Orient. She
was obsessed with Eastern magics.

  “Don’t mind her,” Maxwell Hyde told me, when Dora had
gone off talking loudly to herself to find us some lunch.
“She’s never got over being turned out of her mother’s house.
Sad really. Wasn’t equipped to cope.”

  There wasn’t any lunch. Toby had to be sent out for what
they call prettybread. Prettybread is a bit like a fat pizza
with onions and things baked into it and frizzled cheese on
top. Part of Dora’s dottiness was that she was always
forgetting to buy food. She kept having to send Toby out –
and me too, once I got used to the way food was here – to
buy cheese or cakes or tea for her. People in Blest drink tea
all the time and they eat cakes with it far more than I am
used to. Half the shops are kept by people who look Chinese,
selling fat brown packets of tea and sixty kinds of sticky
cakes. Coffee has to come from a chocolate shop and is much
more expensive.

  Luckily, Maxwell Hyde grows vegetables in his back
garden. Most people in London do, just as if they lived in
the country. This meant that there was nearly always
something to eat (though the night there was nothing but
beetroot nearly killed me). And one of the first things
Maxwell Hyde did was to rush out into his garden to see
how things were coming on there. He grows dahlias in
among other flowers around the lawn near the house and
the veg down the other end. The dahlias weren’t up yet, just
cabbagey clumps sitting in hard, dry earth, but you
wouldn’t believe how proud he was of those clumps. He got a
hose and watered them at once.

  After lunch, he took me into the main room and, with
Toby leaning against him and peering under our elbows, he
showed me a map of the Islands of Blest. These were – the
way everything is in Blest – like and not like what I was
used to. Their Islands are almost like the British Isles, but
not really quite, as if someone had given the whole lot a big
push from the direction of France and then stood on Ireland
and pulled so that they stretched. Wales and Cornwall were
a lot bigger and Scotland was not nearly so frilly.
  “You’ll find the eastern coast of England has straightened
out from your point of view,” Maxwell Hyde remarked.
“Higher above sea level here.”

  There wasn’t much of Norfolk or Lincolnshire there
actually, and Yorkshire seemed rather slender too, but that
was made up for by the south coast being much nearer
France, so that the Isle of Wight was one of the Channel
Islands. Then I spotted one big difference.

  “Don’t you have any railways?” I said.

  “What are railways?” Toby asked.

  “Trains,” I said. “Chuff-chuff.”

  “No, just roads and canals,” Maxwell Hyde said. “Our
industrial history is quite different from yours. You never
discovered cokale.”

  “You what?” I said.

  “Cokale. Chuff-chuff,” said Toby, and laughed. That was
my fault for taking Toby for a fool. He wasn’t, not by any
means, but I’m no good at telling, with people younger than
me.

  Maxwell Hyde told me all about their different history
then, until my head went round. All I really remember is
that their King never settled down in one place, but went
round in an enormous Progress most of the year. I think this
goes back to the fact that Blest has a hundred times more
magic than we do. In the old days, the King was supposed to
keep the magic in the land healthy, by visiting every corner
of it. These days, the Merlin and someone called the Lady of
Governance look after the magic for him, but the King still
travels.

  I suppose I really remember this because Maxwell Hyde
happened to say that Roddy travelled with the King, because
her parents were part of the Progress, and I thought of what
she had said about this Merlin of theirs. It was
disappointing to hear that Maxwell Hyde didn’t even know
where the King and the rest of them were at that moment.

  “What’s the matter?” Maxwell Hyde asked me.

  I didn’t want to go on about Roddy. I was embarrassed.
So I said quickly, “Those mages. Arnold and them. I think I
got them into bad trouble…”

  “Oh, the Plantagenate Empire, I remember,” Maxwell
Hyde said. “Good thing you reminded me. I’ll go and take a
look in a couple of days when we’ve settled down here.”

  We settled down almost at once, into a regular routine,
and nobody talked about Roddy any more. I think I was
glad. After breakfast every day, as soon as I’d had enough
coffee to get my eyes open, Maxwell Hyde gave me lessons in
magic. That was terrific. I was really glad to be taught
about magic at last, even though so much of it seemed to be
just learning rules. I supposed there had to be rules or
things wouldn’t work, but after that short talk I’d had with
Romanov, I couldn’t help being a bit suspicious – you know,
that the rules only applied to a small part of it all, and once
I’d learnt enough, I’d know that the rules wouldn’t work
with the rest.

  But I did try to learn the rules. And here was a strange
thing about magic. Some things I could do standing on my
head, and the other half I didn’t think I’d ever be able to do.
There was never any middle ground, no things I could
almost do. And it was the same with theory: some of it
obvious and the other things I just couldn’t begin to
understand. Maxwell Hyde set me exercises in theory to do
for the rest of the day, while he went away to his study and
rattled away at his laptop thingy, writing a new detective
story. Very familiar. My dad does that too.

  I used to sit there chewing Blest’s version of a ballpoint
pen and really envying Toby. His school was over for the
year and I could hear him playing outside with the other
kids in the street. He was quiet as a mouse indoors, but
outside you could hear him for miles. He used to come in all
smoothly sweaty, laughing, while I got up from my theory
feeling as if I’d put my head through Dora’s coffee mill.

  The weather got hotter and hotter, which didn’t make
theory any easier. And there was another difficulty too, that
made me wonder if I was as mad as Dora.

  “This is becoming a regular drought,” Maxwell Hyde said,
anxious about the precious dahlias. “I suppose Daniel knows
what he’s doing. It made sense to have fine weather for the
King’s meeting with the Pendragon, but if he doesn’t call it
off soon, I shall have to have a word with him.”

  I was very interested to learn that this Daniel was
Maxwell Hyde’s son and Roddy’s father. He was chief
weather wizard to the King. Magic ran in that family, like
anything.

  Anyway, it got so hot and dry before long that the streets
shimmered. Dora tried to do her father a favour and water
the garden for him. She got out the hose and unrolled it. I
saw her out of my window, standing pointing the nozzle at a
flowerbed and muttering away to herself But no water came
out because she’d forgotten to hitch it to a tap. Toby came in
from the street and quietly fixed it and turned the tap on.
Water came squirting out all over Dora’s shoes. She looked
astonished.

  That was typical. Toby was always quietly covering up for
his mother’s dottiness.

  By then, my other problem was really bothering me. I kept
seeing these transparent creature-things drifting about. They
were all sorts of shapes. It almost seemed as if the long thin
ones didn’t like the heat and came indoors to get cool. They
floated around the bedroom while I was working, where I
could only just see them, but there came to be more and
more of them every time I looked. The rounder kind seemed
to love the heat. They sat in the road in clusters, going gently
up and down like people in a swimming pool. The ones with
stranger shapes seemed to follow Dora around. This was
what really bothered me. They were what she muttered to.

  I didn’t dare say a word about them until the morning
Maxwell Hyde made another attempt to teach me to raise
witchlight. “Slowly,” he said. “Steady. Think of the energy
under your breastbone filling your hands with light.”

  I almost did it. I almost got it. Then one of the
transparent things came bumbling along and sat on my
hands instead. I could see others crowding in at me from all
sides of the room. I tried to shake the thing loose. “Get off!” I
said, flapping my hands. “Get out of it!” Then I know my
face went as red as last night’s beetroot supper. “I – I – I…” I
went.

  “It’s all right,” he said, calmly smiling. “The invisible folk
are always attracted to magic-working. Take no notice of
them.”

  “We don’t have them on Earth,” I said defensively.

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “I can always see them there, even
though I can’t see them here at all on Blest. It seems to work
that way. Carry on.”

  I tried to carry on, but I’d lost it by then. And I think I
was too busy giving relieved looks at the floating creatures to
concentrate. I couldn’t help asking, “Why do they like Dora
so much?”

  “She’s hung with charms. Lives in a stream of half-spells,
poor girl,” he said. He sighed. “Always trying to prove she’s
as good as her sister Judith, I think. I hoped she’d snap out
of it – and she did for a while after Toby was born. Then she
got divorced and that made her as bad as ever.”

  Twice a week, Dora got dressed up in black and lots of
clattering jet beads and an enormous round hat and went
out for the evening. The first time I saw her dressed up, she
said, “I’m off to my magic circle,” and looked past my left
shoulder in her dotty way. “Would you like to come too,
Nick?”

  “Not unless you fancy taking all your clothes off and
galloping round in a ring,” Maxwell Hyde said, quickly and
warningly. Toby looked dreadfully ashamed.

  “Er – perhaps not tonight,” I said. “Thanks all the same,
Dora.”

  “It’s the most releasing and natural experience,” Dora said
reproachfully. “You’re like all Orientals – you spend far too
much time watching your tummy button. Be liberated. Try
it. My group is full of wonderful people.”

  “Yes, yes, off you go,” Maxwell Hyde said. And after she
had gone, he told me, “You may not believe me, but Dora is
the sane one in that group. I’d better look in on them soon.
After I’ve had a go at the Plantagenate Empire, I think. They
sometimes get up to very silly, harmful stuff.”

  He went to see the Plantagenate Empire two days later. He
gave Toby and me some money and told Toby to show me
London. Then he walked out into the street and vanished
beside the bus stop. Toby and I got on a bus at the exact
same spot.




                              2
                                                         «^»
  lest London was quite a bit different because they’d never
had the Great Fire. There were thatched cottages in Mayfair
and the parks were all in strange places. Toby and I had
great fun, in spite of the baking heat. I told Toby that I
didn’t want to see historic buildings, like the Houses of
Parliament and so on, and he said we couldn’t anyway
because the parliament was in Winchester and not very
important in the first place. So we saw the circus that was
permanently in Piccadilly, and waxworks that really moved,
and their London Bridge that had houses on it and tourist
shops. They have the Tower, oddly enough, and a Tower
Bridge that opens for shipping, though it doesn’t look
anything like ours on our Earth, and lots more boats on the
Thames than in our London. Their ice creams taste a lot
different.

  Because it was so hot, we went back by waterbus. Toby
showed me the ground where the hurley team he followed
played. They didn’t have football. Hurley is much more
dangerous. Toby followed the Vauxhall Vampires and two
of them broke their necks at it last week. Vox Vamps, you
say, or just Vamps, like we say Wolves or Hammers.

  I liked Toby a lot. It was a new experience for me. I wasn’t
used to liking someone so much younger than me.

  We got home to find that Maxwell Hyde had just come in
too.

  “That was quick!” I said.

  He gave his little soldierly grin. “Ah, I’m an old hand,
Nick. I went straight to the head of things and made
enquiries at the Academy of Mages. Told them I was the
Magid looking into the recent infiltration in Marseilles.”
That made me laugh. He looked solemn. “It’s absolutely
true. I am and I was. And they told me, without any beating
about the bush. Those poor fellows did get into some trouble,
I’m sorry to say. They were removed from any Royal
Security that night. But nobody thought it was their fault.
They were just blamed for not noticing you weren’t the right
novice. Inefficiency and so on. And because fully-trained
mages are much in demand, all four of them have found
new jobs already. Charles Pick and Pierre Lefevre now work
in France, and Arnold Hesse and David Croft are in
Canada for Inland Security there.”

  You can’t imagine how relieved I was to hear that.

  “Where’s Canada?” Toby asked.

  “A part of North America,” said his grandfather. “In some
worlds, Europeans settled quite a lot in…”
  He never finished that explanation. Dora suddenly dashed
in, white as a sheet. She slammed the living room door and
stood with her back to it, shaking. “Don’t go into the
garden!” she gasped. “I went for a lettuce.”

  “What did it do? Bite you?” Maxwell Hyde asked.

  She shuddered. “No. I never got that far. There’s a white
devil on the lawn. With horns!”

  “What!” said Maxwell Hyde. “Are you sure?”

  Dora shuddered some more. “Oh yes. It was quite real. I
know I lose touch quite often, but I always know when
something I see is real. It was eating the dahlias.”

  At this, Maxwell Hyde thundered, “WHAT?” and set off for
the garden like an Olympic sprinter. Dora got whirled aside
and Toby and I pelted past her, full of curiosity.

  In the baking garden, the white devil looked up from a
flowerbed with a leaf fetchingly dangling beside its beard,
saw Maxwell Hyde and came prancing towards him,
obviously delighted to see him.

  Maxwell Hyde stopped in his tracks. “Nick,” he said, “do I,
or do I not, know this goat?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s Romanov’s. It must have followed you
somehow.” I did wish it was Mini instead. I suddenly,
hugely wished Mini was there. It was like being homesick.

  “But why?” said Maxwell Hyde. The goat was frisking
around him, making playful scything motions with its
horns. I could see the rope we had tied round its neck and
the frayed end where it had bitten it through.

  “It’s fond of you,” I said. “You conquered its heart by
taking hold of its horn and its rump and rushing it about.”

  Maxwell Hyde managed to grab the bitten end of the rope.
“Pooh!” he said. “I’d forgotten the way goats smell.” He tried
to snatch the leaf hanging out of the goat’s mouth, but the
goat deftly swallowed it as his fingers reached it. “I hope
that dahlia poisons you – it was my Red Royal Button,” he
said. “What was its name? I forget.”

  “Helga,” I said.

  The goat tried to bite a lump out of his trousers. He took it
by the horns and held it off. “Helga, the goat from hell,” he
said. “I think it’s starving. Toby, go and tell your mother to
ring up the nearest animal feed merchant and order a ton of
goat food. Nick, get to the garden shed. We need a stake, a
mallet and the strongest clothesline you can find.”

  “Wouldn’t a chain be better?” I suggested.

  “Yes, but I’m going to use magic as a temporary measure,”
he panted. The goat was getting strenuous. “Hurry up!”

  It turned out to be a violently busy evening.

  Toby and I hammered the stake into the lawn – not very
easily. Toby hit me on the toe with the mallet, so I took it off
him, but the earth was so hard I could hardly get the stake
to go in. But that may have been because I kept missing it
with the mallet. When I got it sort of in, Maxwell Hyde
wrestled the goat over and we tied her to the stake where she
couldn’t eat dahlias.

  This happened three times, because every time Maxwell
Hyde walked away, the goat lunged after him and the stake
came out of the lawn. Toby got her to stay put in the end by
finding her a lump of stale prettybread. After that Maxwell
Hyde hammered the stake in himself.

  We had just finished when a motorised cart drew up at the
front door, piled high with nourishment for goats. Toby and
I staggered backwards and forwards through the house with
bales of hay and sacks of nugget-things. One of the sacks
burst. We dragged it all out on to the lawn, where Maxwell
Hyde surrounded the goat knee deep in food and she
weighed into it just as if she hadn’t already eaten half a bed
of flowers and most of a prettybread.

  “There. What did I say?” he said. “She was starving.”

  It seemed to me that this was a permanent condition with
that goat, but I didn’t say so.

  The shock of meeting the goat seemed to have put Dora in
touch with reality much more firmly than usual. She
objected – just like an ordinary person – to the hall and the
back room being covered with wisps of hay and rolling
nugget-things. She made Toby and me clear it up. While we
were doing this, the phone rang. At least, it wasn’t quite a
phone. In Blest they call the things far-speakers and they
work mostly the way a phone does, except that they go off
like an old-fashioned alarm clock at first. This makes you
jump out of your skin. But if you don’t answer them straight
away, they go on to make a horrible, strangled, warbling
sound, which is worse.

  Dora gave a shriek and went to answer it before it got to
warbling.

  As soon as she did, she gave another shriek and held the
phone-thing out as if it was contaminated. “Toby! It’s your
father! Come and talk to him.”

  Things got difficult then. It turned out that Toby’s dad
was insisting on his rights as a parent. He wanted Toby to
come and stay with him. Dora refused to let Toby go near
him. Maxwell Hyde had to tear himself away from watching
Helga guzzle and talk to Toby’s dad too. While he did, Dora
sat on the old sofa at the side of the hall and kept saying, “If
you let Toby go near that man, I shall go mad, Daddy, I
really shall!” In between, she said, “Don’t forget it’s my
magic circle again tonight. I don’t want to take my bad
feelings there.”

  I thought we were never going to get any supper. I went
away and had a bath instead.

  When I came downstairs again, the hall was full of
drifting transparent creatures – the slender, wavy kind that
seem to like emotions – and everything seemed to be settled.
Maxwell Hyde was going to drive Toby over to his dad for
the day on Friday. He said I should come with them so that
I could see the country. Dora seemed to think that between
us we could save Toby from his father, so that was all right.

  I was sent out for some sticky cakes to celebrate and, to my
great relief, we had supper. Afterwards, Dora decked herself
out in her black outfit and the rest of us settled down
peacefully.

  Toby and his grandfather had a complete ritual in the
evenings. Everything happened in order. First, they turned
on the media and sat in two special chairs to watch it. The
media was like television, except that it looked more like a
picture frame on the wall and only ever seemed to show news
or hurley games. If you wanted soaps, you read a book. If
you wanted music, you went to a concert or put on a cubette.
I read a book because the news was always dead boring and
I didn’t understand hurley.

  The hurley came first. I heard dimly behind what I was
reading that the Vox Vamps had lost their third game in a
row and were sacking their manager. Sounds familiar, I
thought, and read on. It was quite a good book that
Maxwell Hyde had recommended. I was deep in it when I
heard, “Today the King himself met with Flemish trade
officials in Norfolk, in an effort to solve the currency
dispute…” and I looked up vaguely, hoping they were
showing their King.

  The King was in the picture as I looked. He was kingly
and tall, with a neat beard, and there was a young fellow
with him who was the eldest prince. They were walking
across some flat grass, where, in spite of the bright sun, you
could see it was very windy. Their coats were flapping, and
so were the coats of the businessmen walking to meet them. I
had a moment, looking at all those grey suits, when I
thought I was back home on Earth. But as the wind blew the
coats aside, I saw they all had different bright linings –
quite unlike businessmen on Earth.

  I was going back to my book, when the camera – or
whatever they use on Blest – went panning round the rows of
smartly dressed people in the background. I went on looking
because I thought I might spot Roddy there. But they all
seemed to be adults. The newscaster said, “Negotiations have
been interrupted twice today by a dispute among the Court
wizards…”

  “Hey, what’s this?” said Maxwell Hyde.

  “The dispute was only settled when the King agreed to
accompany the wizards to an undisclosed site elsewhere in
England,” the media said. Then they went back to a hurley
game.

  “What site? What is this? What are they up to?” Maxwell
Hyde jumped out of his chair and rushed to the far-speaker.

  He was gone for about half an hour. He came back
looking displeased and rather puzzled, saying, “Well, I don’t
know. Daniel seems to be in a meeting about it. They
couldn’t contact him and I had to get on to the Chancellor’s
Office instead. Some fool of a clerk who didn’t really know
anything. She seemed to think that it wasn’t really a
dispute, just some idiot suggestion from that stupid cow
Sybil – those are my adjectives, by the way; the young lady
gave me official-speak and gave almost nothing away, if she
even knew, which I doubt. All she really knew was that the
King has nothing to do with it, whatever it is. Storm in a
teacup, by the sound of it. Get the boardgame out, Toby.”

  So they went on to the next bit of their routine, which was
this game the two of them played every night. It was really
passionate. They sat facing each other over a small table
with the board and pieces on it, as tense as people could be –
and if you couldn’t tell by their faces how tense they were,
you could tell by the number of transparent creatures who
came crowding around them. Both of them were ready to kill
to win.

  They’d offered to teach me this game, but I couldn’t
understand the rules of it any more than I could understand
hurley. I watched them a bit, out of politeness, but all it did
for me was make me homesick for my computer games. My
computer wouldn’t work in Blest anyway. They use quite a
different system. I went back to my book.

  I’d read about a chapter, and Maxwell Hyde had moved
on from low moaning, because Toby seemed to be winning,
to his usual unfair attempt to persuade Toby to be kind to
his poor old decrepit grandfather, when Dora came back.
  Dora sailed into the main room with her eyes wide and
dreamy and a silly smile on her face. But such a blast of
terror and pain came in with her that all three of our heads
whipped round. She was carrying some kind of creature by
its tail.

  All I saw of it was a mistiness and a blur, because
Maxwell Hyde jumped up and slapped the thing out of her
hand. The table went over with a crash and the creature
bolted under the big cupboard. “Dora!” he said.

  She gave him a bewildered look. “It was only a
salamander, Daddy.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s a sentient creature!” Maxwell Hyde
told her angrily. “You’ve no business carrying it around like
that!”

  “But we’ve all got one in the circle!” Dora protested.
“They’re to enhance our magic.”

  “Are they now?” he said, and he took her by one rattling
black sleeve and led her to his chair by the table, which
Toby had just put upright. “Sit there,” he said, “and write
me out the names and addresses of all the people in this
magic circle of yours.” A piece of paper appeared in front of
Dora. Maxwell Hyde unclipped the pen from his top pocket
and pushed it into her hand. “Write,” he said.

  “But why?” Dora looked up from under her hat at him.
She really did not seem to understand.

  He barked at her, “Just do it! NOW!” and rattled the
paper angrily under her nose.

  She went white and began writing. Meanwhile Toby, who
had been collecting dropped game-pieces, picked up one that
had rolled near the cupboard and asked, “Shall I try to
tempt the salamander out?”

  “No. Leave it,” Maxwell Hyde said curtly. “Poor thing’s
mad with terror anyway. Nick, go to the cupboard under the
stairs and fetch out any baskets you can find with lids to
them.”

  “But won’t it set fire to the house?” Toby asked as I was
opening the door.

  “I’ll surround it in a field of water. Keep writing, Dora.
Get on, Nick,” Maxwell Hyde said. “This is urgent.”




                              3
                                                          «^»
  found a lunch basket, a smelly fishing creel and a fancy
thing with raffia flowers on it. “Will these do?” I asked.
Maxwell Hyde was leaning over Dora counting names and
addresses. “Perfect,” he said, not looking at me or the
baskets. “This is only eleven, Dora. And you make twelve.
There has to be thirteen of you, hasn’t there? Who’s your
head wallah?”
  “Oh, I forgot Mrs Blantyre,” Dora said and wrote again.
Maxwell Hyde more or less snatched the paper from under
the pen. “Come on, boys,” he said. “Follow me. Bring the
baskets.” He marched out of the house into the warm, dark
blue evening and slammed the front door behind us.
“Luckily,” he remarked as he strode down the street with us
hurrying after him, “all these silly people live within
walking distance. I think we’ll start with Mrs Blantyre. Evil
old biddy.”

  I gave Toby the fishing creel to carry. “What are we
doing?” I asked Maxwell Hyde.

  “Rescuing salamanders of course,” he said. “Before they set
half London on fire. Before anyone gets a chance to torture
them. Two things you should both know,” he went on,
swinging round the corner in the direction of the Thames.
“One, salamanders are not native to this country. Most of
them come from Morocco or the Sahara. So it follows that
someone has deliberately imported these. Probably in
appalling conditions. And two, salamanders, if hurt or
frightened enough, give off an extremely strong discharge of
magic. If the witch tormenting them is like Dora’s lot – an
idiot – then the magic almost instantly becomes a violent
burst of fire. Do you see now why we’re in such a hurry?”

  We did. We half ran behind him, baskets bumping, down
that street and the next, until we came to a nice little house
in a quiet mews. Maxwell Hyde hammered with its little
brass knocker. The door was opened, after quite a while, by
an old lady with loopy hair, who peered at us sweetly over
little half-moon glasses.

  “Evening, Mrs Blantyre,” Maxwell Hyde said. “I’ve come
for your salamanders, please.”

  Mrs Blantyre blinked, very, very sweetly. “What
salamanders, dear?”

  “I haven’t got time for this,” Maxwell Hyde said. And he
raised Magid power. He looked just the same, but he
suddenly became quite awesome. He stood there as strong as
a great mountain, or a huge natural disaster. I looked on
with interest. It was more or less what I used to do when I
was small and older kids tried to bully me. “I’ll have your
salamanders,” he said. “Now.”

  She took one look and trotted away into her house. She
came back again a few seconds later holding a tiny cage that
exuded dim light and blasts of panic and horror. “Here,
dear. I can’t think why…”

  Maxwell Hyde took the cage and tipped the three terrified,
misty occupants into the fishing creel. “Tell them they’re safe
now, Toby. Make it strong. Where did you get these, Mrs
Blantyre?”

  “I can’t think why…” Mrs Blantyre said again.

  “Tell me,” Maxwell Hyde said. “You might as well. I’ll
find out anyhow.”

  Mrs Blantyre looked sweetly hurt. “If you really insist.
They come from a dear little junk shop out in Ealing, dear.
Tonio’s Curios. They only cost sixpence a dozen. I can’t think
why…”

  “Thank you,” said Maxwell Hyde. “Good evening, madam.
So she’ll have bought twenty-four,” he told us as we hurried
away, “to go round thirteen. Elevens into twenty means that
most of the others are going to have two each. Damn!”

  As we hurried on to the next address, Toby began to have
trouble. The salamanders were still terrified and still
heating up. The creel started to stink of hot fish. I took it off
him and raised it up to my face, where I tried to give the
poor things a shot of the power that had conquered Mrs
Blantyre. “It’s all right,” I said. “We’ve rescued you. You’re
going to be safe now. It’s OK!”

  They sort of believed me. It was interesting. They had
proper thoughts, like Mini, tiny desperate thoughts, and they
understood me. They simmered down a bit and Toby took
the creel and took over soothing them again.

  It was fairly hectic. We rushed from house to house in the
dark and Maxwell Hyde intimidated person after person
into giving up terrified, despairing salamanders. We filled
the creel and the lunch basket with them and began on the
raffia basket, which began smoking and crackling almost at
once, until I more or less shouted at it. And twice Maxwell
Hyde had a real row on a doorstep, when someone pretended
they had only got one salamander and he knew they had
two. They shouted after him that they were calling the police.

  The twelfth house we went to was on fire. Rolls of
orange-tinted smoke were coming from its downstairs
windows and the fire engine was clanging its way down the
street to it as we got there. The front door of the place
crashed open. An old fellow came staggering out, shouting
“Help!”

  Toby and I dived to catch the two salamanders that shot
out with him. Toby got his, but I was carrying two of the
baskets and I missed mine. It streaked down the nearest
drain and vanished. It’s probably still around in the sewers
somewhere.

  “I only dipped them in water!” the old fellow said
indignantly to Maxwell Hyde. “That’s all I did – dipped
them in water!”

  “Then you deserve all you get,” Maxwell Hyde said. “I
hope your house burns down. Come along, boys.” He took
the lunch basket off me and we went marching home with
our twenty-two salamanders. They weighed nothing at all. If
it wasn’t for the misty glow coming from them, and the smell
of fish and hot raffia, you’d have thought the baskets were
empty.

  At his own house, Maxwell Hyde went marching straight
on through to the garden. “Fortunate about this heatwave,”
he said. “It’s an ill wind. They’ll be warm enough among the
bushes for now. Tell them they’ll be safe as long as they stay
in this garden, Nick.”

  “Won’t the goat…?” Toby began.

  “I imagine she’s got some sense,” Maxwell Hyde said.
“Heartburn won’t be in it, if she tries to eat a salamander.”

  The goat came to the end of her halter and watched with
interest as we tipped the baskets gently on their sides and
opened the lids and little glowing lizard-shapes came
tiptoeing out, and stopped dead still for a second like tiny
lighted statues, and then whizzed suddenly into hiding in
the flowerbeds. They look very like lizards, but they have
whorls and curlicues coming from their heads and backs,
made of sort of dots of light. They’re really elegant, like very
small ghostly dragons.

  “I don’t see how anyone could be cruel to those,” Toby said
as we went back into the main room. I didn’t answer. I was
busy hoping we could go on to phase three of their evening
routine now, which was mugs of cocoa, followed by bed. All
those witches had exhausted me.

  The first thing we saw in that room was Dora, still in her
hat. She was sitting on the sofa with her salamander
stretched along her knee. You could see it very clearly
against her black satin skirt. All its fire-dot curlicues were
gently vibrating. I’d never seen anything so obviously
purring. Dora looked up at us with a worried, guilty smile.
“I did very wrong, didn’t I?” she whispered. “It’s sweet!”

  Toby’s white, tense face relaxed and he went away to make
cocoa.

  “Her heart’s in the right place really, you see,” Maxwell
Hyde said to me out in the hall. “She just gets influenced by
people. Come upstairs and help me turn out the dirty
washing. I think we’re going to need the laundry hamper for
the next bit.”

  “Whatever for?” I groaned.

  He explained as we tramped upstairs. “Tonio’s Curios. We
have to get the salamanders they’re selling out of there before
Mrs Blantyre gets on the far-speaker and warns this Tonio. I
put a prohibition on her to stop her, but she’ll have wriggled
out of it by morning. Dreadful old witch. Like one of those
sweeteners that gives mice cancer.”

  So, after a quick cup of cocoa, we loaded the big hamper
into the back seat of Maxwell Hyde’s car, and Toby squeezed
in beside it, and we drove out to Ealing. It was midnight by
then. Clocks were striking all over London as we set off

  Cars are different in Blest. They go with almost the same
sort of clockwork chugging as the flier I saw in Loggia City,
and they turn out to make me horribly car-sick. I kept
swallowing and tasting cocoa all the way, and staring
urgently at dark houses and then dark hedges in order not
to think about how I felt.

  It was quite a way. Ealing in Blest is pretty well in the
country. We stopped at the end of a village-like street and –
well – sort of attended to what was in the air. Almost
straightaway we could feel the solid misery of hundreds of
salamanders that were shut in somewhere much too small
for them. All we had to do was to drive gently in the
direction the misery came from – until it was nearly
unbearable really – and we found the place. It was in a back
street, facing open fields, with just one distant streetlight up
along the hedge to show us the garage doors with heavy
padlocks on the ground floor of a tumbledown old house.

  The feeling of panic and despair was so strong from
behind the garage doors that we all worked as fast as we
could. Toby and I wrestled the hamper out, dumped it in
front of the doors and opened its lid, while Maxwell Hyde
did swift Magid work on the padlocks. He had those doors
open in no time. We could see the salamanders then, as well
as feel them. They were near the back, in two cages, each
about the size of an Earth television set, and there were
literally hundreds of them in both cages. The cages were
glowing and pulsing as the salamanders crawled and
scrambled and climbed over one another, every one of them
desperate to find more space. Toby made a dart for them
and hit a table with a statue on top. I stopped as I was
plunging after him and caught the statue in my arms as it
fell.

  “Wait!” whispered Maxwell Hyde and made his blue
witchlight for us.

  Just as well he did. The garage-space was packed with old
furniture, and every piece of furniture had statues and jugs
on it. The salamander cages were on an old piano by the
back wall, just beyond a collection of dented coal scuttles,
with several firescreens in front of that. The noise you could
make falling over all that didn’t bear thinking of.

  My legs were longest, so I climbed over to the back taking
big, high steps and grabbed the nearest cage. The
salamanders inside it were so frightened that they seethed
about, with a noise like sand blasting on to metal. As I tried
to pass the cage to Toby, my hair frizzled and the cage got
almost too hot to hold. I whispered to them that they were
OK now, but I think they were too frightened to attend. I sort
of tossed the cage to Toby, who shoved it at Maxwell Hyde,
who sort of juggled it down on to the grass outside. The
second cage was even hotter and noisier, and the grass made
a sort of frying sound when Maxwell Hyde dumped it beside
the hamper. I think he had to work some magic so that the
hamper didn’t catch fire. Then the two of them opened the
cages and tried to tip the salamanders into the hamper.

  Only about half of them went in. The rest surged up over
the sides and across the lid and ran away. One ran up Toby
and curled frantically round his neck. Toby made a
strangled squealing sound, trying not to yell as it burnt him.
One ran up Maxwell Hyde’s trouser leg. He jerked and
stamped and made faces in the witchlight, trying his hardest
to stay quiet as he passed me the cages to put back on the
piano. Toby got the hamper shut, although he was still
squealing. While I was making long, careful strides over
things I could barely see, I heard footsteps creaking on
boards up above and voices overhead. I dumped those cages
and made it out through the garage doors again in such a
panic that I swear I levitated. I don’t remember touching the
floor once. Lights came on in the upstairs windows as I shot
outside. I dived on the hamper and heaved it,
single-handed, into the car, and Toby rushed in after it,
trying to wrestle the salamander off his neck. Maxwell Hyde
plunged into the driver’s seat a second later and we drove off
like rally drivers.

  I looked back as we roared up the road to see that
Maxwell Hyde had somehow managed to padlock the garage
doors again. Light was now shining out of the cracks round
the edges of them.

  “What happens when they call the police?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Most people can’t see salamanders,” Maxwell
Hyde said, with his teeth clenched. “Police won’t admit to
their existence. Damn it to hell! Is my trouser leg on fire,
Nick?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You could have fooled me!” he said. “And we’ve left
Hertfordshire – or is this Middlesex? – infested with the
things!”

  We had a fairly eventful drive back. The salamander came
out of Maxwell Hyde’s trousers half a mile later and I had to
catch it before it got mixed up with the pedals. That was
when I discovered that the floor of the car was thick with the
creatures. Half the ones that got away must have bolted
inside the car because it was warm and seemed safe, and
they kept getting under the brake and the accelerator and the
two other pedals that Blest cars have, and I kept having to
pull them out. My hands were all burned before long.
Maxwell Hyde cursed as he drove, a blue streak, calling
down all sorts of horrible things upon witches and
junk-shop owners and salamander smugglers, and kicking
out at salamanders as he swore. It was hardly surprising
that the salamanders inside the hamper stayed upset enough
to make the hamper smoke and crackle. When I looked
round to tell Toby to calm them down, I found he was asleep
with his head on the hamper and the salamander that had
been round his neck curled up on his ear.

  I sang to the wretched beasts. It was the only thing I could
think of. I sat there trying to sing every soothing song I
knew. I went through “Golden Slumbers” and “Bye Baby
Bunting” and “Away in a Manger,” at which Maxwell Hyde
stopped swearing and started choking with laughter, so I
tried Scottish songs with lots of soothing swoopings, but
those didn’t work so well, so I went back to “Golden
Slumbers” because that seemed to work best.

  “Golden slumbers,” I hollered, “bless your eyes, Smiles
awake you when you rise!” The Beatles knew a thing or two.
The more I sang it, the more salamanders crawled out of the
upholstery and the door pockets and came and sat on me.
By the end of our journey I was under a pile of them, all of
them with their fire-dot curlicues vibrating and fibrillating,
purring their misty little heads off. The ones in the hamper
weren’t quite so happy, but at least they seemed to have
calmed down.

  Back in London, Maxwell Hyde drew up in front of the
house and made the front door spring open of its own
accord. I climbed stiffly out of my seat and went up the
steps, and the salamanders all jumped off me and ran like a
moving fiery mat in front of me to the back door, where I let
them out into the garden. Then I went back and helped him
wake Toby and heave the hamper along to the garden too.
When we opened it, bright twinkling salamanders ran out
and about in such quantities that Helga had to skip this
way and that to avoid them.

  “How do we feed them all?” I croaked.

  “We don’t. They live on the sun’s energy,” Maxwell Hyde
said. “Or so I’m told. I hope I was told right.” He sent Toby
up to bed and Toby took his salamander up with him. I
made more cocoa.

  “Have we got all the salamanders in the country now?” I
rasped, when Maxwell Hyde came back from putting the car
away. I was still hoarse from all those “Golden Slumbers”.

  He blew on his cocoa and shook his head. “By no means,”
he said. “We’ve just spoilt one tiny corner of the trade, I’m
afraid. Some of the rest we’ll pick up when houses catch fire
here in London. Ditto in other parts of the country. But I
suspect we’re also going to have to raid a few warehouses
later this week. Tomorrow I’ll try and find out just how
they’re coming into the country. Get some sleep first,
though.”




                             4
                                                          «^»
  e had salamanders everywhere the next day. They were all
over the garden and all over the roof too. Several hundred of
them came indoors, where they coiled up in every unexpected
place they could find, provided it was warm. About the only
place they didn’t get to was the kitchen stove – Dora’s
salamander had taken the stove over and it spat sparks at
the others to make them keep off – and round Toby’s neck,
because his salamander spent the day there, but they got
everywhere else. I kept having to push them off my notebook
and shake them out of my clothes. They climbed on the
far-speaker, where Maxwell Hyde worked away in his
shirtsleeves, sweating and phoning freight companies to see
which of them imported apparently empty crates from hot
countries. He sat on salamanders more than once.

  Around lunchtime, he took a break and drank a cup of tea
with me out on the baking lawn. I was looking up at the
salamanders vibrating all over the roof. If you half closed
your eyes, you could take them for a heat shimmer – them
and the transparent people both. The transparent folks were
obviously very interested and came drifting up in droves.
The goat was beginning to look almost nervous.

  I said it was lucky there was still this heatwave.

  “Well, yes,” Maxwell Hyde said, staring up at the roof too,
“except that it’s all so dry. It would only take one spark from
one frightened salamander— What really makes me angry is
that importing these creatures is so cruel and unnecessary! If
the fools doing it simply want to raise some extra power,
why don’t they tap busy roads or power-lines? Or there are
hundreds of power nodes in these islands. They don’t need to
torment living beings.”

  “Have you found where they’re coming from?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I will.” And he went back to
making calls.

  After supper that evening, he had his answer. The
salamanders were being brought in by air from some place
in Egypt that wasn’t a place on Earth – or at least, it was
nowhere I’d ever heard of. The next cargo flight from there
came into London Airport late on Saturday.

  “Nick, Toby, pencil in a sleepless night on Saturday,” he
said gleefully as he turned the media on, starting the
evening routine. “And remind me, one of you, to buy another
couple of laundry hampers.”
  The media came on and reported that a barge on its way
to Manchester had suddenly burst into flames. A lorry going
to Norwich had done the same, and Bristol city centre was
on fire. Maxwell Hyde watched, champing the pencil he’d
been taking notes with all day. “They’re being sent all over
the country,” he said. “Why? Who needs extra magic in all
these places all of a sudden?”

  “I hope the salamanders on the barge got to land,” Toby
said, putting one finger gently on the salamander lying
along his shoulder.

  “So do I,” said Maxwell Hyde. “By the way, that
salamander stays here when we go to see your father
tomorrow.”

  Toby’s face went white and mulish, but he didn’t make the
fuss I would have expected. I suppose that said something
about what his father was like.

  His father is called Jerome Kirk. He was living all by
himself these days, in a farmhouse somewhere just south of
the main chalk hills – the Ridgeway Downs, was the name
of them in Blest. I wouldn’t have called it that far from
London, but Blest only has a couple of big motor roads and
even those wind about like anything. In order to get to
Toby’s dad before lunch, we started at what felt like dawn to
me. I still hadn’t got my eyes open when they bundled me
into the car.

  For the first part of the journey I grumped to myself that,
if they weren’t going to have railways, then the least they
could do was build a few good motorways, and worried
about feeling car-sick. Then my eyes came open and I felt
better. I even began admiring the way the green land lifted
out of the milky white heat haze, into a row of hills like a
long spine across the middle of the country. The road snaked
along under rows of dry trees, keeping the spine of hills in
the distance, until we turned into a narrow lane, and then
down more narrow lanes, and arrived at the farmhouse
crouching among a lot more trees below the hills on the
south side.

  We unstuck ourselves from the car seats and went and
knocked at the unpainted front door. It was a gloomy,
yellow old house, and it seemed amazing how anywhere
could be so dark inside on such a blazing bright day. It had
glum stone floors and low ceilings with lots of beams that
didn’t seem to have been painted, or even dusted, for about
half a century. There was dust and clobber everywhere.
Toby’s dad kind of prowled about in it with his back to us
most of the time. He was a big man with a big, bushy beard
and a big, veiny nose and rather small, weepy eyes. He had
a big belly too, but the chief thing I remember – probably
from seeing his back so much – was his bent, baggy legs in
bent, baggy trousers. I kept thinking that when he took those
trousers off at night, he probably leant them against a chair
and they stood up by themselves in the same bent shape.

  I think Jerome Kirk was supposed to be an artist, but
there wasn’t much sign of it. One small room had an easel
and paints and things in it, but they were all covered with
dust like everywhere else.

  He didn’t seem all that glad to see us. “So you came,” he
said. “I didn’t think you would.”

  Toby didn’t seem exactly over the moon either. He said,
“Hallo, Dad,” in a subdued way. Jerome Kirk showed his
teeth in a savage smile of welcome – I suppose it was
welcome – and gave Toby a clout between the shoulders.
Then he went on his prowl, while we stood there.

  After a bit, he prowled back carrying a big earthenware
jug. “You must be thirsty,” he said. “This is my own home
made perry. Want some?”

  Maxwell Hyde and Toby said, “No, thank you,” in chorus,
but I was so hot and so thirsty that I said, “Yes, please!” I
thought, while Jerome Kirk poured me out some into a
dusty glass, that Maxwell Hyde muttered something like
“Not really advisable,” but I didn’t see why until I took a
big, thirsty swig.

  The stuff was not just horrible. It was like being car-sick.
It was like the times when you burp wrong and your
stomach juices come up into your mouth. I wondered if I
was poisoned.

  Luckily, Jerome Kirk poured himself a big tankard full
and wandered off again, jug in one hand, drink in the other,
“…outside and look at my orchard,” his voice came echoing
back.

  We followed him out through his kitchen, where I seized
the chance to pour the glassful down the sink and replace it
with water. Toby got the giggles. Maxwell Hyde coolly got
them both a drink of water too and we went outside into
knee-length grass and clumps of nettles.

  There were a lot of fruit trees there, but they weren’t up to
much. They were old and bent, with branches missing and a
few pale little apples or wormy plums on the sick-looking
boughs that were left. Dad would have had a fit. He
cherishes his fruit trees. And Maxwell Hyde looked as if he
agreed with my dad. He went wandering off with his mouth
turned down at the ends. The thing I was most interested in
out there was a rickety table with things on it covered with
cloths and wasps circling. It looked like lunch.

  But obviously not yet. Toby just quietly disappeared, so I
went wandering down the slope of the orchard, avoiding
nettles and drinking my water, and wondering what we were
supposed to do now we had come all this way to be here.

  Down at the end, in soggy green grass, Jerome Kirk
suddenly appeared and cornered me against a giant tangle
of blackberry bush interlaced with nettles. He did it really
expertly. All through the talk we had, I was weaving this
way and that, trying to escape and hitting a huge, thorny
branch if I went one way and a mixture of nettles and
thistles if I went the other. If I found what seemed a way to
slide out, Jerome Kirk just wandered nearer and cut the way
off. By the end, I was backed right up against the tangle,
getting prickled all over. I was really upset. Usually, I pride
myself on being able to duck out of anything, but he had me
completely caught.

  “I was going to speak to Toby,” he said, “but you’ll do even
better. Seething with talent, aren’t you? What are you doing
going around with Maxwell Hyde?”

  “He’s teaching me,” I said, sliding to the right and hitting
thorns. I slid left and got nettled. “I needed to learn about
magic.”

  Jerome Kirk spat into the blackberry bush. “Bloody
Magid,” he said. “They can’t stir a finger without permission
from Above, these Magids. Brown-nose puppy dogs. You’d be
far better off coming in with us instead.”

  “Er,” I said, trying another slide into thorns. “Coming in
with who?” The thorns brought me up short and I was
forced to stare at the red veins in his nose and at his dirty
beard. I thought he must be the last person in Blest I’d ever
want to join up with. I felt sorry for Toby for having the
man as his father. I mean, by all accounts, my own father
was pretty awful too, but I’d never met him. I felt a gust of
pure thankfulness that I had been able to choose Dad
instead. “What do you mean?” I said.

  He leant towards me and began speaking eagerly, waving
the jug in his hand in circles, and I leant backwards, trying
to get out of range of the yucky smell of the perry from the
jug and from his breath.

  “We’re an association,” he said, “but we don’t name
ourselves. We just exist and gather strength and numbers.
Now the Merlin’s put himself at our head, we’re really going
places. We’re going to clear these islands of the old-school-tie
entrenched magics, and the wimps and Magids and
brownnoses that crawl along with them, and we’re going to
bring in new energies, new people, the small magic users
who are never given a chance under this present regime.
You’re young. You need to join our new order. You don’t
want to be throttled by their stupid rules!”

  He went on like this for quite a while. Every so often, he
seemed to go on a prowl, but he only seemed to. He was
really moving in to pin me down closer each time. I stood
there licking at sweat gathering on my top lip and felt truly
trapped.

  Then he said, “Think about it. We’ve already discovered a
whole new source of power. Salamanders! How about that!
You’d never get any of the old guard finding an idea like
that, would you?” He leant towards me, gathered his
tankard and his jug into one hand, and tapped the side of
his big, veiny nose at me. I stared. I had never seen anyone
do that before, not outside the telly, not for real. “And that’s
only one of the new ideas that are coming through,” he told
me. “I know. I’m in their inmost councils. They asked me to
live here and keep an eye on the old magics in case they get
out of hand. That’s a fact. And I’ll tell you another thing.”
He tapped his nose at me again. “We’re almost ready to show
our hand. You don’t have long to decide. Think about it.
And if you want to join us – and you will, of course – just
give me a nod before you go. Right?”

  I was backed into the bush by then. I said, “Right,” feebly.

  He nodded and, to my immense relief, he turned his baggy
back and prowled away.

  All I could think of after that was to find Maxwell Hyde
and tell him what Jerome Kirk had said about
salamanders. It seemed urgent to me, if they really were
getting ready for a revolution or whatever. And I could see
that it tied in with what Roddy had said. But I couldn’t find
Maxwell Hyde anywhere at first, and when I did, he was at
the rickety table with Jerome Kirk and Toby. They were
waiting for me to begin lunch.

  Lunch was a bit of a trial. It was cold meat and bread,
which was all right, but there was this great swimmy dish of
home made pickle in the middle, and the wasps really went
for that. I kept trying to show Maxwell Hyde I had
something urgent to tell him, but I couldn’t sort of get
through to him. We were all too busy dodging wasps.

  Before the end of lunch, Maxwell Hyde and Jerome Kirk
got into an argument about politics and, as soon as they
started, I thought, Stupid! What am I worrying about? Tell
him on the way home! Toby slipped away the moment the
argument began. I was sick of the wasps, so I slipped off too.

  I went the way I thought I saw Toby go, across the road
and uphill from the house. There was a path there, winding
up on to the hot hillside, so I went that way, twisting about
among head high bushes, until I came out on a steep grassy
bit where the path forked.

  There I stopped. It came to me with a sort of thump that
Jerome Kirk had not been lying when he said he lived near
the old magics. There was a wood up to my right. It was
dark, hot and rustling, and made of very upright old trees. I
found I was staring at it nearly with terror. Whatever was
inside that wood was very old, very strong and – well –
awesome. I simply could not bring myself to go near it. If
Toby had gone there, he was a lot braver than I was.

  I took the left fork instead. It went veering along below the
top of the hillside. There was a bit of a breeze up there that
rattled the dry wiry ends of the grass and shook hot smells,
almost like spice, out of no end of dry wiry flowers. Insects
hummed or hopped, but none of them were wasps and it was
blazingly, strongly peaceful there. If I looked down, all I
could see were woods and fields into blue distance. If I
looked up, there was blue, blue sky and, against it, the green
hilltop which sort of peeled back in places to show hard
whiteness, like the hill’s bones.

  It came to me as I wandered on, and more and more
whiteness peeled out of the green turf, that I must be walking
westwards along that spine of chalk downs that I had seen
from the main road. In that case, I thought, the whiteness
was like bones, the backbone of Blest. I kept looking up at it
as I walked. And after nearly a mile, I came to a place where
more turf than usual had peeled away, into a sort of humpy
cliff. The humps fell into a most definite shape. There were
two long pieces with a slight gap between and, above and
back eastward of those, a big bulge and a sort of hollow in
the midst of the bulge.

  I was thinking of bones. I thought to myself that this bit
really almost looked like a huge skull. An enormous animal
skull, with huge jaws, many times larger than an elephant’s
skull. And I imagined to myself that this creature – a really
immense creature – was lying all along the hillside just
below the top of it, mostly buried in chalk and turf.

  Then I got all excited, thinking it really might be a
dinosaur skeleton. Yet I almost didn’t want to scramble up
there and look, because I knew I would be disappointed
when it turned out to be just a chalk cliff. But I did climb
up. And the nearer I got, the more like a huge head the thing
got. By the time I was level with the end of the part that
looked almost like jaws, I could see dents in the top one, like
nostrils, and when I edged nearer, there were faint patterns
on it that were nearly like scales, white on white. Then, if I
looked up to the hollow in the bulging part, I could have
sworn it was an eye socket with the eyelid down over it.
There was even a stony sort of fringe to it, like chalky
eyelashes.

  “Hell’s bells!” I said, out loud. “I think it really is a huge
fossil!”

  “WHO,” said the hillside, “ARE YOU CALLING A
FOSSIL?”

  I fell several yards down on to the turf. It gave me such a
shock. And the whole cliff thrummed and heaved and then
buckled as the huge jaws moved, and it more or less threw
me off. I looked up to find that the place that I had thought
was an eye socket had opened. A vast, green eye was looking
down at me.

  I don’t think I could have moved. I managed to say,
“What are you then?” My voice came out as a squawky
whisper, but I was too interested not to ask.

  “THE WHITE DRAGON OF ENGLAND,” the huge head
answered. “DO PEOPLE NO LONGER SPEAK OF ME?”

  “Yes,” I said hurriedly. “Oh, yes. They do.” After all, I had
heard of such a creature on Earth, and it stood to reason
that there was one on Blest too, with all the magic they had
there. “But not very often,” I said, to be truthful. I was
looking back along the hillside as I said this, and now I
could see very plainly where the green turf humped upwards
over the shape of the enormous body. If it comes out, I
thought, I am dead. Its tail must have stretched right back
into the woods. “Er,” I said, making stupid conversation for
all I was worth, “you’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?”
  “FROM THE BEGINNING,” it replied. The hillside shook
and blurred with its voice. I could feel it through my entire
body. “I SLEEP UNTIL I AM NEEDED. DO YOU HAVE
NEED OF ME?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Well, no – no, not at all really. I just
came along here by accident really.”

  The vast green eye blinked, shut, open, shut. I hoped it
might be going back to sleep, but I could tell it was thinking.
I could feel, almost hear, great slow, grinding thoughts
going on in the huge head.

  The eye opened again. “I AM NOT WOKEN BY
ACCIDENT,” said the earth-moving voice. “NOTHING I DO
IS EVER ACCIDENTAL. I AM NOT CALLED FORTH
LIGHTLY.”

  “Oh, I quite understand,” I said. You say such silly things
when your brain is cancelled out by terror. “I – I’m not here
to call you forth. Honestly!” I began to back away down the
slope, very gently and quietly, but I had to stop when the
hillside blurred again and pieces of chalk and turf and
earth began to drop all round me.

  “WHEN YOU DO,” the great voice announced,
“REMEMBER THAT I WILL NOT BE PLEASED. MANY
PEOPLE WILL HAVE REASON TO REGRET THAT YOU
CALLED ME. GO NOW.”

  Nothing would have possessed me even to try to call that
thing out.
  I went, staring upwards the whole time at that vast green
eye watching me all the way down to the path. It turned in
its socket to watch me as I trotted shakily back the way I
had come. My knees trembled. As soon as I had got beyond
where that eye could possibly turn far enough to see me, I
sprinted – I fair pelted – between hot gorse bushes, and I did
not stop running until I came down to the road and saw
Toby and Maxwell Hyde standing by the car. I trotted up to
them, streaming with sweat. Maxwell Hyde was looking
grim. Toby, for some reason, was looking rather like I felt. I
supposed they were annoyed with me for keeping them
waiting.

  “Sorry to be so long,” I said in an airy, artificial way.
What had just happened was something I didn’t think i
would ever be able to speak about. “Went further than I
meant to,” I said.

  “Get in,” said Maxwell Hyde. “Both of you.”

  We got in and he drove off. He had been driving for miles
before I recovered. I kept thinking, That thing! That huge
thing! Lying under the turf, just waiting. Too true that
people would regret it if it ever came out.

  When we were nearly back to London, Maxwell Hyde
spoke, in a very dry voice. “Toby,” he said, “I think we shall
have to cut the connection with your father. He’s in with a
bad crowd, I’m afraid.”

  Oh! I thought. My mind had been so blown by that
dragon that I had clean forgotten the talk I had had with
Jerome Kirk. But it looked as if he had been fool enough to
try to enlist Maxwell Hyde in his group, so I wouldn’t need
to tell about it after all.

  “Yes,” Toby more or less whispered. “He talked to me too.”

  “Is that why you’re looking so devastated then?” Maxwell
Hyde asked him.

  “No,” Toby said. “That was the wood.”

  “What about the wood?” his grandfather said snappishly.

  “I don’t know,” Toby said. “There were tall people. I didn’t
know if they were really there or not. They were scary.”

  “Scary how?” Maxwell Hyde asked. “Diabolical, you
mean?”

  “No. I wondered if they were angels,” Toby said. “But they
kept asking me if I was ready yet and I didn’t understand.
The wood asked me too, you see.”

  This gave me the idea that Toby had had an experience at
least as terrifying as mine. I could tell he was relieved when
Maxwell Hyde just made that “Hm” noise that people do
when they have no idea what someone is talking about, and
didn’t ask any more. He bent his head towards me instead
and said, “And you talked to the good Jerome too, did you,
Nick?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s in with whoever’s getting the
salamanders.”
  Maxwell Hyde went “Hm” again, but this time in a nasty,
considering, grim way. I could tell by the way he glared
through the windscreen that he was thinking about what I’d
said all the rest of our drive through London. It was getting
to be dusk by then. As he parked the car, he said, “Well, we
won’t talk about that any more. I’m starving. Too worried
about munching on a wasp to eat much lunch.”

  I suppose we were all tired, but we were a bit pathetic
really. We couldn’t wait to get indoors and get back to the
evening routine. Dora was standing there, wringing her
hands, not because we were so late, but because she had
remembered to buy seven kinds of cheese and cooked some
potatoes, but she couldn’t work out how to turn it into a
proper supper. We didn’t care. We sent salamanders shooting
in all directions as we rushed to the table and ate cold
potatoes with slices of cheese. Then we pounded into the
main room and turned on the media for the tail end of the
hurley report.

  Maxwell Hyde and Toby got out their game then. I settled
down on a chair at one side and opened a magic theory book
with a sigh of relief. I was really ready for a bit of quiet
boredom. Dora sat on the sofa rustling through a magazine
called The Meaning of Dreams.

  They were well into the moaning stage of the game and I
had read the same page four times without getting any of it
into my head, when Dora sprang up from the sofa and
screamed.
  The room was suddenly full of soundless men riding tall,
soundless horses. A soundless wind came with them, it
fluttered my book and tore Dora’s dyed hair sideways. She
sort of grabbed at her hair as she screamed and clapped one
hand down to keep her skirt from blowing up round her
waist. The same wind billowed the cloaks of the horsemen.
There were far more riders in among us than the room could
possibly have held, and yet they were all definitely there.
The one nearest me was carrying a thing like a battle
standard, except that it was really just a rough stake with
the skull of a horse skewered on to it, and pieces of raw,
bloody horse-skin blew out from it in the wind. I stared at it
and felt ill.

  The rider in front was on a white horse and he was all in
black except for the white lining in his flapping cloak. “I
apologise for this,” he said. I ought not to have been able to
hear him through the noise Dora was making, but I could
hear him perfectly. He had quite a strong Welsh accent. “You
must forgive me,” he said, leaning down to Maxwell Hyde. “I
am constrained by an enchantment to do as I do.”

  He reached out and took hold of Maxwell Hyde round his
waist. He lifted him up as easily as you would lift a kitten
and slung him over the white horse face down. Maxwell
Hyde said, “What the…?” as he was lifted and then stopped
as if he had passed out.

  Toby was the only one of us who behaved at all well. He
jumped in front of the white horse and shouted, “Stop it! Put
my grandfather down!”

  “I wish I could, young man,” said the rider. Then he rode
forward just as if Toby was not standing there. The table,
the game-pieces and one of the chairs went all over the floor
when Toby had to fling himself out of the way, and the
horsemen rode away out of the room, taking the wind with
them. They didn’t ride through the wall. They sort of rode
away in the space they were in and took that space and
Maxwell Hyde with them.

  Dora’s screams seemed even louder once they were gone.
“He’s taken Daddy!” she shrieked. “That was Gwyn ap Nud!
He’s Lord of the Dead and he’s taken Daddy!”

  She made such a noise that we almost didn’t hear
someone knocking on the front door.




           10
     Roddy and Nick
                  1 Roddy
                                                         «^»
  rs Candace, besides being very old, is a bit crippled and
has to walk with a stick. She didn’t come any further than
her front door with us. There she shook hands with Grundo
in a very formal, old-fashioned way and kissed me goodbye.
I flinched a bit as her dry old mouth brushed my cheek, not
because it was an unpleasant feeling, but because that one
small touch somehow told me that it was her right hip that
was the crippled part of her. It was just like the hurt lady in
the ruined village. And I thought, Do all women with strong
powers have to have a ruined hip then?

  “Go with Salisbury, my dears,” she said. “Everything’s
arranged.”

  We followed Salisbury’s striding, green rubber boots
outside and along the street. By the time we got to the corner,
the boots had been joined by two big, smooth-haired
retrievers, a black one and a golden one, frisking sedately on
either side of Salisbury. Grundo was delighted. “Are they
yours?” he asked, staring up at Salisbury’s tall face.

  Salisbury nodded. “I am never without a dog or two,” he
said. “They have owners, of course.”

  “Um,” said Grundo. “I think I see.”

  However it was, the dogs came with us all the way to the
edge of town, weaving to and fro, the way dogs do, until we
came to a space in front of quite a tall little hill, whereupon
they began weaving more widely. One cocked a leg and peed
on the tire of a square, brown, old car that was parked there.

  “Don’t you do that, you dirty brute, you!” someone shouted
from the hill.

  It really was a very odd little hill, if you looked closely It
seemed to be made of buried houses. You could see windows
and doors and bits of walls half hidden under the grass,
piled on top of one another all the way to the summit.
Halfway up, where a tree leaned over a buried doorway, an
old tramp was sitting on a turfy doorstep.

  “Can’t you keep your bleeding dogs in order?” he yelled at
Salisbury, in a high, cracked old voice.

  “Easily,” said Salisbury. “They never foul my streets. This
is my brother,” he said to us. “Old Sarum.”

  We gaped up at the tramp. He got up and climbed nimbly
down the hill. He was wearing rubber boots too, only his
were black and cracked and mucky, and a coat and trousers
so old that you couldn’t tell what colour they had once been.
Beside the tall Salisbury, he looked almost like a gnome.
His half bald white head barely came up to Salisbury’s
waist. He grinned a wicked grin, with crooked teeth in it,
right in Grundo’s face, and said, “Elder brother, I’ll have
you know. I had my charter before he was built or thought
of. And I still send a Member to Parliament in Winchester.
I’m a rotten borough, I am.”

  “My brother is not so attached to his buildings as I am.”
Salisbury explained. “This is why he is able to take you to
London.”

  Old Sarum’s face contorted dreadfully. First, it went a
long, long egg-shape and his lower lip stuck out so that we
thought he was going to cry. Then it crunched together short
with a snap, like an angry nutcracker. “Attached!” he said.
“That’s a joke! How could anyone be attached to a heap of
old ruins? I tell you, it’s no fun being a rotten borough. Got
no people left, have I?” He wheeled round to look petulantly
up at his tall brother. “Have you got any guarantee,” he
demanded, “that London’s going to let me in? Well, have
you?”

  “Get them to the outskirts,” Salisbury said. “Then parley.”

  “You get on to him then and make sure he’s expecting me.”
Old Sarum retorted. “I don’t want to uproot myself all that
way for nothing, do I?”

  “If he won’t let you in, they can always go the rest of the
way by bus or taxi,” Salisbury said, turning away on one
green rubber heel. “But I’ll let him know. Get going.”

  “Oh, all right, all right,” Old Sarum grumbled. “I’m only
a rotten borough. I do your dirty work. Come on, then,” he
said to us. “Don’t just stand there. Or don’t you want to get
to London?” He shambled to the old brown car and hopped
up into its driving seat. “Get in, get in,” he called out of the
window. “This is Salisbury’s pride and joy, this vehicle. He
saves it for the Bishop or the Candace woman usually. We’re
honoured today, we are.”

  Grundo and I exchanged a look as we hurried to open the
polished brown door to the back seat. Neither of us was quite
sure what a rotten borough was, but Old Sarum certainly
smelt as if he were rotten. The whiff as he hurried past us
was faint but nasty. Inside, among the shiny brown leather
upholstery, it was really quite strong – or not so much strong
as filling the space with a rotten sort of persistence, like a
blocked drain on a hot day. And this was a hot day. Grundo
and I wound down the car’s yellow-tinted windows as fast
as we could. They would only go about halfway downs and,
because of the brownish-yellow tint, looking out through
them was a very odd experience. Through the lower half, the
figure of Salisbury, walking away among the houses with
the two dogs, seemed lit with unnatural thundery sunlight.
Through the open part above, everything looked too blue by
contrast. And the smell was still just as bad.

  “Dogs’ dos,” Old Sarum muttered as he started the engine.
“Won’t let them foul his streets, oh no! So they come and do
it on me all the time. I tell you, it’s no fun being a rotten
borough.”

  He kept on like this for most of the journey. We had no
idea if he was talking to us or just muttering, so we slithered
back into the shiny seat and said, “Mm,” and ”Oh?” and
”Really?” from time to time, in case Old Sarum got offended,
and tried to get the wind in our faces to counteract the smell.
It did not help that it was a hot wind.

  I think Old Sarum took a strange route. Grundo says he
did, anyway. There seemed no reason, even to me, why we
should before long find ourselves driving past Stonehenge.

  “Look at that!” Old Sarum exclaimed pridefully. “Take a
good, long look. There’s real stonework for you! That’s how
to treat stones! And to think, in the old days, that all of it
used to be mine! Enough to make you cry, it is.”

  We leaned over to that side to look. Grundo said politely,
“You must have owned an incredible amount of magic once,
then.”

  “Magic!” said Old Sarum. “That’s beyond magic into
thaumaturgical transcendental, son! I could weep!”

  Grundo said more polite things. I couldn’t speak. The
sight of that compact ring of great stones, huge and small at
once, and dense with strength through the queer thundery
windows, did strange things to the inside of my head. I
raised myself higher, so that I could see it above the glass in
its proper strong greys, and discovered that some of the way
I was feeling seemed to be due to the fact that Stonehenge
had triggered one of the hurt lady’s flower-files. Briar rose:
places of power. But I found that the knowledge was all
swimming away from me, rotating like a wheel, in spinning
spokes of wisdom. At first I thought that this was because I
didn’t really need to know about Stonehenge. Then I realised
that it was because this place was not in the file. The hurt
lady’s knowledge went back to the days before Stonehenge
was made. This made me feel so odd that I had to clutch one
of the straps beside the window and shut my eyes until we
had gone past.

  After that, we seemed to work our way on to the main
London road, but whenever we came to a town, we left that
road and zigzagged between dusty hedges on small, white
lanes, and only came back to the main road after we had
passed the town.

  “Have to give them a wide berth,” Old Sarum muttered.
“Don’t want an argument. Don’t want all that about You
can’t come through me, you rotten borough! Oh, it’s no fun, I
tell you.”

  Back on the main road, we rumbled along beside dark
trees, with a long green line of hills over to our right.
Around the time sunset was growing up the sky behind us,
Grundo and I both found our heads being snatched round
towards that line of hills. There was something there. Back
into my head came Briar rose: places of power. This time it
was odder still. Some of whatever power it was had
evidently been old when the hurt lady made her files, but
some of it was not there, and new, and quite as strong as
Stonehenge.

  “What’s that?” Grundo asked, rather dizzily. “Over that
way.”
  “Can’t say, I’m sure,” Old Sarum answered. “Some old
stuff, nothing to do with me. I’m only a rotten borough.”

  We drove and the feeling died away gradually, almost
reluctantly, as if something might have been trying to get
our attention. Sunset blazed all round the sky. And quite
suddenly the car began to zigzag around in the road and
Old Sarum started to shout. “Gerroff, gerroff. Gerroff my
windscreen, damn your eyes!”

  We stopped with a squeal and a dreadful jolt.

  “One of you get out there and kill this thing, whatever it
is! Bat or whatever,” Old Sarum commanded. “I can’t see a
thing with it there.”

  Grundo and I looked past him at the windscreen, but as
far as we could see, there was nothing there but yellow-tinted
glass and some flies stuck to it.

  “Get it off!” howled Old Sarum.

  We sighed and climbed out into the dusky road, where all
at once everything was smelling of dew and damp hay. “I
think he’s gone potty,” Grundo grunted under the noise of
the car drumming and throbbing beside the hedge.

  “Or he was potty to start with,” I agreed.

  We edged along to the front of the car. There still did not
seem to be anything wrong with the windscreen, until we
reached the long, brown bonnet and leant over to look. Then
the thing clinging to the windscreen-wiper flinched away
from us and tried to scuttle up over the top of the car.
Grundo made a grab – with a touch of magic to help – and
caught it by the filmy veiling along its back. He held it out
to me in both hands, quivering and all but invisible.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Kill it, come on!” Old Sarum ordered, leaning out of his
window.

  It was alive and terrified and bewildered. It was also
beginning to glow faintly. “No, don’t,” I said. “I think it may
be a salamander. They’re rare.”

  “Ouch – it’s getting hot! I think you’re right,” Grundo
agreed. “What’s a soothing spell, quickly?”

  I began a spell for him and he took it up too as soon as he
remembered it. We bent over the quivering salamander,
while Old Sarum watched ironically. “It’s vermin,” he said.
“That thing can set fire to a house, you know.”

  “Yes, but it won’t now,” I said. “I think you can let it go
into the hedge, Grundo.”

  “It doesn’t want to go,” Grundo said. “It’s foreign. It’s lost.
It’s escaped from somewhere horrible and it doesn’t know
where to go to be safe.”

  “Speaks to you, does it?” Old Sarum asked sarcastically.
“Don’t trust it. It’s just vermin. Throw it in the hedge.”

  “Not speaks, exactly,” Grundo said, “but I think it’s telling
me the truth. Roddy! we’d better take it to your Grandfather
Hyde and ask him what to do about it.”

  “Good idea,” I said, although if Old Sarum hadn’t been
there setting me a bad example, I might have been sarcastic
too. I felt really envious of the way Grundo could
understand the salamander.

  As for Old Sarum, he did his ghastly face contortions
again, going long and egg-shaped and then snapping into a
nutcracker bunch. “It’s your funeral,” he said, as Grundo
climbed into the car, tenderly holding the salamander.
“You’re the ones that’ll fry and sizzle when it sets this car on
fire, not me. I don’t burn easy.”

  “Then that’s one good thing about being a rotten borough,
isn’t it?” I said, climbing back in too. After the fresh dewy
evening, the smell in the car was beastly.

  “True, but Salisbury’s going to be pretty peeved when I
come back and tell him his car burnt up.” Old Sarum
retorted. He started the car moving and grumbled for the
next ten miles. “Tell him I never got to London and he’ll do
me. Lose my charter and my MP, I shouldn’t wonder. And I
hate the smell of burning. Sets all my bricks on edge.”

  “Just shut up,” Grundo whispered. He crooned the
soothing spell to the salamander until it climbed up his arm
to his shoulder, where it sat pulsing out pleasure. What with
my envy about that and the smell and the way Old Sarum
was grumbling, I didn’t want to be in the car at all. I turned
and stuck my face out of the open half of the window.
  After a while, when the road was nearly dark, I realised
that there was a white horse alongside, keeping pace with the
car. I looked up to see that there was a rider on its back,
whose flapping black cloak showed a white lining. “Oh!” I
said.

  Grandfather Gwyn leaned down to the open half of the
window. “They have called me out for a third time,” he said,
“to carry away a great many more people. In some ways,
though, this is good news, if they try to call me again, I am
free to summon them. But I am sorry about the rest of it.”

  Before I could answer, he clicked his tongue to the grey
mare and she went surging off up the road ahead.

  Grundo stared. “He went faster than this car!” he said.
“What did he say? I didn’t quite hear.”

  “Something private,” I said. For some reason, I did not
want to tell Grundo how very anxious this had made me.
Sybil was Grundo’s mother, after all, and she had just done
something new. I wanted to get to my lovely, safe, soldierly
Magid of a Grandad Hyde more than anything in the world
just then. Grandad would know. He would be able to tell me
what Sybil and her friends had done this time. I wished he
was here telling me now. Every time Old Sarum slowed
down for a corner or a crossroads, I wanted to scream at
him to drive faster. When he slowed down and stopped just
outside London, I almost did scream. “Drive on!” I shouted.

  “Can’t do that,” Old Sarum said. “This is London. Got to
negotiate, don’t we?”

  To my utter exasperation, he turned off the engine and
climbed out of the car. I flung my door open and jumped out
too. After a moment, Grundo got out as well, leaving the
salamander curled up on the seat. The smells of a hot city
night, a hot country night and Old Sarum flooded round us.
Hedges rustled behind us. In front, the headlights of our car
blazed down a suburban road lined with streetlights and
glistened on two enormous shiny things planted like
roadblocks in front of us.

  They were shoes. It took us a moment to see that they were
shoes.

  Our heads turned slowly upwards and we saw London,
vast and shadowy, towering against the purple city sky.
“What are you doing here?” he said to Old Sarum.

  London had the strangest voice. Part of it was like the
groan and clatter of thick traffic, and the rest was a chorus
of different voices, high, low, and tenor voices, voices with
very upper class accents, bass voices speaking purest
Cockney, overseas voices, and every grade of voice in
between. It was almost like hearing a huge concert.

  Old Sarum whined and bowed and rubbed his hands
together. In the headlights, his face went through
extraordinary contortions. “I’m only a rotten borough, your
honour, and I mean no harm. Not wishing to trespass in
any way upon your honour’s precincts, but I was given this
mission, see. I’m to drive these two here, take them to the
Magid. I knew that might be pushing it a bit, your honour,
but what’s a poor rotten borough like me to do when people
in high places start giving orders? No offence in the world…”

  “Who gave you your orders?” chorused London. He had
his shadowy head bent, listening to Old Sarum, but even in
that dim light he seemed to have the strangest face. It was
like the framework of a strong, noble face with other faces
stuck into it. Part of one cheek was shifty. The end of one
eyebrow and part of his mouth seemed to leer. One of his
eyes seemed to be glass. At least, his left eye caught the light
differently from the right one. A tarry, bricky, city smell
blew off him, with a touch of stale river mixed in.

  “It was that Candace woman, your honour,” Old Sarum
whined. “What she tells Salisbury, Salisbury does. Nothing
to do with me, except that I got roped in to do the dirty work.
As usual.”

  “Mrs Candace,” orchestrated London, “used to be a great
beauty. I knew her well. She held salons in Berkeley Square.
Then she married an Italian Count.”

  “Yeah, but he died and she gave all that up,” Old Sarum
said. “Lives in Salisbury now and bosses the country from
there.”

  “I know,” London rumbled. “And you should speak of her
with proper respect.”

  “All the respect in the world, your honour,” Old Sarum
protested. “Anything you say. But I don’t have to tell
someone who straddles a great river like you do that
humans are just water under your bridges. Water under all
your bridges. Mrs Candace, these two young ’uns with me,
they’re all the same. They come, they go. You live on. Even I
live on, your honour.”

  “We grew up for and by means of humans,” London
thumped out. He sounded like hammers on a building site.

  “Well, speak for yourself, your honour,” Old Sarum
whined. “All humans mean to me these days is they let me
send one of them off to argue in Winchester. What I’m trying
to say, your honour, is that it’s nothing to you what humans
come or go. So you might as well let me take these to the
Magid.”

  “On what grounds?” chorused London.

  I began to feel increasingly uneasy. It wasn’t just that I
was frantic to get to Grandad, or even that we were standing
in the road being argued over by two cities. It was because
now that I had learnt to see the near invisible creatures like
the ones who inhabited the Dimber Regalia, I could see –
and hear – them here too. They were being drawn here by
the argument. The hedges behind were full of stealthy
rustlings and small blinks of light. Bluish shadows were
stalking in from the rear of the car. These felt different from
those I had seen earlier today. I realised that the ones I had
seen by sunlight were the lazy, harmless creatures of the day.
These, now, were the people of the night. And very few of
them were friendly.

  Grundo had seen them too. His head kept turning towards
the hedges as the argument went on.

  At length, London said, in a distant sort of city buzz, as if
he were considering, “I’ve no objections to the humans
entering. When have I ever prevented that? I suppose they
can take a bus or a taxi.”

  “We’ve no money!” Grundo called up at him anxiously.
“We used it all yesterday.”

  I don’t think London heard him. He suggested in chorus,
“Or they can walk.”

  Old Sarum sent a contorted glance towards the hedges
and the shadows in the road and stuck his lower lip out. “As
to that, your honour, I’m not sure they would be safe. I was
told to keep them safe, meaning no disrespect.”

  “I have never guaranteed safety,” London replied, “or
wealth either.”

  “No, and your streets aren’t really paved with gold
neither,” Old Sarum retorted. “I know. It’s not your fault
some humans get rich and have a lovely time and some has
to doss on a doorstep or get robbed. Nothing to do with you.
But we’re not talking about that, your honour. We’re
discussing about me driving them to a particular doorstep
like Mrs Candace wants me to. Is that too much to ask?”
  There was a long pause. London appeared to be listening
to something in the distance, the sing-song of a fire engine or
an ambulance perhaps. We certainly heard something like
that, followed by clocks striking, while we waited. Then,
finally, his vast figure straightened a little. His chorus voice
sounded amused.

  “I have been under orders too,” he told us. “Even me. It
seems that time was needed to penetrate certain magical
defences. The enchantment was absolute while it lasted, but
I can let you go now. Get in your car and drive where you
want to go.” He lifted one huge, glossy shoe and stepped over
the nearest row of houses into the next street. Before he lifted
the other foot, he stood astride the houses and gave a
rumbling chuckle. “I shall be with you all the way, of
course.”

  He was too. We climbed quickly and thankfully back into
the car and Old Sarum drove on through the city. And every
time I glanced out of the open half of the window, I saw
London’s huge shadowy figure wading among the houses
beside us.

  It seemed to take an age to get to Grandad’s house. I was
mad with anxiety all the way. I knew that if Sybil was able
to order London to hold us up while Grandfather Gwyn
carried out her orders, then she had grown hideously
powerful and we had to tell Grandad.

  But it never occurred to me what she had done. Old
Sarum drew up outside the house at last with a fine shriek
of brakes and I jumped out and rushed to the front door.
While I clattered away at the knocker, I could hear Old
Sarum going on at Grundo. “Oh, I don’t do it to be thanked.
I’m just the dogsbody. I am. You rush away too. Don’t mind
me, I’m only a rotten borough…” And Grundo was trying to
make himself heard, saying, “But we do thank you. We’re
very, very grateful. Hey, let me get the salamander out before
you drive away…”

  Long before the door was opened, Old Sarum had driven
away and Grundo had joined me on the doorstep with the
salamander on his shoulder. I clattered the knocker one
more time and the door was opened at last by my cousin
Toby.

  Toby is always a pale boy, but just then he was chalky,
with a dazed sort of stare to his eyes. Behind him, I could
hear the most dreadful yelling and sobbing noises. Dora, I
thought.

  “What’s happened?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  Toby gulped. “Grandad. He was carried off just a minute
ago. Mum says it was the King of the Dead who took him.”

  The inside of me seemed to pitch downwards into
somewhere icy. “I shall kill Sybil,” I said. “Quite soon.”
                     2 Nick
                                                        «^»
  hadn’t expected Roddy to be quite so overbearing. I
suppose she was upset about all the things that had been
happening, but then so were we. The way Maxwell Hyde had
been taken – just like that! – seemed to hang over us all like
nervousness and horror. It was almost as if something awful
was going to happen. Instead of it just having happened, if
you see what I mean.

  I was picking up furniture and game pieces and trying to
calm Dora down while I did it. Salamanders were rushing
about and transparent creatures were bundling this way
and that in droves. I was saying, “Hush, you’ll upset the
salamanders. Hush, it doesn’t help to yell,” when Roddy
came striding in with Toby and another boy behind her.

  She stood staring about. You’d think her eyes were
weapons. They sort of snapped dark fire. Otherwise, she was
just as I’d been remembering her, with that look of having
simply grown, like a tree or something. She had a fabulous
figure, even in baggy old trousers and an old grey sweater,
quite thin, but all beautifully rounded, and she smelt nice
too, even from where I was on the floor. My heart began
beating in little rapid bangs. My legs felt weak and I could
feel my face flushing red and then draining white again.
  But part of the simply-grown thing with Roddy was that
she never even thought she might have that sort of effect on
people. In fact, she didn’t care what effect she had. She said,
“This place looks as if a bomb hit it! And there are
salamanders everywhere. Haven’t any of you thought of the
fire risk?”

  That was enough to start my heart beating normally, if
you count angry thumping as normal. And I could pretend
that any strange colour in my face was due to groping under
the sofa for game pieces.

  “You!” she snapped at me. “What’s your version of
Grandad’s disappearance?”

  I stood up. It helps to be tall enough to loom a bit. “What
no ‘Hallo, Nick, fancy seeing you again!’?” I said. “Shut up,
Dora.”

  “Yes, be quiet, Auntie,” Roddy said. “Of course I remember
you, but this is urgent.”

  “Gwyn ap Nud,” I said. “I know him because we have him
on Earth too. Just rode through here and hauled Maxwell
Hyde up on his horse and left.”

  At this stage, Dora decided to stop screaming and turn
social. She surged off the sofa with tears on her face, saying,
“My niece, Arianrhod Hyde, and her friend, Ambrose
Temple, Nick. Nick is Daddy’s Oriental pupil, Roddy dear.”

  This attempt at Courtly graces misfired rather. I said, “I
am not Oriental! I’ve told you!”
  Roddy snapped, “He prefers to be called Grundo! I’ve told
you!”

  Then she whirled round on me and demanded, “Haven’t
you any idea where Grandad’s been taken?”

  Obvious, I thought. Land of the Dead. But she was in
such a mood I didn’t say so. “I could try some divining,” I
said. “I’ve got pretty good at that.”

  “You do that,” she commanded and whirled round on
poor Dora again. “Auntie, Grundo’s very tired and hungry.
Could you find him some supper? And I’m afraid we’ll both
have to stay the night, unless the Progress is very near. Can
you find Grundo a bed? Could he go in with Toby?”

  I looked at this Grundo. He was a strange-looking kid
with a hooked nose and a faceful of freckles, slightly older
than Toby. He didn’t look particularly tired. He and Toby
were giggling together because they both had a salamander
sitting round their necks.

  It was never any good commanding Dora. Maxwell Hyde
had always been pretty careful not to, not if he wanted
anything done, that was. She stared at Roddy and then
went into wet mode, sinking on to the sofa and wringing her
hands. “But I couldn’t think of anything to go with the
potatoes!” she moaned.

  “Oh, God!” Roddy said. “Grundo has to eat something!”

  I saw she was going to start snapping commands at Toby
next and Toby had already had a pretty tough day. He was
looking wiped. “Through here,” I said and led the way to the
dining room where the cheese and the potatoes were still on
the table. I fetched out more plates and knives and found the
pickle.

  Grundo stared a bit and said in a strange grunty voice,
“I’m not sure I can manage cold potatoes after all that cake
with Mrs Candace.”

  “There’s plenty of cheese though,” Roddy said coaxingly,
pulling out a chair for him. “Sit down and try to eat a bit
anyway.”

  She was like that all the time with this Grundo. To other
people, she was all, “Grundo must have this, Grundo
mustn’t go without that,” and with Grundo himself she was
as if she was his caring elder sister – or his very fussy
mother, more like. You’d think Grundo was the only person
in her world. It annoyed me. I wanted to tell her to forget
Grundo and get a life. Anyway, the sight of food had its
usual effect on me. I sat down, scooped up pickle and began
a second supper. Toby came and sat beside me and started
eating too.

  “What are you doing?” Roddy demanded.

  “Eating,” I said.

  “But you’re supposed to be divining for where Grandad
is!” she said.

  “I will when I’ve got my strength up,” I said soothingly.
  Roddy was disgusted. “I asked you for help. You’re –
you’re obstructionist!”

  “And you,” I said, “would get on a bit better if you stopped
being so uptight and domineering.” I’d never seen anyone
look so outraged. She was too angry to speak. Toby shot me
a look that said he was going to laugh any minute and
probably choke on a potato. So I said to Roddy, “Oh, come
on, sit down and get something to eat yourself.”

  She stared at me like a queen on a particularly haughty
day. “I tell you,” she said, “there’s a conspiracy.”

  “I agree,” I said. “I believe you. But that doesn’t mean you
have to stop eating. And while you eat, we can work out
what we ought to do about it. That make sense?”

  She dragged a chair out reluctantly. “Sit down, Grundo.
The most important thing is to find out where the King’s
Progress is at the moment.”

  “They’re still in Norfolk,” Toby said. “It was on the
morning media.”

  “Oh,” said Roddy. She seemed a bit daunted for a
moment. “I must get in touch with my parents!” she said. “I
know! Grandad’s bound to have Dad’s latest speaker code,
isn’t he?” She was pushing her chair back again to go to the
far-speaker as she said it.

  Grundo settled that. “Sit down,” he said. “Nick’s right. No
one in the Progress knows we know anything, so you need to
be careful what you say. You could get your parents into
trouble. We need to decide what to do first. You’re not the
only one who’s had a shock, you know.”

  The power of the Grundo! She listened to his quiet growly
voice and she sat down again at once. Actually, he was quite
a nice kid. I discovered that as soon as we got talking. Not
that this helped when it came to us deciding what to do. I
was pretty stumped, to tell the truth. With Kings and politics
in it, and powerful people like the Merlin, and Maxwell
Hyde pretty probably dead, I didn’t see what kids like us
could do.

  “I wish we could ask Romanov,” I said.




                  3 Roddy
                                                        «^»
  ick is the most maddening person I ever knew, if you try to
make him do anything, he just goes kind of heavy at you.
But perfectly polite. He gets a sweet look on his altogether too
handsome face and refuses to budge. What made it worse
was the way I seemed to feel him pushing at me all the time,
in a warm, moist, eager way that I didn’t understand and
didn’t want at all. I nearly threw one of Aunt Dora’s vile,
bruised-looking potatoes at him several times.

  We did get things talked through in the end – though Nick
didn’t help by bleating every so often that we ought to talk to
Romanov. I’d never heard of this Romanov, so I took no
notice, and we did get our priorities straight at last. We had
to find where Grandfather Gwyn had taken Grandad and
let my parents know what was going on.

  After we cleared the food away, Nick finally got down to
some serious divination magic. I didn’t feel too hopeful of it.
His method seemed to be to spread a whole lot of books and
maps on the living room floor and surround these with
bowls of ink and water and different sorts of weights on
strings – all of it in danger from twenty inquisitive
salamanders – and sit hunched over it with Toby and
Grundo squatting beside him and a crowd of the
transparent folk hovering over their heads. The boys kept
giving him advice. Aunt Dora put in her bit by sitting on the
sofa and calling out things like, “Are you sure you know
what you’re doing?” and “Is that how they do this in the
Orient, dear?” and “Daddy won’t be pleased if you spill that
ink!”

  I couldn’t have worked like that, but Nick seemed quite
placid. No doubt it helped that he was also basking in
admiration. Grundo was in a fair way to thinking that Nick
was the most marvellous person he’d ever met. I don’t think
any boys Nick’s age had ever treated him like a human
being before. Boys at Court were always too lofty, or else
nervous because Grundo was a magic user, or both. As for
Toby, I could see he had been Nick’s worshipper for weeks.

  I began seriously to believe I had bungled that working in
Wales – or why else had the spell sent me an amateur wizard
with a swelled head? Oh, well, I thought and went and
found the far-speaker in the hall.

  Grandad had one of those useful codepads, where you
punch the name of the person you want and it springs open
to show you the code. Hoping hard that he had kept it up to
date, I punched in Daniel Hyde. It duly sprang open and the
code looked right. Court codes are usually two letters and
three numbers. This said DH145, so I dialled that.

  It rang for quite a long time and was finally answered by
a high, breathless voice saying, “Court Weather Office.”

  The relief! I was so glad to get through that I hardly
noticed or minded that the voice was the voice of Grundo’s
odious sister, Alicia. She was a royal page after all, and one
of their duties was to take calls when everyone else was too
busy. “Oh, Alicia!” I said. “Could I speak to Dad? This is
Roddy and it’s urgent.”

  She knew my voice too. She giggled unpleasantly in her
usual way. “So you’ve turned up again!” she said. “Where
are you? I thought we’d left you safely stuck away in Wales.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m in London now and I need to speak to
my father at once. Could you get him to the speaker, please?”

  She giggled even harder. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “Do you mind telling me why not?” I said.

  “Because he’s not here,” she said. “He hasn’t been here for
ages now. We expelled all the dissident wizards two weeks
ago.”

  I had that pitching downwards feeling inside again, but I
said politely, “Then perhaps you can tell me where he is
now.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know!” Alicia said. “He’s where
nobody’s ever going to find him again. And your mother’s
there too. And you know, Roddy you really have no business
ringing this number, because you’re not a member of Court
any longer. I shouldn’t really be speaking to you.” There was
true triumph in her voice. I could tell she had been looking
forward to telling me this from the moment she heard my
voice on the speaker. “Both your parents have been
impeached for treason to the Crown, you see,” she explained.

  “Thank you so much for telling me,” I said. “Who’s seeing
to the weather then?”

  “Well, nobody at the moment,” she said, “but I expect a
new appointment will be made as soon as the King has
abdicated.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Is the King going to abdicate?”

  “I didn’t tell you that!” she said hastily. She sounded quite
frightened.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Alicia, you’ve been so good telling
me all this. Now tell me what happens to Grundo, please.”

  “Oh, is he with you?” Alicia asked coldly. “I suppose youd
better send him back to Court. Not to Norfolk though. We’re
moving first thing in the morning and we won’t get to— Oh,
what a nuisance that child always is! Send him to Salisbury
Plain the day after tomorrow. He can always wait if we’re
not there yet. Goodbye, Roddy. So nice talking to you.” She
rang off.

  I stood and stared at the whirring earpiece. I felt dead. All
I seemed to be able to think was that it was no wonder the
weather had been so hot all this time. Dad couldn’t have
had a chance to change it. Then I thought – viciously – that
Alicia had always been a liar if she thought she could hurt
my feelings and get away with it. This simply could not be
true. I slammed the receiver back, slapped the codepad shut
and punched in Annie Hyde instead, furiously. Mam would
surely tell me that none of it was true.

  Mam’s code was AH369 currently. But all I got when I
dialled it up was a mechanical voice saying, The owner of
this code is no longer in Court. The owner of this code is no
longer…

  I put the receiver back and stared at my grandfather’s
dark, shabby wallpaper. Both my parents seemed to be gone.
Grandad was gone too, the King was about to abdicate, and
no one seemed to realise that there really was a conspiracy.
Who could I tell? Who could possibly help? I couldn’t tell
Grandfather Gwyn because he had been ordered to take my
Grandfather Hyde away, with the help of London himself.
Who else could I tell?
  I thought of Mrs Candace. She was pretty powerful. She
might not have believed me this afternoon, but she’d have to
believe me now.

  I snapped the pad again. If she was Lady of Governance,
Grandad would surely have her number. Yes. He did. It was
there and I dialled it. And it rang and rang and rang. I
allowed for someone with a crippled hip. I let the call go
from whirring to bleeping. I allowed time for her to lever
herself out of her chair, and time to limp slowly across a big
room. I allowed time on top of that. But still no one
answered the speaker.

  I put the receiver slowly down and stared at the wallpaper
again. After a bit, as an experiment, I dialled the code for
Salisbury again. Just the code. I didn’t get whirring this
time, just silence. I got silence for so long that I was going to
give up, when a strange, heavy, unechoing voice answered.

  “Salisbury here.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Thank goodness! Look, I’ve been trying to
call Mrs Candace, but she doesn’t answer – this is
Arianrhod Hyde, by the way. Is Mrs Candace all right, or
asleep or something?”

  “I regret to say,” replied Salisbury’s heavy voice, “that Mrs
Candace is no longer with me. She was removed from her
house earlier this evening.”

  “Who?” I said. “Who took her?”

  There was a short silence. Then Salisbury said, “The son
of Nud, I believe. I was ordered not to interfere. I am sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, “if even London had to obey
orders, there was nothing you could do. Do you know where
she was taken?”

  There was another short silence. Then he said, “No.”

  “Thanks anyway,” I said. I cut the connection and stared
at the wall some more. Then, as a last resort, I snapped the
codepad open to Hepzibah Dimber and, rather reluctantly,
dialled that number.

  That whirred and bleeped and bleeped too. It rang for so
long that I began to think I would be glad even to speak to
an Izzy. But it’s Friday night, I thought as I rang off. Maybe
they’ve all gone out. But it was so late by then that I didn’t
believe it.

  After a while, I went back into the living room. As I came
in, Nick looked up and said, as if he was quite surprised,
“Maxwell Hyde’s still alive! That’s certain.”

  “But he’s not anywhere we can find,” Toby added.

  Grundo said, and I could see it was part of an argument
they had been having, “It has to be outside this world. Your
results don’t make sense any other way.”

  Dora gazed at me and said brightly, “Anything the matter,
dear?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Nothing at all. My parents have only
been expelled from Court, the King’s only going to abdicate,
and Mrs Candace and the Dimbers have only been
kidnapped too. Nothing wrong at all.”

  The boys’ faces turned up to me. Nick said, “Wow!”

  “Is that all you can say?” I more or less screamed.

  Dora, who seemed not to have heard a thing I said,
beamed kindly. “You know, dear, you need to discharge all
the adverse vibrations,” she said. “Sit down here and have a
good cry. It does wonders.”

  “Does it indeed?” I said rudely. “Thank you very much!”
Then I sat down in the nearest shabby armchair and burst
into tears. As one boy, Grundo, Toby and Nick all became
exceedingly embarrassed and turned their backs on me. I
really wanted to scream then.




                     4 Nick
                                                        «^»
  had Grundo sleeping on the couch in my room that night.
Everyone agreed that Roddy had better have Maxwell
Hyde’s room, and Toby’s room didn’t have a couch. Lucky
Toby. Grundo must be the most restless sleeper in all the
universes. When he wasn’t turning over and over and
jangling the couch springs, he was either snoring like a
football rattle or shouting out in his sleep that everything
was back to front and he couldn’t do it! He kept waking me
up. And whenever he woke me, the feeling of nervous horror
came back and I lay and worried.

  I knew we had to find Romanov and ask him what to do.
With Maxwell Hyde gone, and from what Roddy said, I
could see things in Blest were going down the plughole fast.
Romanov would know what to do. He had real power. I
could even sort of feel the weird non-direction I ought to go
in to find Romanov, but I couldn’t even start to go that way.
It was the same as the way I couldn’t walk into another
world. I seemed to need somebody else there to help or give
me a push before I could do it.

  In the end it got light. I could hear birds singing and
salamanders scuttling to get to the places where the sun
would shine first. By then, Grundo was sleeping as
peacefully as a log of course, but I knew I wasn’t going to be
able to sleep now. I swore and got up.

  And it was an odd thing. Instead of being nine-tenths
asleep and unable to open my eyes like I usually am, I felt
quite sharp and awake. Maybe it was because I’d been
practising being awake all night. I collected my clothes and
dressed downstairs in the kitchen. While I was making
coffee, I looked in Dora’s mirror with the rabbits round it,
expecting to see that I had giant, droopy black bags under
my eyes, but I looked normal. Just grumpy.

  My coffee was poured out into a mug ready to drink when
the doorbell rang. That was when I discovered I was in a
really bad mood. The doorbell rang twice more while I was
going along to answer it. Then someone battered away with
the knocker.

  “All right!” I shouted. “All right, all right, all right! Do
you expect me to teleport to the door or something?” I
wrenched the door open.

  Two quite small girls were jigging about on the doorstep,
both in little pleated sailor-dresses. The one on the left was
in blue trimmed with white and the one on the right was in
white trimmed with blue. Otherwise I couldn’t tell them
apart. When they saw my angry face they flung their arms
round one another and stared at me over their shoulders
with identical soulful looks.

  “He must be Grandad’s pet ape,” said the blue one, and
the white one said, “I love them when they’re angry!” and
sighed ecstatically.

  “You’ve come to the wrong house,” I said.

  “No, we haven’t,” said the blue one. “We want Mr Maxwell
Hyde.”

  “He’s our grandfather,” the white one explained. “I’m
Isadora and this is Ilsabil and tell him it’s urgent.”

  “He isn’t here,” I said. “He’s been kidnapped.”

  We all stared at one another blankly for a moment. Then
the Ilsabil one said, as if she was about a century old,
“They’re such liars, these boys.”
  “We must search the house,” Isadora agreed.

  They unwound their arms and started to walk inside, one
on either side of me. I put out both my arms and stopped
them at neck level. “Just a moment,” I said. “How come
you’re trying to visit your grandfather at five-thirty in the
morning? There’s been jiggery-pokery for weeks now. How do
I know Maxwell Hyde really is your grandfather? He never
said a word about you.”

  “Now you’ve hurt our feelings!” Ilsabil said tragically.

  “He never said a word about you, whoever you are!”
Isadora said. Then, as if they had given one another a secret
signal, they both shoved mightily at my arms. I shoved
back. I could feel them using some sort of witchcraft to get
past me. That didn’t bother me particularly, though it made
me more suspicious than ever. I went on shoving back. The
one on the left sank her teeth into my forearm and the one
on the right kicked my shins.

  “Let us in!” they screamed.

  By this time, I was sure they were another part of the
conspiracy, that was trying to storm Maxwell Hyde’s house.
I took hold of them by a skinny arm each and tried to
bundle them back into the street.

  “We’ll wake everyone up in all the houses!” Ilsabil
threatened.

  “We’re being assaulted!” Isadora screamed. “Help! Child
abuse!”
  I suppose it was not surprising that the noise woke
everyone except Dora – Dora is even harder to wake than I
am. Grundo turned up at my elbow, buttoning his shirt.
“Oh, God! It’s the Izzies!” he grunted. “That’s all we needed!”

  The Izzies stopped yelling and fighting in order to
exchange weary looks across me. “It’s per-thetic again!” said
one.

  “Fetch Roddy,” commanded the other.

  “I’m here,” Roddy said sleepily from behind me. “What are
you two little beasts doing screaming on the doorstep at this
hour of the morning?”

  “Roddy, this huge Indian boy is hurting us!” Isadora
whined.

  “You probably deserve it,” Roddy retorted. “Why are you
here? Did Judith bring you?”

  One twin promptly went sweet and gentle and the other
crisply efficient. “My dear,” the gentle one said sadly,
“Judith has vanished. So has Heppy.”

  “We begged a lift from Mrs Simpson,” stated the efficient
one. “We are so resourceful.”

  Then they did it the other way round. I felt as if my eyes
were crossing.

  Roddy sighed. “You’d better let them in,” she said to me.
“I’ve been afraid this might have happened.”

  I let go of the Izzies willingly. They immediately twinkled
in past me on tiptoes, wafting their arms this way and that
like ballet dancers.

  “What have you done with your dog?” Grundo boomed at
them as they wafted past him.

  “With the vicar,” an Izzy said over her shoulder, wafting.
“Food,” she added, in tones of deep longing.

  “She wanted to keep us too,” said the other, “but we
slipped away. Kitchen,” she added yearningly.

  They broke into a gallop and rushed to the kitchen. By the
time we got there, they had found every packet of cereal in
the place and were busily pouring vast heaps of breakfast
food into bowls, along with all the milk there was. Puffed
rice had gone all over the floor and they had upset my coffee
in it. I dourly got a cloth and mopped it all up, while
Grundo put the kettle on again.

  “We’d better have toast,” Roddy said irritably. “It’s no
good expecting any sense out of those two until they’ve fed
their horrible little faces.”

  She was very pale, with blue patches under her eyes, as if
she hadn’t slept, and she seemed tenser than ever. I did wish
she was not so tense all the time. That is the unexpected
trouble with love affairs, I thought as I made more coffee.
You can fancy a girl like mad, but more than just the look of
her comes into it. You find yourself having to allow for her
personality too. At five-thirty in the morning.

  “They’re your cousins, are they?” I said, nodding at the
Izzies as they guzzled.

  “Yes,” she said. “Dora’s sister’s twins. They’re awful.”

  At least she had the sense to see that, I thought. None of
that blood being thicker than water nonsense with Roddy. It
seemed to be one thing we had in common, even if it wasn’t
much of a basis for a love affair. I was rather surprised, as I
put the coffee on the table as far away from the Izzies as
possible, that I still meant to have a love affair. It was not as
if I’d had any encouragement.

  Around this point, Toby put his sleepy face into the
kitchen, saw the Izzies and went pale. “Oh, no!” he said.
“Not them now! I’m going to see to the goat.” And he went.

  Grundo chuckled. “A hundred per cent vote against,” he
said. “Here’s some toast and you’re to eat it, Roddy.”

  “Did I say I wouldn’t?” she snapped.

  “No,” he grunted. “You looked at it.” He waited until
Roddy had taken a mouthful and turned to the Izzies.
“Now, tell us. How did Heppy and Judith vanish? When?”

  Isadora looked up from filling her bowl for the fourth
time. “We need more milk and some toast first.”

  “You’ve had all the milk,” I said.

  “Then our lips are sealed,” said llsabil.

  “No they are not,” Roddy said. “One of you is to make
some toast while the other talks.” She took a large bite of
toast. “Or fleas,” she said with her mouth full.
  The Izzies exchanged gentle, angelic looks. “We don’t
understand,” said llsabil, “why you aren’t nice to us.”

  “None of you responds to our great charm,” said Isadora.

  “What great charm?” I said. “If you want people to be nice
to you, you have to be nice to them. Are you going to tell us
what happened or shall I bang your heads together?”

  They stared at me haughtily. After a bit, Ilsabil flounced
up and made sulky efforts to cut bread.

  “We don’t really know,” Isadora said, quite as sulky. “It
was just before supper and we were in the garden. Heppy
and Judith were being boring, making a fuss about trying to
talk to the Regalia, so we stayed outside. And we thought we
heard a horse whinny inside the house. And Heppy shouted
a bit, but she does that a lot. We thought she was shouting at
the Regalia again, so we took no notice…”

  While Isadora was saying this, Ilsabil was looking from
me to Grundo and then at Roddy, with a sweet, helpless
smile, waiting for one of us to come and make toast for her.
None of us took any notice.

  “It sounded like quite a lot of horses,” Isadora said, “but
not for very long. We couldn’t understand it. Then we got
hungry and came in for supper and Judith and Heppy
weren’t there. They weren’t anywhere in the house and
supper was still raw. We got so hungry! When it was dark
and they still hadn’t come back…”

  Toby came into the kitchen. Ilsabil was still gently waving
the breadknife above the loaf. Toby pushed her aside and
packed the grill with doorsteps of bread with cheese on them.
“The goat’s almost eaten through her stake,” he said as he
worked.

  “I’ll go and look in a moment,” I said. “Go on, Izzie.”

  “We sort of knew they weren’t going to come back,” Isadora
said. “And we were so hungry by then that we found Heppy’s
purse and went down to the shop with the money, and on
the way we remembered that Mrs Simpson always goes to
London Airport over Friday night to collect the new tea
when it’s fresh…”

  “See how resourceful we are,” Ilsabil murmured.

  “Except about making toast,” Grundo said. “So you went
off and just left the dog, didn’t you?”

  “No, promise,” Isadora said. “We changed our clothes and
went to the vicar and told her what had happened and said
we had to go to Grandad because he’s a Magid…”

  “And left Jackson with her, so there!” said Ilsabil. “She
wanted to keep us too, but we told her Mrs Simpson was
giving us a lift to London…”

  “Then we had to run and we just caught Mrs Simpson
before she drove away,” Isadora said. “And she sighed and
said ‘Jump aboard then’ and we did.”

  “But we never had any supper because it was such a rush,”
Ilsabil said, with a wistful eye on the cheesy toast.
  To do them justice, both twins were looking quite upset,
though it may have had more to do with missing supper
than losing their mother, to my mind. “What do you make of
it?” I asked Roddy.

  “Every magic user who might have been able to stop Sybil
seems to have gone,” she said. “I’m willing to bet that all the
other hereditary witches have been taken too.”

  “You think we should check?” Grundo asked.

  “What’s the point? We should be doing something!” she
said, twisting her hands together. “Only what should we
do?”

  “Find Romanov,” I said.

  She rounded on me. “You keep bleating that!”

  Allow for personality, I told myself but I thought if I had
to do much more allowing I might run out of patience. “For
one thing,” I said, “I was told Romanov has more magic
than anyone in several universes – he’s a sort of magics Csar
– and for another thing, he knows your grandfather quite
well…”

  Her annoyance faded down into surprise. “You never said
that before!”

  I didn’t say that she had never given me a chance. I took a
long breath and said, “That’s why I think he’ll help.”

  “So how do we find him?” she demanded.

  I’m so glad you asked me that question, I thought. “Um,” I
said. “He doesn’t live in a particular world. He has this
strange island that’s made out of bits of several different
universes and I sort of know the direction…”

  She sighed. “In other words, you can’t find him.”

  “I didn’t say…” I began.

  Toby interrupted in his quiet way. “The goat,” he said.
“You said she was Romanov’s goat.”

  “That’s it!” I shouted. I jumped up and chairs crashed on
the tiles all round me. The only wonder was that even this
didn’t wake Dora up. “Let’s go!”




           11
     Roddy and Nick


                  1 Roddy
                                                        «^»
  could not believe it when the Izzies turned up! It seemed
like the last straw, even though it was more proof that I
wasn’t imagining the conspiracy, since it made it clear that
Heppy and Judith had really vanished too. Then the Izzies
insisted on coming with us to find this Romanov person. We
should have simply dashed off and left them, while they
were busy pulling strings of cheese off their toast with their
teeth. But they shouted to know what we were doing, and
Nick took entirely the wrong line with them. He told them
they had to stay behind and explain to Dora. He said they
were too young to go on the dark paths. You would not
credit the whining and arguing and winning persuasions
this led to from the Izzies. When that didn’t work, they
followed it up with double yelling. At least that gave Grundo
time to eat a proper breakfast.

  When he and Toby had finished eating, I gave in. I said,
“All right, you can come.” They instantly stopped whining,
wiped their greasy hands on their sailor suits and flung
their arms round me, exclaiming that I was the most
marvellous cousin in the world! I pushed them away. “On
condition that you stop acting about and behave,” I added.
They looked wronged and hurt and saintly. “]ust stop trying
to twist everyone round your greasy little fingers,” I said.

  “Yes, cut the glamour,” Nick said. “You’re like a couple of
ageing filmstars. You could be sixty instead of six.”

  “We’re not six!” Isadora exclaimed – if she was the one in
white. “We’re nearly nine!”
      “Whatever,” said Nick. “I’ve had enough. Let’s go.”

      We all bundled out into the garden, at the precise moment
when the goat bit through the last of her stake with a snap.
Nick dashed over and caught hold of the stake at both ends,
so that the chain fastened to the goat’s neck couldn’t slide off
it.

      “Now, Helga,” he said, “we want you to take us to
Romanov. Romanov, Helga. All of you think very hard
about this goat taking us back to her owner.”

      Helga leered up at Nick with her evil goat’s face and
chewed her cud, quite unmoved. We stood round her,
panting and trying to will her to obey Nick. I tried to find a
spell among the hurt woman’s flower-files that would help.
But that woman knew goats. I found, under Teazle, to drive
sheep without a dog, and to call cattle, and to influence a
pig, and after further searching I found to teach a dog to
obey, to call a hawk to the hand and even to tame a feral
cat, but not a single thing about goats. So I dropped that
idea and looked through journey spells instead. I found the
speedwell spell and the one Mrs Candace had used, and a
whole string of magics called journeys in the spirit, none of
which seemed quite right. The trouble with ordinary journey
spells was that they were just that – spells for travel in
country that you knew – and the spirit journeys meant that
you left your body behind. I gave up and found one called to
bless a journey instead.
  And while we waited, I couldn’t help noticing that it was
the most heavenly day, one of those days with a milky look
over the blue sky, where everything seems to be holding its
breath for something marvellous to happen. Beyond the
hazy chimneys around the garden, I could hear the huge,
hushed mutter of London. The lawn we were standing on
was grey-green with dew, marked all over with the faint,
green footsteps of salamanders. In the distance, a silvery
clock was striking the half hour, up and down the scale, as
if London was singing encouragement to us.

  By then, Nick was putting out instructions to the goat so
strongly that I was actually getting mental glimpses of a
flat, green shore where the sea was divided into big triangles
of differently coloured water. As the clock finished striking,
Helga sighed. Then she ducked clear of Nick and bounced
sharply away, pulling the chain taut with a rattle.

  “All hold on to me and to one another,”Nick said. “Don’t
let go.”

  We each snatched hold of the nearest person. Grundo
grabbed Nick and I took hold of Grundo’s shirt. Behind me,
one of the Izzies said, “You’ll disarrange my pleats!” and as
she said it we were off at a run, diagonally across the dewy
lawn. I just had time to think what fools we looked, rushing
through the garden in a line behind a goat, when we were
not in the garden any more. We were plunging down a steep,
earthy path that very quickly became a short tunnel. Some
Izzy squeaked that it was dark. Then we came out into the
queerest and most terrifying place I had ever seen.

  It was like the sky on a summer night. It was dark and
blue, but with light in it somewhere, so that it was not
totally dark, but there were no stars. The terrifying part was
that this sky was all round us, above and below, in an
immense, dark blue void. In front of us, stretching away
into distant distance, was a line of bright islands. They were
just hanging there, like unstrung beads, or huge
stepping-stones, for as far as we could see. Each island was
a slightly different shape from the others, but each shone out
in various greens and golds and blues, blazing a path across
the void. And each one was only about ten feet across.

  As I got to the end of the tunnel, the goat jumped to the
nearest island, which dipped and swung and swayed under
her, quite hideously.

  “I can’t do that!” I gasped. I was giddy just to look.

  “Interesting, though,” Nick panted, scrambling on the
earthy edge of the tunnel. He sounded just as scared as I
was, but he said, “They must be universes. It’s just the way a
goat would see things.”

  The goat galloped on across the island and he had to
jump after her. The island positively plunged under his
weight. I had to jump then, because Grundo leapt after Nick,
and the island not only plunged again, but went jogging
around sideways when the other three jumped on to it. I
couldn’t stand up. The awful thought was that if I
overbalanced, I’d simply fall into that empty, blue night and
go on falling. It was too much for me. I went on one hand
and both knees. Clinging to Grundo’s shirt for dear life, I
scrambled across a surface rather like roughened glass. If I
looked down through the glassiness, I saw dim seas and
continents, mountains and rivers, and had to shut my eyes.
It was truly horrible to have to open my eyes and stand up
at the edge of the island, and then to make that jump across
nothing to the next island.

  It was only just near enough for me to jump to. I was sure
it was too far for the Izzies and Toby. I whimpered to Nick,
and he hauled on the goat and stopped her on the dipping,
jogging, slippery surface, while I stayed standing up and
held out my arms to catch first Isadora, then Toby, and
finally Ilsabil. Ilsabil nearly slipped off backwards. My
heart banged in my throat and my arms felt weak as I
grabbed her wrists.

  Worse, I looked back the way we’d come as I steadied her.
It was hard not to. And the line of luminous islands
stretched back into the distance that way too. There was no
way to tell which one was Blest. There was no way to tell
which direction to go in. If it hadn’t been for the goat, we
would have been completely lost out there. The Izzies were
making little squeaks about it. Toby’s teeth were chattering.
I think we were all shaking. But the goat dashed off as soon
as Nick stopped hauling on her chain and leapt to the next,
slightly nearer island, and we had to go too.
  We took the next few islands at a fairly swift pace, leaving
a line of them bucking and twirling behind us, and trying
not to think about falling off. And Nick and the goat
suddenly went down inside the next one. Oh, good! I
thought. We’ve arrived! In the greatest possible relief, I went
hurrying down another tunnel on Grundo’s heels.

  “Hell!” Nick said from in front of me. “This is wrong.
Wrong, Helga!”

  We were in a library, the lot of us, surrounded by the
smell of wood and books. I could have cried. The thought of
having to come out of here and jump across islands again
was almost more than I could take.

  It was a dark, low-beamed place, full of dark books, so I
didn’t see straightaway that there were people in it. Then
someone beside us said, “Who on earth are you? How did
you get here?”

  We all whirled round to find a lamplit table in an alcove
just beside us. There were open books and pages of notes
spread on the table. Four boys of about Nick’s age were
sitting there with pens in their hands and looks of slightly
condescending amazement on their faces – Nick has the
same superior look: it must go with that age-group, I think.
These boys were wearing suits of fairly new-looking pale
suede, which had blotches of ink and dinner and chemicals
down the fronts, quite disgustingly, and the blotches were as
new-looking as the suede.
  “Mistake,” Nick said to them. “We’re just leaving”

  “But why the goat?” asked one of the boys. “Do tell.”

  “You probably need a goat and a pair of twins for a
transport spell, where they come from,” another said.

  “Did you say spell or smell!” asked the third.

  The fourth boy, who was rather spotty and looked even
more superior than the other three, stared at Nick with his
eyes narrowed. “You know,” he said, “it’s that false novice
who tried to get near the Prince in Marseilles. I recognise the
psychic profile. Fear not,” he said to Nick. “I shan’t give you
away as long as you tell us how you got in among Security
like that.”

  “That was a mistake too,” Nick said, jangling at Helga’s
chain to get her to move. But she was interested in the papers
on the table and would not budge. “Get that paper out of her
reach,” Nick said. “She eats anything she can get near.”

  “What – books too?” asked the boy in the outside seat.

  “Feed her Fusek’s Panmagicon then,” suggested the boy
beyond him. “I’ve had a bellyful of it. Give the goat a turn.”

  He was leaning over and wagging a big, leather-covered
book in the goat’s face, when a door at the end of the room
clashed open and a big, fat man with a beard strode in. He
was wearing a suede suit too, but his was dark and shiny
with age, and extremely tight across the front. Over it, he
wore a flowing black robe. You could see at a glance he was
a teacher. From the smug look on the spotty boy’s face, I
could tell that he had somehow fetched this man.

  “What is going on here?” the teacher demanded, in a big,
rumbling voice.

  Nick shot me a desperate look. I looked back in equal
desperation. Toby and Grundo seemed stunned. We all stood
there, wordlessly.

  To my surprise and gratitude, the Izzies summed up the
situation and took a hand. “Oh!” Isadora cried. “I just love
tight, fat tummies!”

  “But not with a beard!” trilled Ilsabil. “Get him to shave
that beard!”

  Both twins twinkled up to the teacher and flung their
arms round him. Ilsabil put up a hand to stroke his beard
and cried out, “Yuk! Bristles, my dear!” while Isadora
nestled her face against his tight, suede-clad stomach,
murmuring, “Ooh! Fatness!” I could feel both of them fairly
pumping out glamour spells.

  The teacher, who had been starting on some kind of spell
of his own, was entirely disconcerted. He stepped back a pace
and gave an uncertain laugh. This gave the rest of us the
moment we needed to pull ourselves together and start
urging the goat to leave. Leave! I thought. Leave here!

  “Come on, Helga!” Nick said. “Romanov!”

  Helga raised her head at that name, kicked up her heels
and galloped back the way she had come. Nick was jerked
after her. I grabbed Nick, Grundo and Toby snatched a
twin’s arm each, and Grundo twined his hand painfully
into my hair. We rushed in a bunch into a dark tunnel. Next
second, we had popped out on top of this world, where Helga
was already jumping to another island.

  “Thanks, you Izzies!” Nick panted, as the island dipped
and swung.

  Somehow that void was worse the second time. I suppose
it was because I knew what I was in for. The bright islands
seemed so tiny, and they pitched and joggled so. I tried to
ignore them and keep my eyes on the goat’s white rear,
unerringly skipping across the gaps ahead of me. Goats are
a strange shape behind, almost as if they have a coat-hanger
just above their tail. But it made me dizzy every time Helga’s
hooves hung in mid-void in front of me. I tried staring down
at the vague landscapes inside the islands instead and this
was worse. The more closely I looked, the more the
landscape seemed to pull me in. I found my knees sinking
into the glassy surface and the hand I was resting on
plunging downward on to a green-brown continent.

  “This is awful!” I said.

  Nick, ahead of me, having to use both hands on the stake
and being towed like a water-skier from island to island,
ought to have been hating it even more, but he said, “Oh,
come on, Roddy. It’s a unique experience.”
  I could hardly believe it when there was a grunt of
agreement from Grundo and another from Toby. One of the
Izzies said, “We may be the first humans ever to do this.”

  It was a shock to find them all braver than me. After that,
I tried to stand up and look straight ahead, and I really did
not know which was worse – crossing the slippery, dipping
islands, or the awful moments when I had to jump, into
nothing and over nothing, on to the next island – though the
very worst moment was when I almost didn’t land on one
and nearly took the others with me. The journey seemed to
go on for eternity.

  Then it was suddenly over. The goat gave out a goatish
yell, kicked up her white heels and went down head first like
a duck into an island no different from any of the others. We
all galloped down a green-lit tunnel behind her, past a
wood, where a huge, spotted cat sat staring contemptuously
out at us, and then we were there.




                      2 Nick
                                                           «^»
  knew we were there when I saw Romanov’s spotted cat.
The way she twitched just the end of her tail at us was
positively jeering, but I was too relieved to care. I just felt a
moment of great regret that I couldn’t have my black
panther waiting about outside my home world in the same
way, and then we were on Romanov’s island. I’d never been
so glad of anything in my life. Those islands were amazing,
but they were also scary. Roddy looked awful, ready to faint.
She knew better than the kids what a horrible, risky thing
we had just done.

  The Izzies kept squawking about why were the sea and the
sky in stripes.

  I bent down and undid the chain from Helga’s neck. “Oh,
do shut up,” I said as the goat went trotting away over the
hilltop. “This place is made of a lot of different places, that’s
all.”

  “You ought to be nice to us,” one of them said. “We saved
you from the fat man.”

  I didn’t answer. It had suddenly occurred to me – almost
like an inspiration – why that goat had taken us to that
library in the Plantagenate world. Maxwell Hyde had been
there, that was why! And that goat thought the sun shone
out of Maxwell Hyde’s fundament (as my dad would say), so
she had gone there to look for him.

  “Answer me!” snapped one Izzy. “Speak to us, Nick!” cooed
the other one.

  “Fleas,” Roddy said, loudly and violently.

  The twins gave a gasp of terror. It may have been because
of this strange thing Roddy said, but I think it was more
because Mini came trampling over the top of the hill just
then, with her ears spread and her trunk eagerly stretched
out. I’d forgotten how big she was. In fact, she seemed huger
than I remembered, and gnarlier, and more positive
somehow. The Izzies screamed and ran away in two
directions. Roddy sat down as if her legs had given way and
Grundo and Toby sort of dodged in behind her. But Mini
took no notice. She lumbered straight up to me and stopped,
with her legs trampling excitedly and her trunk sort of
feeling at me, this way and that, over my face and my front
and my sides, like an eager, grey snake.

  “Nick!” she said. “It really is you! I’ve missed you so
much!”

  I got in under her trunk and between her tusks – they had
smart new golden bands round them that looked magical in
some way – and hugged as much of her face as I could
reach. “I’ve missed you too, Mini,” I said, out loud. “Like
being homesick for you.”

  Her trunk curled round my shoulders. It was like a hug.
“Me too!” she told me. “I waited and waited, all these ten
years!”

  “Ten years?” I said.

  “It is,” she said. “I counted. Last time I saw you was when
I’d eaten all those apples. After you went, Romanov had to
use some of his magic to make me better. And that was ten
years ago now.”

  I could still hardly believe it. “You really had ten years
here? It’s only been about three weeks for me.” This
explained why Mini seemed so much bigger. When I first
met her, she must have been quite a young elephant and she
was full-grown now.

  Behind me, Toby and Grundo were discussing us. “That
elephant’s really talking to him,” Toby observed.

  “Yes,” Grundo answered. “She’s got a voice like a plummy
old aunt, but I can’t quite hear the words. Can you?”

  “Who are those sober, intellectual boys?” Mini asked me.

  This made me giggle. There were times when Toby and
Grundo were like two old men. I turned round and
introduced everyone. “This is Mini,” I said, “my favourite
elephant. Mini, that’s Toby, this is Grundo, and Roddy’s the
girl on the grass. The twins over there are Isadora and
Ilsabil, but don’t ask me which is which.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mini said, politely swinging her
trunk.

  This made the Izzies start backwards dramatically, but
Roddy got up and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mini.” So all
the girls could understand Mini. Interesting.

  “Is Romanov here?” I asked.

  “Yes, he’s just got back from somewhere,” Mini said. “He’s
in the house.”

  We all went over the hill together and down towards the
house. It looked splendidly well-kept now, made of pale
wood and crisp, blue stonework, with wide windows. The
goat was outside the smart, white front door, in a huddle of
hens, bleating fit to burst. As we arrived, Romanov came
out, wiping his face on a towel, to see what was the matter.
We all stopped and Roddy murmured, “I see what you
meant now.” It was the effect Romanov had. He was at full
power. He fair sizzled with it. Otherwise, he looked just the
same, a lean and energetic dark zigzag, and not at all as if
ten years had passed.

  “You again,” he said to me. It was flat and unwelcoming.
“I dreamt ten years ago that you came back with a crowd of
children.”

  “When you were ill,” I said. “That may have coloured your
dreams. We need help…”

  The goat was butting at Romanov and stamping and
bleating. “Just a moment,” he said. He put both hands to
Helga’s head. After a second, he moved them along her sides.
“Oh, you are in trouble,” he said to her, “but it’s all right
now.” He took her by one horn and started to lead her away
along the house.

  “What’s the matter with her?” I said.

  “She’s in labour,” Romanov said over his shoulder. “Going
to have her kids any moment. You feed the hens for me, will
you, while I get her bedded down in the shed. The rest of you
go indoors and help yourselves to a drink in the kitchen.”

  The Izzies clasped their hands and looked ecstatic. “Baby
goats!” said one. “We’re coming to watch!” said the other.

  Romanov looked back at them out of one eye in his zigzag
profile. “No,” he said.

  That was all. But it shut the Izzies up completely. They
turned and followed Roddy into the house, as good as gold.

  I went along to the shed and Mini sauntered
companionably beside me. Then she stood watching while I
gave the hens their corn. One of her back legs began to rub
up the other. I took the hint and made the shed provide
elephant food too. Really, I might never have been away – I
felt so much at home here. I could hear Romanov in the next
shed, heaving straw about and talking soothingly to Helga.
I felt the fizz of him setting some kind of magic on her too,
probably to ease the birth for her. This is the life! I thought.
But Romanov was obviously going to be quite a time with
Helga, so I went back to the house.

  The kitchen was all airy and wide and up-to-date this
time. About the only thing in it that I remembered was the
big wooden table. When I got there, Toby and Grundo were
busily finding interesting food and drink in the refrigerator
and Roddy was going on at the Izzies.

  “If either of you little beasts says one more thing to upset
Grundo,” she was saying, “I shall do something so bad that
you won’t know what’s hit you!”

  Grundo didn’t seem upset to me. He was putting armfuls
of potted puddings on the table and the expression on his
face was one of greedy joy. Nor did the Izzies look to be
upsetting him. They were seizing puddings as they arrived
and stacking them in two heaps, one for the kind they knew
they liked, and the other for the kind they’d never seen before
but hoped to get to like shortly. Behaving like normal girls
for once, I thought. But that was Roddy for you. She’d just
had a bad experience and her reaction to any sort of upset
was to fuss about Grundo.

  “And don’t eat all the good kinds,” Roddy scolded.
“Grundo’s entitled to eat a sweet he enjoys too. And Toby,”
she added as an afterthought.

  “Roddy,” I said, “aren’t you entitled to something you like
yourself? Or is it all for Grundo?”

  A mistake. Her face flooded pink-red, her eyes flashed like
dark stars, and she whirled round on me. I’d have been in
trouble then, if Romanov hadn’t come quietly up behind me.
“One moment,” he said. “Something’s wrong here.”

  We all jumped, because we hadn’t heard him come in, and
stared nervously at him. He looked, very intently and
keenly, from one to another of us. Toby said, scared but
brave, “Is the goat all right?”

  “Yes,” Romanov said. “She wants to be left to do it by
herself.” And he continued looking from face to face – except
that, by this time, he was darting his look between Roddy
and Grundo. Roddy seemed plain puzzled. But Grundo, the
fourth or fifth time that look stabbed at him, shifted from
foot to foot and began to colour up, in blotches between his
freckles, until he almost seemed as if he had measles. “Are
you going to tell us what you’re doing or shall I?” Romanov
asked him, in a cutting, conversational way.

  Grundo’s lips seemed to stick together for a moment. He
worked them loose and said in a gluey sort of grunt, “I – I
will.”

  “Go on then,” Romanov said, flat and unfriendly.

  “I – I…” Grundo went.

  “He’s not doing anything,” Roddy interrupted. “Don’t pick
on him.”

  Grundo shot her a wretched look. “Yes, I am,” he
admitted. “I’ve done it ever since I was three years old. I – I
put a glamour on you to make you – you love me and – and
look after me above everyone else.”

  “But that was just because you were little and lonely then,”
Roddy protested quickly.

  Grundo shook his head. “Not now. I do it all the time
now, because – well, it’s easier. You can read for me and
help me with lessons and do magic for me that isn’t back to
front. And then I don’t have to try.”

  “Laziness, in fact,” Romanov said flatly.

  Grundo nodded, looking so dismal that I swear even his
nose drooped. “I’d better take it off now, hadn’t I?” he
grunted. Groaned, really.
  “Yes,” said Romanov. “If it’s any comfort to you, I had
back-to-front problems too as a boy. It only takes a month or
so of real effort to learn to work with it. After that you find
you can do things rather better than most other people,
because they haven’t had to try and you have.”

  Roddy, by this time, was so pale that she was sort of
dough-coloured. “No!” she more or less screamed. “This isn’t
true! You’re taking away the foundation of my life!”

  Romanov shrugged. Grundo stuck his bottom lip out and
said, “It is true. Sorry.”

  At this, Roddy shouted out a great yell of despair and
went rushing out of the kitchen and out of the house. As the
front door banged, Romanov gave me a curt nod and jerked
his head at the door, meaning go after her. I stared at him
for a second. It seemed to me that when someone’s just
discovered they’ve been living a lie, the last thing they want
is me on top of it. But Romanov gave me an even fiercer jerk
of the head and I went.

  Roddy was standing with her back to me, halfway up the
slope to the garden. Mini was beyond her, beside the garden
wall, with her trunk drifting wistfully towards the fruit trees
inside. She was doing her embarrassed leg-rubbing. “This
girl seems awfully unhappy,” she said to me.

  “She is,” I said.

  Roddy spun round and saw me. “Go away!”

  “In a bit,” I said. “Tell me about it first.”
  “I can’t!” Roddy stood with her face up. Her hands were
clenched and her eyes were shut and oozing tears. Then she
told me anyway. She obviously just had to tell someone.
“Most of the time I’ve been alive,” she said, “it’s been a – an
established fact that I cared for Grundo and looked after
him – and defended him from his awful mother and sister
as well. That made me better than Sybil and Alicia, you see.
I’ve always thought of myself as a nice, loving, kind person.
But now it turns out that Grundo was making me care for
him, this means I’m not like that at all. I don’t know what
I’m like. I could be as vile and selfish as everyone else at
Court for all I know! Don’t you see? It’s as if the world I
thought I knew has suddenly turned out to be make-believe.
Nothing seems to be valuable any more!”

  “Yes, I see,” I said. “And I’m almost impressed with that
kid Grundo. He must be the only person in the multiverse
who’s more selfish than I am. But don’t you think you might
have liked him anyhow?”

  She said, in a creaking, hysterical voice, “I don’t know!”

  “Well, look at it this way,” I said. I was a bit flurried
because she looked to me as if she about to go really off the
deep end. “It can’t have been necessarily a bad thing, you
being made to care about Grundo. Like symbiosis – you
know, cats and dogs and humans…”

  “And elephants,” Mini put in.

  “And elephants,” I said. “You and Grundo both sound to
have been pretty lonely and miserable at Court, but if you
were looking after him, OK, he was all right, but you had
someone to be fond of too. And you strike me as being a
pretty nice person. So maybe you’d have looked after him
anyway. It’s a shame he didn’t trust you to try it on your
own, that’s all.”

  Roddy put her fists up to her face. “Oh, go away, Nick! I
really do need to be alone. Anyway, you have to go back
inside and explain to Romanov about the conspiracy. I can’t
trust Grundo to explain properly.” There was a slightly
horrible silence, then she said angrily, “I can’t trust Grundo
for anything now!” and burst into hard, hacking sobs, more
like coughing than crying.

  I put my arms round her. For just a mere, single instant, I
had a real, heavy body in my arms and a moist face against
my cheek, with a real, difficult personality to go with them.
It was a fairly astonishing feeling. Then Roddy fiercely
shook me off and went running away to the other side of the
island.

  I said to Mini, “You keep an eye on her,” and went back
into the house, hoping Romanov wouldn’t think I’d given up
too easily. But I was blowed if I was going to run after
Roddy all over the island. That would really have irritated
her.

  Actually, when I went into the kitchen, Grundo was
making a pretty good job of explaining the part he knew. As
I came through the door, Romanov turned the razor-edge of
his profile against my soul and asked, “What do you know
about the Merlin’s part in all this?”

  “I don’t,” I said. “I never met him. Maxwell Hyde might
know. All I know is that there’s a lot of nasty types in Blest
collecting salamanders for some sort of a power-push. And I
saw Gwyn ap Nud carry Maxwell Hyde off. Roddy thinks he
did that on the Merlin’s orders. Or this woman Sybil’s.”

  Romanov’s razor profile raised an eyebrow at me and he
said, “This woman who kidnaps a Magid, using the Merlin
and the Lord of the Dead – there are going to be
disturbances in a lot of worlds over this.” He turned to
Grundo. “Who did you say your mother is?”

  “Her name’s Sybil Temple,” Grundo said.

  A very strange look came over the slice of Romanov’s face
that I could see. It was if he didn’t know whether to feel
angry, surprised, contemptuous, anxious or sorry for
someone – and probably more things I couldn’t quite
understand. “And I’m willing to bet she hasn’t a notion what
she’s doing,” he said at length. “She always was a greedy
fool, my ex-wife Sybil.”

  “Oh,” said Grundo,

  “Yes,” said Romanov. “Oh.”

  Things clunked about in my head, like slowly meshing
gears. Then I said, “Oh,” too. Romanov’s face came round to
mine so quickly that I went backwards a step. “It could be
my fault she did this,” I said. “She phoned while you were
ill – er – ten years ago? And I got fed up with hearing her
and tuned her out of your life. She was shouting threats
about doing really big magic when I turned her off.”

  Romanov thought about this. His mouth pulled into a
long, thin line in a way that quite scared me. “Water under
the bridge,” he said finally. “She was always making
threats. I used to provoke her. No time to share out blame
now— Has anyone done anything about the balance of
magic?”

  I said I didn’t think so. Grundo said, “Nobody believed
Roddy when she said there was a plot. One of the Little
People told her to raise the land.”

  “Well? Did she?” Romanov snapped.

  We stared at him, even the Izzies, impressed and alarmed
at how urgent and dangerous he sounded. Grundo said, “We
didn’t know how to.”

  Romanov jumped up from his seat at the table. “Oh, of all
the—! When one of the Little People gives advice like that,
you take it! I’ll tell her…” He looked at the door as if he
expected to drag Roddy back through it, just by looking.
“One of you go and find her. You – Toby. The rest of you
give me the names of all the missing people that you know.
I’d better find what’s happened to them before I go to Blest.”
                 3 Roddy
                                                       «^»
  o, I still feel awful when I think how I felt about Grundo –
as if my whole mind was like one of those floating islands
we crossed. Nothing to support it, dipping sickeningly about,
and nothing but emptiness all round. I’m going to miss all
that out. I know Nick will have plenty to say about
Romanov.




                    4 Nick
                                                       «^»
  oddy looked like death when Toby came back with her.

  By that time, Romanov had gone away to his workroom.
Such a strong gush of magic came from there that Grundo
and I broke out in a sweat and the Izzies went on about the
way the hair on their arms was standing up. A right song
and dance they made about it, too. They were such irritating
kids.

  Romanov shot back into the kitchen, saw Roddy and said,
“Good. Come with me,” and he led her away into the living
room, saying, “I can only explain what you’d be trying to do
and the way I’d set about it myself. You’ll have to find your
own means…”

  That was all I heard before the door shut, but when
Roddy came back, she looked as if she had slightly more
interest in life. She said Romanov was in his workroom
again. The Izzies wailed. But it wasn’t long before the gush
of magic stopped, thank goodness! Romanov came into the
kitchen slowly, looking puzzled.

  “I think I know where they all are,” he said, “but it makes
me wonder just what is going on. Have you all finished
eating? Good. We’ll go and collect the missing persons before
I take you all back to Blest.”

  Romanov came to a decision and then did what he’d
decided so quickly, that it made you feel left behind and
breathless. He led us outside and there was Mini, waltzing
towards the house, looking very pleased with herself She
had a long, double seat strapped to her back, with space for
at least three people sitting back to back on either side. I’d
ridden on a seat like that in a zoo once. This one was sky
blue.

  “You look smart!” I said.

  “I do, don’t I?” she said. “I do love going on expeditions.
I’ve been on a lot now, but I never stop feeling excited.”

  “Are you sure you can carry all seven of us?” Romanov
asked her.

  She snorted through her trunk. “Easy. I’m a big elephant.”
  A sort of platform had appeared out of nowhere beside the
house, with a ladder up to it, so that we could climb into the
seat. Romanov warned us to arrange ourselves so that our
weights balanced and, while Toby, Roddy and one Izzy were
climbing up on to Mini’s right side, he shot off to have a
look at Helga. By the time Mini had turned herself round
and Grundo and the other Izzy and I were getting into the
left hand side of the seat, Romanov was back. He was
grinning in a sharp slash across his face.

  “Is Helga all right?” Toby called out anxiously.

  “Fine – she’s got two kids, a nanny and a billy,” Romanov
told him. Toby was glad, but he was upset too. He said we
shouldn’t have made Helga bring us here when she was so
near to having kids. And the Izzies began squalling that
they had to get down and see the new kids. Romanov stared
at the nearest Izzy, enough to shut one of them up at least,
and then looked up at me in a way that was almost like one
normal person confiding in another. “One of each sex,” he
said. “That’s a balance. Let’s hope it’s some kind of omen.”
Then he came up the steps and hopped across Mini’s neck in
front of the seat, where he sat sort of scrunched down like a
mahout. “Right, Mini,” he said. “Off you go. North
quadrant.”

  Mini surged into a walk, round the end of the house,
down the grassy bank and – with great sucking, sloshing
noises – straight out into the marshy water there. The seat
swayed about on her back. By the time we were a hundred
yards out from the island, with a mild wind tossing our
hair about and mosquitoes beginning to home in on us, I
was trying not to feel seasick. Part of it was because I was
riding sideways. In order to see where we were going, I had
to look across Grundo and an Izzy and over Romanov’s
head. But most of my unhappiness was due to the swaying
and the steady sloshing of Mini’s feet. I kept looking down
nervously to make sure she was not out of her depth. But the
water must have been very shallow all the way. She just
churned up marshy stinks and set big, brown bubbles
popping for ten feet all around.

  I could really have done without those Izzies whining that
it was not fair, they wanted to see the baby goats. Roddy
snapped at them, but it made no difference. I just tuned
them out in the end. By the time we were right out into the
great sheet of water, and the island was out of sight behind
us, I simply was not hearing them.

  Soon after this, there was vague, misty shore ahead, rocky
and pinkish. Mini heaved up on to it, sliding the Izzy into
Grundo and Grundo into me, and marched on, stump,
stump, stump, through what seemed to be rocky desert.
There was nasty, steamy heat. Everything was sort of misty.
The Izzies forgot the goats and whinged about the heat for a
while, until Mini’s mud-crusted feet began padding along a
proper pavement, where we came under a high roof of some
kind, and it was cooler.

  I didn’t realise where we were for a moment. I just knew it
smelt familiar, in a way that made me faintly alarmed.
Then I noticed that there were shops all along the side of the
tunnel that I was facing. I craned round behind myself and
saw a parapet, a cliff of shops and houses in the distance
opposite, and bridges spanning in between. When we went
swaying past a huge hoist, I was sure. We were in Loggia
City.

  But it looked quite a bit different. The pavement Mini’s
feet were on had hollow, worn places. There was litter
blowing everywhere and the paint on the hoist was peeling.
None of the shops at the back of the arcade appeared to be at
all prosperous. Some were boarded up. The rest had
desperate-looking notices in the windows, saying 90% OFF!!
and EVERYTHING MUST GO!, and they didn’t seem to
have much for sale inside except for shoddy-looking rolls of
plain cloth. Nobody was in there buying anything either.

  “What’s happened here?” I called over to Romanov.

  “The workers on the top terrace left,” he called back.
“Someone told them they were producing works of art that
people would pay a great deal for. They concentrated on
tapestry after that. I helped them migrate to another world
some years ago now. They’re doing very well there.”

  I found I was crouching down in my end of the seat,
trying to hide my hot face. Who would have thought it? I
casually tell an old man that his tapestry was fabulous and,
ten years later, the whole economy of a city is grinding to a
halt. Who would have thought it.”

  Somebody shouted, “Hey, you! Halt!”

  Mini’s pacing feet faltered. “Keep going,” Romanov said.

  Her feet picked up their pace again. The person shouting
got out of the way in a hasty scamper of yellow uniform, but
he kept on shouting. “No animals on this level! What do you
think you’re doing!”

  I looked down at his angry face as we slid swaying past
him. And I knew him. He was the Important Policeman,
evidently still on the job. But he had a seedy,
down-on-his-luck look these days, as well as looking older
and wrinkled and anxious. His yellow uniform was saggy
around him, with darns in it, and he had lost weight. His
moustache was still just as bushy though.

  He looked up at me as I looked down. An expression came
over his face of Where-have-l-seen-that-boy-before? Then he
got it. His finger came up and pointed. “Hey, you! You’re
Nick Mallory! You skipped factory duty ten years ago. We
want you!”

  But Mini went imperturbably marching on. Important
slid away behind. The great pillars of the stairway slid past,
and a notice saying LIFTS OUT OF ORDER, and then we
were out on a different and much more ruinous section of
the arcade, where the sun came blinding down in long lines
through gaps in the roof

  I looked back and Important was gone. Behind Mini,
there were still houses in the walls of the great canyon, but
they were ruins, with empty black spaces for windows, and
half the bridges were down.

  “What’s happened?” Toby asked.

  “This is the next world on,” Romanov said. “The people
we’re looking for are one world along from this one, but the
sun is pretty harmful in all these canyon worlds, so I’m
taking a route that keeps us in shade as much as possible.”

  Mini marched on, from arcade to empty arcade, always
curving to the right out of the direct glare of the sun, until
we went under the ruin of what looked like a factory and
came out on the bare tops of the canyons. I think the
canyons were not so deep in that world. At any rate, I could
see them curving and branching in all directions around us,
like the twigs and branches of a tree, as if the empty desert
had cracked from the heat. At the end of the largest dark
crack was something that glimmered.

  “The people we want are in that xanadu there,” Romanov
said, pointing to the glimmer. “It’s fairly well defended. I’m
going to try to get us in underneath.”

  It was pretty extraordinary. He had taken us from world
to world so smoothly that I never noticed us go. Or Mini
had. Come to think of it, Mini must have had a gift for it. I
envied her.

  “Down you go, Mini,” Romanov said to her. And we set off
down a long slope where houses had dissolved away to
rubble and formed a sort of ramp into the bottom of the
chasm.




                  5 Roddy
                                                        «^»
  t was peculiar but practical, I suppose, of Romanov to
load us all on his elephant. Romanov is one of the most
practical people I have met, and so full of energy he made
me feel tired. But the thought of him once being married to
Sybil still amazes me. It is odder even than Grandad Hyde
marrying Heppy. Still, it does explain where Grundo and
Alicia get their noses from.

  Towards the end of our journey, I began to feel better,
though I was still feeling odd. Every time the elephant seat
lurched, I looked anxiously round at Grundo, and then felt
embarrassed at being anxious. It was habit, I suppose.
Grundo was all right anyway. He was watching the walls of
the gorge as we went down a sort of ramp into it, and
pointing out to Nick that the earliest of the ruined houses, on
the ledges near the bottom, were carved straight out of the
rock. Both of them were highly interested. I was ashamed to
see that Grundo nearly always was all right.

  Things that bothered me, like people being foul to him,
just roll off Grundo’s mind. He takes no notice because he is
interested in things instead. Nick is the same. I felt very
stupid not to have realised what Grundo was like before
this.

  The lurching was much less when we reached the bottom
of the chasm. It was quite cold and dank there, because the
sun never shone on it directly. There was a trickle of river
running through the middle, but nothing grew there but
green slime. The elephant picked her way along the edge of
the river, between lumps of fallen house as big as she was,
until the walls of the chasm seemed to meet together
overhead and we were crunching along inside a huge,
arched cave.

  “Oh, my dear!” squealed one of the Izzies. “Bats!”

  “Darkness,” wailed the other one. “I’m frightened!”

  I don’t think they were frightened in the least. They were
enjoying themselves. Their voices echoed and re-echoed in
the cave, shriek upon shriek. And as soon as they heard the
echoes, they made more noise than ever.

  “Coo-eee!”

  “Hall – oh – ho!”

  Romanov turned round. “Be quiet,” he said.

  The Izzies stopped, just like that. I don’t think Romanov
used a spell on them. He just had the most forceful
personality in many universes. Soon after that, he made a
light. It was not the small, blue flame our teachers had
shown us how to make, but a soft, spreading glow that
seemed to come from the elephant’s forehead. She seemed to
appreciate it. She walked much faster. And the chain of
caves we were going through sprang into life as we passed,
quite astonishingly. Things like stone curtains hung from
the arched roofs, folded and draped and banded with
colours, reds, white, yellows – even greenish – and were
reflected upside down in the black shiny waters of the river.
Nick remarked that they looked like streaky bacon – well, he
would! — which made Toby give a yelp of laughter.

  Romanov said, “Quiet!” all sharp and tense, and after that
none of us dared make a sound.

  It was quite difficult not to exclaim, because we passed
through archways with shell pink drapes where we all had
to duck, and a hall where ivory fingers were pointing down
from the vault, each one glittering with water, and along
lacy terraces, and arcades of red pillars, where it was very
hard not to call out at the strangeness. Once, the light swung
across a high wall of jumbled red and black formations that
shaped themselves into such a hideous glaring face that the
Izzies were not the only ones who half-screamed.

  Luckily, the river was noisy by then. Wherever we came
round a corner and met it again, it was tumbling in higher
waterfalls. Probably it covered the noises we made at the
hideous face, and again when a wall seemed to put out a
huge clutching hand. By then, we were climbing steadily.
The poor elephant was going slowly. I could hear her
puffing amidst the noisy water and I could feel Romanov
encouraging her.

  At last, he said, “This will do, Mini. It’s only twenty feet
up from here.”

  The elephant turned head on to the nearest yellowish rock
wall and we assumed she was going to stop. Instead, she
went on walking. My hands clapped themselves over my
mouth. Someone else squeaked. We were all sure we were
going to crash into the rock. But the wall just didn’t seem to
be there, even though we could see it, and the elephant
simply went on trudging upwards through it. There was
rock right up against my face. I could see it and smell it,
even taste it, but I couldn’t feel a thing. And after an eternal
twenty feet or so, we came up into daylight inside a giant
dome.

  It was daylight as you see it through sunglasses. I suppose
the dome was tinted. But nearly all of us looked up
nervously, expecting rain or thunder, even before we stared
about and found ourselves in a thicket of fruit trees. They
were all yellowy. Even allowing for that lurid light, I
guessed those trees had not been tended for fifty years. I had
a branch of misshapen figs almost in my lap and little
undernourished oranges bobbed over my head. Grundo
calmly picked figs. Nick reached up for an orange. Then they
both threw them disgustedly away. I don’t think any of the
fruit was eatable.
  Romanov pointed. “Go that way. No, don’t worry about
the vegetation. Go straight there.”

  The elephant turned and walked the way he pointed. She
made an awful mess. She stepped on trees. Trees got shoved
out of the way, causing fruit to shower off them. Branches
snapped and tree trunks crashed, and our knees were
scraped by twigs as she marched on through. Bark and
leaves and fruit rained over us. I looked behind and saw a
squashed, cloven path of ruined trees and trodden fruit
where we had been. The elephant’s funny little tail was
quivering and jerking with excitement. I think she was
enjoying this. When I looked to the front again, we were
ploughing through apple trees, and the elephant’s trunk was
going out and back, out and back again, snatching apples
and cramming them into her mouth – or it was until
Romanov noticed.

  “Cut that out, Mini!” he said and hit her quite hard on her
head.

  She flapped her ears crossly and forged on. Shortly, she
crunched across a thicket of raspberry canes and came out
into an overgrown field of melons. The melons were small
and self-seeded, but all the same, you cannot imagine the
effect an elephant has on a field of melons. There is the most
incredible squelching and bursting. Seeds fly and the smell
of ruined melon comes up in waves. I was leaning over, so
fascinated by the carnage that I did not notice anything else
until Toby said quietly, “I think we’re here.”
  There was a space ahead that was fenced off with white
plastic walls. Anyway, it was something half-transparent
made into walls that came up to the elephant’s shoulder. I
thought I could see people beyond, though the light was
queerer there, sort of filmy and foggy.

  Romanov said, “Ten paces on, then stop and let us down.”

  The elephant obeyed him literally. This meant that she
walked straight through the wall and it went pop, pop,
CLAP as it tore in two, and then clatter as she trod on some
of it. But none of the people just beyond seemed to notice.
They were simply standing there, in a grassy space, covered
in the stuff that was making the light so queer. It was
coming down from the roof, this stuff, in cascades and
swathes of what looked to be white cotton-wool cobwebs.
Everyone I could see was draped in it. They were all alive
though. That was what made it such a horrible thing to see.
Every so often, one of them would shift from one foot to the
other, or move their head as if they were trying to get rid of a
crick in the neck – but slowly, slowly, like people moving in
treacle. The only good thing about it was that most of them
didn’t seem quite conscious. The pink blurs of faces that I
could see – though they were very hard to see through the
white cobwebbing – seemed to be at least half asleep.

  Mam and Dad are in there somewhere! I thought. I could
hardly wait for the elephant to bend one of her front legs up
so that Romanov could slither on to it and jump to the
ground. And when he was down, he stood for a long, long
moment, staring at the draped, white, slowly fidgeting
crowd, until I nearly screamed at him to help us down to the
grass too.

  “This is a very strange spell,” he said, turning to look up
at us, all perched on our seat. “I’m going to need all the help
you can give me to solve this one. Do any of you have any
ideas?”

  I was shaking my head, along with the others, “No,” when
I realised I was down on the ground. The elephant bulked
above us, but almost at once she retreated to what was left of
the fence and cowered there – if an elephant can cower. Nick
went over and patted her trunk. “I know.” he said. “None of
the rest of us likes it either.” Then he said, “Roddy!” and
pointed.

  It was the Izzies, naturally. They had gone right up to the
edge of the silent, film-draped crowd. One of them was
making mad balletic movements towards the nearest
shrouded person, while the other one was dramatically on
her knees with her hands clasped. “Speak, to me!” she was
saying. “I, the Isadora of Isadora, implore and command
you! Speak!”

  I got to her just as she tried to take hold of the swathe of
veiling that anchored the person to the grass. From this
close, it looked sticky, like slightly melted spun-sugar. I
dragged both of them clear of it. “Don’t touch it, you little
stupids!” I said. “It would probably get you too!”
  “But I wanted to break the spell!” Isadora protested.

  Ilsabil said tragically, “How could you do this to us!
That’s Heppy in there!”

  It was Heppy, now that I looked closely. She was shorter
and dumpier than any of the shrouded shapes around her.
By peering, I could just pick out the muted glow of her
orange hair through the whiteness. I could see her eyes most
clearly of all. They seemed to track slowly across me as I
leant towards her, but I had no idea if she knew me or not.
For a moment, I felt absolute despair. Heppy was a witch
after all. The people standing in there with her were all
magic users. But if Heppy couldn’t break this spell, if none
of them could, what chance was there of anyone ever
breaking it?

  Something caught the light inside the white film. I looked
and saw Heppy’s hand moving, slowly, slowly, and the rings
on her fingers glinting with the movement. I stared as
Heppy’s hand rose and moved back and forth, in what was
clearly a slow-motion wave – or even a slow, slow blessing –
a personal message to me to show me she knew me and was
willing us well in our rescue attempt. My despair vanished
and I could have shouted for joy. My grandmother was
evidently a very powerful witch indeed and I had her
blessing. Maybe after all this, we did like one another, just a
little.

  I smiled at her, though I am not sure she smiled back, as I
seized hold of the Izzies and towed them over to Grundo and
Toby. “Take hold of an arm each” I told the boys, “and don’t
let either of them go, even for an instant.” It did me good to
give a few orders again. I felt brisk and confident.

  The boys glowered at me. Toby shrugged and did what I
said. Grundo reluctantly took hold of Ilsabil’s arm and
said, “It would be far easier to get them draped in this white
spell too.”

  “You dare!” I said.

  Romanov was walking slowly beside the draped crowd
with Nick. Both of them kept bending and staring at the
white stuff and looking mystified. Toby and Grundo went
after them, each dragging their twin. I followed. I rather
carefully didn’t look at any more of the imprisoned people.
More than half of them would be Court wizards whom I
knew. Two of them must be my parents. I didn’t want to see
them like that, at least until there was some hope of freeing
them.

  Goosegrass or cleavers said the knowledge in my head,
along with the image of the long skinny plant, covered in
sticky whiskers and little green knobs. Binding spells. This
seemed hopeful. I walked behind the others in a sort of
dream, running through binding spells. There were
hundreds, that was the problem. They were divided into
spoken and ritual, and before I had run halfway through
the spoken spells, I realised there were at least double the
number I’d first thought, because you could reinforce any
spoken spell by performing one or more rituals – and the
other way round.

  The very first ritual binding I came across was that old
favourite knots and crosses. I discovered that you could
make a net silently, or draw the pattern for tic-tac-toe, and
bind most things to your will, if you made the net-pattern
with goosegrass – nice sticky stuff – it was a truly strong
binding for a short while; but if you said words as you made
the pattern, the binding would last until the goosegrass
rotted. And so on. You could make hundreds of other
patterns – cobweb, cat’s cradle, tatting, crochet, knitting –
and use words, or you could perform other actions and say
words. You could dance… Oh, it was hopeless!

  Here we walked round a sort of bulge in the veiling and
came across a painfully thin man sitting in a chair on his
own. The chair was suffused in piles of the white stuff, but it
only came up to the man’s waist. His upper half was free
and he was leaning wretchedly against a low wall of the
same sort of plastic that the elephant had. walked through.
Beyond the wall, there seemed to be some kind of
living-quarters. We could see armchairs and a table and,
from somewhere beyond those, came a smell of cooking. The
man seemed to have been put where he could smell the food
but not get to it.

  I was thinking, How cruel! when the man looked up and
saw us. And he was the Merlin. I was utterly astonished. So
was he.

  “Who are you?” he said. I remembered his weak, throaty
voice so well.

  “Who are you?” Romanov replied.

  “Me? I’m from Blest,” the Merlin said, in a hesitating,
apologetic way. “I was selected as the Merlin there, but I was
carried off…”

  Grundo said, “He has to be lying. Doesn’t he?” and looked
dubiously at me.

  “I assure you I am not,” said the Merlin. He leaned his
head backwards against the wall, showing his chin all
covered with scraggy new beard. The Adam’s apple worked
in his skinny neck and tears began to run from his eyes. I
remembered Grandad being disgusted that this Merlin was
a weeper, but I felt I could hardly blame the man now. “As
far as I can tell,” he said, “I was snatched away here about a
month ago. Hauled out of my car, blindfolded and brought
here. I was the only prisoner here then. He fetched the others
in batches later. Three batches – some of them have only just
arrived. I – I must confess that the first time I – I even
advised him who to send for. I hoped the wizards might be
able to break this terrible spell, you see.” He put his hands
over his face and sobbed.

  “Have you any idea,” Romanov asked in a level,
unsympathetic voice, “of the nature of this spell at all?”

  The Merlin shook his head behind his hands. “It’s the
queerest thing I ever met.”

  Toby asked, hushed and shocked, “Don’t they give you
anything to eat?”

  “He tries,” the Merlin said, “when he remembers. His
mind’s on the binding, you see. But it’s hard for me to digest
anything much. The binding slows everything down so.” He
took his hands from his tearful face and tried to smile at
Toby.

  “I don’t understand!” Grundo declared. “You – the Merlin
– you were in Blest not so long ago. It wasn’t a month ago. I
saw you. You were talking about the bespelled water in Sir
James’s Inner Garden.”

  “I swear to you…” The Merlin started to cry again. “I
swear to you I was never in any Inner Garden! I never got
that far. I was at the shrines in Derbyshire when they
carried me off. And I’ve been here nearly a month. I marked
the wall…”

  “But I saw you!” Grundo insisted.

  “Whoever you saw,” the Merlin sobbed at him, “it was not
me.”

  Grundo looked up at Romanov, who was staring down at
the Merlin in a keen, pitiless, almost clinical way. “Weepers
shed tears with the truth” he said to Grundo. “I think I’m
inclined to believe him.”

  “But that means there’s an impostor…” I started to say,
when we saw another man coming towards us beyond the
wall.




                     6 Nick
                                                         «^»
  inding that Merlin-fellow was even worse than finding
that crowd of veiled, living corpses. He was alive, see. He
had been sick all down the wall and all over this feathery
stuff he was sitting in. I think the stuff stopped him
digesting properly. He’d used the sick to mark the days in.

  Anyway, Roddy had just cried out that there was an
impostor in Blest, when this heavy sort of man came
marching over and leaned his hands on the wall to stare at
us. I knew him at once. It’s strange how some people hardly
change at all as they grow up. When I first met Joel, as the
older of the Prayermaster’s two boys, he had had this thick
pile of dark hair, cheekbones that stuck out, and eyebrows
that seemed to express disgust with the whole world. Those
eyebrows were just the same now. So were his rather fat lips
and his blunt chin. I knew that chin perfectly, even though it
was now covered with dark stubble. I remembered his
sarcastic eyes, though they were bloodshot and tired. But
then it had only been about three weeks since I last saw him,
and it had been ten years for him and enough time to grow
up in. And he stood there and didn’t know me from Adam.

  “What are you people doing here?” he said.

  “You might say, looking for missing persons,” Romanov
answered. “Do you care to let any of them go?”

  “No,” he said. ‘Who are you?”

  “They call me Romanov,” Romanov answered. “You may
have heard of me.”

  “Yes,” Joel answered, in a dull, unfeeling way, as if his
mind was on something else. “The abomination. You’re not
supposed to be alive. We sent…”

  He looked at me then and made the connection. “We sent
you,” he said to me. “You were armed with a plague to kill
Romanov and we offered Romanov money to kill you.”

  “And I love you too, Joel,” I said.

  He hardly seemed to hear me. He went on, as if he simply
couldn’t understand it. “I sent you off from London on
Earth just before we brought the Merlin here. Why aren’t you
dead? Why are you here?”

  So that’s how it was, I thought. “No idea. This must all be
in the future for me,” I said, fast as thought. I wasn’t just
meaning to confuse him. I was hoping to stop him putting
his cotton-wool spell on me. He’d think he didn’t need to if
he thought Romanov was going to kill me sometime later.
“Where’s Japheth, then?”

  “In Blest, of course, doing what he must,” Joel said. “Go
away, all of you. You’ll get no joy here.”

  He turned away, but Romanov stopped him by saying
sharply, “What must be done in Blest, Joel?”

  Joel gave him a heavy, tired look over one shoulder.
“Nothing you can stop, abomination. I can feel you picking
at my workings, but I’m doing them the one true way and
you can’t touch them. Even if you did, it would be too late
now. You’re doomed, abomination, you and all your kind.”

  “But why Blest?” Romanov snapped out.

  Joel gave him a bleary, sarcastic grin. “The balance,” he
said. “This is our great atonement, that we now tip the
balance of all magics to our hands. By nightfall, Blest magic
and the magics of many other worlds will be in the hands of
righteousness. So now leave and tread your path to
damnation, all of you.”

  He went walking wearily away, as if he simply could not
be bothered with us, and sat himself down on a chair in the
distance, bent over, staring at the grassy floor and frowning.

  We all looked helplessly at Romanov. He was frowning
too. It made a sort of pout above the zigzag of his nose and
mouth. “Some sort of religious mania, evidently,” he said.
“Damn it! I can’t even see what form of spell he’s using!”

  “It’ll be some sort of Prayermaster thing,” I said.

  Romanov snapped round to face me, looking as if a great
light had struck him. “Right!” he said. ‘And?”
  But I didn’t know any more than that. It was hopeless.




           12
     Roddy and Nick


                  1 Roddy
                                                        «^»
  hile Nick stood there beside the gently heaving mass of
white cobweb-stuff, looking helpless, I was thinking,
thinking. I knew this had to be some kind of binding spell,
but it didn’t match any of the spells in the hurt woman’s
files. When Nick said the word “Prayermaster” though, I
began going through Goosegrass or cleavers in a different
way. My teachers had never said much about Prayermaster
magic, but it stood to reason that it had to be mostly words –
prayers. So I went back to spoken bindings and thought
those through again. Most of them were quite simple and
temporary – unless you were laying a strong geas, and it
wasn’t one of those. Spoken bindings mostly only became
lasting if you combined them with actions, like making a
net-pattern or a cat’s cradle. Otherwise, you had to make the
pattern with your words alone, and if you wanted it to last,
you had to keep repeating it.

  “Oh!” I said. “He’s repeating it in his mind! No wonder he
looks so tired!” I turned to Romanov. He was clicking his
fingers in frustration and obviously searching through his
mind in much the same way as I was. “It’s a spoken
binding,” I said.

  “A pretty complicated one,” Romanov said irritably. “I
can’t get a handle on it at all.”

  “I don’t think you will,” I said, “unless you can break his
concentration first. It won’t even start to unravel unless you
can force him to make a hole in his pattern.”

  “How do we do that?” Nick demanded, standing too close
to me. I felt his warmth sort of pushing at me and moved
away. He followed me, saying, “Joel came and had a
conversation with us and didn’t slip up for one moment as
far as I can see. He must be doing it on autopilot.”

  Toby nudged Grundo and Grundo gave one of his
smoothly wicked grins. “Why don’t we,” he suggested, “set the
Izzies on him?”

  The Izzies, who had been standing sighing and fidgeting
and looking pious and wronged, at once became extremely
indignant. “Do you take us for dogs?” Isadora demanded.

  Ilsabil said, loudly and shrilly, “Take no notice, my dear.
Per-thetic just wants us to get wrapped in white cobwebs too.
He said so.”

  “Please be quiet,” Toby said, looking anxiously across at
Joel, bowed over in his chair.

  “And don’t be silly,” Grundo said. “You’d be quite safe if
you put your glamour on him.”

  They heaved dramatic sighs. “Our glamour doesn’t work
any more,” Ilsabil said tragically.

  “Yes, it does,” I said. “It just doesn’t work on any of us.”

  “Look what you did to that fat teacher,” Toby said.

  “We’re wise to you, you see,” Grundo explained. “But he
isn’t. And he’s got two-thirds of his mind on his binding
anyway.”

  The Merlin was staring up at us with desperate hope. I
looked at Romanov, who was watching the Izzies
thoughtfully. “What do you think?” I asked him.

  “It’s worth a try,” he said, “if they can make the slightest
break in that spell, I can probably do the rest. I don’t think
we’ll get anywhere without some kind of distraction. I’ll give
you strong protections,” he said to the Izzies.

  The Izzies looked at him the way courtiers do when a
foreign ambassador offers a bribe, very haughty and
honourable, with just a touch of well-judged doubt. “My
dear, we couldn’t possibly!”

  Nick leant towards them across the Merlin’s head. “I don’t
believe this!” he said. “You get offered the chance to behave
as dreadfully as you can and you turn it down! Where’s your
pride, both of you? Go and show us just how awful you can
be.”

  They gave him wide-eyed looks. “You mean flirt with
him?” Ilsabil asked.

  “Be rude?” said Isadora. “But, my dear, I’m a polite
person!”

  “Then you can’t do it,” Nick said. “OK. You stopped that
fat schoolmaster in the middle of a spell, but this one is
about a hundred times more difficult. Sorry I asked. I can
see it’s too much for you.”

  The Izzies drew themselves tall. They looked at one
another. “Shall we show him?” Ilsabil said.

  “As a great favour,” Isadora suggested. “Graciously.”

  “Right,” Nick said and, without more ado, he lifted the
nearest twin over the plastic wall. Romanov, grinning a bit,
swung the other twin over beside her. “I still think you can’t
do it,” Nick said.

  Both Izzies stuck their chins up at him. But they had not
done yet. They turned round, with their stomachs and their
hands pressed against the wall, and looked sulky. “We need
a bribe,” said Isadora.
  “We can’t proceed without,” said Ilsabil. Both pairs of
their eyes flickered towards Romanov, calculatingly.

  “Oh, for…!” Nick began, but Romanov interrupted him.
“What bribe?”

  “One of us is going to be turned out when we’re fifteen,”
Ilsabil explained.

  “So could you make it that Heppy dies, please?” Isadora
said. “So there will be only three Dimbers and we can both
stay.”

  Quite honestly, they took my breath away. The Merlin’s
jaw dropped and we shook our heads at one another,
speechless. The boys were not at all speechless. They all said
in different hoarse whispers that the Izzies were unfeeling
brats – and worse – and then looked nervously over at Joel’s
distant, brooding figure, in case he realised what was going
on.

  Romanov made no attempt to be furtive. He said, in that
level, cutting voice of his, “You must have a very limited
outlook. Do you really want to spend your lives in the same
old place, doing the same old rituals, year after year? I
couldn’t. I was booked to do that and I couldn’t face it. I got
out.”

  The Izzies’ two little pointy faces turned up to his, amazed
and arrested. “Do you mean we don’t have to?” said Ilsabil.

  “But we’re hereditary witches,” Isadora said wistfully. “We
can’t both leave.”
  “I don’t see why not,” Romanov said. “Haven’t you got any
cousins?” Ilsabil turned to Isadora. “The hereditary men are
always having daughters,” she said. Isadora nodded. They
both looked expectantly up at Romanov.

  “I’m sure I can arrange for one of those daughters to take
over,” the Merlin said. “But you have to get me free first.”

  They gave him startled looks, as if they had forgotten he
was there. Their backs straightened. Their chins stuck out.
“We’ll do it,” Ilsabil announced.

  “As a great favour,” Isadora added.

  “Go on then,” said Romanov.

  They turned round. They raised their arms. Then they
advanced upon Joel in his chair with little twinkling steps,
wafting their arms like ballet dancers. “Where is this thick,
sweaty man?” warbled one.

  “I love men who pray all the time!” the other’s voice rang
out. “So godly!”

  “Oh, you’re wonderfully disgusting!” they both cried and
threw their arms round Joel.

  It was marvellous. I leant on the wall to watch. Joel was
jerking around in his seat, looking panicked and
bewildered.

  “I don’t think he’s got a chance,” Toby said, full of rare
family pride.

  “The glamour’s on like a searchlight,” Grundo agreed.
  Beside me, Romanov was now crouching beside the
Merlin’s chair and sweating with effort and urgency. “Back
me, friend,” he said to the Merlin. “Help me find the pattern.
The thing’s like matted wool.” Then he looked up at me, even
more urgently. “You go to Blest and raise the land,” he said
to me. “Take the boys with you to help you. You should have
done it weeks ago. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve finished here.
That way.” He pointed along the wall. “Go that way. And
hurry!”

  The four of us set off along the wall at a run. Nick
groaned, because, after a few yards, we were in a narrow,
rocky passage with no light at all. “I seem to have spent
aeons in these paths,” he said, stumbling about. “Bloody
ages!”

  Grundo and Toby and I raised magelight the way we had
been taught. This was the first time I had done it in earnest
and, in spite of my dread that we were going to be too late
getting to Blest, I was delighted when the blue light
appeared, cupped in my hand. Or I was until our three blue
lights blazed in the wide, green eyes of a huge, gaunt spotted
cat that was trotting swiftly towards us. We all gasped and
backed against the rock wall. But the creature simply trotted
straight past us, intent on something else. It had such an
intent look, in fact, that it brought me out in shivers. It was
off to do something terrible.

  “Romanov’s called her,” Nick said and sighed. Then he
cursed again, because he couldn’t seem to raise magelight.
  “You had it on your forehead when I first saw you,” I said.

  “That was only because Maxwell Hyde gave it to me,” he
said. He was really mortified. He had to get Toby to lead
him. “And I suppose we’ll be blundering along here for
hours,” he grumbled.

  I don’t know if it was hours. It felt entirely timeless to me.
And, as Grundo said, it was better than having to do
goat-leaps across infinity. Anything was better, to my mind.
I just kept hoping that we would arrive in time and that I
could manage to raise the land in the way I had discussed
with Romanov. And wondering what awful thing might
happen if I did.

  To take my mind off it, I said to Grundo, “You knew
about the Izzies’ glamour because you were doing the same
thing to me, weren’t you?”

  He just gave me one of his smoothly guilty looks and
changed the subject. “What did that man Joel mean about
atonement?”

  “He and another prayerboy murdered their Prayermaster
ten years ago,” Nick said. “He may think he’s making up for
that.”

  “What – by messing up Blest and a hundred other
worlds?” Toby said. “That doesn’t make sense!”

  “Taking them over in the name of righteousness,” Nick
said. “It must make sense to him or he wouldn’t have been
working so hard.”
  They went on trying to understand it and it didn’t help me
at all. Nick had told me not to be so tense all the time, but I
couldn’t help it. It seemed to me I had every reason to be
tense. I kept thinking of my parents, hidden in that cotton
stuff so that I hadn’t even been able to find them, draped in
prayer-spell, hardly able to ease a crick in their necks, let
alone their aching feet, standing, standing, while a religious
madman wove the spell tighter and tighter yet. And I knew
that if things had gone wrong, Romanov and the Izzies
could be standing in that crowd by now, draped in
prayer-spell too, and we might be the only ones left who
could do anything to help Blest.

  Just as I thought I couldn’t bear any more, the dark path
took us downhill into a bright misty morning, and we were
back almost where we had started, in Grandad’s garden in
London.

  Dora was standing by the stump of the goat’s stake,
looking woebegone. “The goat’s gone,” she said. “Did you
know?”

  She did not seem in the least surprised at our sudden
arrival. When Toby went up to her and wrapped his arms
around her, she patted his head in an absent-minded way
and said, “Where were you all yesterday? You should have
been here.”

  Toby looked up at her. “What day is it?”

  “Sunday morning,” Dora told him. “Not to worry. You’re
all here now.”

  Toby twisted round to look at Nick. “We should have
rescued salamanders from the airport last night.”

  “There isn’t a thing we can do about that now,” Nick said.
“Dora, you do drive Maxwell Hyde’s car sometimes, don’t
you? Would you mind very much driving us all to…” He
looked round at me. “Where, Roddy?”

  Romanov had told me of five places where you could raise
the land. “One place was not too far from London,” I said.
“It hasn’t got a name. He just described it. If we take the
main road west, I’ll say when I think we’re there.”

  Dora seemed perfectly willing to drive us. Nick said we’d
find some food and eat it in the car, and we were all
hurrying towards the house, when Grundo growled in my
ear, “Salamanders. They were all over the place when we
were here before. Where are they?”

  He was right to ask. When we had rushed out to find
Helga, I hadn’t exactly been looking for salamanders, but I
had known they were there, either scooting out of our way or
curled up in warm places watching us. Now they were not
here. If I concentrated very hard, I could sense some of them.
They were in hiding, very deep hiding, crouched up, nervous
and afraid. The rest were just not there.

  This was not the only thing wrong. Now I was attending, I
knew everything was too quiet. I had been in London on a
Sunday before, of course, and it was always much quieter
than on a weekday. But before, there had always been the
hum and mutter of distant people and remote traffic, or the
occasional thunder of a bus. Now there was hardly any
sound, not even from pigeons or sparrows. When I looked at
Grandad’s garden, it was standing perfectly still. No insects
flew, not a leaf twitched. It was – well – not right.




                   2 Roddy
                                                         «^»
  ick has just come down here to the dining room to tell me
he thinks he can’t write about some of this next part. I can’t
say I blame him. I’m going to do my best to put everything
in, but there is at least one bit I don’t know. I said he must
write that. He says he’ll try.

  Anyway, my feeling of something being very wrong got
worse as we drove out of London. Because it was such a hot,
sultry day, Dora folded back the top of Grandad’s car and
we could look up at the sky. The sky was wrong. There were
clouds in the blueness, very pale white, streaky clouds, and
instead of being slanted across the sky as such clouds
usually are, these were in a great stationary swirl, with long,
vague arms of cloud stretching out of the swirl. Each long,
vague arm went stretching away downwards to some point
that was out of sight over the horizon. Nick said it was like
the ghost of a tornado.

  Everything was very misty too, and statue-still, with the
normal summer colours looking unclear and rather dark, as
if they were reflected in deep, thick water. None of it smelt
quite right. And there were none of the transparent folks
tumbling in the hedges in the wind from the car.

  When the road brought us into sight of the green line of
the Ridgeway Hills, running along the skyline to our left,
those hills were nearly hidden by low, grey, moving clouds
that formed big, puffy, blue-grey waves, which were all
cascading and rushing westward faster than the car. By the
time the road had brought us nearer to the hills, we were in
those clouds. Hot white vapours almost hid the road. Dora
was forced to slow right down, so that we could actually see
the mist surging across us in waves, galloping into the west.

  We were almost at the right place by then. I could feel the
strange tug and pull of it. I was fairly sure it was the same
place that Grundo and I had felt on our way to London.
Grundo, Toby and I all cried out, “Here it is! We’re nearly
there!” and I said to Dora, “If you could take the next
turning left…”

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  This was where it got really frightening.

  I said, “But this is truly the best place. Romanov said. I
think it’s a wood…”

  “Oh, no,” Dora said again. “It’s much too near where
Toby’s father lives. I can’t take you there.”

  “But you have to, Mum!” Toby cried out. “I went to them –
I told them in the wood that I’d go back and call them out.
They’re waiting for me. I promised them!”

  Dora said, “And I promised I would do at least this one
thing for the group. They’ll be very displeased if I don’t.”
And she kept driving.

  “Oh, please!” Toby said. I had never known him so upset.
Tears were bursting out of his eyes and rolling down his
shirt. I remembered, with a quiver of fright in my stomach,
that Dora had always been at least half dotty, and Toby
knew she was.

  “Where do you think you’re driving us then?” Nick said
belligerently to Dora. He was in the front seat, and he more
or less turned and shouted in Dora’s face.

  “Stonehenge,” Dora said. “It’ll be quite all right then. They
promised me.”

  I almost relaxed at that. Stonehenge was one of the other
four places Romanov had told me. But Nick said
suspiciously, “Who told you to take us to Stonehenge? Toby’s
Dad?”

  “And Mrs Blantyre,” Dora said placidly. “And the sweet
young man they get their orders from. I think he said he was
the Merlin, but I’m not sure. He said that this was the least I
could do. I was quite worried yesterday when I couldn’t find
any of you, because I didn’t want to let them down, did I?”
  “Mum!” Toby shouted. “I made a promise too! Stop the
car!” He stood up and gave Dora’s shoulder a shake, but the
car swerved so violently that he sat down again quickly.

  Nick tried cunning then. He said, “Dora, how about we
stop the car and keep Toby’s promise first? Then we can go
on to Stonehenge and keep yours.”

  Dora shook her head. “No, dear. Please don’t try any
Oriental blandishments on me. I do know when someone’s
trying to get round me.” And we bucketed on, with waves of
mist rolling across us and away in front of us.

  Nick and Toby both shot me desperate looks. Nick leaned
over and tried to put on the handbrake – he says this is the
only control that’s the same as an Earth car – but he
couldn’t do it, even heaving with both hands. “What have
you done to this?” he asked Dora.

  “Nothing,” she said, “but Mrs Blantyre did promise me she
would make sure we got there. She’s clever, isn’t she? Now,
do be good. It’s so hard to see in all this fog.”

  Grundo leaned over the side to see if it was possible to
jump out, but we were going far too fast. He sat down and
looked at me. “It may be all right,” I said. “Stonehenge was
another of Romanov’s places.”

  “Stonehenge is the place,” Dora said happily. “The King is
going to abdicate there today.” As she said this, the roof of
the car rolled back over us and we found that none of the
doors would open. We roared onwards in a warm box
surrounded in fog, and there seemed no way of stopping
Dora that wouldn’t crash the car. All my flower-files were
useless, useless, because the hurt lady had never known
about cars and I had never known much myself either.

  I know the others tried things. Grundo tried an illusion of
people in the road ahead, but he was upset, so they came out
behind the car. Shadowy people chased us through the fog
for miles. My idea was to give Dora cramp and a crick in her
neck, but either this Mrs Blantyre of hers had thought of
that or Dora just ignored what I did to her. Toby tried an
illusion of the controls bursting into flame, but Dora knew it
was him.

  “Toby,” she said reproachfully, “don’t play tricks while I’m
driving. It’s not safe.”

  Toby sighed and the fire vanished. And Nick…




                           Nick
  es, well, I called that dragon. I didn’t do it just because I
was scared spitless – although I was. The sight of the silly,
dreamy smile on Dora’s face while she refused to stop
driving was one of the scariest things that had happened so
far. But as soon as she mentioned the Merlin, I knew it was
serious for a lot more reasons than just my own safety. I
thought through the way Joel had talked, and how urgent
Romanov had been, and what Roddy had told me, and I
thought I’d better do what I could, and do it before we got
out of range.

  I shut my eyes and concentrated, the way Maxwell Hyde
had tried to teach me. I’d never done it right before. I
suppose I’d lacked the incentive. It surprised the hell out of
me when I found I was sort of floating beside the hillside,
where the turf rolled back to show the dragon’s vast white
head. We were swamped in mist, both of us. His big, green
eye was open and turning this way and that to watch the
waves of cloud rushing across him, but the eye turned and
looked at me when I got there, even though I was really
sitting in a car speeding away from him.

  “YOU AGAIN,” he said. Just like Romanov. “HAVE YOU
COME TO CALL ME OUT THIS TIME?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s time. I summon you.”

  “YOU LEFT IT A BIT LATE,” he said, “IN MY OPINION.
VERY WELL. IT WILL TAKE ME A WHILE TO WORK
LOOSE. AND REMEMBER WHAT I SAID. I DON’T LIKE
BEING CALLED. PEOPLE ARE GOING TO GET HURT.
YOU ARE GOING TO GET HURT. NOW GO AWAY.”

  I went away, fast. I flipped back into the car, shaking all
over, and found we were on a stretch of road that was not in
fog any longer. Dora was fair batting along it. She had her
foot right down most of the rest of the way. It was
frightening.
                       Roddy
  t was thoroughly frightening. It was also very hot too, as if
the fine weather that my father had never been allowed to
cancel was getting out of hand, somehow. With the heat,
there was the sour, disinfectant-like smell you get when
magic is being done. At first, I assumed it was coming from
the spells that were holding the car doors shut, but then,
slowly, I realised that it was coming from everywhere. It was
outside, not simply in the car. And finally, I realised what it
was. It was the smell of quantities of magic being moved. It
was the way things smelt when all the magic in the
countryside was being pulled, and sucked, and dragged,
into one place.

  “Oh, gods!” I said. Everyone except Dora looked at me
anxiously. “It’s the magic,” I said. “Someone’s pulling in all
the magic of Blest.”

  “So how do we stop it?” said Nick.

  He said this as if he really thought it was possible – build
a dam, suck in the opposite direction – I don’t know what he
thought, but it made Dora drive even faster, as if she was
afraid Nick would really find some way to deal with the
magic, huge as it was, unless we got to Stonehenge quickly. I
could feel her adding in a speed-the-journey spell. It was a
variant of the fifth one in my Traveller’s joy file, and it had
a foreign feel, as if someone else had provided it for her. It
was strong. We were on Salisbury Plain five minutes after
Nick asked his question.

  Bare green distances rushed by. And suddenly, in that
way it has of turning up, unexpectedly small and
indescribably massive, there was Stonehenge.

  We bumped across the grass right beside the enormous
stones of it and Nick said, “There’s a lot more of it standing
than there is on Earth.”

  I hardly heard him. Too many other things grabbed my
attention. I thought I caught a glimpse of Salisbury
standing near one of the stones – just a sight of green rubber
boots as we bumped past, and a flutter of ragged coat that
might have been Old Sarum squatting beside the boots. But
the main thing that held my attention was the great orderly
jumble of cars, buses and lorries parked downhill from the
henge. And despite all I knew, I found myself thinking, Oh,
good! We’ve caught up with the Progress at last!

  What a stupid way to think! I told myself, as Dora
stopped the car. Every single person who might have been
friendly to us was currently in a xanadu worlds away,
shrouded in white spells of binding. As proof of this, the car
was instantly surrounded by royal pages, who came running
up while the car was still moving and pulled the doors open
as soon as it stopped. They were Alicia’s lot, all the people of
Alicia’s age whom I particularly did not like, and they stood
in a close circle with official, polite looks on their faces –
except that the polite looks were just slightly exaggerated, so
that we knew it was a mass jeer really.

  “If you will come this way, please,” Alicia herself said,
reaching in and hauling on my arm.

  Her fingers dug, but I hardly noticed. We climbed out into
such a storm of magic that it made me quite dazed. It set the
hurt lady’s knowledge racing randomly through my brain –
Purple vetch: vortex; Goosegrass or cleavers: bindings; Gorse:
land and home magics; Woody nightshade: spells of evil
intent, death spells and sacrifices; Foxglove: raising of
power, and so many more that I went dizzy and could only
see things around me as sick-coloured shadows for a minute
or so. Then my brain steadied on Purple vetch and I knew
what was happening. We were at the centre of a vortex here,
where all the magic in Blest, and for worlds around Blest,
was coming roaring and soundlessly howling inwards to a
spot right beside Stonehenge. I could feel it. I could see it
too, in the swirls of white cloud that marked the lines of
force in the blue sky, winding and dragging inwards to an
icy spearpoint of power only yards away. I found I was
bending sideways from it as Alicia hauled me politely
towards it.

  I hardly saw – but noticed all the same – a perfectly
horrible woman leading Dora away, patting her and
praising her as if she were a dog. “Good girl! Well done!
Doesn’t it feel better now you’ve done what you owed your
friends to do?” Poor, silly Dora. She was beaming and
nodding and looking shamed, all at once.

  Another thing I hardly saw – but noticed all the same –
was the way the pages expertly cleared a path for us through
the crowds of people gathered in a ring around the point of
the vortex. Some were people I knew from Court, but most of
them were folk I’d never seen before, a lot of them like the
horrid woman praising Dora, and crowds of men with
beards and dishonest faces – many of these had too much
hair and golden discs on their chests in the manner of
priests – and large numbers of men and women who struck
me as like Dora: not quite sure what they were doing here.

  When we reached the space in the centre of the crowd, I
hardly saw – but noticed all the same – that it was packed
tight with the transparent folks. They had been pulled here
by the magic and now they were being drawn on for their
own magic. Their hard-to-see bodies bumped aside to let us
through, and bumped and blundered high into the air, until
they were crushed together into the white lines of the vortex
clouds, where they were borne rushing downward again.
The space was full of their soundless screams and their
dreadful anxiety. They were terrified and horrified, but
wildly excited as well, as if they couldn’t help themselves.

  There was more dreadful anxiety from the fringes of the
crowd, but I couldn’t find who it was coming from. All I
knew was that a lot of someones were there, more worried
than I cared to think about.

  In the centre of the space was Sybil, dancing. Her big,
square-toed feet were bare and her green skirts were hauled
halfway up her massive legs. She must have been dancing
for hours. When she saw us, she shouted, “Hai!” and flung
her arms up, and I saw great dark patches of sweat
spreading from her armpits almost to her waist.

  Two chairs had been put facing one another on the grass,
about ten yards apart. The King sat in one, looking royal
and expressionless, with Prince Edmund standing beside
him. The two Archbishops stood behind the chair, wearing
robes and mitres. Each of them had a puzzled and slightly
distant smile, as if they had no more idea than Dora what
was going on, but felt they ought to look benevolent all the
same.

  The Merlin sat in the other chair. False Merlin, I should
say. Now I had met the real one, I could see that this one’s
face was rattier and his hair fairer. But they were very alike.
They both had the long neck and the big Adam’s apple, and
the same small, pointed face. Maybe this was what had put
the idea of the conspiracy into this one’s head. But I had the
feeling that he wasn’t pretending to be anyone except himself
now. He was in plain brown robes that reeked of power and
he sat in the same pose as a saint in a statue. Sir James was
standing to one side of him, looking smug in a smart suit.
There was a big box on the other side of the false Merlin. In
front of him was a large silver bucket – or maybe it was a
cauldron – that smoked cold, white smoke. This was where
the point of the vortex of magic rested.

  Grundo muttered beside me, “It would make more sense if
they were inside Stonehenge. Why aren’t they?”

  “They can’t. It won’t let them,” Nick answered, sort of
absently. He was staring at the false Merlin as if he
recognised him.

  I glanced up at the grey huddle of stones beyond the
crowds and saw that what Nick said was true. Stonehenge,
in some strange way, was not really present. It seemed to
have gone several layers of reality away from here. I think
this is how it protects itself.

  “He has to be Japheth,” Nick said. “That ratty look.”

  Sybil rushed up to us and waved Alicia and the other
pages aside. She finished the movement with her arms aloft
again. “The ceremony can begin!” she shouted. “Our sacrifice
is come among us!” In a big gust of sweat-smell, she seized
Grundo’s arm. “Now, you be good,” she said to him, “and we
won’t hurt you more than we have to.”

  Toby and I stared at her. Under the sweat, her face was
like red sandpaper and her eyes didn’t quite see anything,
like a drunk person’s. She seemed to have no feeling for
Grundo at all. Nick put his big hand over Sybil’s chubby
one and wrenched it off Grundo’s arm. “Leave him!” he
thundered out, glaring at Sybil. Sybil stared into air behind
Nick and went on blindly grabbing at Grundo.
  The false Merlin looked across at us.

  He stared. Then he sprang up and came striding over to
us, robes streaming, and pushed Alicia aside so that he
could walk right up to Nick. He stood with his small, pale
face more or less nose to nose with Nick’s darker one. “You!”
he said. “You’re supposed to be dead! You laughed at me!”

  I have never seen such hatred. Spittle came out of the false
Merlin’s lips with the strength of that hatred. He shook all
over with it.

  Nick tried to lean back, away from the flying spit. “What
of it? You trod on an egg. It was funny.”

  “What of it!” the false Merlin more or less screamed. “I’ll
show you what of it! I’ve dreamed of you dead for ten years
now! Today, you are going to be dead – as painfully as I can
manage!” He turned and said to Sybil, in a normal, cold
voice, “Leave that child. This boy will give us far more
power.” Then he went calmly back to his chair again.

  Gods! I thought. He’s mad, quite mad! And Nick had said
he was a murderer too. I was terrified.

  Sybil let go of Grundo. She seemed to be entirely under the
false Merlin’s influence. She beckoned to Nick. At once a
skein of transparent folks swooped from the vortex,
surrounded Nick, and pulled him into the open space. I
tried to stop them. I am entirely in a muddle as to whether
this was what I would have done for anyone or whether it
was because it was Nick. I do know my heart hammered in
my throat and that I put out my hands and tried to make
the transparent folk stop. But your hands go through, or
past, or slide off these people, and they were far too sunk in
the storm of magic to heed me. I suppose to most of the
onlookers it must have seemed as if Nick stumbled out into
the open all by himself and then fell down on the grass.

  “The sacrifice has presented himself!” Sybil proclaimed.

  The false Merlin grinned. “So he has,” he said. His long,
skinny arm reached out to the box beside his chair, where he
flipped up a small flap in the top, groped a bit and came up
clutching a writhing bundle of salamanders. As the flap
snapped down again, he reached forward and dipped the
salamanders into the smoking silver bucket, quite slowly.

  It was colder than the coldest ice in there. The soundless
scream from those poor salamanders as they met that cold
went through us all like an electric shock. But it went
through Nick in a much worse way. His body became
covered at once in hurrying silver ripples. The ripples chased
and overlapped one another and formed silver leaf-shapes,
as if he was under shallow sea with the sun on the waves.
He was in obvious agony from it. He rolled about, trying to
scream – or not being able to scream – and every time the
ripples formed into a leaf-shape this seemed to hurt him
even more. He curled up, he uncurled, he flung his legs and
arms about, much as the salamanders were doing in the
false Merlin’s fist.
  “There is really nothing like a willing sacrifice,” the false
Merlin said. He looked to see if the salamanders were
recovering a little and calmly dipped them in the smoking
bucket again. Sir James – disgusting man! – leant eagerly
over to watch.

  “Oh, he mustn’t!” Toby said despairingly. Possibly he was
sorry for Nick but, being Toby, I suspect he was mostly
feeling for those salamanders.

  “No, he mustn’t, must he?” Grundo agreed.

  Here the King seemed to notice what was going on, or
some of it. He looked from Nick to the false Merlin and said,
“What’s this? Eh?”

  Toby was jigging about in his distress. Alicia jabbed him
with her elbow and said, “Quiet. Don’t interrupt.”

  “Your Majesty.” The false Merlin smiled and stood up,
flourishing his handful of agonised, dying salamanders.
“We are gathered here today to reinstate the old, true form of
kingship. As has been explained to Your Majesty, yours are
not the old, true forms. You make use of technology, and you
have little or no dealings with the magic of Blest, and this
has caused the old, true forms to warp and degenerate. You
therefore intend to abdicate.” He looked sternly at the King.
“Don’t you, Your Majesty?”

  The King rubbed his hands across his face in a bewildered
way. “Abdicate? Yes, I suppose we came here for something
like that,” he agreed, but not as if he was at all sure. “What
happens then?”

  “Why then we install a true king!” the false Merlin
announced, as ringingly as such a reedy voice as his was
able. “We ratify the Prince Edmund in your place, in the
presence of both Archbishops and the priests of all other
religions, and we seal it in proper form with the blood of a
sacrifice.”

  “Oh,” said the King. For a moment he looked startled and
a little disgusted. Then he said placidly, “Very well then, if
Edmund…”

  He stopped, distracted, because the false Merlin stooped
and once more plunged the wretched salamanders into the
white smokes of the bucket. This time, they died. The shock
was like the crack of a whip. The ripples were so thick over
Nick that you could hardly see him, just a rolling, thrashing
something under a moving silver web.

  “Look here,” said Prince Edmund. He came out from
behind the King to stand and stare at what could be seen of
Nick. “I don’t think this is— I mean, is this a human
sacrifice you’re talking about? I’m not sure— What happens
then?”

  Well fancy this! I thought. Prince Edmund is a decent
human being after all! But that was before Sybil came
tramping up to him and laid her fat hand against his arm.
“Your Highness,” she said, in the kind of low, tactful voice
that everyone can hear, “if you are unwilling, please say so
at once. Your Highness has four younger brothers, any of
whom might wish to guide these islands along the one true
way in your place.”

  You could see this not appealing to the Prince at all. He
never did like his brothers. He said, “Oh, in that case…”

  “Then hearken to the Merlin as he prophesies,” Sybil
suggested and stood back.

  The Prince and the King both looked enquiringly at the
false Merlin, who gave them a merry smile, tossed the dead
salamanders on the grass, and put his hands in the
rope-pulling position, by which we were supposed to
understand that he was making a prophecy. But I could see
he was just pretending. He said, “This sacrifice both anoints
our new King and brings the power of all Blest to the crown.
By this sacrifice, we shall raise the land and bring peace
and prosperity…”

  I think he went on for some time, but I stopped listening.
As soon as he said “raise the land,” I realised that this was
exactly what he was doing. And he couldn’t be allowed to,
not like this! Doing it by a blood sacrifice would bring Blest
and all the worlds surrounding it into the realm of purest
black magic. The balance would be tipped entirely the wrong
way.

  I fought my way out from the hurricane of magic and
horror and tried to think through the hurt woman’s files
again. They rushed into my head, file after file – Purple
vetch, Goosegrass, Foxglove, Teazle, Gorse, Mullein, Dog
rose, Thistle, Nightshade, Poison, Invisible peoples, Sex
magics, Journeys, The Dead, Bird magic, Shape-shifting,
Summoning, Unbinding – on and on, in a wild waterfall of
spells. At first they seemed to be no use at all. But that
phrase raise the land had given me such a jolt that before
long it seemed to steady the rush down. I saw that they did
not come into my head in any old order: they started with
Purple vetch for vortex, and followed that with spells of
binding and unbinding. Seeing that stopped the rush of files
almost entirely. And I knew that I had known how to raise
the land, long before Romanov tried to explain it to me.

  Each file, down at the very end, had what the hurt woman
called its Great Spell, one that encompassed all the others.
What Romanov had told me amounted simply to unbinding
these. You started with vortex. Then you went on to
unbinding in its Great form and, as you unbound the
vortex, you fed into it each of the other Great Spells, good
and bad alike, and you made them all unravel. The gods
alone knew what would happen then! I almost turned to
Grundo then. I wanted to ask him if he thought we would
all be entirely without magic ever after.

  Grundo’s face had gone white and secretive and he
wouldn’t look at me. All my earlier hurt came back. Grundo
never needed me, he just used me, he never cared— Then I
realised that Grundo was trying to work magic too. It was
something directional, by his look, which was always
difficult for him, because he had to turn everything round
the other way, against the grain of his mind. He was
scowling, pouting the skin above his long nose as he
concentrated.

  By this time, as the false Merlin blathered on, the ripples
were dying away from Nick. He was lying with his face in
his arms, exhausted by the convulsions they had put him
through. The false Merlin noticed. A mean look came over
his face and, still prophesying, he went over to the box and
reached for another handful of salamanders.

  Grundo burst the box open as he did so.

  Toby cheered. It was wonderful for a moment. The sides
fell out and the lid flew up and hit the false Merlin in the
face. The salamanders inside, hundreds and hundreds of
them, had been packed and crammed in there, thoroughly
miserable anyway, and then panic-stricken when the first
handful died. They came out like a small volcano. They
showered into the air and then ran everywhere, incandescent
with fear, setting the grass alight, raising smoke and flames
and howls from the people in the ring of spectators. The false
Merlin howled as loud as anyone. Sir James got a
salamander on his smart hat and tried to beat the fire out
on the chair, while Sybil ran and pranced and jumped to
avoid red-hot salamanders running across her bare feet.

  But it only lasted a minute or so. Those salamanders were
so truly terrified that they all ran away as fast as they could,
flashing among the feet of the crowd and diving under cars
and buses, cooling off as they ran. By far the most of them
seemed to race uphill, in among the great trilithons of
Stonehenge. I think they were safe there. They seemed to be
able to go away into the same distant layer of reality as
Stonehenge itself, and stay there.

  Alicia had realised that it was Grundo who let them out.
Well, she would. She took him by one ear and shook him,
silently and fiercely, with her nails digging in. “Little beast!”
she whispered. “Little pig!”

  Two days ago that would have got all my attention at
once. Now I realised that Grundo was distracting Alicia
from me, just when I needed it. It was quite hard, but I’m
afraid I let Grundo suffer. I began trying to raise the land.

  Vortex was there already. I only had to touch the spell in
Purple vetch to make it my magic and not Sybil’s or the false
Merlin’s. The whirling in my head intensified, but I tried to
ignore it and went on to Goosegrass or cleavers and the
Great Unbinding at the end of it. Ideally, you had to make a
model of what you needed to unbind – it was like a
hideously complicated cat’s cradle – and then say the words
as you undid it. Because I couldn’t do that, I was forced to
do it all in my head, imagining each strand of the cradle
and the movements I might have used to untwist them, and
saying the words in my head too. Try as I might, I couldn’t
help making small twisting movements with my fingers. It
was too difficult otherwise. And I couldn’t manage a
translation of the words. I had to think them through in the
hurt woman’s language, and I believe I was murmuring
them as I worked.

  My greatest fear was that nothing would happen. But I
knew I was doing something when a great cluster of
transparent people sped out of the lines of cloud and hung in
the air above me, attracted by the magic. I was afraid that
Alicia or one of the other pages might notice them, but they
didn’t. Toby distracted them all by sinking his teeth into
Alicia’s hand as it gripped Grundo’s ear. All the pages
crowded in to separate Toby from Alicia and Alicia from
Grundo – but quietly, because you didn’t make a noise in
front of the King. I was able to move to one side and
continue unbinding.

  The King was still sitting there. I don’t think he noticed
the salamanders. He didn’t seem to see that the false
Merlin’s nose was bleeding. The false Merlin wiped the blood
carefully on a handkerchief and handed it to Sybil. “Blood
for a summoning,” he said to her. “We’ve no salamanders.
We want that Old Power here instead, quickly.” He went and
stood with one foot on Nick’s back, in case Nick recovered
and tried to get up, while Sybil waved the red-blotched
hanky about and began chanting.

  “I can’t think why they think they need any more magic
here,” Grundo grunted, appearing by my shoulder with one
ear bleeding. I always forget how good Grundo is at
slithering out of scraps. But at that stage I was only
two-thirds of the way through the Great Unbinding. I made
frantic noddings and face-twistings at him not to distract
me. His mouth made an “Oh” of quiet understanding. Then
he ducked out of my sight and several of the pages yelped
almost at once.

  Gratefully, I went on to the last third of the unbinding.
Slowly and carefully, I undid nine twists and three knots.
Then I was done, right on to the very last, which was to pull
an imaginary straight unknotted string through my fingers,
to show that it was now free of all tangles. I wished that had
been all. But I had to go on to feed all my flower-files to the
vortex, while my head spun with it, and pages heaved and
gasped to one side of me, and Sybil, out in the open, got on
with her summoning too.

  I don’t know how long I took to feed everything into the
vortex. On one level, it took no time at all, just a crazy
unreeling of file after file, plant after dry, thorny plant
rushing through my mind and speeding into the twisted
clouds, while I said to each, “I hereby call you to raise the
land.” On another level, I could see myself reaching out and
slowly pulling to myself layer after layer of different magics.
Sometimes I paused to marvel at them. Songs and thoughts
looked truly beautiful, all intricate, curled-up colours, but
when I turned them round to look at the other side, they
were quite drab, and some had oozing nastinesses. Time and
eternity took my breath away, though I tried not to look too
hard at the demons that rode with them.
  And I remember being slightly astonished at all the beings
waiting in the wood where Toby had promised to go. I
recognised the kingly man in the red cloak. He was on
horseback, surrounded by his knights and standard bearers.
I knew he was the Count of Blest. But there were ladies with
him that I didn’t know, and large numbers of tall people
who didn’t look quite as solid as the Count and his court.
They all looked relieved when they saw me standing between
two trees and called out to know if it was time. “Yes,” I said.
“My cousin is not able to come, but it is time.” They started
to move at once, while the trees around them tossed and
surged.

  I called good things and bad things, and things that were
neither, birds, animals, growing things, and things that
never changed. I called the sun. I called stars, moon and
planets. Last of all, I called the world and Blest rolled
towards me.

  Everything seemed to come loose.

  The wonder of it was that this only seemed to take
seconds. When I finished, Sybil was still chanting, the false
Merlin still had his foot on Nick’s back, and Grundo and
Toby were still silently wrestling with Alicia and the other
pages. Nobody seemed to notice what was happening.

  What was happening was terrifying. Blest was rolling
loose among the universes, shedding strips of magic like
bandages unwinding from a mummy. I saw the islands we
had crossed behind Helga dipping and spinning. One
actually pitched sideways and sank. Another seemed to be
melting, and nearly all of them had lost their clear,
luminous colours. They were patchy, with brown clouds.

  I saw London walk among his towers and carefully put
his huge foot down on a house, crushing it to brick dust.

  I saw a huge wave rise out of a sea on another world and
rush across a land full of brown people in houses. There
were no houses after that. In another world, a vast being
standing guard on the top of a green hill turned and looked
doubtfully over his shoulder. He seemed to have lost his
purpose. After a while, he came down from his hill and
walked across the plains to meet three other beings like him,
who looked equally lost. I was sorry about that, because this
was the world where we had accidentally arrived in that
library, and they depended for their magics on these
Guardians of the Four Quarters. When I looked at another
world, I saw that all its magic had entered its railway lines,
causing incredible confusion. And I turned to a world of
giant canyons, just in time to see a glistening xanadu
collapse into the caves beneath it, followed by half the rocky
landscape in great plumes of dust. That horrified me,
because I had no idea if my parents were in there or not.

  Here, in the Islands of Blest, lines of power were winking
out and, from every river, there was rising a slimy,
shell-covered head. “Free!” they growled. “Loose at last!” and
their waters began to rise. Manchester, in a red dress, was
hurriedly building city walls. Things that had been buried
under the Pennines for centuries were crawling out from
under confining blocks of magic. Not all these things were
evil, but all over the country, moors and forests were
becoming strange and powerful as the layers of magic
shredded away. And the sea was rising.

  What have I done? I thought. What have I done?

  The magic was still shredding. In my head the file Gorse:
home and country continued to unreel into the vortex long
after the others had gone. It made sense. The magic of the
Islands of Blest had more layers than anywhere else. I
watched the strips unwind, layer after layer, until I thought
for a moment that I was looking at the bedrock of our
country. It was a brown-green lumpy shape, right at the
bottom of things. Then it stirred, stretched, and sat up. It
shook loose hair back and smiled at me, and I recognised
the lady who had taken away the virtue from the Inner
Garden.

  “I never knew you were alive before,” I said.

  “Of course I am,” she said. “So is every land. Thank you.
Now I can put things back as I want them.” She lay back,
like someone settling into a really comfortable sofa, and
began pulling bands and scarves of magic across herself,
slowly and carefully, looking at each strip before she laid it
on herself. Some she shook her head at and threw away,
some she put aside to lay on later, and some she smiled at
and gave special treatment to, like wrapping them round her
shoulders or her head.

  Perhaps I haven’t destroyed everything then, I thought.

  A tremendous roar came out of the east. It was like an
answer.

  I had never heard anything that remotely resembled that
noise, but Nick tells me that he thought it was a jet plane,
flying very low. He was half-delirious at that stage, shaken
with shudders of pain, and he says he thought he was back
on Earth suddenly But the roar came a second time, and he
realised what it was. And where he was, which he says was
not so good. Everyone turned to look to the east, even Sybil,
but no one could see anything for the huge bank of mist
rolling up from there.

  The dragon came flying above the mist, against the blue
sky. He was white as chalk and touched gold from the
sinking sun. He was enormous. The King stood up, which
was fitting, although everyone else half-crouched, except for
the false Merlin, who stared up at the dragon,
dumbfounded. The Archbishops fell to their knees and
prayed, as did quite a few of the priests in the crowd.

  The dragon came flying on and he was even more
enormous. When he was about half a mile away, his huge
cry came again. There were words in it, but they were too
loud to understand. Nick raised his head and shouted back,
“This one! The one standing on me!”
  “AH!” said the dragon. Everyone clearly saw the flame
flicker in its huge mouth.

  Then it was there. It cut through the vortex as if that did
not exist, and hundreds of transparent folk sped away
outwards, frantic to get out of its way. For a moment, it was
like being under a great ivory-coloured tent. The dragon’s
wings were so huge that they covered Stonehenge in one
direction and all the cars and buses of the Court in the
other.

  A shining white claw came down from the ivory hugeness
– it shone like marble, but you could see it was hard as
granite – and hooked itself around the false Merlin. He
screamed, a high, childlike scream as he was snatched away
upwards. The gigantic wings beat with a dull boom, like
thunder, or strong wind in a tent, pulling the mist in across
us. It started to snow then, in lines that twisted with the
vortex, filling everyone’s hair with furry whiteness, but I
honestly think nobody really noticed. We were all staring up
at the dragon as he rose, huge and white and perfect,
dangling the tiny dark figure of the false Merlin in one
clawed front foot.

  He circled with his prey, round against the sun, until he
was far out over the plain, to the west. Then he dropped the
false Merlin. Most of us watched the little dark shape hurtle
downwards. Most of us strained to hear the noise of that
shape hitting the ground, but there was no sound. It was too
far away.
  But Sir James strode through the whirling snow and
came up to Sybil beside the two Archbishops. He didn’t
bother with them, nor with the King and Prince Edmund,
who were both standing by Sybil. He said to Sybil, “Much
better. Now there’s only two of us to share everything. Let’s
get this sacrifice over, shall we? Shall I kill him, or do you
still insist on your ritual?”

  Now the false Merlin was gone, Sybil seemed much more
herself. She drew herself up. “My ritual…” she began. She
stopped, looking irritable, and moved aside.

  My Grandfather Gwyn was there, looming above her on
his white mare. His cloak clapped about in the snow and
strips of bloody horsehide swirled from his standard. All his
people were behind him, dimly visible in the mist and the
snow.

  “About time too!” Sybil shouted up at him. “You should
obey when I call! Kill this boy at once. We want your stake
through his heart according to the ritual.”

  Nick sat up at this and scrambled round on his knees.

  My Grandfather Gwyn did not look at him. He said to
Sybil, “No. I warned you, but you never listened, did you
now? You have called me three times already. Now you have
called me yet again and I have the right to call you. And I
now call you.”

  Here, for a while, so many things happened at once that I
have had to ask the others what they saw and did. I was
mostly watching Sybil. I think she truly saw Grandfather
Gwyn for the first time then. She stared up at him and her
face was like uncooked prettybread, blotched with red over
yellow-white.

  Her mouth came open and she flopped to her knees with
her hands clasped. “Spare me,” she said.

  “No,” my grandfather said. “From now on, you follow
me.” He started to ride forward. Sybil was scrambling round
on her knees to obey him – she never argued or even tried to
protest – when more riders loomed through the fog and the
snow, coming from the opposite direction. The one in front
was wearing a dark-red cloak which billowed and whirled
around his armour. He saw Grandfather Gwyn and his
people and stopped. I had just a glimpse of the elegant,
practised way his gloved left hand drew up his reins, and of
the way his horse tossed its head and champed, not at all
willing to stop, while the rider raised his right hand
courteously to my grandfather. Then I had to look at the
upheaval going on beside me.

  Grundo says that a piece of the wet, snowy grass unfolded
beside him to let a crowd of Little People come swarming out
on their bent-back legs. I think they were the ones I had felt
watching so anxiously. They wanted Grundo and Toby for
some reason. Grundo says he had no idea why, but he knew
at once that they wanted him. He grabbed Toby and got
clear. I didn’t see any of that. All I saw was a seething
struggle between Little People and snow-sodden royal pages,
human youngsters being seized around the legs and bitten
by long sharp teeth, and the humans kicking and punching
in return. I had a flying glimpse of Grundo with his hair
filled with snow, forging through the other side of the
struggle, and I nearly went to help him. Then I thought that
this was what he had bespelled me to do and I stopped. And
then I thought that you helped people if they needed it, and I
started forward again. But it was over by then. The Little
People dragged Alicia away through the open fold and the
fold slid shut.

  Do you know, I envied Alicia! I still do. What an
interesting thing to happen to her, I thought. It’s not fair!

  When I looked out into the driving, spiralling snow,
Grandfather Gwyn had almost finished riding round the
open space, selecting people from the crowd to follow him.
He had Sybil and most of the other Court wizards walking
obediently behind his line of horses by then. I think one of
the other people may have been Toby’s father.




                        Nick
  suppose I’d better tell this bit. Roddy says she was busy
trying to convince the royal pages that Alicia had gone for
good. And they wanted to know where, but she had no more
idea than they did. I was so dazed and scared, and sore and
frozen, that it all seemed more like a tumultuous dream
than anything. I sat on the sopping grass, with snow
catching on my eyelashes, and watched Gwyn ap Nud greet
the Count of Britain – at least, they call him the Count of
Blest here, but I call him the Count of Britain. I think he
was King Arthur once, but I’m not sure.

  They were very courtly and stately with one another and
you could see they were equals. The Count of Blest in his red
cloak said, “Well met in this time of change, Prince. Are you
taking all here?” Gwyn ap Nud bowed. He has the most
terrible grim smile. “Well met indeed, Majesty. I am taking
in my harvest, but there is one that must be yours.” He
pointed with his flapping grisly horsehead to the man
Roddy says was Sir James. Then he rode away and I didn’t
see him any more.

  The Count of Blest beckoned with his free hand to
someone behind him. “Take him and tie him to the tail of
the last horse,” he said. And that person – he was a big,
muscular knight – leaned down and dragged Sir James
away to somewhere behind. Sir James was going on about
this being an outrage, but nobody took any notice and after
a while he stopped and I didn’t see him any more either. But
the Count of Blest began slowly riding on again, while I sat
and noticed in a dazzled way that the swirls of snow from
the blizzard were following exactly the lines of the vortex
and sort of centring over that smoking bucket that Japheth
had left standing there.
  I looked up because the King – the present day King of
Blest, that is – was trying to catch hold of the Count of
Blest’s bridle. The poor man looked almost as miserable as I
felt. His face was the bright red that you go in snow and his
beard was fluffy with white flakes. “Forgive me,” he said,
looking up at the Count of Blest. “I haven’t exactly done
well, have I?”

  “Others have done almost as badly,” the Count of Blest
said, quite kindly, riding on. He kept going, so that the King
had more or less to trot beside him. “It is no easy matter to
hold a kingdom in trust.”

  “I know, I know!” the King cried out. “I’ll do better from
now on, I swear! How long have I got?”

  I think this was what the King really wanted to know, but
the Count of Blest answered, “That is not a question I
should answer or one you should ask. But choose your
advisors more carefully in future. Now, forgive me. I have to
ride the realm.”

  He rode away, and lots of tall horse legs went past me,
some with armed men, some with incredible-looking ladies
and some with weirder people. The King hurried after them
for a while, looking snubbed and despairing, and then gave
up. Endless riders went mistily past us both.

  At the same time – Grundo says it had been going on all
this while – hosts of the transparent folks came hurtling
down from the spirals of snow, and a lot of others came with
them, who looked to be the dark, riotous, bloodthirsty
invisibles that usually only came out at night. And the
whole lot came sweeping crosswise through the circle of
people who had been watching. They kept pouring through,
hundreds of them, thousands. They ought to have got in the
way of the Count of Blest’s riders, but in some queer way,
they seemed to be on a different band of space. I sat
watching them screaming by me and all the people who
hadn’t run for cover in those buses, including the two
Archbishops, running away from them madly. And, at the
same time, I watched princely knights and great ladies
riding through the same spot. It was really odd.

  The dragon came back in the midst of it all. Everything
got darker underneath him. When I looked up through the
driving, winding snow, I could faintly see the vast grey
shape of him hovering above the weather. His huge voice
boomed down to me.

  “GIVE ME THE END OF IT.”

  I knew what he meant. I got up and tottered through the
streams of transparent people, and among horses’ legs that
went past without touching me, to Japheth’s smoking
bucket. Grundo and Toby were there, trying to shelter
behind it – not that they could, because the snow was
blinding in from all directions. I was really glad to see
them. I was shaky all over and I kept jerking with the
salamander magic. I knew I couldn’t manage on my own.
  “Help me,” I said. “We’ve got to get the end of this vortex
up to the dragon.”

  They looked pretty scared, but they put out their arms and
helped me try to lift it. It was surprisingly easy. Toby said,
“It’s quite loose!” It was, and it wasn’t heavy, either, just
awkward. I had to lift it by myself the last foot or so,
because I was so much taller than they were, and it hummed
and slithered and wobbled in my arms, but I managed to
hang on to it until a great shiny claw reached down through
the storm and hooked it off me.

  “NOW FOR CHANGES,” the dragon said.

  I am not sure what he did. I heard his wings thunder.
Then things went different. About ninety degrees different,
and then stuck there. Magic was different, all over
everywhere.




                  3 Roddy
                                                           «^»
  had cast magic loose: the dragon fixed it again. He turned
the vortex through a quarter circle and sealed it that way. I
felt the change, but I was watching my Grandfather Gwyn
ride away out into the distance, dark against the snow, with
a long line of people trudging after the horses, getting
smaller and smaller. He had never looked at me once.
Knowing what I know about him, I suppose that was a good
thing, but I had wanted him to see me. I wanted him to give
me at least a look of approval. But he just rode away.

  I blinked. The tears in my eyes seemed to have got into the
landscape. All the melting snow was winking rainbow
colours in the low sun, and flaring off the white slabs of
snow along the trilithons of Stonehenge. Stonehenge was
back in the same world with us now. I looked where I had
seen – or thought I saw – Salisbury and Old Sarum, and
there was no sign of them. That was when I realised how
much the magic had changed. It was going to be much
harder to see things or do things now. As far as I could tell,
that went for all the other worlds too.

  The dragon was gone. I was almost the only person
standing in that flaring, melting landscape.

  Everyone seemed to have run away or driven off. In the
distance, the King’s two limousines and one of the buses
were bumping over the grass to the road, but there were a lot
of empty cars and buses left behind. One was the car we had
come here in. Dora had gone. Some witches had given her a
lift back to London.

  The three boys were sitting beside a rusty old bucket not
far away, all very bedraggled. Nick kept shaking and
jerking. As soon as I saw him, Rosemary came into my
head, healing. I was so relieved I nearly cried again. I had
carefully not looked for the hurt woman’s knowledge, in case
I had lost it in the vortex. I dragged myself over to Nick,
running through the Rosemary file to see what would help
him.

  Before I got there, people shouted from up the hill, and the
elephant came treading cautiously down from the direction
of Stonehenge. Romanov was riding on the elephant’s neck
and, in the seat swaying on her back, leaning out anxiously
on either side, were Mam and Dad. Grandad – my sane,
mortal Grandad Hyde – was riding with them and so was
Mrs Candace.

  “Magic has changed here too,” Romanov remarked. The
elephant stopped and he slid down on to her bent-up leg.
“We got held up in the changes,” he said as he reached the
slushy ground. “Sorry about that.”

  He helped the others down. While my parents were
hugging me, Grandad had one arm around Toby and the
other hand on Nick’s shoulder. “What’s up with you, lad?”
At this, Romanov looked at Nick and moved in too. They
had him feeling better in moments, without my having to try
using the changed magic. At least, they got Nick’s body
right, but Grandad says it will take much longer to heal his
mind. “Don’t look so chagrined, Roddy,” Grandad said to
me. “Romanov and I are used to working in changing
conditions.” Then he got out of the way, because the elephant
trampled in and twined her trunk delightedly round Nick.

  “I thought you were inside that dome when it collapsed!” I
kept saying to my parents. “I’m so glad!”

  Then I found Mrs Candace beside me. She leaned on
Dad’s arm, looking terribly tired but still amazingly elegant.
“Your mother has been telling me how much she wishes you
didn’t have to live with the Progress,” she said, staring into
my eyes with her own peculiarly luminous green-blue ones.
She nodded. “Yes? she said. “I wondered when I first saw
you and now I’m sure. You are my next Lady of Governance,
child. You must come and live with me and learn the ways
of it.”

  Mam let out a wail at that. “That wasn’t what I meant!
Oh, I knew something like this would happen if I let my
horrible old father get his hands on her!”

  “It’s all right, Mam,” I said. “He only showed me how to
find out about things.”

  Mrs Candace said, “It will take me some weeks to recover
from that ghastly cavern, or whatever it was, and to get used
to this shift in the magics. She can come to me in a month’s
time.”

  “Fine,” said Dad, before Mam could raise more outcries.
He was looking around, sniffing the air and frowning. “I’d
better join the Court at once. Unless I get to my weather
table soon, there’s going to be a serious shift in the climate.”

  “I think your weather table’s still here,” I said. “I can see
the lorry where they usually pack it.”

  “Excellent!” said my father and he dashed over to the lorry
at once, sliding and sending up showers of slush in his
hurry.

  Grandad Hyde had seen his own car standing where Dora
had left it. He rubbed his hands together with pleasure. “If
she’s left the keys in, fine,” he said. “If not, it’ll have to be
Magid methods. Nick, Toby, come along. Let’s get to London
before nightfall if we can.”

  Nick untwined the elephant’s trunk from his neck
regretfully. “I wish I could come with you,” he said to
Romanov. “I want to be a free operator like you.”

  Romanov looked thoroughly taken aback. Then he
shrugged. “If you want. I’m going to be taking my son with
me anyway.”

  He nodded at Grundo. Grundo, in that way that he has,
had somehow caused everyone to forget him. He had
collected a heap of things that people had dropped – combs,
hairpins, paper, pens, coins, some glowing rowan berries,
and even a fiery little brooch that must have been dropped
by the Count of Blest’s people – and he was busy building
them into a long, wavery tower. Actually, he had made it
rather beautiful, like a mad sculpture. “I can work with this
new magic,” he said, when he saw us looking at him. “It’s
much easier.”

  Grandad Hyde frowned down at Grundo’s artwork. “I
don’t think you can take him, you know,” he said to
Romanov. “I suspect he’s likely to be the next Merlin. This
one won’t last long. Not up to strength really, you know.”

  Romanov frowned too. “Only if he wants the post,” he
said. “They wanted me for the Merlin once and I know how
that feels.” He and Grandad directed their frowns at one
another. It was quite a clash. “I’m not leaving him with
Sybil, whatever you want,” Romanov said. “Where is Sybil,
by the way?”

  “Gone,” Nick said. “Ap Nud took her.”

  Romanov tried to look sober and sorry, but his face bent
into wholly new zigzags of relief and delight, however he
tried. “Well, well,” he settled for saying. “Then I’ll have to
take him, but we can visit you – once a month, if you want.”

  Grandad was not pleased, but he had no chance to say so
because the square brown car came slewing and sliding
across the grass then to take Mrs Candace home. Old Sarum
was at its wheel. He scowled and scrunched his face up at
me. That made me laugh. I don’t know if Old Sarum meant
to do this, but he made me feel a lot better about being
separated from everyone I knew. I went and helped Mrs
Candace politely into the car.

  “I’ll be along to collect you next month, child,” she said
before she was driven away.

  Grandad was just rounding on Romanov again to restart
their argument, when Stonehenge suddenly became full of
people. The first one to slip between the stones and start
towards us was the real Merlin, grinning shyly at Romanov.
But Heppy was close behind him. We heard her parrot voice
even before we saw her.

  “But this is the Henge! How does he suppose we’re going to
get home from here, Jude, that’s what I want to know! It’s
miles away!”

  The Izzies were only too evidently with her. “Oh, I love
that Merlin!” their voices trilled. “His chin is so weak!”

  My grandfather was galvanised. “Quick!” he said. “Into
my car, Nick, Toby, Grundo, Roddy – all of you. I’ll have
Roddy for the month, Annie. Can you stay and sort things
out here?” he asked Romanov over one shoulder as he
rushed to the car. “Come and fetch whichever boys you want
in a month’s time.”

  That was typical Grandad, getting his own way in spite of
everything. Romanov actually laughed as we drove away.

  It was typical too that Grandad didn’t scold Dora –
though I think he should have done – when she crept into
his house late that night. And it was equally typical that, as
soon as he saw how upset Nick was, he immediately started
us on what he calls The Grand Project, which is for me and
Nick to write down exactly what happened to both of us. He
says he needs it for Magid reasons. So for this last month we
have done just that, me in the dining room and Nick up in
the room he shares with Grundo. I think it might have made
Nick feel a little better. And there isn’t much else to do,
because Dad has changed the weather to rain and rain, and
yet more rain. Toby and Grundo have been quite bored, now
that they have got all the salamanders put where they can be
dry. And it has taken me the entire month to write
everything down, but I think I’ve finished now – which is
just as well, because I can hear Mrs Candace’s voice in the
hall. I feel so nervous.




                     4 Nick
                                                            «^
  ’ve done what Maxwell Hyde wanted – he says his Upper
Room needs to see this – but I still feel – well – maimed. It
was not so much what Japheth did, although that hurt like
crazy, it was being sort of invaded by someone else’s hatred.
And I can’t get over the way such small things led to such
incredibly large, violent events. It’s like the way I told that
old man in Loggia City that his tapestry was beautiful –
and that destroyed the city. I answered the phone to Sybil,
and that seems to have set her on to grab power and make
her conspiracy. And I laughed at Japheth. That was all I
did.

  Maxwell Hyde said, when I told him this, that large
things often do hinge on very small incidents. “And I don’t
believe for a moment your laughing at him set that Japheth
on to murder his Prayermaster,” he said. “I’d very much like
to know what other criminal activities those two got up to
between rushing off in that flier and turning up just
recently.”

  I got up the courage to ask him what had happened to
Joel then. “Well,” he said, “I was fighting my way out of a
skein of cotton wool at the time, but I got the impression that
a spotted cat of some kind tore him to bits. The creature was
covered with blood when I saw it. But don’t tell Roddy. It’s
not the kind of thing she can take.”

  He may be right, although Roddy is actually quite tough.
I got to know her quite well, in a subdued sort of way, this
last month. The trouble with Roddy is that she is too eaten
up inside with magic. It’s going to take me years to get
through to her. But I’m going to keep trying. The problem is,
I don’t know quite how I shall manage it, what with her
being on Blest and me being on Earth. I shall have to go
back to see Dad. He needs looking after. I see that now. I
shouldn’t have blurted out to Romanov that I wanted to go
with him.

  But I do want to see Romanov and get him to teach me,
even though Romanov is bound to be ten times more
demanding than Maxwell Hyde. I do want to be a free
operator like Romanov. Much as I like Maxwell Hyde, I
keep running up against his limits. In the last resort, he
always has to do what his bosses in the Upper Room want,
and I don’t think I could stand that. I’d go mad after six
months.
  There was a noise in the street. I went to look and saw Mrs
Candace getting out of that brown car. I shall have to go
down and say goodbye to Roddy. But the noise was from the
ring of kids standing round Mini. Romanov has come to
fetch Grundo too. I have to go and explain to him that I’m
not going with Grundo, not yet, and make an arrangement
to get to his island later. I’ll go when I’ve made sure that my
dad will be all right for the rest of his life.
                          —«»—«»—«»—
Diana Wynne Jones was born in August 1984 in London,
where she had a chaotic and unsettled childhood against the
background of World War II. The family moved around a
lot, finally settling in rural Essex. As children, Diana and
her two sisters were deprived of a steady supply of books by
a father “who could beat Scrooge in a meanness contest”. So,
armed with a vivid imagination and an insatiable appetite
for stories, Diana decided that she would have to write them
herself.
  Her first book was published in 1973 and since then she
has written over 40 titles. When writing, she is totally
absorbed in the work and on one never-to-be forgotten
occasion, her sons returned from school ravenous to find she
had shoved a pair of muddy shoes in the oven for their tea!

  Charmed Life won the 1977 Guardian Award for
Children’s Books, and Diana’s books continue to enthral
readers all over the world. She was runner-up for the
Children’s Book Award in 1981, and twice runner-up for the
Carnegie Medal. In 1999, she won the children’s section of
the Mythopoeic Award in the USA, and the Karl Edward
Wagner Award in the UK, which is awarded by the British
Fantasy Society to individuals or organisations who have
made a significant impact on fantasy.
                           —«»—«»—«»—
        [scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]
        [A 3S Release— v1, html]
        [April 26, 2007]